Four Poems
Mariam Khadbai
The Fruit Aisle
If you see someone staring at your scarf in Shoprite
When you are putting green grapes into your cart, don’t
Stop and stare back. Smile, almost too big, friendly,
Have a twinkle in your eye as you say
Excuse me, can I get past? In your most delicate voice.
Make sure to overcompensate.
After you pass, make sure you focus on
Nothing but the fruit aisle.
Knock on the watermelons, and maybe
Look extra intrigued by the color, the shape, the sound.
Do they sound ripe?
Do you know how to check if
A watermelon will be ripe off the sound?
Turn around slowly, but do not look directly at him.
Instead, pretend you heard a sound, upturn the corners
Of your mouth just a bit.
Smile with no reason, and soften your eyes.
Check if he’s still there.
If he’s gone, mind your own business. But prepare for
The dairy aisle, where you might look up and see him again.
Be careful on the way to your car. This is how most stories start.
If he’s still there, carry on, take the other exit out of the aisle.
Try not to care, or let it get to you if
His eyes glare holes into your skull.
You’re here.
You deserve to be here
as much as he does.
A Cup of Chai
Where are the peppercorns?
The ground tea and water simmer
And waft up.
I click the stove fan on
Like clockwork.
The cardamom,
Cloves and peppercorns chase the bubbles
Within frothed milk–a daily affair.
I step out of the house, the smells
Of my culture
Lingering on my clothes.
It is an aroma I cannot replicate
but carry with me in the threads of my being.
And if there was a candle I would light,
Years down the line
When my clothes have lost their scent
And I need to remember home,
It would be this one.
Scented Memories
I note the letters turning into words,
sliding off of the leaves in the morning
Amidst droplets of rain.
I see them in the morning dew, when
the air’s so damp I could cut it with
A blade of grass. I see them slipping off
The balloons while everyone sings happy birthday.
Hands outstretched, I catch them as they fall,
Tuck in my pocket when no one’s looking, and
Carry them home.
They start mix together and formulate
Sentences in my memory.
A distinct fragrance of
Aromas grows stronger by the minute–
Notes of jasmine, honey, lavender, and oud.
I’ll etch these memories onto paper
And when my eyes gloss over these
Words, these stanzas,
I will smell the happiness, the pain, the feeling of
My heart so physically full it could burst.
A Splash of Red
A valley sits between two mountains,
And no sunlight can reach.
We plow the land, wait for the soil to grow,
To find a sign of life, a poppy, a blade of grass.
A splash of color in this world of ours.
The clouds circle, thunderclaps rain down on
These crevices of rock, shrubs, barren grasslands.
You tell me folklore drips from the sharp edges of these mountains, that
You’ve heard stories of this dark place—
We don’t have to set up life here, but we have to
Make it to the other side.
Nothing will grow if we stop here.
I’m not sure I understand. But I take your hand and
We walk across this path,
I step carefully over the seed I’ve planted.
I can’t help but turn back.
To see if I’m imagining
A splash of red,
A poppy
In bloom.
Mariam Khadbai is a cell biology and neuroscience major who graduated in 2024. She was also a creative writing minor, and her interest was sparked after taking creative writing sophomore year. She is from East Brunswick, NJ. She’s a child of two Pakistani immigrants, and loves writing poetry and art to describe her experiences.