In the little sketch at the bottom, someone is kneeling in darkness with her back to the person looking at the picture, and facing her is a semi-circle of candles and stands and icons, and beyond that is darkness.
What is this thing that is crushing me so? I clutch and hold my heart and feel and, wide-eyed, taste the sweet sugarcane juice from my fingers. With fingertips I tap along the ridge under the soft skin of my eye, I work to breathe - I am pressed. My hair, shorn short, and my ragged yes breathing water to air, like incense to burning.