Wednesday, February 29, 2012

A poem that links some of my deafness to other areas of my childhood

Say Yellow


Yeawoah.  No. Say yellow.
Yeawoah.  No, yellow!
That’s what I said…


My yellow magic blanket;
was in fact magic, my
comforter, always kept cool
or warm, it was what I
requested, protected, projected,
my screen of life, the tangible
wall, the wall that oppresses
till ’89, must fall.  It fell.
it was torn, thread by thread,
lost its magic hold over
me, freedom came, yet,
what is with the change?
The unraveling left me naked,
alone in the dark, no longer
cool or warm. Molten
frost became me. 


Can one hear yellow?
Do colors make sound?
Sound is too mechanized,
there are no purities, nothing
tempered or refined.  Only
time has helped the aids, the
yellow ear-molds show age.
Now I need true yellow, geld,
which is gelb.  The former
now comes green, whereas
gelb is still gelb, albeit
I can’t hear the difference
auf Deutsch.

© T.S. Graveline

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