When I decided to begin work on a poetry manuscript, I had little to no idea what I was working toward. Sasha Banks, my Sisterfriend, who was also entertaining the thought of a manuscript at the time, suggested we share poems regularly and check in on each other’s progress. Sasha, whose Sistership had been keeping me afloat in the hostile city of Austin, Texas, at the height of national visibility surrounding anti-Black police brutality, is the person I trust most with my work besides myself. We swapped drafts and stayed up for hours on the phone, conceptualizing aloud the worlds we envisioned ourselves creating—poems in which emblems of white supremacy and Black death/erasure become ours to control, to morph, destroy, or refashion into an environment that loves us back and insists on our survival. I think of Sasha’s work, and her personhood, as insistently tied to the Black spiritual.