Saturday, February 28, 2015

Poem: Ideal Apparel for a Sign Language Interpreter (2012)

Because I recently shared this one with my coworkers, who got a kick out of it.

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Ideal Apparel for a Sign Language Interpreter




Can you help me?
Well, I suppose you can try.
I’ve been pawing my way through your racks,
And I have yet to find
Anything dull enough
To suit my needs.

Understand, I professionally form words
On my fingers,
And for those whose eyes
Spend the day listening to them,
My shirt becomes the page
Those words are printed on.

Ah, something in white
With horizontal blue stripes
And a scarlet margin running down the left side;
Clever, I’ll admit,
And if I had a graphite complexion,
It’d be the interpreting answer to Vera Wang.

However, my handmade words
Are Caucasian-colored
And easy to lose on a backdrop
Of light fabric,
Like light-colored text that vanishes
In a lemon-tinted PowerPoint slide.

Pastels won’t do,
But on a canvas of black,
Brown, dark violet, or navy,
Pale, pinkish words
Can be seen without strain.

Solid tones only, please:
Wide swathes of skin-contrasting color
Unbroken by stripes,
Patterns, logos,
Or overly-showy buttons.

This plaid, for example, is far too busy –
I’d rather resemble a blackboard
Than a magic-eye puzzle.

Of course,
Color’s not my only concern;
A laundry list of further limitations
Will crop up when I finally hit
The fitting room.

Take care
That the neckline doesn’t bleed
Too far down the page –
Flesh against flesh
Is murder to read.

Not too tight across the chest –
Sentences written on the air
Require a full range of motion,
And kamikaze flying buttons
Pose a safety hazard.

Careful that the sleeves
Don’t hang too low or loose –
Acrobatically-spelling fingers
Are liable to get tangled up
In an ostentatious cuff.

See that the waist reaches down far enough –
Certain words call for
A somewhat higher elevation,
And I’d prefer not to bare my midriff
Whenever such subjects come up.

I guess what I’m really looking for
Is an ensemble that combines
The pizzazz of a ninja
With the flair of a monk
And the chicness of a makeup-free mime.
Could you kindly point me
Toward that department?

…Ah; I thought not.
No, it’s quite all right – I’ll soldier on by myself.
I’m used to forging my own wardrobe.
So I’ll sift through your spring-color collection,
Panning for the glimpses of charcoal or chocolate
Or, if I’m being especially adventurous,
Deep burgundy, that make the stage
On which my fingers dance
With semantic gymnastics,
And listening eyes can catch
The turn of every word.

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