there’s not much room
for doing what I want
what is it you want to do? I ask
I don’t know he says
but I want to figure it out myself
I tell Samnang
what Zena told me
take control of what you can
and I tell him to call me
if he feels the need to see his father
if it’s really just a need to drink
and then I say
I could go with you
to see him sometime
if you want
I could be there, nearby
he says thanks
and then he’s silent
and I give him more silence
as we go through the pile of fries
the six-pack with one missing
is at my feet as we buckle our seat belts
Samnang turns up the heat
and starts reversing to head out of the lot
but I tell him to drive around
to the back of the diner
when he does I get out
and place the five beers
on the ground by the back door
an offering
then I jump in the car
say go!
and we drive around the front
without being seen
now, take me to Chris and Beth’s I say
then I’ll have Chris drive me home
but Samnang pulls out onto the main road
going the opposite direction from Chris and Beth’s
and says no
no?
no he says
why? I say now nervous
I’ll take you home first Samnang says
then I’ll go home
I didn’t drink, I won’t drink
so don’t you doubt me, too
okay, I won’t doubt you
ever he says
and I’m surprised by this word
he glances at me
slows the car
says it again
softly
ever
and I take a breath and say
ever
Samnang doesn’t go see his dad
and when he and I arrive
at the Newall Center the next morning
chairs and wheelchairs
are already arranged in a circle
and Lin, the rec director
is laughing and chatting with everyone
and I’m beginning, just beginning
to get her jokes
Samnang sits by Leap Sok
I sit by Zena who’s grinning
seated as she is in her chair
radiant, in full mermaid costume
Serey’s between two Cambodian women
and there are a number of
university students, it seems
paired with other patients
the poet introduces herself
and says how happy she is to be with
all of us poets
that she can’t wait to hear
what we’ve been working on
she tells us first
we will go around the room
and read, each read
a poem
or a stanza from a poem
or a paragraph or two from a story
or a section from a memoir
and she looks at each of us students
and says you, too!
aside from Zena
and my English teacher Mr. Hays
and on birthday cards
I have never shared my poems
with anyone
I lean toward Zena
and read over her shoulder
the page displayed on her computer
a poem As a Mermaid
written on her own
with blinks
then we sit
ready
in turn
patients and students
and students for patients
read poems
on all topics—
a bicycle, storms, fingers, memories
in all sorts of forms—
odes, haiku, free verse, even a sonnet
and after each one
people clap and aah
and sometimes whoop
and Zena sometimes growls
and Serey and Samnang
and Portuguese and Spanish and other language speakers
murmur translations to their patients
Serey reads one woman’s memoir scene
about a way to catch fish in a lake
and another woman’s list poem
of things learned from her mother
then Serey reads her own poem
an ode to her kben
which she explains is the long cloth
that is folded and wrapped around the body
and twisted and pulled
between the legs
to make the loose trousers
she dances in
my stomach flutters
as the turns to read
go around the circle
and approach
Zena and me
when it’s Zena’s turn I announce to the group
that Zena wrote her poem by herself on the computer
and everyone cheers
I read from the display:
As a Mermaid
wearing the tail
I can swim
not walk
but good enough
wearing the tail
I can repel
mean nurses
and get away
wearing the tail
I can lounge on the rocks
and watch the world
go by
wearing the tail
I can propel
myself forward
to poems
Zena beams her widemouthed smile
as everyone claps and woots
then it’s my turn
and I release all the air in my lungs
take a huge breath and start
by explaining
that I’m from Japan
was raised in Japan
that I was reading in Japanese
before I was reading in English
and that I just recently moved here
and I’ll show them the kanji as I read
then I read my poem:
Lonely Is
when the language outside
is not the language inside
and words are made of just 26 letters
not parts that tell stories
like sun over birth for star
or four people under a roof for umbrella
or person and heavy and strength for work
when you stare at letters that make up
a word and the letters themselves
are just lines and shapes
that don’t tell stories that join
to create the story of the word
like a hiding sun
is dark
like a long road
is
far
like a heart a long time
endures
everyone claps
Zena growls
and I turn to Samnang
and he’s looking at me funny
your turn I whisper
then Samnang snaps to
and reads for Leap Sok
a Cambodian village memory
in honor of Chea Pen
first in Khmer
then in English
Samnang then
reads his own poem
which he says is maybe not a poem
since he didn’t use line breaks
Coins
My grandmother goes to a friend’s house for coining. The copper coin is rubbed over her back. Red lines appear, swell and sting. The rubbing makes friction. The friction makes heat. The heat battles the cold inside. So she says in Khmer to me.
Coins drop into a jar. Coins are collected and saved. Coins are counted and donated. Coins become cash. Cash becomes a chance for a kid to learn to dance.
