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

Say Yellow

            1

Yeawoah.  No. Say yellow.

Yeawoah.  No, yellow!

That’s what I said…

Nevermind.

            2

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. 

            3

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