SIGNING A SONG

Couldn't really read the signs being made in the bedroom.
Coats strewn over the bed,
behind me were party sounds,
clinking glasses, loud conversation, controlled laughter,
ahead of me a quieter place,
still there were sounds,
soft music from the bedroom stereo,
and in the subdued light
the green volume indicator light rarely moved to red.

And she danced,
not to the rhythm of the music
but to the flickers of the pulsating lights.
She faced me,
her arms were in a liquid flow,
first crossed over her heart, then slowly
down her sides then up high
when the lights briefly sojourned to red.
She closed her eyes, swayed her head,
then opened them, saw me and smiled
and again crossed her heart.
I had been told that she was deaf.
I knew one sign, the crossed arms over heart
which meant love,
though for whom or what I didn't know.
Her smile was universal.
I couldn't translate her lyrics,
nor could she hear the melody,
but we both held out our arms
and slowly danced across the room
moving to our own common rhythm.


RICHARD FEIN
bardbyte@chelsea.ios.com