What I'm going to read next are some poems
from Deaf Republic, which is a story in verse that
begins with a pregnant woman and her husband, who
in a time of crisis, see soldiers
shoot and kill a young, deaf boy.
And in response to that murder, they
see the community stand up and protest the authorities
by refusing to hear them, OK?
Can you follow me?
All right.
Deaf Republic, "Gunshot."
"Gunshot."
Our country is the stage.
When soldiers march into town, public assemblies
are officially prohibited.
But today, neighbors flock to the piano music
from Sonya and Alfonso's puppet show in Central Square.
Some of us have climbed up into the trees, others
hide behind benches and telegraph poles.
When Petya, the deaf boy in the front row, sneezes,
the sergeant puppet collapses, shrieking.
He stands up again, snorts, shakes his fist
at the laughing audience.
An army jeep swerves into the square,
disgorging its own Sergeant.
Disperse immediately!
the puppet mimics in a wooden falsetto.
Everyone freezes except Petya, who keeps giggling.
Someone claps a hand over his mouth.
The Sergeant turns towards the boy, raising his finger.
You!
the puppet raises a finger.
Sonya watches her puppet, the puppet
watches the Sergeant, the Sergeant watches Sonya
and Alfonso, but the rest of us watch
Petya lean back, gather all the spit in his throat,
and launch it at the Sergeant.
The sound we do not hear lifts the gulls off the water.