Private school, my first day,
was held in a trailer.
American boys sitting
in the back of the class
with flipped up haircuts
fiddling with finger skateboards,
had the girls sitting close enough
and girls sitting far enough away.
In the air, an amount
of candy scented fragrance
was offensive to me.
No eyes met and no words.
Here, the hall director pointed me.
Drudging rubber soles
across a faded blue mat,
I approached the third row
- poorly kept wooden desks.
I did not acknowledge
humanity.
All I saw was old paint
- the cracking blue walls.
Upwards and away were
pinholes, strips of tape, adhesive,
an old wrinkled poster:
Jabberwocky.
The beast, imprisoned behind line.
Text covered the body
made of boxes, blankets,
trash, children's playthings.
I never had imagined
the creature this way,
only as a reptile.

"Excuse me. I didn't get your name."
What is it? - A voice from the rear.
I turned to see a woman
- middle aged - smiling.

I remembered myself.

A slight hunch, disheveled hair,
a remnant of baby fat,
(I didn't play outside.)
tan-ish complexion,
deep, wide, brown oblique eyes
- rimless oval glasses,
school issued white polo
- draping over the body,
embroidered school crest
resting upon my left breast,
(They had grown sizes
to that of developing
girls who sat behind me.)
blue khakis, brown shoes:
all of this housed me.
My body - awkward proportions.

I remembered the room.

I shifted my eyes
towards the scraps of paper
littered along the border
where the wall meets the floor.
My wind cracked lips disturbed.
My monotone voice answered.
My surname - that awkward lisp.
The woman repeated it,
incorrectly.
I nodded indifferently.
I was frustrated.
I couldn't even say
my own name without
horrendously
butchering it
with an untrained tongue
like the one that I had.

She asks if that was right.
"It's whatever you think.
No one ever says it right."