“The Power of Beauty” | Tatyana Hall ‘23

Isma

Samaya Goodwin ‘23

The following story was inspired by Kamila Shamsie’s “Homefire” Isma awakes to a pounding at the door of her enclosed apartment. Isma climbs out of bed with the crust of night still fighting with her eyes.Who is awake at this ungodly hour, Isma thinks to herself as she prepares to waddle to the door half asleep. The room that is usually filled with white light is now covered by the darkness of the night. Isma flicks the lights on, but the brightness is too inviting for eyes so she turns them off. As she gets closer to the door, Isma makes her final adjustments. Isma rubs the last remnants of sleep out of her face and throws on her turban.

“Dr. Hira Shah?” Isma questions as she opens the door and throws off her turban. Dr. Hira Shah storms into the apartment kicking off her shoes, but she still hasn’t said a word. The silence makes Isma uneasy, but she chooses the silence over noise. The rain pounding on the skylight soothes the fiery anxiety building up in the pits of Isma’s stomach.

“Tea?” Isma asks Dr. Hira Shah.

“Please, but I’ve come here for more important things.” Dr. Hira Shah’s words come out dry. Walking over to the stove, Isma reflects on the tone the doctor used, full of an energy unknown to Isma. Isma was used to a warm and loving energy from her mentor, but something felt different. Hira Shah looked different. Her hair was untamed, her clothes were rags, and she just didn’t look like the sophisticated and put together figure that Isma had admired for so long.

“Two spoons of sugar?” Isma smiled, trying to lighten up the gloomy aura that started to settle into the air.

“Isma…” she heard those four letters differently. The letters sound like an unknown tune to her ears, but somehow she still knows the melody. “I don’t know how to say this but Eamon and Aneeka are dead.” Isma froze. Multiple thoughts came into Isma’s head at once. First Paravaiz died and now Aneeka has followed in his footsteps. The two kids Isma mothered into adulthood are gone and soon to be forgotten. The same invisible mourners will come for Aneeka as they did for Parvaiz. Two pieces of Isma’s heart are now gone, and it left her heart completely broken into two, but in an instant Isma’s mourning was cut short. [...]

Read the full story in PUB’s online magazine at sites.google.com/sch.org/pub 36 Pub

Miss Celie

Samantha Simon ‘23

The following poem was inspired by Alice Walker’s The Color Purple Dear God, She writes. At home she suffers abuse From supposed loved ones For women are either monsters who seduce Or domestic slaves Meant to cook and clean a cave

Dear God, She writes. She isn’t somebody But only A body

Dear God, She writes. Her daddy calls her ugly And she believes him His hateful dominance rooted in pain For he too Was once in chains

Dear God, She writes Why is this happening to Such a good girl to be alive She cannot fight She can only survive

Dear God, She writes. She’s no longer a good little girl She’s a good little wife But what’s the difference If both fear for their life

Dear God, She writes, Her sister stripped away Now she’s alone with him And all she can do is pray To a god who don’t look like her

Dear God, She writes. But she does not say Through her childhood Her mouth slowly molded into clay So she never speaks out Never questions the men Who make her doubt Her voice and her beauty

Dear God, She writes. Her pains will never go away But still one southern day She abandons survival And chooses to fight

Now, Dear Nettie, She writes. To the white man’s dismay There is a god who looks like her To whom she can pray

Dear Nettie, She writes. The prison that he constructed Was simply a mental one In which he will be abducted Or has he been already?

Dear Nettie, She writes. Her mouth of clay is slowly breaking She is learning to accept her voice And in turn he is aching, quaking His power is no longer her defining force Her own truth she is making

And finally one day: Dear Nettie, She gets to say, I am the color purple as god created me I am beautiful And I am free