“Here,” she said “in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps,
laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it
hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They
don’t love your eyes, they’d just as soon pick em out. No more
do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O
my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie,
bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them.
Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them
together, stroke them on your face ‘cause they don’t love that
either. You got to love it, you!...” Saying no more, she stood up
then and danced with her twisted hip the rest of what her heart
had to say while others opened their mouths and gave her
music.
-Beloved, Toni Morrison