Ace of Spades

by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

I don’t know what I hope for. Maybe that somehow she’ll be okay with it, with me, even though she loves her Bible more than anything in the world.

In this home of worn leather sofas, tabletops with cracked edges, mismatched chairs, and exposed pipes, there is so much love. Even if that love is for a version of me that isn’t real.

Because she was Black and a woman, and in that combination, she, to them, meant nothing.