The Light:

At the center of the roof, there is one single opening—a square of 10 by 10 feet.  For those beneath this square, there is neither shelter nor shade nor wall on which to find support.  There is no cover for one’s grief, no rescue from the final gavel of the auctioneer, no reprieve from the final separation. This is a marketplace of shame. Beneath this square of light, this square of nothingness, what can one find? A square of sky that penetrates the roof? The warmth of its sun or coolness of its rain? Nothing? Everything? Is one standing in a vacuum of despair? Or a temple of hope, a temple of dreams, a temple of salvation? Is this the place that sustained millions of African Americans through centuries of unrelenting servitude?