A Small But Telling Gesture - Dec 1 2025

 

A Small But Telling Gesture

Dec 1 2025

He holds the elbow of the blind man,

gently steering him

between the shoppers and their carts,

coolers stacked with produce,

multicoloured fruit.

Occasionally leans in,

speaking into an ear

in a soft clear voice.

A close relative?

Paid attendant?

Or good samaritan,

who jumped at the chance

to be of use?

The white cane taps.

His years of practice show,

swinging it side-to-side

in a tight radius

that matches his pace.

His grip is light, but firm,

and what seems approximate 

is as precise as a radar beam

circling through its arc.

This is how a blind man 

navigates the world,

not with brain implants

and computerized vision, 

but the time-honoured technology

of a long straight stick,

the helping hand

of human touch.

I close my eyes, and continue to walk,

taking small tentative steps

with arms out front

feeling my way.

I hear people talking,

canned music 

wafting overhead;

am vaguely aware

something may or may not

be blocking my way.

A cloying scent fills the air,

ripe fruit

smelling of the tropics,

and the rotting stuff

in the bottom of the bins.

While fresh parsley 

cloves of garlic

and human bodies

who’ve been at work all day

add their funk

to the potent potpourri.

So the steady tap of the cane

is the one constant

that centres me.

They say the blind

have super-human hearing

a discerning nose.

As if our senses are zero-sum;

a deficit in one

made up for by another.

So perhaps he can cut through

the muddle of sound

and competing smells.

Of course, I soon stumble

as the sharp edge of a bin catches my leg.

I am not superhuman

just sightless.

Actually, less;

a mere pretender

who can never know

how blindness truly feels.

Perhaps envious as well?

Because there’s an intimacy

to the blind man and his helper, 

humanity at its best

in this small but telling gesture —

an offered elbow 

compliantly bent,

and a guiding hand

firmly cradling it.

Do I, too, crave touch like that?

Not sexual

or incidental

or with malicious intent,

but the reassuring touch

of a warm and steady hand

reaching out from the darkness

to walk with me.

Touch,

the neglected sense 

we take too much for granted.

But perhaps the most essential;

even when we imagine

we’re perfectly good on our own.