A Room for Everyone

Closed-door cloistered
sitting upright fingers poised
poetry room

A room for writing, all
my own, finally, it only took
a pandemic

Wandering in the room
of my thoughts

Desk window, portal to imagination
when outdoor exploration
becomes forbidden

Sunny, cozy, warm… a room
that looks out to the world

On the south side is a glass
conservatory. Broad leaves
breathing, making
food of sunlight

A sun room shaded
with all the plants
I’ll never be able to
grow, making
an indoor jungle

Glass walls, outside
inside, table, chair,
my laptop, and me

In the study room, teaching
my computer to read Greek

At hallway’s end, a quiet
room with a reading couch

I am a compilation
of all the rooms
in all the houses
in all the movies
I watch to experience

their decor. The ceiling
of sky, walls of horizon,
inhale night, exhale day

An island,
a continent,
a world,
this room

Pull down the ladder
and climb to find
me keeping company
with your keepsakes

In the living room, cats
sleep, run
and chase each other

In this warm kitchen there is
always the aroma
of fresh baked bread

In a stew, create
comfort food one
crockpot at a time

I am the only room
in the house
that holds your
destiny, next to
the family room

You must visit to prepare
something that feeds
you. Yum!

I hold the threaded machine
she peddles to make masks

Magnificent, glorious
room that is so magical
oh how I love you. You provide
me comfort. It is my husband
and my and my daughter’s
bedroom we cherish
you a lot and promise
to keep you clean

I am your front porch room—
warm sunlight streaming through
walls of glass–sip your coffee
and watch the birds and butterflies flit from
flower to flower–sip your coffee
and watch the plants turn their leaves
to the sun–sip your coffee
and welcome your guests

The pond swirls and rushes
to fill the blind darkness

Original prompt: We are the house. Which room in the house are you?

by Julianna M. Cruz, Elizabeth Faith Aamot, Gudelia Vaden, James Luna, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Jessica Lea, Nan Friedley, Cati Porter, Dar Stone, Renee Mosher Peirce, Steve Perry, Barbara Berg, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Douglas McCulloh, John DiFusco, Rick Champion, Rakhi Shelat, Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez, Frances T. Borella, Lynn Doiron

Threshold

I look for an open door, but the door is in me and I am lost.
The door is freedom but fear is stronger. Always it is slamming shut.

I press my hand against the door made of stone and it does
not budge, yet on the other side I know is paradise.

I touch the door, made of maple, the micronutrients of its source
tree trying to flow again in between the cracks.

With gloved hand, I push open the carved door made of cedar
and a stranger says, “come in.” Who is this person in my house?

Eek!!!! I push open the brown-tinged, heavy steel door
and wonder what’s on the other side; maybe a secret garden?

So transparent, so honest, outside is always inside
with my glass door, my favorite! The door…. so tempting,

so tantalizing, yet I must remain inside. My red door, so welcoming,
a barrier protecting the UPS man from ‘vicious’ pups.

Two doors to my future, one red, one blue, with a sign that says,
“open me” and with a pill hanging by a string on each doorknob that says

“eat me.” The door is dark and pulsing. Beyond are the thick red walls,
warm and nourishing, of the womb in which the future will grow.

Doors are opening, says the MUNI bus, but to where? A surprise
awaits you on the other side. Knock knock. Who’s there? Luke.

Luke who? Luke In the peephole and come get your pizza.
My door is always open to those with need, even in these hard times.

Gun-metal gray those western clouds will swing open
allowing sunlight’s waltz over thresholds of brighter days.

When the winds whipped around the town, she rode the front door
like a surfboard, high above and far away, another world beckoning.

Fuzzy images peer through opaque glass framed in oak. Armed
with newspaper and vinegar I rub till the glass is clear.

What is in? What is out? The heavily crafted iron doorknob begs
to be turned, “Turn me around to see, turn me and I will turn you–inside out.”

I stand in the doorway, neither here nor there; a choice must be made—
I cannot linger in liminal limbo forever.

