by Nancy Derringer It slipped into the house while the doors were unlocked, while we partied through St. Patrick’s Day weekend, hugged one another hello and goodbye, leaned our heads close to hear what each other were saying in noisy bars and restaurants. We sang in choirs, danced cheek to cheek, threw back our heads and laughed, and all the while, the thief was at work. What it stole from us were people. Family, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, strangers, who one by one fell to the mysterious, frightening new plague. What we first called coronavirus, and later Covid-19, hit Detroit early and hard. By the time August arrived, and a drive-through memorial was staged on Belle Isle, the faces on the poster boards circled the perimeter drive. Most of them were Black.