Read The Language Inside Online
Authors: Holly Thompson
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