Original prompt: Doors – what do they look like and where do they go?

by Rakhi Shelat, Kris Lovekin, Shali Nicholas, Natalie Champion, Rick Champion, Julianna Cruz, Gudelia Vaden, Juanita Mantz, Elizabeth Faith Aamot, Ai Miyamoto Kelley, Doug McCulloh, Renee Mosher-Pierce, France Borella, Lynn Doiron, Debby Johnson, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Barbara Berg, Nan Friedley, Cati Porter

It’s About Time

Day 28: Gardening, my senses seem primal and keen.
I hear the flapping of bird wings and smell roses

from fifty feet away. Wait! Did that ant just wave at me?
They call them “Santa Ana” but I prefer to spend

my precious time twirling aloft a spring zephyr, munching
snap peas and strawberries from my sunny front yard harvest.

I write poetry, take neighborhood walks in the sunshine, play
with my kitties, and cook Mexican chili and cornbread.

Catching up on my Greek homework. It’s about time.
A pocket full of loose time jangling next to my keys, itching to be spent,

so I drop a few coins into the jukebox and dance the night away.
With overanxious dancing legs, I vine, shake and twirl

myself around with my online dance partner, Ira Weisberd.
Eye shadow, mascara, eye liner, makeup and blush on

the top half, mask on the bottom, forever young.
Xanax and short naps have kept full blown cabin fever

at bay, but I’m not sure how much longer it can last.
Wondering when this will end and hoping it ends well, but knowing

that history says we are doomed to repeat our mistakes every time.
Zooming as I punch and scream, karate lessons in virtual space.

Original prompt: How we are spending our time during the pandemic.

by Natalie Champion, Rick Champion, Gudelia Vaden, Nan Friedley, Juanita Mantz, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Julianna Cruz, Cindi Neisinger, Debby Johnson, Cati Porter

The Puzzled Box

The box contains all that exists,

including the fact that there is no box.
You gave me a box, and I jumped in.

Fairy dust and peacock feathers, mystical

dreams all swirled together, just inside the tiny box.
The box rests somewhere between my collarbones.

In it is the laughter of my children

and the lid is my grandmother’s hands.
A life shared and spent on a gift for

the future promised. A cat, perhaps,

at some point in its many-spiraled life.
My box is next to his! Wait! Wait! Don’t

close the lid! I open the big box

with my strong Wonder Women hands. Goodies
for the foodies: Milky Ways, tacos, sanitizing wipes

and toilet paper. Yay! Better than Christmas…

box of 24 rolls of TP, gross
of hand sanitizers and 4 happy

face masks. My cat Princess Tabitha

opens the large cardboard box with her
magical claws and inside she finds

15 pounds of chicken-flavored cat food!

Original prompt: What is in the box? What is the box?

by Nan Friedley, Natalie Champion, Sherre Vernon, Shali Nicholas, Dar Stone, Douglas McCulloh, Gudelia Vaden, Debby Johnson, James Luna, Cindi Neisinger, Cati Porter

Behind the Mask

Surely I do disappear
when I don that mask, but
where do I go?

Another self lies
in the space between.
I spent three years

living in another country
under another name.
A thousand

masks, one truth;
we are all characters
in someone else’s

play— the stage is set.
Behind my mask
I pretend I can

shield myself from evil.
I usually feel like a monster
wearing a convincing human

mask just to get by.
Long ago, I believed that
love could melt my mask.

In public with my mask
I pretend I am a first responder,
then I can bear

the thought of wearing it.
I am fine with anybody wearing
a mask for protection,

my issue is with people
who always wear “masks”
you could never know who

they really are! Wearing
a mask, still me but not,
only letting people

see that part of me I want
them to see. Writing the lines I want
to think while static dances

in my head. Smile
in my voice even if
you can’t see my face

Original prompt: Mask/personae

by David Stone, Juanita Mantz, Debby Johnson, Douglas McCulloh, Yvonne Suarez, Ai Minamoto Kelley, Magdalena Nunez, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Robin Longfield, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Cati Porter

Ode to Pets

With a leap, she is on top of the bookcase. A calico miracle.