In Cambodia no coins were used. I paid with dollars. Sometimes I received Cambodian riel bills as change. But no coins. When I helped my village cousin with his English homework, he practiced his pronunciation. He asked me to say each word, then said it after me. When we got to the word coin, he said, “You know—coin”—making a circle with his thumb and finger—“like you can see in the National Museum.” Then I emptied my pockets and gave him all my quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies.
after the readings everyone cheers
and the poet says she is moved
by what we have all accomplished
then we talk about journeys
the different meanings of the word
and we brainstorm going around the circle
words that come to mind
when we hear the word journey—
airplane
backpack
journal
Puerto Rico
dust
sneakers
hotel
reunion
luggage
sunset
tears
cockroaches
immigration
money
magic carpet
legs Zena says
and I say Tohoku
the poet hands out three poems
that are all about travels and journeys
one called “Enough”
in which the journey
vaguely contemplated
has not yet been taken
another by Maxine Kumin
about running away together to an island
and another by Chinese poet Bei Dao
about standing by a boundary
and wanting to cross to the other side
she says to read these poems
again at home
and for next time
to write a poem or memoir
or something
that has something
to do with travels or journeys
and my mind
is already churning
with ideas
Samnang, Serey and I
leave the Newall Center together
and I sit in back
as usual
we talk about the poems
and the poets
and we’re all jazzed
and I feel like right now
I really, really am lucky
in the backseat I am thinking
I have so much I want to write
and so much more I want to hear—
like, what other poets have to say
and how other poets experiment
and play with words
and now that I know
that everyone
is a poet
or can be a poet
in a way . . .
but I stop thinking poetry
because in the front seat
Samnang is singing along
loud to a Bruno Mars song
and Serey is joining in
and Samnang knows all the lyrics
and whistles
and moves
and he has to slow the car to drive and sing
and do the hand motions
and I nearly pee in my pants
I’m laughing so hard
and I’m so glad to see Samnang
back to himself
after we drive into the center of Lowell
to drop Serey at her house
Samnang turns the car around
pulls over by a curb and says lunch?
and I want to say yes
but I say well . . . kind of slow
because YiaYia said to come straight back
to watch Toby while she takes my mother
shopping for shirts that aren’t tight on her chest
then Samnang says
noodle soup?
and I say
in that case, yes
but then I have to get home
we go to the same restaurant
where we ate with the dance troupe
but this time we take a small table
and I order the Phnom Penh noodle soup
which comes with seafood and meat and stuff
that I like except for the thin slices of
what Samnang calls liver sausage
we have tea
and we don’t talk
until we’re done slurping and drinking
then Samnang says
thanks for your help last night
that was the worst I’ve been
in three years
I thought I was too late I say
I’m going to AA tonight he says
good I say
and remind him he can call me
anytime
and he says
I know
I look at him
and he looks straight back at me
into me
and there’s a calm
between us
we are just sitting, breathing
I think we are smiling
with our eyes
and I feel like we just turned a corner
but I don’t yet know
what’s around the bend
when he pulls up in front of YiaYia’s
I ask him if he’s going to his
dance practice tomorrow
and when he says yes
I ask if I could maybe join in
from, like, next week
learn the folk dances
just following along in the back if it’s okay
and he says he’ll talk to the director tomorrow
I know I’m only here for a year
but I’d like to learn what I can
he thinks it’s fine
and reminds me
the performance is next Friday
so I might have to wait a week or two
to start
I ask if I can watch his performance
if that’s okay with him
and he smiles
shakes his head, says
sometimes Zena’s right
you really are a dodo
he peers into my eyes
and again practically right through me
then he leans over
lightly turns my chin
kisses me
and says
yes
I’m practically flying
when I get in the house
for a minute I just hold still
in the quiet kitchen
breathing
not sure if I should
sit
stand
walk upstairs
or put my arms out
and try to soar
up there
I shout
but no one’s home except Toby
on the computer in Mom’s room<
br />
so I go upstairs and flop onto my bed
delirious
when Mom and YiaYia finally arrive
home from shopping for loose shirts
I’m writing in my journal
I go down to the kitchen
and Mom shows me
first one top with asymmetrical lines
then two loose and billowy
next another smocklike—
and she seems so pleased
and I’m pleased for her
but I’m dying to say
something
about Samnang
to someone
anyone
so when she finally
stops talking about the tops
I’m just about to tell her
that things may have changed
between Samnang and me
when Dad calls
Mom slips into her bedroom
kicks Toby off the computer
and out of the room
and closes the door
and she and Dad have a long
drawn-out conversation
Toby and me trying to catch snippets
from the kitchen
nearly twenty minutes later
Mom comes out
and sits down
YiaYia sets chamomile tea
before her
then me
and Toby’s looking from Mom
The Language Inside Page 17