The Language Inside

  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

  so I scribble

  start to write

      we never asked for them

      they just appear

      like bamboo shoots

  and I stop, realizing that Zena

  coming from Massachusetts

  probably doesn’t know

  how bamboo shoots push up

  through the ground

  how some grow tall as trees in days

  Madoka’s aunt, the one that’s missing

  had a room in her house

  that was closed up and never used

  and once she went in and found vines

  lining walls and a bamboo shoot

  poking up through flooring

  already thigh high

  but Zena is waiting

  so I mess with my words

  and at the top of my paper

  draw a furry bamboo shoot

                           just coming up

  through leafy soil

  I show her the drawing of the shoot

  and the hoelike tool for harvesting

  and read my poem:

      Breasts

      we never asked for them

      they just sprout like bamboo shoots

      then someone comes along

      with a tool

      to harvest them

  I glance at Zena

  and my eyes tear

  and I apologize

  for writing such

  a depressing poem

  Zena looks up

  then at the letter board

  and she spells

  i-t w-i-l-l b o-k

  s-u-r-g-e-o-n-s h-a-v-e b-e-t-t-e-r t-o-o-l-s

  t-h-a-n t-h-a-t

  and I smile a little

  and nod

  I see it’s nearly five

  so I tell Zena I have to go

  even though this isn’t a very

  cheery way to end our session

  Zena doesn’t look up

  I raise the letter board

  and Zena spells

  s-o-o-n n-e-w c-o-m-p-u-t-e-r

  new computer? for you?

  how? I say where’d the funding come from?

  p-r-i-v-a-t-e d-o-n-a-t-i-o-n-s she spells

  wow! I say

  your angels!

  Zena spells

  w-r-i-t-e m-o-r . . .

  more poems?

  she looks up

  and I tell her

  okay, you, too

  and I turn to leave

  but as I step out

  a woman is coming in

  oh, you must be the new poet!

  I’m Emma I say

  nice to meet you, Emma

  I’m Anne, Zena’s sister

  usually here o
n Thursdays or Sundays

  but this week is complicated

  and Anne looks younger

  all gesture and movement

  like Zena is supposed to be

  and suddenly I’m acutely aware

  of all that Zena’s lost

  but then I’m glad for her

  that she has this

                 a visiting sister

  when I find room 427

  and pause at the doorway

  Sam is still writing for Leap Sok

  I listen at the threshold

  to their lilting Khmer words

  glance around the room

  note the bright painting

  of what I think is Angkor Wat

  when I take a step forward

  inside the room

  Chea Pen squints at me

  not quite seeing, it seems

  Leap Sok stops talking

  feebly waves me in

  with what I realize is his only arm

  I apologize for interrupting

  and without thinking

  greet them both by bowing

  respectful Japanese-style

  they all three look at me

  amused

  Sam says some words in Khmer, then says

  you were born in Japan?

  and I say no, but lived there

  since I was a baby

  Chea Pen and Leap Sok look to Sam

  Sam says something to them in Khmer

  and they both start to speak

  Sam says

  they want to know why—

  are you a diplomat’s kid?

  army kid?

  no, my dad works for a Japanese company I say

  my mom teaches at a university

  they met in Japan when they were college students

  studying the language

  Sam translates

  there’s some back-and-forth

  then Sam says

  they want to know about now—

  the earthquake, the tsunami

  did you come back because of radiation?

