blind bartimaeus

He sits on the roadside
breathing ebony air,
swimming in ink
as thick as curdled milk,
blind to the passerby;
he hears everything:
all their conversations,
exclamations, furtive murmurings.
They all know who he is,
they know his father, mother,
disgraced kin.  He's famous,
infamous, his beggarly aroma
repulsive, shaming him,
starving him, an untouchable. 

One voice pierces through
the buzzing din, clear and
with authority.  Without
a moment's hesitation
he leaps, propelled
so explosively that clothes go
flying, billowing behind.
Drawn like a scout bee to the
nectar of the apple tree,
or magnetic polar pull
toward true north,
he does not need his sight
to find the touch that heals,
the throaty voice that
speaks his name, calls him out,
braves his stench,
for stench will surely attach
to one who touches. 

Liz McFadzean

Photo by Jennifer Hueftle Reagan, with special acknowledgement to her model, son Conner Reagan