Zona Rosa

Zona Rosa

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."

Lisbeth Thom

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