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      November 3, 2024Alison LutermanHolding Vigil

      My cousin asks if I can describe this moment,
      the heaviness of it, like sitting outside
      the operating room while someone you love
      is in surgery and you’re on those awful plastic chairs
      eating flaming Doritos from the vending machine
      which is the only thing that seems appealing to you, dinner-wise,
      waiting for the moment when the doctor will come out
      in her scrubs and face-mask, which she’ll pull down
      to tell you whether your beloved will live or not. That’s how it feels
      as the hours tick by, and everyone I care about
      is texting me with the same cold lump of dread in their throat
      asking if I’m okay, telling me how scared they are.
      I suppose in that way this is a moment of unity,
      the fact that we are all waiting in the same
      hospital corridor, for the same patient, who is on life support,
      and we’re asking each other, Will he wake up?
      Will she be herself? And we’re taking turns holding vigil,
      as families do, and bringing each other coffee
      from the cafeteria, and some of us think she’s gonna make it
      while others are already planning what they’ll wear to the funeral,
      which is also what happens at times like these,
      and I tell my cousin I don’t think I can describe this moment,
      heavier than plutonium, but on the other hand,
      in the grand scheme of things, I mean the whole sweep
      of human history, a soap bubble, because empires
      are always rising and falling, and whole civilizations
      die, they do, they get wiped out, this happens
      all the time, it’s just a shock when it happens to your civilization,
      your country, when it’s someone from your family on the respirator,
      and I don’t ask her how she’s sleeping, or what she thinks about
      when she wakes at three in the morning,
      cause she’s got two daughters, and that’s the thing,
      it’s not just us older people, forget about us, we had our day
      and we burned right through it, gasoline, fast food,
      cheap clothing, but right now I’m talking about the babies,
      and not just the human ones, but also the turtles and owls
      and white tigers, the Redwoods, the ozone layer,
      the icebergs for the love of God—every single
      blessed being on the face of this earth
      is holding its breath in this moment,
      and if you’re asking, can I describe that, Cousin,
      then I’ve gotta say no, no one could describe it
      we all just have to live through it,
      holding each other’s hands.
       

      from Poets Respond

      Alison Luterman

      “I don’t have to explain why this moment is so fraught right now. I’m feeling a lot of tenderness for all of us who are suffering anxiety this week, and trying to hold each other up.”