“deaf enough” by Katie MacLean
Poetry Pause is the League of Canadian Poets’ daily poetry dispatch. Read “deaf enough” by Katie MacLean.
deaf enough
By Katie MacLean
I’ll tell the clerk I’m deaf
because I need them to understand
to stop assuming I comprehend their hurried, mumbled speech
in this too crowded, too loud space
but I’ll feel off-kilter saying it
ready to be caught in what is, technically, a lie
because I have enough auditory perception to pass through this hearing world
reading context, reading lips, reading captions
I can fill in all the gaps, imagine sound where there is only silence
because I can hear too much to capitalize deaf
Deafness is a foreign culture. I wasn’t raised in the community
wasn’t taught to sign, to recognize their landmarks, idols, inside jokes, and colloquialisms
because my deafness is single-sided, profound on the right, mild on the left
a balancing act always teetering between hearing and not
yet I hear little enough to know the sound of silence is a dull ringing
I hear too little to fully navigate a world reliant on sound
trapped in this liminal reality where softness is imperceptible, loudness frightening
everything always too noisy and too quiet
I can hear myself speak, but only if I’m willing to be chastised for using my outside voice
cheek pressed flat against her chest at night, I can only feel the rumble of words, not the meaning
the sirens following my car won’t register, but I’ll still hold a conversation with the officer
a friend might beckon, and I’ll recognize their voice, but can never locate them in a crowd
I can listen, but it takes focus
requires exhausting energy to sort out the notes, pull meaning from language
even then, I’m never sure which noises are real
wavelengths rippling through the air, captured by my Pinna
vibrating the eardrum, down the Malleus, Incus, and Stapes to the Cochlea
compared to which sounds are imagined
invented by my clever brain to match what it expects from the absence
turn on my hearing aid, turn down the music
I still need the captions, still need to read the meaning coded in your face and body
it’s all a guessing game, a round of fill-in-the-blanks
easier to play when the sounds are familiar
if I’m intimate with the way you speak, the words you’ll choose
so I’ll check the box on the form, declare myself Deaf/Hard of Hearing
and I’ll feel uneasy every time
because I was born this way
because this is my normal
because this disability does not bring me to my knees
or bar me from living happily, from loving
or leave me gasping, confused and alone
and this normative society that centres ability
they so desperately want us to believe that disability is tragedy
they’ll call this hearing loss
but I can’t lose something I never had
this is simply how my world sounds
I only know it’s incomplete when the world deigns to remind me
so I’ll tell the clerk I’m deaf
write it out on my phone or a scrap of paper
just to get them to stop trying to communicate in increasingly frustrating ways
and I’ll resent myself all the while
knowing the proper term for me is single-sided deafness, unilateral hearing loss
that words like Deaf and Hard of Hearing are cultural as much as medical
and culturally Hard of Hearing fits better
though Hard of Hearing is usually refers to both ears
though deafness is what’s on my papers
and knowing that if I say exactly that
try to explain the range of sounds, the variety of situations I can and cannot hear
a hearing world will brush me off without accommodation
and I’ll be left to struggle
lost in the gulf between these states of being
not quite deaf enough, not quite hearing enough
to fit in either community
Copyright © Katie MacLean
First published in the way out is the way in (League of Canadian Poets, 2021).
Katie MacLean (she/her) is a Canadian writer and public speaker. Originally from Edmonton, Alberta, she presently lives in the Gulf Islands, BC where she writes poetry and fiction. Katie is proudly lesbian and unilaterally deaf.
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