Growing Up Silence

too young the illness to hear


the origin story

taken ill visiting my great-uncle Alan thought soon die

give me painkillers

restless condition admitted to hospital

a coma

no apparent ill effects, no reaction

floor playing toys calls, “Pita?”

not turn to face

behind me, and clapped

something wrong

not hear her


mythology

great-uncle Alan lived the next twenty seven years

struck a bargain

give him more life

the price: hearing

died, a rainbow

kindly gentle smiling crinkled


don't ever without technology

float disconnected

that happened, but not how they sounded

Silence is all-pervading

Sound a compromise

a part I strap on

to my chest in a X-harness

teacher a large radio microphone neck

strike us on the head

when Wendy bent over

all the same because strapped to our chests


bone conduction

keys clicking

closing the door downstairs as she comes home

wind knocking the door against the wall

heavy vehicle passing by

sounds in my bones


keys clicking

plug in cochlear implant

clack


reverberating front door

quivering aftershocks as ripples

the frame of the house

up to the right of the door.


wind bangs the window, the door

slams the bedroom doors beneath

a visitor has arrived


regular visits various adults

hearing aids calibrated after a hearing test

correct the whistling

count the number of holes in the sound

plastic toys and jig saw puzzles

endured

injected into my ears.

being filled up completely

sad when it had hardened and been removed.


a pressure that never stopped pressing

swimming in a constant stream


I was the only Deaf person there.

Itinerant teachers camein the small resources

School Journal boxes and sundry other

extra one on one reading

Mrs. White.


speech therapy

burnt down

a vacant lot.

Pebble

I sit here, a pebble
sheer gravity keeps me down
come like a naughty child
kick me around
pick me and see how far
I can bounce on water
for a moment or two
make me fly!

Majuscule

I would like to make it clear
That if there is a Revolution
And my ex-lover commandant
With the heart of Robespierre
Were to appoint me to some post
Of Orthographic Reform
I would not consider
The suppression of capital letters
A necessity
And the upper cases could live on
In their serifs and furs
This doesn’t mean
A few heads wouldn’t roll
And others wouldn’t be forced
To flee the city
In the wake of my gathering war
On the sweet and fuzzy ellipsis
But the capitals can stay
Cutting off your king’s head
Is no braver than its opposite
And my sentences are as strong, and untrue
As my love for the Revolution and
Its laws not laws