I'm Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

I'm often awake in the middle of the night.

Years ago, if I couldn't sleep, I'd turn on my bedside lamp and read until my eyes grew heavy.

These days, I almost always reach for my phone.

Yes, I know better. I've read the same articles about

technology and sleep hygiene as you have. I know that the blue light is terrible for my eyes,

not to mention the tiny print. I know I have a better chance of falling back to sleep

if my phone is in another room.

And I know that the last thing I need at 3 a.m.

is to watch videos about skin care routines

or attachment styles or celebrity feuds. Honestly, I don't need to watch any of that

during the day, so I certainly don't need it in the middle of the night. I know better, but I don't

do better. So don't be surprised if you see that I've responded to your email or DM'd you a meme

or sent you a video of very cute puppies in the wee hours of the morning. I keep weird hours.

Today's poem is so relatable because the speaker is doing what I so often do,

watching videos on the internet in the middle of the night. But then the poem turns to address

the elephant in the room, the absence at the heart of the poem.

A note of preparation.

This poem will touch you deeply if you have experienced pregnancy loss.

This is a poem by Marcus Wicker.

Dear Absent, I unsubscribe from the world's scattershot awfulness.

That's why I always seem so out of the loop.

...