Read The Language Inside Online

Authors: Holly Thompson

The Language Inside (33 page)

BOOK: The Language Inside
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I ask Zena if she has an incident poem

and she looks up

but then she points with her eyes

not at the letter board

but at what I realize is a screen

attached to her chair

and I move around so I can see it

and gasp to realize it’s a computer

with eye tracking? oh my God!

have you used it?

a l-i-t-t-l-e
she spells slowly

moving her eyes

blinking to select letters

on the screen

l-e-a-r-n-i-n-g

cool!
I say
but be patient, okay?

new computers can be a pain

and I’m sure this is way more complicated

Zena looks up

 

then Zena spells that she’s
t-i-r-e-d

and indicates she wants to use the letter board

so I follow the rows of colors

and write down her poem

picking up on the pattern

saving her having to spell

the same phrases over and over

Zena spells:

    
My Sister

    
my sister said isn’t she still in there?

    
the doctor said no

    
my sister said isn’t it possible her brain is fine?

    
the doctor said no

    
my sister said I think she’s crying

    
the doctor said no

    
my sister said I think she’s angry

    
the doctor said no

    
my sister said Zena’s in there, I know it

    
the doctor said no

    
but the OT said well, maybe she is

    
the OT said Zena, you look up when you mean yes, okay?

    
my sister said Zena, are you in there?

    
and I looked up and told her

    
yes

 

I read it aloud all the way through

look up
OT
on my cell phone

and skimming again

I feel my throat catch

Zena, is this true?
I whisper

Zena looks up

I say

what a sister

and that OT . . . 

man, they were definitely your angels!

and Zena looks up

I read it aloud again

and tell her I’ll type it up

for her

 

then I take out the two poems I found online

just before Samnang picked me up

one, by a Kaylin Haught

which now seems even more appropriate

about God saying yes

to this girl about things like

wearing nail polish

and being short

all in this hilarious voice

that Zena loves

and another poem

that I read aloud twice

about a person painting a room

before leaving one country

to start a new life in another country

in the poem

there’s a window

that seems to represent promise

               or possibility

and I tell Zena I like that part the best

and I thought we could write poems about

what we’d like to see through a window

 

I do what Mr. Hays used to do

when he gave us writing prompts

and suggest we just think

for a few minutes

and while we do

I stare out her window

               to a band of sky

               above tops of bare trees

               behind renovated mills

and think

of what I’d like to see out that window—

               the silhouette of Mount Fuji

               as the sun slides into it

               like a coin into a bank

               the way we’d see it from the

               seawall at the marina

               while
Yuyake koyake
chimes

               on the loudspeakers

               tell kids it’s time to go home

 

then I’m thinking of what I’d like to see

from Madoka’s grandparents’ windows

               trees with new green

               garden walls repaired

               piles of debris

                         gone

and my thoughts jump around

from Kamakura

to Tohoku

to my mother

to Samnang

and Serey . . . 

then I ask Zena if she’s ready and she looks up

so I start listing the colors and letters

and she begins to spell her poem idea

 

Zena spells:

    
What I See

    
the window

    
frames a view:

    
young woman

    
with husband

    
two small children

    
flanking them

    
an older man and woman

    
proud grandparents

    
all posing for a photograph

she stops

I say

is that the end?

and she looks up

 

I’m reading it over again

then notice she’s staring at the letter board

so I put my finger to it and say the colors

she spells
y-o-u-n-g w-o-m-a-n i-s u

me?
I say

and then I get it—

               the future

               the far future

               with my mother in it

and I nod and smile

well, then who’s my husband?

s-e-c-r-e-t

Zena spells

and growls with her

mouth wide

BOOK: The Language Inside
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