It’s

Nelda Ault

late november in
northern Utah, the mostly naked trees
wear only bated breath as they
brace themselves for the cold to come.
november seeps through the concrete
walls of this basement classroom,
dripping down in trails of lacy frost.
i’m standing at the front, wash
of chalk dust and box elder
bug carcass floating behind me.
the radiator clangs
like a mouse in chainmail
tripping over wrenches and other
small metal implements that
must be strewn about haphazardly
in there.
the fluorescent lights buzz and
my two unlikely students take their
seats—one in the Desk of
Love (with i Y brad pitt carved
into it), and the other in
a plastic chair from the seventies.

it’s my mama, and
hers.
three women who haven’t been
in the same room for seventeen
years.

i hesitate, shuffling my papers
nervously, as the two of them
murmur words pasteled with
ocean and coconut and
sunshine through mango leaves.
my grandmother’s dark eyes sweep the
room, as if assessing the illumination,
turmoil, political typhooning that
occur almost daily in here.
her youngest daughter shifts in the plastic
chair, examining the
radiator mouse,
the disorder of the room,
and probably
my dirty running shoes too.

i’m at the front, standing tall,
looking white, with more college
education than both of them, and,
even so, i can’t find
the words to even begin.
under the gaze of these pairs of eyes,
how do i explain about
a girl named ED,the peculiar female silence,and that THE PERSONAL IS POLITICAL?

how to explain that wanting
what they have
(family, children,
a niche that makes a difference in
the world)
is so very different now than
it once was? these
two women, two of
the reasons i’m standing here, are
the ones whose knowing comes from
living—a vastly different reality
than my knowing
from reading. and who am i to be
teaching them?

just before i gather my
things to leave,
my grandmother’s sweeping
eye catches mine, and i look up.

my mama and hers, knowing I have
books behind my head and still more to learn,
smile together, like the San Diego day
i took my first step.

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