I crept into Mama’s bedroom and watched her sleep. Dusted her shrine: her rosary draped over her Virgin Mary statue in the corner, nestled among blue-gray candles, river rocks, three dried cattails, a single yam. When I saw Given-not-Given for the first time, I didn’t tell my mama nothing.
Leonie and Jojo share a habit of not-sharing. So many moments in this book where silence becomes a boundary, a weapon against the very person who wields it.
