A Visit to Gallaudet

She showed me a little. Her hands moved as I tried to make sense of it.
I always heard my footsteps over the creaky wood floors and steep stairways.
I always heard my footsteps on the sidewalk.
Then, she abandoned me, and this place would still not look at me.
If only I could pretend I couldn’t hear, it would have paid attention.
The lump in my throat reminded me how long I had been dreaming of this,
And the ever-present silence tortured me with truths,
And, in the warm wind, even the ancient oaks rattled with disinterest.
Here they would stay in this wealth of weakness, distinction, community.
They could not know how it was for me to board the bus and move on
From the thing I thought I was born for.