Reunions

Peacock

A poem by James Nicola

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When we went to our twenty-fifth reunion

the bipeds there were not the ones we knew:

their molecules, atoms, and subatomic

particles had been replaced by new

ones. Memories were transferred to new cells 

that hold memory banks, so Fred could say,

“Hey, Karl, it’s good to see you. What’ve you

been up to lately?” to Karl. But a few

old friends mistook Karl for Bill, you, or me. 

At my fiftieth I plan on pretending

to be someone else, just to see what happens.

Where have the molecules that made us up

gone to? We know where the new influx comes

from: air, food, water. Outflux: exhaling,

perspiring, and so forth. (I won’t be vulgar.)

And other folks have breathed our atoms in

or drunk us, as have animals and plants,

as we have breathed and drunk and eaten them.

That’s why, when I pretend to be someone

I’m not—or rather someone I was not,

I won’t exactly be lying.

James B. Nicola is the author of eight collections of poetry, the latest three being Fires of Heaven: Poems of Faith and Sense, Turns & Twists, and Natural Tendencies. His nonfiction book Playing the Audience: The Practical Actor’s Guide to Live Performance won a Choice magazine award. He has received a Dana Literary Award, two Willow Review awards, Storyteller's People's Choice award, one Best of Net, one Rhysling, and eleven Pushcart nominations—for which he feels stunned and grateful. A graduate of Yale, James hosts the Writers' Roundtable at his library branch in Manhattan: walk-ins are always welcome.