Romance Language

Each day, I rise early in the morning while the rest of the household still sleeps, and go walking in my neighborhood. Half an hour. Forty-five minutes. As long as and hour and a half.

More and more I see signs in people’s windows and yards: Black Live Matter. Hate Has No Home Here. Justice for George Floyd.

I see the signs and briefly they lift my spirits. Briefly.

Because in the next moment, I realize that George Floyd will never receive justice. He is beyond justice’s reach.

No consequence meted out to his killers—though consequences are deserved and have to happen—will bring him back. Nothing will restore him to his loved ones. Nothing will erase the way he was taken. Nothing will replace who he would have been and what he would have given.

The same is true of all the names on the long list of people who’ve…

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