Deviation Actions
Daily Deviation
Literature Text
Dad would ask so many questions I hated interpreting
for him hands stuck on refrain it wasn’t that my parents were deaf
but that other parents could hear I found that strange we had to move
our bodies to speak there was no yelling down the hall dinner table laughter
left Dad wondering we spent our time repairing
words with our hands we were a family of mechanics and everything was work
I respected my mother. She was Polish
the same way my father hated women:
it was in their blood. After their divorce,
she raised us alone. Four kids by choice –
no birth control in this Catholic house,
no help from dad. We all knew distance.
Mom gathered the deaf community as she would children she’d always worked
her own personal ministry she transformed the Holy Mass lent interpretation
to them translated the Word of God maybe even repaired it
they bodysung the hymns flurries of fingerspeech the symphony of the deaf
applause like peppered jazz light-plays with twisting palms gasping laughter
silent jokes singing with their whole bodies a careful idiom of movement
They all knew I would go long-distance:
the only college graduate from our Polish
Michigan family, I never found any house
rough enough to settle. I wasn’t a woman
to follow my sisters. Not ready to choose
anything but a constant state of divorce.
She spoke in couplets advised between the pauses Don’t move
Family is everything Never forget to pray God does His work
Be thankful had a face like Doris Day her spacious laugh
direct from the throat clear speech spent time interpreting
lips like letters Braille of the tongue sight-reading for the deaf
one doctor told her he could salvage 60% but she refused repair
My mother told me about the divorce
& I was happy. She’d kept a distance
between us even still. It was a choice,
she’s said, that she regrets: the Polish
habit of diffidence. Her womanhood
carried on that lonely, broken house.
Dad took things apart knew the way they fit together knew how to repair
anything by touch felt the gears felt the way they moved
against each other explored for the severance inside navigated deafness
with the tactile loved to use his hands he was always working
a neighbor once asked him to mend her sidewalk she couldn’t interpret
his gentle mumbling the smile on his face his private laughter
Four kids & our mother in one house
didn’t leave much room. The divorce
moved us into the city, a one-woman
act fresh from the suburbs, distant
& white. My mother made Keilbasa;
cabbage when we had no other choice.
Walking conversations were difficult had to keep a clear path if we laughed
we’d miss each other I learned rapt attention was constantly repairing
broken eye contact the body interprets
other bodies translates vibration every slight motion
Dad could feel it in his feet Mom in the air they worked
to keep us in their sights when other senses failed when both were born deaf
We bullied the nanny. Mother chose
to take us four to the Orphans’ House
& told us that on her family’s Polish
name that she would leave & divorce
herself of us. We hated the distance
that would mean & loved the woman.
I lost sign language fluency moved away at eighteen once told a deaf
old woman at a funeral that she was a loser meant to sign “headlight” she laughed
but I couldn’t bear the shame I’d lost my parents tongue had to work
to say anything lost more than words hands can be repaired
so I stumbled through the alphabet fingers moved
slower now trusted my brothers instead their quicker interpretations
My mother showed me what a woman
could be. She said I always had a choice,
said I never had to stay. I could distance
myself however far I needed. Her house
would always be open. After her divorce,
all she had was us. Us & her Polish blood.
Most of my family interprets always in conversation with the deaf
made work out of it makes me think: is it even reparative
to fix their language? Their deft movements? My parents silent at the table hands laughing
The Polish keep our curly-haired women
close by. We keep divorces final, keep choice
alive. The house, the family, the quiet distance.
a conversation
When Dragons Die
compare
My parents both grew up in Saginaw, Michigan down the street from each other. They've been together in some way, shape, or form for 48 years.
M