“I’m really trying to say to myself from now on: ‘What would Ruth do? What would Ruth say?’ If each of us does that, then she will still be with us.”

~ Gloria Steinem

The first day, we are just all together crying and just trying to figure it out. I am just trying to replay this thing in my head. I am having these thoughts—Maybe it’s not Breonna, because I never see her, mind you. The police never let me see her. But I know it’s her house, you know what I’m saying? But just the fact that I physically haven’t seen her…. And then, I can’t talk to Kenny. But the last thing I know is Kenny called me and said, Somebody kicked that door in. And I’m thinking, Who would want to do that? What is happening? My head is all over the place. And the police aren’t talking to me or telling me anything. My daughter’s dead and they’re not telling me anything. And I keep wondering, Why would somebody do this? Until I actually learn on the news that the police did this.

~ Tamika Palmer, Breonna Taylor’s motber, as told to Ta-Nehisi Coates in Vanity Fair

Charlie is patient. I finish preparing my Farm Pond Writers material for our morning workshop, and then go out in a day warming up. We walk for an hour, and then I must change and go to my friend’s house to run the workshop for the few who will be there live. I’ve created a hybrid for today: those who can make it will be in person, seven of us, masked and seated at a safe distance. Then there’s the Zoom portion for anyone who can’t make it in person. It’s sunny and warming and we’re fortunate to have the mild weather for our gathering. Our theme today is bowls. I’ve asked each writer to bring a favorite bowl, and we’ll use this to launch the writing prompt based on a wonderful poem by Sarah Ruhl, “I Intend to give you many bowls.” It turns into a remarkably rich writing and sharing experience. I bring my bowl as a picture I took at Georgia O’Keeffe’s home in Abiquiu, NM. Oh, we love being here like this, nourishing ourselves and each other, under the trees, near the blue glitter of the pond being held by the flapping of geese. After the workshop, I quickly jump into my bathing suit: the water calls. My friend Karen from the workshop is also inspired. We hustle down the stone steps. Yes, it’s cold. But I’m in, and the sun is shining on my head, and I feel strong and centered as I swim quickly, smoothly, with a lovely rhythm around the island. Zestily refreshed, I head home to meet the poet Luci Tapahonso, in Santa Fe, who I am featuring in tomorrow’s IWWG Open Mic. What a treat to see her lovely face and hear her soft voice and meet her for the first time. It’s quite a day. We have a moment of silence for Ruth Bader Ginsburg in our opening circle of the workshop. Later, the news is bad about Breonna Taylor and the failure to charge anyone for her killing. The terrible travesty of charging one office for recklessly endangering her neighbors who were not harmed. But no one charged in her death. She died for no reason in her own home and was left there for hours and hours and her mother was not even told where she was, what had happened. Her mother who stood vigil outside her apartment until the police finally told her the next day that her daughter was dead. I am horrified to read of Tamika Palmer’s experience, as my daughters wake and walk around my house and talk to me and breathe freely in this world today.