by Marquise Griffith
This poem is about my experience as a deaf Black boy, receiving hearing aids, and adjusting to the ways I had to exist within a white supremacist and hearing world.
II.
Some weeks or months later
I was sitting in a plastic chair
and told to be still while
the specialist inserted my first
pair of hearing aids. I wanted
them out but was told I needed
to wear them. I had to let it happen.
I.
I remember the squishiness
the mold gun injected
into my ears. Just 3 years old, not knowing
what was happening. Only the cold
bubblegum pink resin filling
my ear canal. I felt like
I was being buried alive.
IV.
like Simba
to the hyenas at
the Elephant Graveyard
I distract them.
But I know I stand
out. I imagine
my superhero and what could be
III.
I’m in Headstart. Waiting
in the line at a drinking fountain.
The other kids gawk
at my aids. I’m unsettled.
But I was wearing a hoodie
so I pulled it over my ears.
“I’m a lion!” And I roar
VI.
Mom said respectable Black
boys and men keep
their shoes clean,
their clothes ironed,
say, “ma’am” and “sir”
and, most importantly,
keep their hair short.
V.
Batman, Spider-Man,
The Power Rangers:
they all wear
masks to protect
themselves. Even
Samson had long hair
that covered his ears.
VII.
Now a grown man,
my respectable
hair reaches
past my shoulders.
Sometimes the tips
of my aids are caught
in my dreads.