Only now can I finally see how this had been our pact all along. We’d decided between us, somewhere along the way, and without any real discussion, that my mother would be the flower and I would be the wax paper.
. . . as the St. Bernard women in Ayanna Lloyd Banwo’s debut novel When We Were Birds have understood from generation to generation, the dead need to stay dead . . .
. . . after I finished my first book, I was like, “I'm never writing a book again,” because that process was so miserable. But now that I've written this novel . . .