The Language Inside (58 page)

when I reach Zena’s room I’m surprised

to find Sarah, unannounced

it seems—a class was canceled

and someone in her program had to drive

to UMass Lowell and Sarah caught a ride

my first thought is disappointment

since I’d wanted to talk through my decision

with Zena, to gauge her reaction

seek her guidance

but now I see that Zena

is frustrated with the computer and Sarah

doesn’t know what to do, so I drop my bag

put the good letter board in Sarah’s hands

then turn away, shuffle papers

pretending to hunt for my poems

finally Sarah gets

letter by letter

word by word

the simple things

Zena is telling her

that she likes Sarah’s haircut

that Sarah looks healthy

but should wear a thicker coat

and
b-o-y-f-r-i-e-n-d?

Sarah says

yes, he’s still with me

then Zena spells
w-e-d-d-i-n-g?

and Sarah quips
no, I’m still in school, remember?

a bit more surly than seems fair

so I suggest poems

I ask if Zena has a new one

and she looks up

Sarah hesitates, then pulls a chair over

says
mind if I listen?

and follows along

as I work with Zena

I run my finger down the colors

and rows of letters

and word by word

Zena grows a poem

that makes my throat tighten

but not until I read it aloud

from start to finish

does Sarah suddenly twitch

with understanding

I read:

    
Hair

    
locks around a chubby finger

    
in her mouth

    
shaken about

    
tangled and wild

    
in my face

    
when she’s in my arms

    
or deep asleep

    
on the pillow

    
beside me

    
trimmed with my sewing scissors

    
braided with my fingers

    
toweled dry by my hands

    
brushed and combed

    
dry or wet

    
salty with sweat

    
how I miss

    
her hair

after a moment I say

it’s beautiful

and I so want Sarah to dangle her hair

on Zena’s forehead or say

yes, amazing
or some compliment

but she says
I don’t know much about poetry

I rush to ease the tension, say

well, it’s the feelings you have

when you hear a poem or read it . . . 

like, to me, her poem is

about both being a mom

and not being able

to be a mom

but there’s an awkward pause

that’s long even by my Japanese standards

so I tell them I brought poems

and they both look to me with relief

the first is

a long skinny poem

about patience

being wider than

we expect it to be

I give one copy to Sarah

while I read the other

three times to Zena

since meanings

grow clearer to me

after several readings

I don’t think it’s clear at all

to Sarah though

so I go on to the next one

by Derek Walcott

which is another poem about a fist

this one about a fist around the heart

and falling in love

being like madness

and plunging into the abyss

Sarah seems to like this one

and laughs

and Zena looks up

and growls

then Zena points her eyes at the letter board

and spells

r u p-l-u-n-g-i-n-g?

who, Sarah?
I say

and I glance at Sarah

but Sarah nods to me

then looks to Zena

and Zena gazes straight

at me

me?

and Zena looks up

so I smile

trying to be mysterious

but just then Samnang walks in

and Zena growls

and Sarah laughs

and I

can’t hide

and I look at Samnang

as he moves a step

toward me

and I say

yes, I think I’m plunging

and Zena looks up

and up

and up

when we cross to the pizza place

Samnang puts his arm around me

and I put mine around him

and we are laughing

because I have told him

what Zena’s plunging comment

was all about

and I think

this will be too hard

to leave