She wasn't prepared for the many shades of grey, the sepias.
After months of rejection, then anticipation, she envisioned a more verigated span.
But then, who would recognize the color of freedom?
Choking smoke sears her throat, causing an eruption of fresh tears.
She pulls the child closer; her breast a cushion, an armor.
Words swirl around her head, indistinguishable and angry.
Bodies, foul, crushing.
This was to be their escape - a portal.
Instead the steerage is suffocating, as her gut refuses to settle.
Again her baby cries out. Or is it the toothless boy whose elbow juts into her sore ribs?
Day, night, day -- as the the angry sea takes them forward.
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