In composition class, my students speak of jugs. One boy, wearing a pink t-shirt, proclaims we need to “save the ta-tas” and attempts to dissect the rhetoric while I imagine vessels, of earth, clay, balanced on heads in a village downstream hundreds of years ago when women ruled with babies on their hips and fists curled around rags soaked in milk, their breasts swinging against their knees, their jugs.

In their circles, they speak of the wolves, the wolves that creep into their huts at night and leave them with child after child. I wonder, what t-shirts did they wear?