In the beginning I thought it was more of a habit
for him to come to this chosen spot, like the full moon
peeping out of the grey clouds and shining through
my latticed window at 10 o’clock in the night.
I had passed through this much-travelled street
the night before and commented to my mind
about the LCBO café so close to St. Michael’s hospital.
He was not there. How must I know if time was of
any significance for him?
Tonight I stayed a little longer at the crossing, waiting
for the count- down of the stop light. He was there, spreading
sheets of corrugated cardboard on the side-walk canopy,
getting ready for a night-cap. And on his right side he kept
a little cardboard box guarded as if it were more than
what his life was worth.
I went over to him and asked, Are you hungry?
He looked me in the eye, but I could not tell if he
had written a smile on his bearded face. Sound was stifled
like clouds in the sky.
I handed him the paper lunch bag with sandwiches I was
taking for my patient at the hospital.
And he angled his head in a bow
to offer his gratitude, as he opened the lid of the
cardboard box. Inside the box a little kitten lifted its
head, meowing mournfully in heartfelt thanks also.
And then the old man pointed to a sign written on the
box: Blind and dumb, but not deaf. Thank you.
I smiled to myself, thinking how gratitude has no
particular shape or form. Gratitude is in each of us
to share with the world.
Leonard... this touched my soul and brought tears to my eyes. Namaste, Shirley
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I smiled to myself, thinking how gratitude has no particular shape or form. Gratitude is in each of us to share with the world. Yes! Yes!