Using the necessary kindling of unflinching memory and fearless observation, anjail rashida ahmad ignites a slow-burning rage at the generations-long shadow under which African American women have struggled, and sparks a hope that illuminates ""how the acts of women- / loving themselves- / can keep the spirit / renewed."" Fueling the poet's fire- sometimes angry-voiced but always poised and graceful- are memories of her grandmother; a son who ""hangs / between heaven and earth / as though he belonged / to neither""; and ancestral singers, bluesmen and -women, who ""burst the new world,"" creating jazz for the African woman ""half-stripped of her culture.""

In free verses jazzy yet exacting in imagery and thought, ahmad explores the tension between the burden of heritage and fierce pride in tradition. The poet's daughter reminds her of the power that language, especially naming, has to bind, to heal: ""she's giving part of my name to her own child, / looping us into that intricate tapestry of women's names / singing themselves.""

Through gripping narratives, indelible character portraits, and the interplay of cultural and family history, ahmad enfolds readers in the strong weave of a common humanity. Her brilliant and endlessly prolific generation of metaphor shows us that language can gather from any life experience- searing or joyful- ""the necessary kindling / that will light our way home.