Striped silly sisters, meowy morning
greeting, collars with tinkling bells, quieted,
nestled next to me, nine o’clock nap.

Black and white, gray, orange, striped, purring,
fluffy, snuggly felines comfort me.
Gato hungers caresses & vittles – repays

with furry strokes. With quivering whiskers and twitching
tail, stalks lizards through glass pane.
A trio of troublemakers, kitchen counter thieves,

easy chair pile on, purring incessantly. Yowling
cats, demanding food; I just fed you. Enough.
Feathered backyard friends chirp endlessly

and sometimes leave a present on my Toyota windshield.
What’s that white glob! Black and white spot
against the sky drops the muddy ball

into the jacuzzi and looks up. Shih tzu
fur monsters, one golden Wookiee lookalike
and the other, a black and white hobbit. A shiny

black hotdog, with a See’s Candy nose, liquorish
black paws -Barks at anything that moves.
Jet black wisps gather in the corner–swept

away and long since turned gray–now
gathering only in the corners of my mind. The fondest
of all: childhood pets, immaculate and perfect

because they are long dead: three snakes,
two parakeets, a toad, a gecko, seven
crawdads from the river.

Original prompt: Today, please write one line of poetry about 10 words long that describes your pet – what it looks like, what your pet does or how your pet brings you comfort, etc. NO NAMES OF PETS, please – just describing words

by Doug McCulloh, Frances Vasquez, Janet Alexander, Jacqueline Mantz, Cati Porter, Juanita Mantz, Gudelia Vaden, Natalie Champion, Rick Champion, Nan Friedley, Julianna Cruz, Kris Lovekin, Cindi Neisinger

Sans Dieu Dans le Mond

Because He knew that we wouldn’t always have Him,
they were left onto us, the homeless,
those problems that we’d always have around—
the vilified, the virulent, the victims of our neglect—
yet we left them to die in the streets,
on permanent quarantine: no food or help,
no change, yet nickel-and-dimed, no quarter,
no sanctuary, no Samaritans— good or otherwise— to hear their woes,
no hearth to heat their feet, no place to head home to,
nowhere for God’s orphans to lay their heads.
Instead we’ve placed upon them a virus that preceded pandemic,
a couronne d’épines, a world as dystopian as Dick’s,
as dire as Dickins’, and as divesting as Dickinson’s.
How many COVIDs or flus will it take for us to covet the role of protector
we were given and share the mercy we pray so much for—
the covenant we have with the humanity,
the empathy, the heart we were all born with—
and give our forgotten siblings a Jesus to heal their wounds?

---

Jose Oseguera is an LA-based writer of poetry, short fiction and literary nonfiction. His writing has been featured in Emrys Journal, The Hiram Poetry Review, and The Literarian. He was named one of the Sixty Four Best Poets of 2019 by the Black Mountain Press.

His work has also been nominated for the Best of the Net award (2018, twice in 2019) as well as the Pushcart (2018 and 2019) and Forward (2020) Prizes. He is the author of the forthcoming poetry collection “The Milk of Your Blood.”

