Djembe - Concordia College
Djembe - Concordia College
Djembe - Concordia College
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Bryn Homuth<br />
English writing-2012<br />
24<br />
To Admire<br />
She comes to English class at eight-thirty –<br />
prompt – holding a stack of papers to her chest,<br />
hair draped behind in a ponytail, free of a<br />
head scarf. Ekbal – Iraqi refugee, mother,<br />
wife, ten months from Baghdad. We read<br />
together, her voice following mine, my sound<br />
barely released before she starts her own,<br />
drawing confidence from my speech.<br />
When we take breaks, we talk about her husband,<br />
a colonel training troops back home, waiting<br />
to join her. She asks for things too: driver’s training,<br />
a stop at the M&H, an eye doctor – nothing<br />
I can give. But I try. Open a phone book to write<br />
an address, a number, directions, hoping<br />
she’ll hand them to a bus or taxi driver.<br />
Her eyes are in bad shape, too. She stops<br />
to rub them, her slender knuckles digging<br />
at the ache that must be there, fist opening<br />
and closing to motion the pain in her head.<br />
I know that pain too, but it’s in my stomach,<br />
my heart even – every time she apologizes<br />
for a missed word or phrase. She doesn’t know<br />
that I’m impressed by her courage. Courage to learn<br />
a new language, to use what’s natural to another,<br />
to be exposed, alone, like a shell washed ashore<br />
on rocks. Then we’ll start again, some words<br />
not in her dictionary, and she’ll thank me, nod<br />
as I explain a word without words, like charades.<br />
And the time we studied customs, when she paused<br />
at ‘Subway doors.’ Like restaurant? she said,<br />
two hands as C’s to mimic a sandwich. Oh, no, I said.<br />
It’s an underground train. But as soon as I did<br />
I wished I hadn’t, the pride in her posture, the smile,<br />
the speed she moved to jab at the word ran out<br />
like yolk from a punctured egg. Our time is up then,<br />
and she asks if I’ll be there tomorrow. I wish I could be,<br />
if only to watch her pencil in the elegant loops<br />
and fishhooks of Arabic letters. But I just say,<br />
Next week, remember?