My third poem for Thursday April 10 2025 HER HANDS WROTE A POEM IN THE AIR Jill

[jill stockinger]

Dear Compadres,

I don't THINK I shared this for discussion already! Too many classes, too little time!

If I did share it already, then we certainly won't discuss it again, and I apologize.

I did make SOME changes to this poem two days ago!

Jill

HER HANDS WROTE A POEM IN THE AIR      by Jill Stockinger

 

The speaker's hands flutter,

push, pull, frame

her face. Fingers

fluidly change

positions like a dancer

flowing through steps

of a ballet.

I want some way

to have her poem.

My frustration mounts.

What is she saying?

How unfair that

I don't understand.

 

A world with sound

is the world I hear.

Silence reigns

in the world of the deaf,

but her hands speak

volumes.

Body movement

and facial expressions

changing quicksilver fast

punctuate her lines.

In her world,

I am the deaf one.

 

Realization dawns.

I can learn American 

Sign Language.

It's taught as a language

in colleges these days.

But deaf people

cannot learn to hear

what the world is busy

saying, yelling,

singing, sharing, 

that endless flow of sounds.

 

Centuries of music, human voices, 

trills of birds, the roar of ocean, children's 

cries, cascading chimes, shrill

whistles, a cat purring,

the teakettle's whoosh, clacking

trains, warnings of danger, 

laughter among friends.

I fall silent,

ashamed of my complaint,

facing their silent world.