when I was in fourth grade.

She was just with us for two months,

and then my mother decided that

the cat “wasn’t working out.”

The cat loved my mother best.

I’ve heard cats always love best

whoever loves them the least.

Blackie would kill mice and baby birds,

and she’d offer them to my mother

as her most precious gifts.

My mother would shudder and gag

and tell my dad, “Take it away, James.

Please. Please. Just take it away.”

I look over at Lizard right now

beaming about how happy our project

is going to make my mother,

and somehow I have a terrible feeling

this is going to be like Blackie the cat

all over again.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

That’s what my mother says.

“Are you two kidding me?”

That’s what my mother says,

and now it’s more like my mom

is Blackie the cat,

and Lizard is the soon-to-be-eaten mouse

and I’m the soon-to-be-eaten baby bird.

“A language is a living, breathing thing!”

That’s what my mother says.

“It’s the heart of a culture.

It’s the soul of an entire way of life.

The languages I study

are the lifeblood of actual human beings,

usually Indigenous people,

who have already lost their land

to invasion

and colonization

and capitalism

and globalization

and the wickedness of sheer greed,

and now they’re losing their language, too.

These are people

who are losing

everything!

This is an unspeakable human tragedy, girls!

This is not a game!”

The Whole Time My Mom Is Talking

I can’t make myself look at Lizard.

But now I do.

My friend

who never ever cries

is crying.

Between Choking Sobs

“We—were—just—trying—to—help!”

Lizard gasps.

“We—even—made—a—club—

and advertised it with fifty posters—

and had special refreshments—

and decorations—

but—nobody—came.”

Her face is twisted.

Tears are streaming from her eyes.

Snot is streaming from her nose.

“We’ve—been—practicing—so—hard—

even—though—no—one—else—would—

do—it—with—us!

Veronica—and Zoey—and Zari—

none of them cared about it—

nobody cared but us!”

She isn’t even bothering

to wipe the tears and snot away.

Lizard forces the words out:

“This wasn’t a game!

It wasn’t a game to me!”

I Can Tell My Mother Feels Terrible Now

“Lizard, Lizard,

don’t cry like that—

you’ll make yourself sick.

Lizard, it’s all right.

I didn’t mean for

my tone

to be so harsh.

It’s just that

no language

can be saved

by having

two people

who aren’t part of

that community,

that culture,

that tradition,

that history,

learn a few words

to say to each other

once in a while,

thousands of miles away

from the land

and the people

whose language

this is.

I can see now

that you were just

trying to help.

But that’s not