I was blind in a strange town…

 

I was alone in a room with a radio, a dog, and a glass of water.

That’s how it was. There was a chair, a bed, the usual hotel furnishings.

My connecting flight had been canceled and it was toward midnight.

The hotel was in a run down part of the city. Then it was—

as we say in the vernacular—then it was I had to take the dog out.

My guide dog wearing her leather harness. Me? Wearing

track shoes and a rumpled business suit. Out we went,

first into a hallway that smelled of soap flakes;

then up to street level, a strange arrangement

hard to explain, then down a corridor

filled with plastic ferns

until we reached the parking lot

the only place to take the dog, or so I’d been told

and there we were

standing in the nowhere of blindness—

that beautiful nowhere with its hope and autonomy and its private song

shared between man and animal, the oldest song on earth.