Summary4 min read

Podcast Summary: The Slowdown – Episode 1375: "Dear Absent" by Marcus Wicker

Host: Maggie Smith
Date: October 16, 2025
Duration: ~5 minutes

Overview

In this episode of The Slowdown, host Maggie Smith reflects on late-night habits and the small but powerful moments of hope found in unexpected places, using Marcus Wicker’s poignant poem “Dear Absent” as a focal point. The episode explores themes of insomnia, technological distraction, vulnerability, and the tender complexities of loss and compassion. Smith’s intimate commentary and the poem itself offer listeners a moment to be present with their own emotions—especially around absence and longing—while witnessing the possibility of grace and connection in the digital age.

Key Discussion Points & Insights

1. Modern Sleeplessness and Phone Habits

[00:00–01:22]

Maggie Smith confides in her listeners about her insomnia, noting a shift from reading physical books at night to doomscrolling on her phone.
- Quote (Maggie Smith, 00:23): “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.”
Smith acknowledges the dissonance between knowing the negative effects of technology at night and still succumbing to its pull, making her relatable to listeners with similar habits.

2. Relatability and Poetic Theme

[01:23–01:40]

Smith introduces the day’s poem and prepares the audience for its emotional resonance, especially for those who have experienced pregnancy loss:
- Quote (Maggie Smith, 01:28): “This poem will touch you deeply if you have experienced pregnancy loss.”
She notes the poem’s relatability, highlighting how the speaker, like herself, seeks distraction online at night, before the piece takes a powerful emotional turn.

3. Poem: “Dear Absent” by Marcus Wicker

[01:41–04:00]

The poem is read in full, beginning with the speaker’s attempts to avoid “the world’s scattershot awfulness” by scrolling the Internet, and culminating in a life-affirming moment where they witness a baby elephant rescued in a viral video.
- Memorable lines (Marcus Wicker, 01:56 & 02:15):
  - “I scroll the Internet strapped, buckled in, ready to ride out anything disturbing to my cancer quintessence. That’s how I nearly missed it. The baby elephant hanging halfway off a steep cliffside… in a 1am World Star video threatening to swell or demolish my heart.”
  - “The elephant survives. Hand to God, an excavator arm careens across mountain and sky… lifting a giant shovel to the calf’s rear end… to higher ground. A glorious green forest clearing where the elephant coils its trunk around the machine’s arm in a stirring embrace…"
The poem uses the rescue as a metaphor for hope and unexpected grace, drawing a parallel to the experience of pregnancy loss and the fleeting moments of joy or connection that can momentarily lift us from despair.
- Quote (Marcus Wicker, 03:40): “…this unexpected gift I didn’t know to want for until it was offered. That’s what it felt like for at least a minute, peering through the crystal ball of an ultrasound screen.”

4. Themes of Absence, Grief, and Unexpected Connection

[Throughout]

The “dear absent” to whom the poem is addressed is gradually revealed to be related to a lost pregnancy—poignantly depicted through the image of the ultrasound.
- Quote (Marcus Wicker, 03:55): “Thimblerig, little elephant in the room that wasn’t vanished, though somehow present.”
Smith gently frames the poem as an exploration of both personal and collective resilience, finding meaning in minor miracles ("the magic algorithm that delivered this sudden gladness") and the “kindness of strangers.”

Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

Maggie Smith [00:23]: “I know better, but I don’t do better.”
Marcus Wicker [02:17]: “The elephant survives. Hand to God, an excavator arm careens across mountain and sky…”
Marcus Wicker [03:40]: “…the magic algorithm that delivered this sudden gladness, this unexpected gift I didn’t know to want for until it was offered.”
Marcus Wicker [03:55]: “Thimblerig, little elephant in the room that wasn’t vanished, though somehow present.”

Important Segment Timestamps

00:00 – 01:22: Maggie Smith’s personal meditation on midnight phone use
01:23 – 01:40: Introduction and emotional context for the poem
01:41 – 04:00: Full reading of “Dear Absent” by Marcus Wicker
04:01 – End: Closing remarks and credits (ads/outros not included)

Tone & Language

Maggie Smith’s narration is warm, candid, and gently humorous, effortlessly shifting into a more contemplative and tender atmosphere as she introduces and reflects on the poem. The language of both host and poet remains sensitive and evocative, inviting listeners to connect with the vulnerability expressed.

Summary

In a brief yet profound episode, Maggie Smith uses Marcus Wicker’s “Dear Absent” to probe the interplay of digital distraction, sleeplessness, and silent grief. She and Wicker invite the audience to pause and acknowledge both their digital habits and the deeper longings that such habits may mask. Through the metaphor of an elephant miraculously saved—the self’s own desperate grasp for hope in the face of loss—listeners are reminded of the solace and surprise that poetry and the world (even online) can offer, if only for a minute.

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Transcript1 lines

[00:00]
A
Foreign 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 3am is to watch videos about skincare 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 unsubscribed from the world's scattershot awfulness. That's why I always seem so out of the loop. I scroll the Internet strapped, buckled in, ready to ride out anything disturbing to my cancer quintessence. That's how I nearly missed it. The baby elephant hanging halfway off a steep cliffside, flailing, losing purchase at the edge of its dewy mortality in a 1am World Star video threatening to swell or demolish my heart. And because, dear absent I, I have pictured us as kin and can sense you are also a cautious browser. Allow me to spare you. The elephant survives. Hand to God, an excavator arm careens across mountain and sky, swoops in like a guardian angel on wings of yellow steel steel lifting a giant shovel to the calf's rear end, levitating its hooves and swishing tail to higher ground. A glorious green forest clearing where the elephant coils its trunk around the machine's arm in a stirring embrace, where I am left to consider the confluence of minor miracles that rescued me for a moment just then from an ineffable, persisting despair, a list that includes nearby construction and diesel hydraulic lifts, camera phones, and the kindness of strangers, to say nothing of the magic algorithm that delivered this sudden gladness, this unexpected gift I didn't know to want for until it was offered. That's what it felt like for at least a minute, peering through the crystal ball of an ultrasound screen. My love's open palm shuffled in mine like a little trick of light, Thimblerig little elephant in the room that wasn't vanished, though somehow present. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. And find us on Instagram @downdownshow and bluesky@downdownshow.org Foreign hi, it's Maggie. Thanks for listening to the Slowdown. Whether you press play to find calm or vivid inspiration, we're glad you're here. As a public media podcast, we rely on listener support to share these moments of poetry. Please consider donating today@slowdownshow.org donate.