In the beginning, there were… groceries. 

When I close my eyes 

I see 

Grandma slicing fruits 

For me 

Under a spotless sky 

Adorned with 

a bright sun 

He is not a death threat 

But what memories 

Are made of 

 

She buys groceries 

From Harry 

At the farmer’s market 

Wraps it 

in thin cloth bags 

walks over uneven paths 

concrete 

in her resolve 

to give back 

to her community 

 

She spots 

Happiness 

on her way home 

Blue and purple and pink 

It grows

In little bushes 

And 

I know I cannot wait 

to taste 

how sweet it is 

 

I need not be 

scared 

because the water 

still runs free 

And she washes away 

Dirt and insecurities 

 

When she pulls out 

the treasures 

One at a time 

I see 

Justice 

perfectly tender 

the Spice

That mother liked 

To add 

to everything 

 

I see 

Diversity 

It is both citrus and sweet 

The perfect shade 

Of orange 

With undertones of green 

 

I see 

Equality 

Iridescent cubes 

Salty 

No, not like 

Resentment 

of rotting lands 

of Old men and old money 

But like 

Recognition 

That the true wealth of our nations 

Is not self-interest

It is 

 

Equity 

I taste it

In the loaf 

Of bread 

Uncle Jim baked 

Sprinkled with sesame 

It tastes like home for all

 

And before grandma’s hands 

Wrap around it 

I already smell 

Freedom 

 

It comes with 

A side of 

Responsibility. 

 

If we 

were back 

“In the beginning…” 

Could you 

Would you 

Take a bite 

Of responsibility? 

 

Could you 

Would you 

Reconsider 

the price of convenience? 

 

No, 

Man is not rational. 

Because still 

In the face of 

Eviction notices 

From home, 

he dreams.

By Ashima Shukla