I

BRIEFING

All the universe is compressed

into this one small room

with two picture windows

where we sit for hours

retelling stories.

You are now on your nth recount

of how that sallow-faced brat

in the third grade

cast doubts on your class.

When my turn comes

I'll tell you again

how overcast the sky was

the day my brother died.

We do our best to compensate

for a past, which,

through no fault of our own

we spent apart.

II

CONVERGENCE

You are not, people know,

from the old hometown.

And I am not

from your neighborhood.

My mother never heard

of your father.

We work in different places,

in different districts even.

You do not know my brothers

and your sisters, alas

went to the wrong school.

We did not cross

each other's paths in the past.

You must have been arriving

just when I was set to leave.

How come now, people wonder,

we can synchronize

with such grace and ease

our hellos and our goodbyes.