Voices from the Shore

MetaMorphosis Good evening Miss Mary, glad you’re here for tea Good evening my child, I’m here for tea and more From last week your brother resting on ma mind How is your brother? It’s still a miracle how he became something Ah, Miss Mary; you know his story well Why do you need to hear it all over again? My brother was dyslexic But the family did not know That word did not exist that long ago His was Was saw His 2 was 5; his 3 and 8 Never reached his learning gate And when it came to 6 and 9; his mind fell completely out of line My brother was dyslexic But we did not know Can you imagine how he felt when his teacher called his writing-crab-toe! Dad grew perplexed His teachers got vex To have him in class and ridiculed him with labels a plenty: Dunce bat, slow poke, class joke, big jerk Such abhorrent terms! I myself, got converted and in ignorant bliss - unclaimed him Didn’t know who he was after we entered the school gate But secretly, I admired the fruits of his two right hands: Colourful kites, stunning variegated toy trucks Painstakingly made Myriad wood carvings, leather works Clay dolls with moveable parts... and more Much more from his busy hands, as you may recall Miss Mary You remember his first toy ship? Often I grew sad and questioned the cocoon shrouding the mind of our family’s youngest lad Then came the break – a call from far across the sea To Germany To study some kind of mysterious ship mechanic poppy-show My brother was dyslexic That is what troubled his reading and gave him two right hands In Germany They tested and tested and tested our family freak From eyes to toe And declared him smart and ambidextrous But recognized that he couldn’t turn his letters and numbers into anything sensible They tested and tested him again and again And came to understand; He was near-sighted (some myopic shindig) Couldn’t see from de back bench Where Miss Dixon gave him His life sentence An kept him out of the way Of the children who planned to learn My baby boomer brother was dyslexic But back in the sixties who on earth could know? Say what Miss Mary? Yes, he is reading now, but in foreign tongue Yes, he speaks it too and dreams in it too Yes, my dear Miss Mary My brother was dyslexic That is why he took so long to grow N-o-o: he is not short; six-two an over I don’t mean grow in stature I’m talking about learning; yes, that is the name they found for it And my brother was it…dyslexic, near-sighted and easily excited But we did not know about it Only the evidence of his learning pain That’s when Miss Mary drew real close, looked me in the eye; then whispered in my right ear: Tell me, Miss C I don’t think I understand How God could make your brother Twice a man! And how such a thing could affect his brain And give him learning pain even with his prayers For, said she… He is not de only one I have heard about like that As another fellow from back bush got a trip to America And turned green tam but couldn’t get draft For Afghanistan Because he wasn’t just one But really two man in one And she continued with her brand of ignorance Asking, pray tell How is that word spell? And many, many derogatory things about dyslexia And the curse that God placed Upon my younger brother by giving them lexic parts To impair his manhood “STOP!” Miss Mary I shouted Please don’t go that far; it has nothing to do with parts below the bar But with real slowness to fix his numbers and letters in his head (Slack church-going woman with a son a reputable canon) But back to my brother’s story... He became his father’s joy and pride as marine mechanic number one Travelling all of God’s ocean, from South Africa to Iceland California to Thailand Speaking many foreign tongues Yes, there is hope for the hopeless, Miss Mary Living hope My dyslexic brother Unchained his mind Transformed his dream into a successful goal To become marine mechanic par excellence And left us locked in this deep trance The Summit Absorbed in your beauty Your quietness Your balm Compelled by this scenery The smell The shyness Of the afternoon Inspired by these heights These depths These plains -barely visible from here From the foot of the hills Your height is disquieting You look unconquerable; but inviting Luring travellers to your charm The climb is hardly felt Coniferous height, unbelievable from below Meet and greet you as you go Losing you in acres Oozing tales of stolen felled pine