“Wild women never could hide their innocence- a kind of
pity-kitty hopefulness that their prince was on his way. Especially the tough
ones with their box cutters and dirty language, or the glossy ones with
two-seated cars and a pocketbook full of dope. Even the ones who wear scars
like presidential medals and stockings rolled at their ankles can’t hide the
sugar child, the winsome baby girl curled up somewhere inside, between the
ribs, say, or under the heart. Naturally all of them have a sad story: too much
notice, not enough, or the worst kind.
Some tale about dragon daddies and false-hearted men, or mean mamas and
friends who did them wrong. Each story has a monster in it who made them tough
instead of brave, so they open their legs rather than their hearts where that
folded child is tucked.”
-
Toni Morrison, Love.
Signed,
Vi.
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