On the street in Boston
I met a man named Daryl.
He is black, and he is deaf,
but more than that, he is a man

These are his words, they are not mine:

My name is Daryl
I read lips
I have a house
I have lived there for three years
I take care of myself
My father is dying

(and here he told me something
about his father's heart
I couldn't understand
until the words "free bird, free bird" flew
from Daryl's lips into the night
accompanied by his hands)

My father is dying
his heart is a free bird

I had seen him earlier, after passing
the decked-out clubbers on the corner
and a large stoop-front chain-smoking crowd,
smoke rings around their eyes;
overheard him mutter to them: "Hit the blunt"
as I was walking by and in this way mistook him
for a regular joe pot-peddler
just earning nightly college keep --

And so when he sidled up I thought for sure
he'd offer smoke so I said no thanks,
I didn't need it -- automatically,
without listening --
and then he began to speak

At first his speech was a blur to me, like
ten thousand sparkling gemstones
being sifted with a rake
I had to stop to try to read his lips;
he did not make me wait
to understand him. I hope he knew
that the longer I stood, and looked, and listened
the more I understood, and those gemstones soon
became a clear and flowing brook

And by then we both were laughing

I can only imagine some
of the reactions he's gotten
from people he's talked to
on the street

They'd see "black," probably "homeless" (they'd be wrong)
if astute, they might see "deaf"
but I would bet ten thousand gems
that most don't see a man

Ten minutes into our first meeting,
Daryl told me that he liked me.
Twelve minutes, that he loved me
Already? I said.

I had to wonder
if it was because I stopped
long enough at least
to listen

"Thank you" I signed to Daryl,
though I did not know much more.
It is always nice to hear
Thank You
in one's own native tongue
or, if you're deaf,
to see it
(even formed by naive hand)

The ASL sign for thank you brings
words from your lips and gives them
as a gift
to your fingertips

the manifesting
of human language





He said
My name is Daryl

(I would have never known there was a y
until he spelled it for me --- used the letters
on a sign nearby and pointed,
"D A R Y L")

He said
I read lips

(I slowed down my speech,
enunciated more clearly. Don't know why
but I got louder. That's not helpful for the deaf)

He said
For three years
I have a house
I live in
I take care of myself

(99% of the people who see him
probably think he's homeless.
Most of the other one percent
don't give him any thought at all)

He said
My father is dying, dying
His heart, his heart
Free Bird, Free Bird

I said
It's a hard world out here, Daryl
I'm so sorry about your father
But I'm glad you're taking care of yourself
I'm trying to do the same

Then he taught me
"Nice to meet you"
In sign: "Nice-meet-you"
and it was, Daryl,
very nice
although nice
doesn't even begin
Then he said
"Don't forget me -- I like you"

I replied not to worry, Daryl, I'm a poet
I got a good memory

The whole way back
I fought my other thoughts
so I'd remember, in my hotel room
exactly what he said

And for this,
all I can say is
Thank You,
Daryl,
for the rich gift
of your words.

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