I eventually left the library with seven picture books, two of them featuring Black or Brown characters, and got into my car. As soon as I sat down, I started to cry. It was a defeated cry, not a productive one; it didn’t end with any action plan or e-mails to the library manager. I was too disappointed and defeated, not just by the collection, but by being back in the familiar space of a library asking old questions about who and what the space was for.
