Places We Reside
​Jessica Zhang

Tomorrow I’ll work up the courage 
To call your mom and ask about you.  
We were in your room just a blink ago,
Gathered around like vagrants,
Sometimes laughing, sometimes silent. 
I stared you down in your ventilator
And said with eyes closed:
Where are you rushing to? At the height 
Of your youth, in a hospital gown— 
You hate being alone, so stay with us.
Think of the parties we’ll throw 
When all of this is done. However long
It takes you, whatever season it will be--
It can be any house, any city. 
Now the morning walks into my room
And shakes me gently, points me 
To the water which slides off a roof 
As a tear slides down a cheek. The air 
Is wet with winter and I imagine I’m in D.C.  
Outside your window, my fingers tapping 
Like rain. I wipe the glass and see 
The wires and cables, the tubes 
And machines, the shape of your sister 
Clinging to your hands. 
You had so much more than this life.
You lived in ephemeral planes   
Strung together by Ethernet lines. 
You fought in airships, flew on satellites, 
Slept in warzones like old history books
With bullets still ricocheting. You were on fire
And you were eternal. I watched 
From all the way down here, on Earth--
Wanted to climb one more summit, 
See one more star, spend one more second 
In the glow of worlds we built together.
I dreamed of them saving you.

Jessica (PO '29) is only a poet when she's having a difficult time. She is mostly an academic, even on the weekends.