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.