This much I cannot say:
for even the tools of my writing trade can collapse
into a broken English, a pidgin language of awkwardness.
I meant to say, but the perfect opener, witticisms always fall
flat.
This much I cannot speak:
for the immutability of your face has cast a spell on my anxious eyes,
a montage of “What?” and repetitions. My hands wish to fly
free of my voice, not caring any more whether you understand: Just like
that.
This much I cannot share:
for this lightheartedness of mine must be hidden for fear of frightening
you again. (No, not like that night when I asked you….) O if I could
beckon you closer, to hear your question
what.
MUTE
Silence is always a powerful statement, but even more so in the hands of Raymond Luczak, who demonstrates in his third collection what it’s like to navigate between the warring languages of confusion and clarity. As a deaf gay man in the hearing world, he lends an unforgettable voice to his reality of ache and loss beyond the inadequate translation of sound.
