A Poem That Found Me.

I met an older gentleman, Vinny, yesterday while delayed at LAX.  He shared a story of his strong relationship with his recent college grad daughter, who had torn this poem from the April New Yorker and given it to him before seeing him off.  Of course he brought the poem to my attention after I told him that I write.  

 

To me, this series of random events means more than the actual poem, so I am passing it along to continue that sense of fate.  Every random act is not blind, but actually carefully calculated.  Think about that as you read.

 

Your Blinded Hand

by Tennessee Williams

 

Suppose that

everything that greens and grows

should blacken in one moment, flower and branch.

I think that I would find your blinded hand.

Suppose that your cry and mine were lost among numberless cries

in a city of fire when the earth is afire,

I must still believe that somehow I would find your blinded hand.

Through flames everywhere

consuming earth and air

I must believe that somehow, if only one moment were offered,

I would

find your hand.

I know as, of course, you know

the immeasurable wilderness that would exist

in the moment of fire.

But I would hear your cry and you’d hear mine and each of us

would find

the other’s hand.

We know

that it might not be so.

But for this quiet moment, if only for this

moment,

And against all reason,

let us believe, and believe in our hearts,

that somehow it would be so.

I’d hear your cry, you mine –

And each of us would find a blinded hand.