In that car my mother was my first lesson in song resounding and shaking my whole body. If I dared to join, I’d feel our sound vibrating against the windshield, my little voice and her big voice meeting in a divine place. Hers classical and mine something else—learning, but we’d sing, muddied with a history of sound meant to pierce the heart of God—make God come down and dwell in us.

 Continue to, continued from:

Feelin: Creative Practice, Pleasure, and Black Feminist Thought. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2022.