  I already told them about your mother

  and I’m surprised to know Sam knows about my mother

  but then I remember he sat in YiaYia’s living room

  and he probably learned all sorts of things

  from her

  about us

  about me

  I say no, we didn’t come because of radiation

  our town is far from the damaged reactor

  if my mother wasn’t sick we’d be there

  and I add

  Japan’s my home

  I tell them that our furniture, our things

  are still there in the house

  my cat is still there with my friend

  our home is still there

  just not us

  we’ll go back I say

  when my mother is better

  Sam glances down

  nods

  then Sam gathers his things

  sets the chair against the wall

  has some conversation in Khmer

  and places his hands together raising them

  with a slight bow, muttering something

  and adding in English

  see you next week

  what’s that? I say in the hall

  when you put your hands together

  this? he says

                 and raises his hands

                 palms touching

                 like he did in the room

  sompeas he says

  it’s like a sign of respect—

  when you greet a Cambodian

  you do that and say

  chum reap sour

  I do sompeas

  mumble the words

  try to commit them to memory

  for next week

  outside it has started to rain

  and feels cold enough to snow

  even though it’s only October

  I wrap my scarf around my neck

  and we hurry across the bridge against the wind

  and into the heat of the pizza place

  where we order slices

  and I choose spinach

  which at home I eat as ohitashi—

  a side dish with ground sesame and soy sauce

  but which I’ve never before eaten

  on pizza

  at the table we sit across from each other

  with our slices and sodas

  and I realize I’ve never done this

  sit with a guy I hardly know

  at a restaurant

  without other friends around

  and I’m suddenly nervous

  to fill the silence I name pizza combos in Japan

                 corn and tuna

                 potato mayo

                 teriyaki chicken

  I tell him I like this spinach kind

  that I can’t get in Japan

  but I feel idiotic sitting there with Sam

  babbling on, talking blather

  as Mr. Hays used to say in English class

  I take a breath to slow myself

  then we talk about poems and Zena

  and Sam says there was another poet

  who worked with her for a couple years

  a guy who graduated last year and is now

  at college and that’s why they wanted me

  to work with Zena

  but I’m not a poet I say

  I just write stuff in my journal

  or for school

  whatever Sam says

  if you work with Zena

  you’ll be writing tons of poems—

  that guy who worked with her and

  who I bet is her “sexy man”

  started writing and ended up winning a contest

  and got a scholarship to a university

  where they have a special creative writing program

  I ask Sam what he did with Leap Sok today

  and he says mostly Lok Ta Leap

  was correcting his mistakes in Khmer

  he says his mother has always made him study Khmer

  but it’s not as good as his English

  our high school doesn’t offer Khmer, you know

  that’s why my mother and stepfather

  wanted me to stay in Lowell

  where the high school has it

  at all different levels

  I’m confused—I say

  your mother?

  I thought you lived with your uncle

  I do, but I have a mother . . .

  and a stepfather? I ask

  and a stepfather he says

  plus a father—

  loads of adults

  want one?

  no thanks I say

  I’m good for adults

  and we laugh

  I ask why he lives with Chris

  and not his mother

  or father

  he says

  it’s complicated

  and I think, okay

  note to self:

                 don’t ask about family

  I finish the part with the cheese and spinach

  and I’m chewing my way through thick crust

  when he says

  my mom’s Khmer

  she was supposed to marry a Khmer

  but she worked and went to community college

  then started classes at the university

  where she met my father, Chris’s brother

  then got pregnant

  I nod, set down my crust

  wait for him to continue

  after they got married

  things were okay for a while

  my dad finished school

  got a job
in New Hampshire

  and they moved

  but she hated it there

  so they fought

  and he started drinking

  and she moved back to Lowell

  and I went back and forth

  between New Hampshire and Massachusetts

  then after the divorce she married a Cambodian dude

  and had two more kids

  whoa I say

  when he pauses to

  start in on his second slice

  so how old are they?

  Van, my little brother, is seven

  my sister Lena’s ten

  there’s more he says

  Sam continues

  my dad was kind of a mess

  so I came back to Lowell

  moved in with my mom and stepfather

  but their apartment’s ultra-small

  and I had to sleep in the living room

  because Lena and Van had the other bedroom

  so I stayed out a lot

  messed up in school, drank a lot

  made my stepfather mad

  and my mother didn’t know what to do

  and it all just made me and them crazy

  so finally I ran away

  stayed with the older brother of a friend

  and eventually I called Chris

  and he came and got me

  that was three years ago

  it was supposed to be just temporary he says

  but after a while everyone just

  agreed to let me live there