"Pool" by Hala Auji When the live decarceration teach-in freezes as RuthWilson Gilmore repeated the words, Organize, Organize,Organize, the chat erupted in solidarity: youtube is on to us; this is the message we were not supposed to hear. And just like that,across bladed borders and unnamed sorrows, we were allholding our breath in the same room, watching the intimacy of collapse from a safe distance. By now, we must be aficionadosat wafting the smolder of news-filtered grief. By grief,I mean responsibility. By that, I mean I take after my mother, who confuses compassion for a theory of return.