Ntozake Shange's beloved Sassafrass, Cypress & Indigo is the story of three sisters and their mother from Charleston, South Carolina. "A jubilant celebration of womanhood―as moving as the moon . . . pure magic." -- Kansas City Star Sassafrass, the oldest, is a poet and a weaver like her mother before her. Having gone north to college, she is now living with other artists in Los Angeles and trying to weave a life out of her work, her man, her memories and dreams. Cypress, the dancer, leaves home to find new ways of moving in the world. Indigo, the youngest, is still a child of Charleston-"too much of the south in her"-who lives in poetry and has the supreme gift of seeing the obvious magic of the world. Shange's rich and wondrous story of womanhood, art, and passionately-lived lives is written "with such exquisite care and beauty that anybody can relate to her message" ( The New York Times ). “Shange's wit, lyricism and fierceness are marvelous.” ― The New York Times “A jubilant celebration of womanhood as moving as the moon...pure magic.” ― Kansas City Star “A marvel... Languages--colloquial, established, lyric play together like the most lush chamber music, the coolest jazz, the brassiest marches, the hippest jug band... It leaves us filled with joy and yearning for more.” ― Philadelphia Inquirer “Possessed of poetry, motion, and light… Shange's tale is poignant, surprising, and deep as she looks as the different worlds of women and their special places therein.” ― Publishers Weekly Ntozake Shange was born in Trenton, New Jersey and educated at Barnard College and the University of Southern California, where she received an MA in American Studies. Her choreopoem for colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf brought her Broadway success and international recognition. She is the author of an acclaimed adaptation of Bertolt Brecht's Mother Courage and Her Children and has written three novels: Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo ; Betsey Brown ; and Liliane . Her poetry includes nappy edges , A Daughter's Geography , Ridin' the Moon in Texas and From Okra to Greens . Her first collection of plays was published by Methuen Drama in 1978. Sassafrass, Cypress & Indigo A Novel By Ntozake Shange St. Martin's Griffin Copyright © 2010 Ntozake Shange All right reserved. ISBN: 9780312541248 Chapter 1 WHERE THERE IS A WOMAN THERE IS MAGIC. IF there is a moon falling from her mouth, she is a woman who knows her magic, who can share or not share her powers. A woman with a moon falling from her mouth, roses between her legs and tiaras of Spanish moss, this woman is a consort of the spirits. Indigo seldom spoke. There was a moon in her mouth. Having a moon in her mouth kept her laughing. Whenever her mother tried to pull the moss off her head, or clip the roses round her thighs, Indigo was laughing. “Mama, if you pull 'em off, they'll just grow back. It's my blood. I've got earth blood, filled up with the Geechees long gone, and the sea.” Sitting among her dolls, Indigo looked quite mad. As a small child, she stuffed socks with red beans, raw rice, sawdust or palm leaves. Tied ribbons made necks, so they could have heads and torsos. Then eyes from carefully chosen buttons or threads, hair from yarns specially dyed by her sisters and her mama, dresses of the finest silk patches, linen shoes and cotton underskirts, satin mitts or gloves embroidered with the delight of a child's hand. These creatures were still her companions, keeping pace with her changes, her moods and dreams, as no one else could. Indigo heard them talking to her in her sleep. Sometimes when someone else was talking, Indigo excused herself—her dolls were calling for her. There was so much to do. Black people needed so many things. That's why Indigo didn't tell her mama what all she discussed with her friends. It had nothing to do with Jesus. Nothing at all. Even her mama knew that, and she would shake her head the way folks do when they hear bad news, murmuring, “Something's got hold to my child, I swear. She's got too much South in her.” The South in her, the land and salt-winds, moved her through Charleston's streets as if she were a mobile sapling, with the gait of a well-loved colored woman whose lover was the horizon in any direction. Indigo imagined tough winding branches growing from her braids, deep green leaves rustling by her ears, doves and macaws flirting above the nests they'd fashioned in the secret, protected niches way high up in her headdress. When she wore this Carolinian costume, she knew the cobblestone streets were really polished oyster shells, covered with pine needles and cotton flowers. She made herself, her world, from all that she came from. She looked around her at the wharf. If there was nobody there but white folks, she made them black folks. In the grocery, if the white folks were buying up all the fresh collards and okra, she made them disappear and put the pro