Poem: Kaitlin Smith’s ‘Deaf in the Summer’

Deaf in the Summer

Noise fizzles,

waits for a catching moment, then—silence.

I slide my hearing aids down

into my jean pocket.

front, to the right, careful.

Today, my hands stretch like twin suns

into a state of being.

The language

I embody

cannot be chained— will not be.

The good fight

is an exchange of communication.

The silence

is just a mosaic collection of misshapen moments; heartstrings

of sound,

some undecipherable, going and returning like saltwater,

always

constant.

Warmth drapes over my shoulders, the sun golden

in its welcome, like an old sweater rediscovered

in a dusty attic.

My hands

return to my side.

Waves crash

on the cut-up shore.

Their cerulean ripples pull love into the glow.

I make the sign for ​happy ​and

exist,

complexly.

Kaitlin Smith is a hard of hearing poet currently residing in Georgia. Her poetry has been featured in the Same, FEEL magazine, and Genre: Urban Arts. Her other interests include photography and debating theoretical multiverse scenarios. She can be found on Twitter (@mskaitlinwrites). Her cat is her biggest fan.