In bed with my laptop on Saturday morning, January 21st, 2017, I searched for the livestream of the Women’s March on Washington and clicked open a video window, mindlessly, the way I would flick on a light.

I see myself walking on hard-packed snow, from the fields and towards the river.

In the fall of 1965, my family moved into a small, gray-shingled house in Providence, Rhode Island, whose main distinguishing feature was a bright yellow front door.