Nancy Huggett
Intercession: ER Waiting Room
For all the mothers, fathers,
families wombed and unwombed
waiting. For reflections scattered
in the glass. For every breath
of body holding shaking hand
or child on lap. For every thought
pinned to later, every fear tucked
behind the ear with strands
of flustered hair. For all
the pots left on the stove, radios
tuned to static, water running
from the tap. To every siren
flaring down the street—the startle
in the heart of it. For every tissue
dropped, purse snapped open, every list
compiled, form filed in, blanks between
the now and next. The waiting. The heart
outside the body, rushing through the halls,
cold wind like shrapnel in the pulse of it.
I give you breath. I’ll breathe for you.
I’ll hold you in this moment, let you wail.
I’ll be your blanket, charm your child,
take your shaking hand—trace
one long lifeline, my finger scribing
strength into your brittled bones.
Nancy Huggett is a settler descendant who writes, lives, and caregives on the unceded Territory of the Anishinaabe Algonquin Nation (Ottawa, Canada). Thanks to Firefly, Merritt Writers, Trailhead, and not-the-rodeo poets, she has work published in American Literary Review, Event, One Art, Pinhole, Prairie Fire, Rust & Moth, and The New Quarterly. She’s won some awards, has a gazillion rejections, and is working on a poetry collection about brain injury and caregiving. Socials: Twitter, Instagram, Facebook.