For the Sonorous

The morning after the elections results night

I try to tidy up my disheveled living room

Picking up strewn blankets and pillows

As a lone ray of sun knocks on the window

 

I stand and stare at the glinting suspended dust particles

The date for Naturalization looms in close proximity

Just days from reach, that elusive fruit

I had been eyeing for twelve years en route

 

Should I repudiate ties with the country of birth?

Knowing that my deep rooted melanin

Dark brown eyes and thick-tongued accent

Would in this milieu be met with skepticism and dissent?

 

Will I have to ubiquitously register myself?

Sit in surveilled booths in gatherings and stadiums?

Would yellow stars be sewn to my lapel?

A tracking band secured around my ankle?
 

Will my son return home from school

Whole and unbruised as he had left?

Loyalty and sentience, he’ll be asked to pantomime

Else fall prey to slurs and virulent hate crimes

 

Will my folks traversing oceans to see me

Be tousled and paraded in airports

Before being sent on a voyage back home

For reasons unrevealed and unknown

 

Questions, more questions palpitate inside my head

A montage of perturbing visuals floods my eyes

With no answers, no assuages, no assurances

It will be an era of unfathomed endurance

 

Just then, the sun indubitably caresses the coffee table

That houses my Naturalization Exam guide

The coffee aroma wafting in the air warms my insides

The page of Constitutional Rights reflects back the sunlight

 

 

 

Pickle Jar

previously published in The Brown Girl

 

Years ago, I boarded the plane to this propitious land

Wearing my culture and identity around my skinny hand

I was ready to immerse, adapt, emulate and imbibe—

To flow with the river, to follow the wind vibe

 

I abided by the law, learned and followed all the rules

When time permitted I volunteered in schools

Learned to cook cranberry sauce and turkey for Thanksgiving dinner

Hid the pastel eggs in spring, around the neighborhood, for Easter

 

Donned a spooky, tall, velvet, witch hat when it was time for Halloween

While I doled out loads of candy and popcorn to kids and preteens

To celebrate the spirit of Christmas season— so cheery and bright

Adorned my porch with holly and lit up my house every night

 

Every day, packed a lunch of pretzels and apple walnut salad with delight—

So I don’t bother others with the aroma and vapors of my spice

To meld seamlessly into the valuable community

I opened all doors to my heart and soul with amity

​

That time when I returned from my long flight back home—

Sleep ladled in my eyes—fatigue weighing down each muscle and bone

My bags filled with memories passed the X-ray with flying colors

The vigilant dogs on duty did not sniff any suspicious odors

 

My tensed shoulders began to lighten and I heaved a sigh of relief

Thankful —for passing the tedious, but essential ordeal

Then they dug again pulled out a guilty glass jar

Filled with spicy mango pickle from my land afar

 

They shrugged and tossed it into the greedy, gray can of trash—

While I stared, somewhere in my ribcage, I heard a shattering crash

Did not give me a chance, and absolutely no rhyme or reason

They destroyed what my mom nurtured through the summer season

 

She chopped the mangoes; let it cook in the Indian sun.

Shielded it against rain, to pack with me on my return

It wasn’t opium, wasn’t a shiv, wasn’t a bomb

It was just a tiny little piece of my mom

 

She called me later and asked fondly if I liked the pickle

I had to lie; I tried to chuckle as my eyelids began to trickle

“It’s delectable, Mom, the best you made— but I have plenty

Don’t make it next year when the mango trees bear their bounty.”