The music fills the air even on the far side of this field. Standing in the shade of a tree, I’m watching the crowns gather. It’s odd seeing so many people gathering for what looks like an outdoor concert; these are the pandemic times, after all. But it’s not a concert. It’s a vigil. It’s a memorial.

Three years ago today a Black woman living in the apartment complex just across from the field called the Seattle Police to report a possible burglary. She had a knife because she was scared. When the police arrived, she was killed. In front of her children.

No investigation of her killing has been completed. The only two people who really know what happened, the two SPD officers, are suing to keep an inquest from being completed.

This has to end.

Her name was Charleena Lyles.

Say her name.

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Follow the body, but not the body The way into what’s on my mind at the moment doesn’t seem clear. Indeed, writing quickly at a little after 7 on a full (though not overfull) Monday