Fine, Big Hands (Stupid, Deaf Hands)

Kevin Garrison

April 20, 2022

My father measured me

By the size of my hands.

Each Saturday morning,

I would crawl onto his bed

Where he would palm my

Hand like a basketball

And say “Fine, big hands”

To which I would counter

“Fine, little hands, you mean.”

Until one day in high school, he

Spoke “Fine, big hands” without 

Irony and I replied with… 

…knowing silence.

These “stupid, deaf hands”

He should have told me.

I sign “Nice to date you”

To the new lady at the ASL class

Making the Deaf teachers giggle.

I sign “good” to the Deaf 

Author who asks for tutoring

When I mean “thank you”

And he nods and smirks in reply.

I sign “stupid” to my sisters

When I fail another sign,

“Stupid” should be my sign name,

The “K” bloodying my forehead.

Even now, I look down at

These fearful, deaf hands 

That curl my fingers inwards…

…piercing palms.

I wonder if Joseph told his son

That he had “Fine big hands”

As his boy built the world

Furniture piece after furniture piece.

I think Jesus must have known

What I feel: He remained silent 

His hands rendered disabled

Before asking why his God had… 

…forsaken him.

Kevin Garrison is a deaf professor of English at Angelo State University. He resides in the central spaces between Deaf World and Hearing World, and his poetry grapples with the daily challenges of being oral deaf, often with hints of religious symbolism.