Sticky Fingers
Sticky Fingers
The first time I knew I was stupid,
I went to kindergarten and couldn’t figure
out how to pronounce my name. Forced
to sit on my hands, dirt caked the back
of my throat and soon turned mud as tears
slid down my cheeks. Who am I without
my mother tongue pooling like honey
in my palms? What will I learn to say
when my fingers run dry and my voice
begs to be used?
In Sign Language, certain words
do not exist. To, be, am, from, of,
are empty shells in my brain.
And like all little deaf girls,
I was used to my hands
molding vases to hold words
my lips have not yet learned–
I was a potter in a room full
of musicians.
When I was a kid, my mom
told me if I grew enough leaves
I’d touch the sun. In every new
syllable that kissed my tongue,
I grew branches and roots, bark,
and sap. I fought through many winters,
to live in this spring. And somehow the closer
I get to the sun, the more I realize she
burns too.
Copyright © Lauren Lee | Year Posted 2023
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