Marisol looked at the page, then at the small, fierce circle of trans people and their allies—a living, breathing piece of LGBTQ culture that had never been about rainbow logos or corporate parades. It was about this. A teapot. A sock. A guitar. A promise.

Marisol nodded, threading a new color of yarn. “Then I will. This stitch? It’s called a ‘pride stitch.’ We used to knit pink triangles into the heels. A reminder that they tried to mark us, but we made it our own.”