Today on Good Friday, Let Us Make Time
April 10, 2020

For reflection and gratitude for those
who give of themselves so that we may live.
Such gratitude for the unsung UPS
hero, Steve, who we have known for years, who
never fails to tuck our packages away
so that they stay safe from porch pirates
and dry from this rain! Gratitude for
the phlebotomist who took my blood
at the lab, for Jose who kept his business
open so we could buy papusas for lunch,
for the bus drivers and for my amazing
husband Rick and felines, Princess and Milo.
Your family is always there for you
through joy, sadness. They will always be there
for you. They support and care for you.
Family love each other unconditionally
no strings attached. Grateful for that which is
essential, the science, the heart, the spirit
of all those on the front lines who do
what they need to to help others who need.
To all the public defenders showing up
in court, fighting for those who are voiceless
and invisible, and always, protecting
their clients’ rights and fighting for their safety
Good Friday, a day of sacrifice. Thanks
to my cousin, infectious disease nurse,
who sacrifices her safety in
12 hour shifts. All heroes and heroines,
leaving their families, homes behind to work,
so we could stay home, stay healthy, so that
life could go on, they are our lifelines
holding us together, and forever
and ever we owe them our health, sanity,
and, hopefully, the victory! So much
gratitude for our doctors, nurses, EMT’s,
& ambulance drivers in the trenches.
Grateful thanks to son-in-laws that work at
Amazon & engineering firms still
reporting to work. Special thanks to fast
food workers, dashers to doors, Instacarters,
delivery folks, & postal workers
who are allowing these seniors to last
a little longer to play with their grandchildren!
Special thanks for the scientists who will
conquer the Coronavirus and for
the fieldworkers who keep food coming to
our tables. Dedicated to all of
the Essential Workers: Gratitude and smiles,
here and across the miles, risking their lives.
These are our heroes. We will never forget
their sacrifices. I can’t build statues
to you all, or set aside a holiday,
or christen a ship in honor of
the great and simple miracles you perform.
Please know that I build my monument
with prayers for your safety, your futures
and your families. My mom always spoke
about La Sombra de San Pedro.
May La Sombra and all that could shelter
you and keep you safe now and always.

Original prompt: Whether or not you observe this holiday, let’s use today’s poem as an opportunity for reflection and gratitude for those who give of themselves so that we may live.

by Rakhi Shelat, Barbara Berg, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Christine Perkins, Natalie Champion, Rick Champion, Gudelia Vaden, James Luna, Nan Friedley, Frances Borella, Juanita Mantz, Cati Porter

A Robot is Not a Robot I am
April 9, 2020

A woman who doesn’t run with the wolves
but instead lives large with Wolfhounds

I’m the first root that can become a stem
and a stem that can become a root, with all
my plant tissues twisted deep into
the soil or up into the sky

Honed in the crucible of life to be strong
enough to also be gentle, loving and kind

I am a teacher, poet, and dancer

Wife, mother, karate instructor and
dreamer of dreams, scaling mountains unseen

A bike-riding girl with books in her head
who grew into the matriarch who tries
to turn everything into a poem

Inland empire punk rock girl turned
punk rock deputy public defender

Lackadaisically ambitious. Carefully
high strung. Shrewdly kind. Impatiently polite.
Seriously comical. I am a walking
cliche and I am ashamed to be proud of it.

Most unlikely to teach teaches. Invisible
man writes. Watch the chubby kid run.

My experiences as a preschool
and K sub teacher would make the movie
Kindergarten Cop look like a wimp!

Writing in retirement replaced teaching
which replaced college which replaced high school
baton twirling which replaced pathetic
piano playing in my early years.

Creative writer, with grammar problems.
Loves to use, too many commas, too.

Chameleon in her smart way, relaxed in her
easily organized way, I guess, a scale
carrying so many in a well-balanced way!

I played Antipholus of Syracuse
in A Comedy of Errors while in
college at UCR, and this one line
still resonates with me today:

I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.

Painfully self-aware, seemingly born
misfit/weirdo who struggles to connect
with others due to past and present
physical and psychological traumas,
keeps getting dealt bad hands but deals with it
with dark humor, brutal honesty and
observations, and trying (and seemingly
failing) to come into/reach a state of grace.

I was born in dysfunction but crawled
out with a story that is a useful
how not to be guidebook.

I am the one who feeds the cats.

A, I . . . am not a robot; not a robot; a robot

Original post: Write a one line autobiography: Who are you?

by Nan Friedley, Gudelia Vaden, Stevie Taken, Natalie Champion, Rick Champion, James Luna, Juanita Mantz, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Janine Pourroy Gamblin, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Robert Merrill, Dar Stone, Frances Borella, Debby Johnson, