Sweet Dependency

I have seen him before on the town square – a man with a pony tail, a seeing-eye dog’s harness upon his shoulder, a large leather patch on his left eye, walking a healthy black Labrador.

This time, my dog went close and wanted to say hello to his dog.

“Is your dog friendly?” he asked.

A few minutes later we were talking as our dogs greeted each other with the usual sniffing both body ends.

“I am blind” he said, “Monty is my eyes and my friend. We are together 24 hour a day.”

Monty is 9 years old. A broad-head Labrador with mellow, honey-brown eyes.

“He saved my life 8 times already. We have been together for 8 years.”

I noticed a small camera on the eyeglasses frame, on his right eye.

“Technology is great” he replied. “I am blind in both eyes, but when I point my head in a direction, the camera translates what I see into a human voice and explains what I am looking at. Here, listen.”

And he turned louder a small instrument hooked to his belt. Now I could hear a female voice telling him “A man with a beard.”

That was me. Now he knows I have a beard. And that I am a man.

We talked for a few more minutes about how he is now learning computer use through voice recognition software and Braille.

“Soon, I will take a course in Colorado about cooking” he informed me.

… I read a poem about cocaine and dependency. Some of the verses can be generic to any dependency. It is called “Brutally Beautiful” (https://allpoetry.com/poems/about/Dependency):

I was the one in control,
But she silently took it away.
She has rooted deep within my soul.
She has shown me the way.

She commands me with my own voice.
She compels me with my own desire.
She shows me beauty I’ve never seen.
She brings me pleasure like wildfire.

… On my way back, I walked slowly on the right side of my dog. He is now 13 years old and lost sight in his right eye.

Now, I am his seeing-eye human.

April 29, 2017

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017

Allegro, Ma Non Troppo

Repeated strains

Lead gently beyond

Where I once was

In silence

The upper strings

Are sad triplets

Like an old blanket

Stained in tears

Left wet to linger

As if my own voice

Over the wrath of silence

Vast as a sandy beach

In winter

A violin solo

Capricious as a name I kept

Without fanfare, in quiet lament

Turns a child to a corpse

And compassion into wisdom

… Allegro, ma non troppo

April 24, 2017

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017