Scout E.S. in the Shadows

  On painfully early mornings, I sell them conveniences. I look into their blinding eyes and wonder if they see mine. I wonder if they think my thick, wide eyebrows and almost-black eyes are beneath theirs. I wonder if they remove me from reality because of my brown skin and dark eyelids. They like food made in faraway places, but I wonder if they like faraway people, if they appreciate the ones who bring it to their door. I wonder if they appreciate that I look into their eyes without the bias that they return. Before I leave for work, I wake up in a cold sweat. I’ve had the same dream for weeks on end. I’m walking in a desolate plain at sunset, rubble dusting up my pants and climbing into my nose. I wish that I were home, until I remember that the rocks under me are the remnants of where I grew up, and I must reach the end of what used to be a road to get flour. I hear missiles spinning down from not too far away, and even though I may be safe, I run anyway. I run because it is...