HAND ME MY GRIOT CLOTHES: The Autobiography of Junior Baby

Description

With a deep sweet Mississippi Ocean for a heart, Peter J. Harris writes in the Large. And we who eye-dive in, get our crinkly hair wet for good; there is no more going back after greeting Junior Baby. We are generously fed a rich black soup, swimming with all the caramelized parts of us, which others have touted are only scraps. But ohhhh....the right palate knows for sure. This is fine dining. Herein rise garbage-men who own chivalry. Grandiose. Generous. The real of us. The royal of Black life quilts this book, while the romance in us shivers. This is the pure stuff, that which cultures are made of. These are razor thick mapley words that we pour down the backsides of our throats, and must save up just for the keeping. And it is mango-medicine of it we have to take in--like a nasal honey, that we unequivocally should rub around the corners of where we live--like a spinal liniment just to keep us the breathtaking folk he scripts that we are. Do whatever you need to do--as long as you keep this book sewn to the hem of your hand."

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