The Writers Group

I invited Alex and Esther to form a writing group. We've met twice at my place on Sunday afternoons.
Yesterday we ate peas with our hands.
I'm not sure why. I do own silverware.

I met both Alex and Esther fairly recently.
I've only recently started to invite new people into my home.

After my mother killed herself, I had rocked in my chair in the dark and thought,
I want nothing else to happen.
And nothing did, or so it seemed.

After a couple years, one day I looked out a bus window and thought, I want more life,
and life began to start up again.
It felt familiar but weird, like returning to a place I'd lived but hadn't been in a long, long time.

The other night, I dreamed I'd moved to a new neighborhood. I'd need to find my way all over again. It was sort of an anxiety dream and sort of a promise.