I'm Nate Marshall and this is The Slowdown.

Have you ever had a long awaited reunion?

Maybe it was a high school or college reunion at an appointed interval or maybe it was just

a chance meeting in a public place with someone from a past version of your life?

I know I have.

When I travel back to my hometown, Chicago, I joke that I must be prepared to see anybody

from any part of my life anywhere.

That's part of the weird magic of hometowns, I guess.

I imagine when people see me, I'm no big surprise.

The bookish kid who wrote poems is now the bookish professional poet.

Sometimes though, you see someone in a moment or in a circumstance that surprises you.

Today's poem captures one of those moments.

Blacklight by Avand Jordan.

Our bodies cast a shadow of one body under a black bulb pulse in your mother's basement.

Light, even when it's black, moves faster than youth or old age.

It's the constant in our lives.

But I remember when I thought your house, always ready for a party, even during the week,

was the fastest element in my life.

The toenails, lint, teeth, eyes, everything was wholly under the glow.

I suspect even my bones radiated when we danced, which was always more of a grind than a dance.

Whether the song sung came from Rick James or Barry White, we called what we did in the

coat room dancing too.

...