The Language Inside (17 page)

he seems to think it will be there for him

just hanging there

in the closet

waiting for him

whenever he wants to put it back on

later, before I go to sleep

in my journal I write a short poem

    
lonely is when the language outside

    
isn’t the language inside

    
and words are made of just 26 letters

and I wonder if

I should make it longer

then maybe one day

show it to Zena

or read it

at one of those workshops

at the Newall Center

the day before my next session

at the Newall Center

I text Sam on the cell phone

               that Toby and I are supposed to share

               but that I’ve claimed

asking if we can talk

maybe have pizza

after our writing sessions

before Chris picks us up

Sam replies
sure

that day I also have dance club

and even though so much

is new to me

the captain Tracy

compliments me

on how fast I pick up

the moves

and on my style in the

catch steps

and height in the

fan kicks

and then the other girls

and the two guys in the club

start to talk to me

a little more

and the whole rest of the day

seems easier

on Wednesday

in my bag for the Newall Center

I put poems printed from websites

and copied from anthologies that

the school librarian helped me find—

one by Billy Collins

about tying a poem to a chair

to beat the meaning out of it

another by Li-Young Lee about his father

watching his mother put up her hair

and one by Lucille Clifton about hips

which is the one I decide to start with

because I think it will make Zena smile

especially that last line

and it does

her mouth goes wide

she does that throaty growl

and spells
a-g-a-i-n

after I read the hip poem again

I read Li-Young Lee’s

about putting up hair

then I ask Zena what we should

write about today

and she spells

b-r-e-a-s-t-s

I hold my breath

try to keep from blurting

in Japanese I’m good at controlling my words

but in English it’s like I leave the gate open

and words dart out before I can catch them

so this time I close the gate on

the
no, anything but breasts

that I want to say

then after a pause

a few breaths

I say
well, okay

as long as we don’t take turns

as long as she goes first

for a while I just say the colors of the letter board

               watch her eyes

               write the letters

               guess the words

the poem grows

and it seems Zena

has been thinking

about breasts all week

ever since I told her why

we moved here

Zena spells

    
14 Ways of Looking at a Breast

    
baby sanctuary

    
young girl’s embarrassment

    
sexy woman’s blessing

    
melon, nectarine, boob, bazoonga

    
permanent protuberance

    
excuse for lingerie

    
cause for coverage

    
bull’s-eye

    
nourishment

    
comfort

    
source of pride

    
source of cancer

    
gravity’s friend

    
half of a pair

    
but like eyes

    
even one

    
is better

    
than none

when she reaches the end

Zena looks exhausted, resting

then she glances at the letter board

and spells
u

me?
I say

she looks up

on breasts?

she looks up again

I’m not sure about this

I don’t have any ideas

I tell her I’ll think for a bit

scribble a while

then share