Public signs tell us so much—often about things on which the original sign-maker did not intend to make any comment. On the island of Martinique, I visited the public gardens where the mis-translation of a sign accidentally gave us advice on the conduct of our lives.

do not lean again

(a sign in the botanical gardens in Martinique)

We know what it means,

But what it says is:

Do not lean again.

That is all:

Do not lean again.

Not all of us are confident

Of the vertical, the unsupported state;

At times we need to lean

And will be forgiven the weakness

That makes necessary the leaning;

At times we are allowed

To look for support

From those about us, the stronger,

The haler and heartier,

The more leaned-against than leaning,

Who are more securely founded,

Have roots, a sense of who they are,

And will invariably remain erect;

A balanced world allows such symbiosis,

Pardons instability, allows the weak

To look for a broader shoulder,

A steadying hand, a sympathetic haven.

But there are limits; do not lean again:

When you have just finished

Leaning on one, do not transfer

Too quickly to another; stand up straight

And face the world yourself

Before you try to lean again.

Do not expect there always to be

Somebody else on whom to lean,

Do not lean again lest you discover

The person on whom you lean

Is no longer there, or has found

That he, too, has a need to lean.

Do not lean again, do not expect

The same thing to work twice;

Do not lean again lest you find

That support against which you lean

Gives way; a fence may conceal

An abyss waiting to devour

Those who lean again; a vertical drop,

A nothingness, some worse place

Than that in which you find yourself;

Do not lean again; no, do not lean again.