On the night of the grand jury’s failure to indict Darren Wilson for the murder of Michael Brown and again the night after, marching the length of Manhattan with a few thousand others, trying and failing to find some place sufficient to accommodate our anger or our grief, our newly or long-broken hearts, our need to feel responsive or responded to, a line from Claudia Rankine’s Citizen floated on the surface of my full skull: “To your mind, feelings are what create a person, something unwilling, something wild vandalizing whatever the skull holds. Those sensations form a someone.”