Ten people died last week. More racist violence. And yet there is hardly time for us to lay out stale thoughts and prayers before it happens again. This is as American as it gets.
Mommas, this is our fight. I look at our children. Their beautiful varied complexions and distinct facial features, and I see the liability. I know that outside the safety of our vigilant embrace, they will be dismissed. They will be harmed. They will be hunted. And I feel powerless because I cannot keep them safe. I cannot keep you safe.

This fight is relentless.
I sit with the heavy weight of it and feel the fight drain out of me.
But I am a momma, and therein lies the power of creation.
I can nourish you, feed the life force within you.
I will give you what I have to feed your strength and help us heal.

I will bake you bread, filled with the strength and courage of wild yeast. I welcome you to the safe embrace of my kitchen, sanctified by midday sunlight and filled with the whispers of those that came before us, spirits of this land and of our lineage.

I will make you tea, and strong herbal infusions, to fortify your cells with the knowledge of belonging known by the plants whose roots grow deep. Drink up their resilience, my dear, let it nourish you.

I will sing you songs of hopefulness, first in my arms and then over great expanse of time and distance.

And I will love you completely with my vast, imperfect love.
A love that is limited by my finite physical existence and yet is endless like starlight.

Alone in the darkness and desperation, I call on my ancestors, all the mommas before me, and I ask for wisdom. I ask for strength. I ask for fortitude and endurance. I ask for resilience. This fight is long and will last longer than my lifetime. I ask for a deeper well of unconditional love.

And in the quiet of the night, I summon the grace and gifts of my ancestors. I lean in and whisper
You belong, you belong, you belong
In this world
In this place
In this time
In your beautiful skin and perfect mortal body, just as you are.
You belong, you belong, you belong, and you are loved, my dear. You are loved.

It is not enough, I know that. It will take sweat and blood and tears to save us. And to fight that fight we are going to need bread, and tea, and songs, and love. And the wisdom and grace of our ancestors. So today, I will nourish you through the fear of this fight, even if I cannot save you.