With arms upraised,
roaring words that cannot
be spoken, he has cast a spell
and I am not sure it is
legible to me.
In sign language that could
easily be popularized by a
millionaire heiress bimbo,
Joaquin confounds me, and
because I am not familiar with
his swimming strokes and
fisted gestures, I am left to
watch him as a dancer.
"Absent father"--that phrase
is captivating, one I must learn,
to keep talking about the deadbeat
dads with fast-paced hands in
angry sweeps.
"Poetry"--the way he signs that
word is like a swan dive and a
cough put together in a rhythmic
thrust that makes my eyes blink
as if I have snapped a picture to
make it last.
He talks with his body, swaying
and stepping, arms swinging and
bending. Touching his face, touching
our eyes. Throwing out signs,
pulling in hearts.
(after watching Joaquin Zihuatanejo in an impressive performance at the late-night DMA spoken word showcase)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
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