The Offender

??

He knows I am deaf.

He knows that his whisper

Shattered my eardrums one night.

I read his lips,

The softly forming words

That ride the airwaves

And hover around my ears,

Creating a mild, humming

White noise.

I read his lips,

The ovals and the circles,

The tongue touching the palette,

Grazing the teeth.

Now there is a pout,

Now there is a frown,

Now there is a smile,

Now there are words,

Words of Mozart’s music,

Words of flutes and oboes and violas,

Words of me and of him,

Words of orange sunsets and memories.

??

Now there is nothing

As he calls his words back,

And they ride the airwaves,

Disappearing into his mouth.

He steals everything he says

From my sight.

He mumbles,

Half-forms his speech,

Covers his mouth

With his rough hands

Before he speaks.

And I narrow my eyes

And look and look and look,

But I can neither see

Nor hear

What he is saying,

For I am deaf,

I read his lips,

And he hides them from me

Even though he knows that

He shattered my eardrums

One night with his whisper.