Edwidge Danticat

This evocative story is told through the eyes of Sophie, who was raised by her aunt when her mother left Haiti to find work in America. The author draws on the rich landscape of memory of the folklore and violent politics of Haiti.

Breath, Eyes, Memory

ayoni

There is always a place where women live near trees that, blowing in the wind, sound like magic. These women tell stories to their children both to frighten and delight them. These women, they are fluttering lanterns on the hills, the fireflies in the night, the faces that loom over you and recreate the same unspeakable acts that they themselves lived through. There is always a place where nightmares are passed through generations like heirlooms. Where women like cardinal birds return to look at their own faces in stagnant bodies of water.

"Because of you. I feel like a helpless cripple. I sometimes want to kill myself. All because of what you did to me, a child who could not say no, a child who could not defend herself. It would be easy to hate you, but I can't because you are a part of me. You are me."

Her ten fingers have been named for her even before she was born. Sometimes, she even wished she had six fingers on each hand so she could have two left for herself.

If she wanted to stop bleeding, she would have to give up her right to be a human being. She could choose what to be, a plant or an animal, but she could no longer be a woman.

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