Judy, here’s what happened as I read your poem.

My gut tightened.

My heart became burdened.

Unmitigated tragedy. Unmitigated sorrow. Unmitigated pain. Too much pain!

Enough! So I switched into simulation mode. Judy, you are a simulated human because all of us live in a simulated universe. The poem (which is also simulated) recounts terrible tragedies, but these tragedies are also simulated. I now appreciate the poem for what it is, a document of sorts recounting long ago events of which Judy was either witness to (first, second, or third hand) or part of.

You write with heart, Judy. I will sit at your table and taste your creations.