The Reader (after Ric Masten’s The Deaf) by David Sullivan

imagine a poet
swinging an axe
against a page
the paper speaks out of sync
with the swing
and what’s left in your ear
isn’t the words
as they fly
but the sound
of his grunting to himself
chortling
when a phrase catches fire

the world around you fills with birds

each brings a sprig
of adjective
or the rounded heft
of a noun
and leaves it at your feet
but before you can bend
to retrieve them
the poet comes
to strike a match
on his teeth
and put it to the words

it’s the smoke
he says
the smoke you need to smell

tamps it all out
until the embers of pronouns
are all that litters the ground

isn’t that
he says
heavenly?

before you can answer
he’s on to the next reader
leaving you stunned
and wise as the deaf
who read
with their whole bodies
and applaud with their hands
the same way the hearing do
but feel it vibrating
all the way
down to their toes

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