The kindness you showed stirred in each flawed ear
when you plugged them with hearing aids gratis that day:
Some sounds that had abandoned me I can now hear,
like the tap, tap, tapping of my blind white cane, helping me steer
to the swooshing sea brushing the shores of Chesapeake Bay—
the kindness you showed stirring in each flawed ear.
The chorus of chirps in the trees so clear
through the tinkling of angelic wind chimes helping me say
some sounds that had abandoned me I can now hear,
like the sizzles from the skillet as sausages sear
and the beeping microwave finishing up my fish fillet,
the kindness you showed stirring in each flawed ear,
a whisper that still quite often brings me good cheer
whenever a forgotten sound comes alive along the way:
those sounds that had abandoned me I can now hear.
Even as that plague of Usher Syndrome brings deafness near,
I still often thank Jesus whenever I pray
for the kindness you showed still stirring in each flawed ear,
and for the sounds that had abandoned me I can now hear.
Matt Harris
Blind and Hearing-Impaired Poet
August 7, 2024
Photo taken by: Amanda Gene Harris
The Poet's Point 