Yah-Yah Scholfield

“Jude certainly felt naive when she bowed to pray to her mother’s god, as silly as a little girl wishing on shooting stars, dandelions. What could he give her that hadn’t already been denied? Strength? Resilience? Mercy, maybe, if such a thing existed.”
― Yah-Yah Scholfield, On Sundays She Picked Flowers

“Jude felt - well, if she were honest with herself, Jude would say she felt akin to the knife she held. It was a simple kitchen knife, one of a set, but it had a honed sharpness that Jude liked and a clean steel blade. The wood fit perfectly into the curve of her hand, and when she used it, it felt like an extension of her arm. When she sharpened it, she was sharpening her own self. Back and forth, back and forth, grinding down on the whetstone until they were both sharp enough to cleave and cut and slice.”
― Yah-Yah Scholfield, On Sundays, She Picked Flowers