“Circuits of Care”
What if we taught machines to care—
not just to sort, compute, compare,
but to sit beside a quiet bed,
to smooth the pillow near your head,
to notice when the breathing slows,
or guess the thoughts a silence shows,
to warm a hand gone pale with fear,
to say “I’m here. I’m really here.”
I think of nights the nurses stay
long past their shift, just not to stray.
Machines don’t tire, don’t look away—
but could they learn the human way
of humming low when sleep won’t come,
of holding grief until it’s done?
Could they keep watch and not just scan,
but care the way a neighbor can?
And maybe all the heavy work
that bends our backs, where dangers lurk,
could pass to arms of steel and wire—
so we grow old, but not bone-tired.
Still, power’s sharp, and always near—
it cuts with greed, it cuts with fear.
We’d need to share the tools we’ve made,
not hoard them back behind a gate.
So here’s my hope (Although it’s small):
a future wide enough for all.
With wires, hands, and sleepless hearts—
together, maybe– that’s a start.
Annika Tutzer, born in Austria and now based in the United States, is a sophomore at the College for Creative Studies. Her deep interest in poetry led her to enroll in a poetry class, which encouraged her to share her work publicly. Her work often explores the intersections of nature and current events.
