Anything dead coming back to life hurts.
We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.
To be female in this place is to be an open wound that cannot heal.
A quiet, secret fire breathing itself and exhaling the sounds of its increase: the crack of shells, the tick of nut meat tossed in the bowl, cooking utensils in eternal adjustment, insect whisper, the argue of long grass, the faraway cough of cornstalks.
What you do to children matters. And they might never forget.
Freeing yourself was one thing; claiming ownership of that freed self was another.
My name is Desdemona. The word, Desdemona, means misery. It means ill fated. It means doomed.
Custom is just as real as law and can be just as dangerous.
You are about to find out what it takes, how the world is, how it works, and how it changes when you are a parent. Good luck, and God help the child.
She was deeply grateful for every shred of affection.