Why we need a reunion

Something about long driveways,
wizened trees sprawling
overhead, the stew
and the yeasty bread. Country comes
from the stereo. I like it, I admit—
but only in this house.

At the lunch table it's
the same old stories—comforting
like the meal. What will you do?
My family's favourite question.
I try to think of a new answer,
one they might not mind.

Nana broke science.
She overpowered our genes—
wrestled them to the floor. Let's forget
about who got the coffee table
she made from shells. But who did?
Let's forget that.

I could have used a funny uncle
growing up. Call me 'Boss', he'd said,
and we did, but never saw him much.
Other than that, I can't mention names—
everything is touchy still.
We won't be here forever you know,
the gorse will eat the hills.