Hey there, today's episode is hosted by the poet and writer Victoria Chang.

Hang tight and I'll be back on April 8th. I'm Victoria Chang and this is the slowdown.

I'm Victoria Chang and this is the slowdown. slow down. I've always been a wonderer. As a child, I wondered what it would be like to live in a different city, a warmer place than the cold Michigan small town I grew up in called West Bloomfield.

I wondered about adults who came to our house.

We called all Chinese family friends, aunties and uncles,

whether they were related or not.

There was an auntie and uncle who were always together.

This pair each had a spouse in a different country. I wondered what their relationship was with each other

and their mysteriously never-present spouses. It was only after Uncle died that my mother disclosed that they had been having an affair, something I intuitively knew before knowing there was even such a thing.

Sometimes I wondered so hard that I forgot to live my own life.

As an adult, one of the things I've always wondered about was the baby boy we lost to a miscarriage.

He was almost three months old by the time he passed away.

I still carry the hospital bracelet in my wallet, the one that says simply,

baby boy.

Some days, I still wonder about him,

what he would have looked like as a teenager. He would have been 16 years old this year.

I imagine him having just received his driver's license, the loud sound of the door opening, his back. his and hitting the door, I can almost hear his voice as he enters the house.

Almost.

Today's poem wonders too about a child,

but it wonders more devastatingly for Palestinians and for all those who

tragically live and lose daily amidst war and oppression.

Mahmoud by Maya Abu Al Hayat, translated by Fari Judah.

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