I am walking behind
a woman in the super market,
who looks like she should
be a member of my family.
Plain and large-boned,
practical in her choice of shoes
but with a bit of dash
in her midriff-skimming top.

Her course gray hair,
cropped close to her neck,
reminds me of Aunt Dora,
her fleshy upper arms of my
Aunt Clara.

We are in the detergent
aisle. Later I see her
turn down toward cat food,
as I overhear the conversation
between a father and his daughter
about soap. I stare at his feet,
watch the daughter run her fingers
along every item on the shelf,
and think about family,
as I always do in summer.