Weekly meetings
Swapping stories
Drinking tea
Or cider
Or just water
Bringing bread that wasn't quite supposed to be free
This is where I'm supposed to be.

Breathing perfumed smoke as I recount
The amazing or not-quite-so-amazing
Tales of my last few days
Or my last few lives
And these separate lives surrounding me
Exhale swirls and rings and billows
While listening, rapt
To the tales of dumpster-diving
Risky hitchhiking
The incantations of their voices
Rising and falling
Crescendo, rallentendo, diminuendo
Synchronized with the underground
Icelandic folk tunes
On the house radio

And, at peace with the strangers at the bar
(Simpson from Iran
Jordan from New Jersey)
At home with the familiar faces
Hovering above the cushions in the corner
I know
This is where I'm supposed to be.