“I remember the very first time we made soul cakes, Nan,” I say. Nan dons an apron printed with a charm of miniature bees. Her kitchen is a hive of activity and the heart of the home. Always has been.

I was born with a tree branch on one side instead of an arm. The doctor diagnosed it as a kind of parasitic infection previously known only in plants; I was the first ever human carrier of a plant-parasitic disease.

Gayle spent a lot of time in bed letting her weight press into the mattress. The blankets were piled on top of her in a heap of warmth that was never as comforting as she needed it to be.

When I’m back from a vanguard run, they all say they can’t understand me. My neighbors, my family, my lover, they all ask, how do you do it?

Zan. Zendegi. Azaadi. Woman. Life. Freedom. They Fear Our Open Hair: