The Language Inside (18 page)

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 on 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