Cold meat, humming refrigerator; Smell of spices reign the kitchen; Ingredients for tonight’s meal spread on the marble counter. Quiet nights make it easier for me to cook and think— How tired I am; how talented my coworker is; How incredibly smart my classmates are; How beautiful she looked today—everyday; how tired I am. Wash the soaked meat thoroughly, Its soft flesh reminds me to shave For tomorrow’s skirt wear. Sliced meat, chopped greens and mixture of spices Results in a homemade meal; A meal for the heart rather the body. The first bite is to review the taste; It’s the second that makes me appreciate my work. I wonder if she noticed me today; Perhaps I should be the first to initiate conversation. Phone buzzes in silent—mama is calling: Probably to complain about the heat, or about my father. I remind myself to call her later. Pile of homework at desk, I grow tired thinking of them. Call mama tomorrow. The last bite always feels heavy, as if bidding a heartfelt goodbye. Dirty dishes, wash later at night. Lots to do today, lots to do every day.
Fariza Farid Memon is an emerging writer from Pakistan, who is passionate about reading fiction, writing poetry and short fiction based on nature and human condition, and drinking tea. In her spare time, she enjoys watching clumsy cats.
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