Book: Sing, Unburied, Sing
Author: Jesmyn Ward
- Saw the walking would I was, and came to be my balm.
- There’s no happiness in it, just dry air and hard red clay where grass won’t grow.
- …until it was the color of the space between the stars.
- The story of me and Parchman, as River told it, is a moth-eaten shirt, nibbled to threads: the shape is right, but the details have been erased.
- Sorrow is a food swallowed too quickly, caught in the throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
- “Please.” The word is small and acid as a burp.