I sit at my writing desk in case I am inspired,
think back to my first Zona Rosa gathering
where fertile, creative minds congregated.
Rosemary said to one member, "Say you are
are a thinking-woman's Mary Higgins Clark."
I hear her say, "Be patient. Let your soul
follow your body." I laugh at the letter she
reads from a Zona Rosa member saying, I
moved after breaking up with the rat-faced
bastard I thought was my boyfriend."
The woman who spills words all over herself
reads homework about a fabulous fantasy
and one on toxic people, telling one writer
of her incredible honesty. I listen as she asks
"What is the story you tell over and over?"
Rosemary says to remain single minded.
Bingo. I like that idea. The dinner menu
for tonight will be a helping, large or small,
of "fend for yourself." I need to figure out
what will fit into my van turned into a home.
She reads woven poetic words Marla writes
about her murdered teacher whose classes
were spiritual and work from Elsa, who
fears spiders and pens prose about "Papa
carrying the little casket under his arm."
I leave the group, a grateful visitor, taking
with me memories of a rainy Saturday
filled with inviting faces, treats so sweet,
wine so fine, and fuel that ignites me
"to write a book before I go mad and die."