Mr. Mark

Mr. Mark

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

Once, a blind man sat next to me as we waited to board the same plane.

I helped guide him from his seat and to the check in desk when no one else would.

Out of all the stories sitting close to me, his was the one I wanted to know the most.

I wondered where he was going.

I wondered where he called home.

I wondered who he loved and who loved him.

He made me realize how much I rely on sight; how easily I take for granted the ability to see the people I am talking to; how careless my steps are.

I wondered if he ever wishes that he could see, or if he is content in a world made up of voices and soundbites.

Maybe he wouldn't change a thing, even if he had the option to.

His laugh was loud and boisterous.

I hope he thought that mine was as well.

I had been worried about not wearing makeup, but he helped me to remember what really mattered.

"Thank you so much. Sometimes people don't want to help me."

Not me, sir. I want to help you again and again.

I want to make you laugh that boisterous laugh and smile that bright smile.

I want to be a window of generosity to you.

I want to give you a glimpse of what is good and right in this world.

You have absolutely given me one.

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