I’m detached from my hometown,
no parents, no house, no relatives
just grand and greatgrand  graves
But those gossamer threads still pull
so I sign up for my reunion
not expecting much

Then texts and voicemails–
rarely seen friends are coming,
and ask“Will you be there too?”

And, without warning,
I’ve time traveled,
back to burning cigarettes,
empty beer bottles
(oh, wait, we gave those up)
driving endlessly through dark nights
(who can see clearly anymore at night?)

But the laughter, , the history
is in those messages and voicemails,
And will be there
when we meet
in our hometown.