another in biology
on prokaryotic reproduction
and a Model UN meeting at lunch
so it’s not until I’ve closed my locker
at the end of the day that I realize
I forgot to prepare poems for Zena
in the library
I pull up a website and quick
print out a poem
I found last week
I arrive at the Newall Center late
having missed the bus I normally ride
and Zena is sitting up
in her repaired wheelchair
arms folded tight like birds’ wings
legs hidden under a blanket
and her eyes are fierce
darting from me
to the letter board
back and forth
I pick it up
u r l-a— she spells
late, I know, I’m sorry
and I apologize for missing
the workshop on Saturday
but no one told me
I peel off my jacket
grab the poem I copied
and read aloud—Jane Kenyon’s
“Otherwise” which I’d found
and shared with my mother
who hung it on the refrigerator
declaring
I like this Jane woman—
good attitude!
because my mom knows
that this Jane woman died of cancer
when I first read it on the computer
I liked the little everyday moments
the poet described and seemed to savor
so I now suggest to Zena that we do the same
make an otherwise poem
of simple moments that we savor
but Zena doesn’t look up
finally Zena spells
d-i-d t-h-a-t
you did that already? I ask
and she looks up
what do you mean? I say
with the guy before me?
she looks up again
oh I say
sitting there stunned
the room feeling hotter and hotter
I take off my sweater, unwind my scarf
what should we do then? I say
and I swear she tries to drill holes
in my eyeballs with her glare
do you have a poem in your head? I ask
are you ready to write?
but Zena doesn’t look up
so I think about other poems I read that week
even though my migraine
seems to have blasted my fragments
of poem memory apart
finally I recall one by Garrett Hongo
whose Japanese last name caught my eye
one that told a story of a man, killed
as he put his laundry in his car
so I tell Zena that I like how that poem
tells a story of an actual incident
then reflects on it
and maybe we can do that
Zena scowls
spells n-o p-o-e-m?
I bow, apologize
she spells g-e-t i-t
I try to argue
that we don’t have much time
that I can remember some lines
that I can pull it up on my phone
that I can bring a copy next week
but her eyes are piercing cold
so I go to one of the nurses’ stations
ask if they would do me a favor
go to the poetry website and
please please please
print out a copy of that poem
“The Legend”
they do and I go back to Zena
and read and show the poem to her
I read “The Legend” again and then I wing it
sharing my reaction about
the language the dying man spoke
that no one could understand
and explaining the weaver girl
mentioned at the end
and how she wants to meet the cowherd
which is part of Tanabata
the summer star festival
which we celebrate each year
by hanging paper wishes on bamboo
but still Zena glares
so I suggest thinking of incidents
we can write about and react to
ideas? I ask
she doesn’t look up
I brainstorm out loud
about a time I saw a man offer guidance
to a blind man at a train station
then walked him straight into a pillar
about a time I found a photo album
in tsunami sludge and Madoka’s grandfather
took me to return it to the owner
who gave me a salted plum
about a time I watched a man surfing
with his dog
and finally Zena stops glaring
and her face twitches
into a smile
I tell her the dog had great balance
and barked for more
I suggest we each
think up incident poems
for the next time we meet
I don’t say next week
because, with the surgery
I doubt that I’ll
make it next week
she spells
d-o-n-t b l-a-t-e
I rush out and find Sam
as he’s leaving room 427
you’re late he says
Lok Ta Leap was asking
so I stick my head in
say hello with my hands together
in sompeas like Sam does
kind of like we do in Japan
after tossing a coin into an offering box
or before we eat a meal
but I can’t remember the words
so I just smile
then we walk down the corridors
and out the doors into cold evening
what are the words again?
that greeting?
chum reap sour he says
and I say it over and over
chum reap sour
chum reap sour
chum reap sour
and Sam looks at me
amused
I can give you a ride Sam says
he explains he has Chris’s car
every Wednesday from now on
can take it to school
if he keeps up his grades
which isn’t so easy for me he says
I’m okay discussing
but not writing or analyzing
or comparing and contrasting
I’m better with action
gymnastics
dance
like hip-hop and stuff? I say
yeah
and stuff he says
we walk to the street
where he’s parked the car
and I get in the passenger side
and shut my door
&nbs
p; and all at once
the space feels close
our breath fogging the windshield
seat belts sliding over jackets
Sam turning the key
in the ignition
he pulls onto the road
turns up the fan heater
maneuvers the car
through an intersection
Madoka would never believe this—
me in a car being driven
by a seventeen-year-old guy
I want to ask him to drive me anywhere
except YiaYia’s
but I don’t think that would sound quite right
I tell Sam about the disaster
of a session I had with Zena
how I didn’t think someone
who can only use her eyes
could make me feel so stupid
he tells me that some days are like that
Zena’s not always sweet
the other guy walked out on her twice
eyes show a lot he adds
Cambodian dancers smile
with just their eyes
and I straighten, alert
that’s the kind of dance you do?
