Lisp
October 25, 2007
By Aruni Wijesinghe
Elementary School
Every other Thursday afternoon
The year I am in third grade
William O. Schaeffer Elementary
I go to speech therapy to have my lisp corrected
Small cinderblock room no bigger than a closet
Across the hall from the library
Wendy, Andrew Mallon and I meet with the school speech therapist
A middle-aged woman with thick calves and
Perfect elocution
We spend forty minutes reciting words
Full of serpentine “s” sounds
Brows knitted in concentration above pursed child-mouths
Soft susurration accompanies the sound of
Rubber-soled Keds squeaking against industrial gray linoleum
Brightly colored placards glare down at us
Cartoon mouths grimace
Illustrate the proper shapes of vowels
Bite off bits of consonants
The speech therapist is well intentioned
She wills my unruly tongue to repent
Coaxes unwilling s’s from behind
Bared baby teeth
She never realizes
She has been mispronouncing my name since the beginning of the school year
Elongating vowels, misplacing accents
Anglifying the music of my ancient Sanskrit name
I am too ashamed to correct her.
