Heart Berries

My story was maltreated. The words were too wrong and ugly to speak. I tried to tell someone my story, but he thought it was a hustle.

— Heart Berries

It’s too ugly to speak this story. It sounds like a beggar. How could misfortune follow me so well, and why did I choose it every time?

— Heart Berries

Indian girls can be forgotten so well they forget themselves.

— Heart Berries

I left my home because welfare was making me choose between my baby’s formula or oatmeal for myself. The ugly truth is that I lost my son Isadore in court. … The ugly of that truth is that I gave birth to my second son as I was losing my first. My court date and my delivery date aligned. In the hospital, they told me that my first son would go with his father.

— Heart Berries

Isaiah cried all night, and I remembered well that I held a hand over his mouth, long enough for me to know I am a horror to my baby.

— Heart Berries