Poet's Press: "The Streets Still Remember," reflections on growing up on Kalamazoo's Northside

Editor's Note: Poet's Press is a Second Wave quarterly series, presented in partnership with the Kalamazoo Poetry Festival, that features news poems — an experimental form that examines local people, places, and events through a personal, poetic lens. Paired with original artwork, each piece invites readers to engage more intimately and reflectively with the life of our community. This is our first installment of the series.

Artwork: Taylor ScamehornThe artwork in entirety

"The Streets Still Remember"

We drank from water hoses
on the side of houses that no longer stand,
our reflections warped in the metal,
cool water biting our teeth in August heat.

We stayed out all night until the street lights called us home, smelling like what only our mothers would describe as ‘outside’. 
No cell phone or social media, only Dell desktops with modems that hummed as we played Minesweeper, pinball, and solitaire while burning CDs, curating our custom playlist of that summer's hits.

We gathered at neighbors' houses or on the streets. 
Riding shotgun on the handlebars and back pegs of our brother’s bikes, listening to the sweet beats with Walkmans on our hips. 
Curb Ball while cars passed 20 points for hook shots, or if you could bank one from over top!

These streets once hummed
with the gospel of aunties on porches,
lawn chairs creaking under the weight of
neighbors swapping secrets and cold drinks.

Back then, we learned to double-dutch with old extension cords 
in alleyways slick with yesterday’s rain, ’don’t step on the cracks, you'll break your mother’s back!’
Knees knocking, braids swinging while our beads rattled,
and our shadows dancing on brick walls.

We spent around the Merry go, on the corner of Krum and Prouty.
We marched, heads held high, into our favorite corner store. Lesman's bell announced our entrance
like royalty,
with fifty cents to a dollar in our palms, enough to
buy 4 bags of chips and a fistful of Frooties.

Or frozen Kool-Aid cups from the candy lady out in Patwood.

Now, as pieces of my village pass on, I have become a part of one for the next generation. 
I watch new forms of child play: 
TikTok dances on cracked sidewalks,
long-winded handshakes choreographed
like gospel quartets once were.

The basketball court still remembers
the echo of names we don’t call anymore,
and the air still carries
both the weight of what was lost
and the laughter of what remains.

Now we are the ones
standing watch on porches,
calling out reminders to wear jackets, and for the kids not to wander off as far, shouting out to them to stay within our sight.

Teaching patience in a world
that moves faster than dial-up ever did.
Their playgrounds glow blue from screens,
their laughter caught in livestreams,

yet we still show them how to
skip cracks in the sidewalk,
how to make a song with only their hands and knees,
and how to find rhythm in the ordinary.

We are the keepers now,
guardians of recipes,
of Sunday songs and summer rituals.

We bottle up what was pure in us,
pouring it carefully into them,
hoping they, too, will one day remember
how a village made them whole.



Based in Kalamazoo, Markeva Love has become a cherished figure in local literary circles, recently leading the "Worth the Detour" workshop during the Kalamazoo Poetry Festival, where she guided participants to transform moments of what could have been loss into powerful creative breakthroughs.

Poet Statement, Markeva Love: This poem was born out of nostalgia as I walked the old streets where I once lived and grew up. It differs from my usual writing, but it came as a refreshing shift — rooted in memory, reflection, and the passing of time. Watching my sister, nieces, and nephew grow has made me more aware of how different their childhood is from mine, and how I am now becoming a part of what will one day be their memories.

In writing this, I sought to honor and hold space for what was, while also making room for what is and what is still yet to come. This was my first time collaborating on a piece, and working with Taylor was such a joy. Reminiscing together, bouncing ideas back and forth, and sharpening my skills through the process has been invaluable. Seeing her artwork breathe life into the nostalgia of these words reminded me how powerful creativity can be when voices and visions intertwine.

Taylor Scamehorn, artistArtist Statement, Taylor Scamehorn: I grew up visiting my grandmother on the northside of Kalamazoo, a shared cornerstone of childhood for both Markeva and I. To rekindle some of these memories, we walked the familiar streets, reminiscing as we passed houses frozen in time, though so much else had changed. These current images blended with those of childhood memory, and as I set out to illustrate the nostalgia of our childhood in Kalamazoo, I found myself transported to other memories: of my mother reading me bedtime stories, stories about other children in other neighborhoods. 

Those bedtime stories held major significance in my development as an artist, and I think, because I rooted myself in that history to draw this piece, and because my style is influenced by the themes of my work, that I subconsciously emulated the style of Chris Van Allsburg, a beloved storybook illustrator and author. It’s in this reminiscent monochrome style that I chose to draw Markeva and me as children running and playing in the hours before the streetlights come on. I hope that viewers and readers will be able to place themselves in this memory we’ve created too.