Posted on September 28, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

SHIFTING

Red-brick turns to asphalt, strip centers as places of false refuge,
dirty devotions to objects, not people–

Who do you love? Who do you cherish?

In summers with my brown mom, there were no trips
to the beach or mountains.

We drove to the mall, the Subaru’s pleather seats my cloth mother
while she left me in the racks.

The grocery store stands in afternoon light under whole skies
the color of flint, an unlikely place of revival.

I race to the conveyor belt, bag oranges as bright as noonday suns,
cartons of oat milk, boxes of spinach, face obscured like Ophelia.

The young Black woman eyes me calmly, loves herself enough
to look at me and say–

I’d love it if you clicked here and read the rest over at EKL Review.

Image / Bruno Guerrero, Unsplash