Ignoring Mommy and Daddy—at least that’s what they think.
I played alone in sunny silence with my dolly.
Strapped to a board thin enough to iron on,
I was wheeled into an operating room for tubes in my ears.
Church organs blaring, me staring. A first. Mommy crying.
The letter S gets stuck in my mouth‚ but I could hear it just fine.
Ronald McDonald dedicates his signed photo “to Kirten.”
Hearing aids help but get shoved in a drawer.
So embarrassing, really, the being different, feeling needy.
Middle ear carved in. Rebuilt in just eight hours.
Better but not perfect.
Sally sells seashells by the seashore.
I cried in alarm when I realized there were boys waiting
in a closet to hurt me, I couldn’t hear them—don’t you see?
The whisper of safety is just out of reach,
no matter how hard I strain to listen.
In college, I sat in the front row not to miss a thing,
except discussions happening behind me were everything.
Finally, a new hearing aid for my right ear purchased by my mother.
Two years later, one for my left, a gift from my father.
What is that drop drop drop sound I hear outside?
The rain, the rain!
I sit on my front porch and cry.
A college graduate by 25. It’s never too late to feel safe and alive.
