Book Excerpts


Sheila rests her hands on the taut threads of her loom. Her long fingers have short, unpolished nails. “My hands are authentic, kind of rugged, not fancy,” she says. “They work hard. They’re really my good friends. I love them and the work they do.” Her brown eyes fill with tears. “I have fingernails like my father. And you know, every person who came before you is there in your hands.”