The speaker
This poem's first-person speaker is distinguished largely by her refrain of the word "enough," indicating dissatisfaction with the distance, abstractions, and tragedies that are alluded to throughout the poem. The first-person "I" does not appear until line 18, and even then could be an implied quote of others' sentiments rather than her own, but it does draw attention to "I am human ... I am alone and I am desperate." In the last line, "I" returns with a blunt request for touch. Taking the poem as a whole, we can understand that the speaker is sifting through the depths of poetic tradition, the personal and collective tragedy of the COVID pandemic, and the resulting disconnection to declare an "end of poetry." In place of poetry's abstraction and removal from the subject matter it addresses, the speaker longs for direct human contact.
The stoic farmer
The stoic farmer likely refers to an archetype rather than a specific person, a stand-in for an ideal—perhaps of America, of faith, or of manhood—that the speaker is discarding. The mention of this farmer is surrounded by old-fashioned language that evokes religion—"prophecy," "faith," "our father" (the first two words of the Lord's Prayer)—as well as American identity with "'tis of thee," a line from the patriotic song "America (My Country, 'Tis of Thee)." Farmers are used in contemporary politics as a stand-in for the traditional character of America, and thus as an archetype for varying purposes by all sides of the political spectrum. That the farmer is "stoic" means they do not show emotion. In context, the "stoic farmer" evokes this idealized archetype of the average American, made into a symbol by politicians and even poets, their real human complexity and emotion overshadowed by the religious and patriotic traditions they are placed into.
The acquaintance
Line 11 mentions a tragedy, "the acquaintance's suicide." Surrounding images include a gun and a "long-lost / letter," indicating perhaps the method of suicide and an unfortunate disconnection between the speaker and the acquaintance. "Acquaintance" is an awkward word, kind of a formal demotion from "friend," putting this dead person in an unclear middle ground of being familiar to the speaker, but not particularly close. In the context of the COVID pandemic, this may also reference the way the pandemic has lurked on the outskirts of many people's awareness: even those who haven't lost a close connection probably still know of someone who died, and the ambiguous distance of this tragedy makes it hard to know how to mourn. However, this person died of suicide, not illness, which speaks as well to the mental and emotional toll that pandemic isolation has taken. This acquaintance becomes a stand-in for all the death that happens, around but not to many of us, a layer of separation that dulls our ability to feel the loss acutely.
The mother, father, and child
Line 14 mentions "the mother and the child and the father and the child." Like the "stoic farmer," these likely refer to the archetypes that our society creates when talking about vulnerable families. Mother and child also evokes the Christian nativity scene, Mary and Jesus, tying into the subtle Christianity of the national identity that Limón is addressing. However, the following two lines—"pointing to the world, weary / and desperate, enough of the brutal and the border"—add other resonances. They evoke tragedies that affect parents and children, like school shootings, that people will "point" out in the world, "weary / and desperate" from their constant repetition. The "brutal ... border" likewise evokes immigrant and refugee families, including Central Americans who often cross the border in parent-child family units. Like the archetypal farmer, victim, or refugee, parents and children are often abstracted into symbols or straw men. The speaker calls for an end to those abstractions and for more attention to the real, nuanced people they obscure.
The audience
The poem's last line includes "you": "I am asking you to touch me" [emphasis added]. It is not unusual for Ada Limón to address her readers directly (1, 2), nor to have "you" refer to her husband (3, 4). Perhaps the ambiguity here is intentional: if we read the line as a plea for sexual or sensual intimacy, the lover is a more reasonable audience. However, given the poem's broad context, "you" could also be directed outward to humanity, as if saying "I want us to be connected." It is a request, not an order, leaving some responsibility to the reader and/or lover to enact the kind of closeness that will be the antidote to all the separation and abstraction mentioned in the poem's earlier lines.
