{"id":4585,"date":"2024-07-03T01:05:06","date_gmt":"2024-07-03T01:05:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/?page_id=4585"},"modified":"2024-12-31T22:37:41","modified_gmt":"2024-12-31T22:37:41","slug":"the-fruit-aisle","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/vol-5-winter-2024-2025\/the-fruit-aisle\/","title":{"rendered":"Four Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Mariam Khadbai<\/em><\/h4>\n
\n

 <\/p>\n

The Fruit Aisle<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If you see someone staring at your scarf in Shoprite<\/span><\/p>\n

When you are putting green grapes into your cart, don\u2019t\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Stop and stare back. Smile, almost too big, friendly, <\/span><\/p>\n

Have a twinkle in your eye as you say<\/span><\/p>\n

Excuse me, can I get past? In your most delicate voice.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Make sure to overcompensate.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After you pass, make sure you focus on<\/span><\/p>\n

Nothing but the fruit aisle.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Knock on the watermelons, and maybe<\/span><\/p>\n

Look extra intrigued by the color, the shape, the sound.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Do they sound ripe?<\/span><\/p>\n

Do you know how to check if\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A watermelon will be ripe off the sound?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Turn around slowly, but do not look directly at him.<\/span><\/p>\n

Instead, pretend you heard a sound, upturn the corners<\/span><\/p>\n

Of your mouth just a bit.<\/span><\/p>\n

Smile with no reason, and soften your eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

Check if he\u2019s still there.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If he\u2019s gone, mind your own business. But prepare for\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The dairy aisle, where you might look up and see him again.<\/span><\/p>\n

Be careful on the way to your car. This is how most stories start.<\/span><\/p>\n

If he\u2019s still there, carry on, take the other exit out of the aisle.<\/span><\/p>\n

Try not to care, or let it get to you if<\/span><\/p>\n

His eyes glare holes into your skull.<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019re here.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You deserve to be here\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

as much as he does.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

A Cup of Chai<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Where are the peppercorns?<\/span>
\n<\/span>The ground tea and water simmer<\/span>
\n<\/span>And waft up.<\/span>
\n<\/span>I click the stove fan on<\/span>
\n<\/span>Like clockwork.<\/span><\/p>\n


\n<\/span>The cardamom,<\/span>
\n<\/span>Cloves and peppercorns chase the bubbles<\/span>
\n<\/span>Within frothed milk–a daily affair.<\/span>
\n<\/span>I step out of the house, the smells<\/span>
\n<\/span>Of my culture<\/span>
\n<\/span>Lingering on my clothes.<\/span>
\n<\/span>It is an aroma I cannot replicate<\/span>
\n<\/span>but carry with me in the threads of my being.<\/span><\/p>\n


\n<\/span>And if there was a candle I would light,<\/span>
\n<\/span>Years down the line<\/span>
\n<\/span>When my clothes have lost their scent<\/span>
\n<\/span>And I need to remember home,<\/span>
\n<\/span>It would be this one.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Scented Memories<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I note the letters turning into words,<\/span><\/p>\n

sliding off of the leaves in the morning<\/span><\/p>\n

Amidst droplets of rain.<\/span><\/p>\n

I see them in the morning dew, when\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

the air\u2019s so damp I could cut it with<\/span><\/p>\n

A blade of grass. I see them slipping off\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The balloons while everyone sings happy birthday.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Hands outstretched, I catch them as they fall,<\/span><\/p>\n

Tuck in my pocket when no one\u2019s looking, and<\/span><\/p>\n

Carry them home.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They start mix together and f<\/span>ormulate <\/span><\/p>\n

Sentences in my memory.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A distinct fragrance of\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Aromas grows stronger by the minute\u2013\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Notes of jasmine, honey, lavender, and oud.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019ll etch these memories onto paper <\/span><\/p>\n

And w<\/span>hen my eyes gloss over these<\/span><\/p>\n

Words, these stanzas,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I will smell the happiness, the pain, the feeling of<\/span><\/p>\n

My heart so physically full it could burst.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

A Splash of Red<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A valley sits between two mountains, <\/span><\/p>\n

And n<\/span>o sunlight can reach.<\/span><\/p>\n

We plow the land, wait for the soil to grow,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

To find a sign of life, a poppy, a blade of grass.<\/span><\/p>\n

A splash of color in this world of ours.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The clouds circle, thunderclaps rain down on\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

These crevices of rock, shrubs, barren grasslands.<\/span><\/p>\n

You tell me folklore drips from the sharp edges of these mountains, that<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019ve heard stories of this dark place\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

We don\u2019t have to set up life here, but we have to<\/span><\/p>\n

Make it to the other side.<\/span><\/p>\n

Nothing will grow if we stop here.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m not sure I understand. But I take your hand and<\/span><\/p>\n

We walk across this path,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I step carefully over the seed I\u2019ve planted.<\/span><\/p>\n

I can\u2019t help but turn back.<\/span><\/p>\n

To see if I\u2019m imagining\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0A splash of red,<\/span><\/p>\n

A poppy\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In bloom.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Mariam Khadbai<\/strong> 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.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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\u2019t\u00a0 Stop and stare … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2513,"featured_media":0,"parent":4318,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-4585","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nFour Poems - Writers House Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/vol-5-winter-2024-2025\/the-fruit-aisle\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Four Poems - Writers House Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"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\u2019t\u00a0 Stop and stare … Read More\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/vol-5-winter-2024-2025\/the-fruit-aisle\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Writers House Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2024-12-31T22:37:41+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"3 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/vol-5-winter-2024-2025\/the-fruit-aisle\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/vol-5-winter-2024-2025\/the-fruit-aisle\/\",\"name\":\"Four Poems - 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