I studied faces on a weekend jaunt
across the country for a cousin’s fete.
I rarely think of them – they never haunt
my dreams or memories, but it was sweet
to look on them, to see those faces lined
that I remember old when I was young,
to feel their hugs, to hear their speech remind
and give my early history a tongue.

We gathered in Virginia’s rainy spring,
among the leafing trees and structured bricks.
We ate buffets and ducked the buffeting
of wind outside. We mingled in a mix
of relatives: a dozen new to me,
enhanced in number and diversity.