synaesthesia: three love stories

i am walking down wellington street
in a hurry, late for an appointment,
checking my blackberry

there is a couple walking ahead of me, hand in hand:
they say nothing, and their hands jitter,
parting and recombining nervously,
as if one or both is afflicted

i move to pass them, and then something stops me:
they both laugh suddenly, for no apparent reason,
and she rests her head briefly on his shoulder, affectionately

a moment later, she pulls away, and punches him in the shoulder
he shakes his head, no, but he is smiling, playful

they have not spoken a word, and i am looking around for a ‘candid camera’:
am i supposed to believe this couple are telepathic?

and then suddenly she turns, and in her blank gaze i realize:
she is blind, and he is deaf, and with their quivering hands
they are quietly, brilliantly,
making love

II

we are walking through a forest in the town i’m visiting
when we come upon an old couple walking two dogs

one dog is small, animated, running circles around everyone
and for a moment it’s the only one i notice

and then the larger slower one comes into view
and i realize, to my astonishment
that s/he is identical to my beloved, much-mourned chelsea —
the same markings, coat, laboured walk, and gentle smile

i gasp, my eyes well with tears, and i’m overwhelmed,
on my knees, stroking this so-familiar creature
and telling the old couple about my love and my loss

and as they pass to continue on their walk,
the woman, who neither of us knows, who doesn’t know us,
turns to me and says
“you’re welcome to borrow her if you’d like,
just drop by any time”.

III

it starts in the office:
a group of us are discussing finances;
it’s a difficult conversation, and some of the group
are defensive, edgy

and i’m listening but not really paying attention visually
and then strangely it’s as if the words i am hearing
are coming apart, fragmenting,
curving around my consciousness,
expressing themselves in different colours

and i’m noticing the breath, the pauses,
the catch in the throat
and i’m hearing fear, and despair
that is coming from deep inside these people i hardly know
and speaking to me, not in words or tone of voice
but in tiny nuances of inflection, silence, breath, emphasis

i am feeling the sound of their voice
and the anguish in their bones
and i briefly catch the eye of one of the speakers
and he looks back at me as if he were naked,
as if i’d caught him crying —

and later, talking on the phone,
these swirling, coloured words begin again,
like another language, an undercurrent
at a wavelength i’ve never heard or sensed or realized before,
talking not of the subject at hand
but of loss, and loneliness,
and love