Cambodian?
yeah—folk and classical
plus hip-hop
cool I say, not knowing exactly
what Cambodian dance is
but thinking of an Indonesian dancer
who performed at the art museum by the shrine
and Thai dancers at the international school last year
their fingers extending back
their hands fluid, dancing
Sam says
the dance troupe’s great
it keeps me in line
then real quick
he changes topics
next week I can drive you to the Newall Center
just meet me in the school parking lot
and my face goes hot
as I say thanks
wondering
does this mean more
than just a ride?
then I remember
actually I can’t go next week—
my mom’s surgery
oh, right he says
and I want him to say more
or stop the car so we can talk
without jumping topic to topic
without me blathering
because just thinking of that day
and what they’ll do to her
makes me breathe too fast
but Sam’s quiet
headlights and streetlights flash past
and soon we’re at the intersection
where we turn into YiaYia’s neighborhood
and when he slows in front of the house
YiaYia’s already peering out the window
I say thanks and step out
knowing I’ll soon hear
for the third time this afternoon
you’re late
Thursday afternoon at Model UN
my partner, Monica
says Jae-Sun told her
I like one of the gymnasts
gymnasts? I ask
she says yeah
that Vietnamese dude
the one who’s really good—
like, one of the best on the team
oh I say you mean Sam?
he’s Cambodian
oh, well, I was close
anyway, do you?
what? I say
like him? Monica says
and fortunately I don’t have to answer
because just then we are meeting all together again
to go over position papers
and Jae-Sun is within earshot
that night after dinner I’m watching TV with Toby
when I get a text
it’s Sam—
and I don’t know if I’m just tired
from the longer run I did after school
adding an extra loop at the end
or stressing about the surgery or what
but Sam’s words make me tear up
what? Toby asks
when he sees me wipe my eyes
he hits the remote
drops the volume
but I can’t speak
what? he says
I show him the text
chris wants 2 no if you can come 2 din
sat night . . . your whole fam . . . camfood
but that’s good Toby says
I nod
he punches me
baka! he says—jerk!
don’t confuse me
I thought it was more bad news
I rub my arm
wipe my eyes
blow my nose
realizing from the punch
that underneath
Toby worries, too
I text Sam back
sounds good—camfood?
and he answers
cambodian food, dodo
and I laugh and show Toby
and we high-five ’cause
we are both so aching
for Asian food
not that I really know what Cambodian food is like
but I suspect it’s similar to Thai or Vietnamese
which we love
in Kamakura there’s a Vietnamese café
where Madoka, Shin, Kenji and I go
to have pho at tables outside
eating to the kan kan kan sound
of the train crossing
and thinking of that café
and my friends
I’m homesick
but I’m also thinking
of dinner with Sam
and how
if someone offered me a ticket to Japan this minute
maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t want to go back today
because of what I’m looking forward to tomorrow
Mom and Toby are game for the dinner
but YiaYia suggests we go without her
I urge her to come
but I know for a fact
she doesn’t like much Asian food
except teriyaki
which she pronounces terry-ackee
go without me
enjoy
she says
to be honest
I could use a quiet evening
and she winks at me
I call Sam to say thank you and yes
but Chris answers Sam’s phone
Sam Nang’s driving he says
uh-oh I joke
thinking it’s strange
that Chris says Sam’s last name
I tell Chris we can come to dinner
and ask what we can bring
nothing—
Sam Nang’s mom, Lily
will be cooking
with everyone’s help
just bring yourselves
the next night
is a great night
Sam’s mother, Lily, has made
a sweet-and-sour lemongrass soup
that fills my lungs when we enter the kitchen
and while she prepares curried fish she calls amok
Sam, Beth, Sam’s sister Lena and I
make spring rolls
Lily is kind
solid-looking and laughing
strong but funny with Lena and Van
not at all how I’d imagine for a survivor
if your father, sister and brother were killed
and your mother disappeared
when you were young
and you’d nearly starved
and became a refugee
we place shrimp on rice paper rounds
add noodles, greens and scallions
fold in one end and roll it all up
it’s like the gyoza parties at Madoka’s house
where we made dumplings, all kinds—
pork and scallion, cabbage and shrimp
tomato and cheese . . .
we talk as we fill the spring rolls
people come in and out of the kitchen
Mom takes Lena and Van to the dining room
to teach them Japanese handkerchief play
and I ask Lily if she was from the city
or the countryside in Cambodia
she tilts her head as she looks at me
says countryside, first, then Phnom Penh
I ask if she’s been back and she says once
I took Sam Nang, about three years ago
I ask how it was
half to Sam, half to his mother
and his mother tilts her head again
and Sam tilts his head the same way
Sam says different
especially the village
where most of our relatives live
how so? I say
like simple, you know—
no running water, cows walking down the road
dusty, no electricity, lots of kids