I did not visit the site
where a man was killed
could not breath
until body stilled

I did not visit the site
where protecting protector
would not rise
again as protestor

I did not visit the site
where driver spoke love
stood not anymore
stuck, alone, by box for glove

I took a vacation
though not far away
In this nation
I dare to say
my rest and my joy
are much needed in the fray
for my protest and voice
to live another day.

As I come to the close of a much-needed journey, time apart to do and not do whatever my heart desired for a few days, I’m aware that arriving in Minnesota carried a quiet weight of expectation. As if being here required a kind of pilgrimage to the sites that hold our nation’s recent grief and injustice. I imagine many who come from elsewhere feel that pull, especially those of us who have carried these stories in our bodies through headlines, prayers, and lament. Maybe I won’t have this opportunity again. Maybe I’ll wish I had gone later.

As a writer and artist, I understand how place can shape us, and how being “there” can awaken something powerful and transformative in a way that nothing else can. And still, I keep returning to this. There is also holy wisdom in paying attention to what it looks like to be whole. To choose ways of being, in heart, mind, and body, that support healing and self-care even when our love for others is strong and our longing for justice is real.

Maybe a poem is all I was meant to offer this time. One that breathes in and releases. One that doesn’t forget, but gently reminds those who need reminding. Taking good care is part of the good work.

Take care, beloveds.

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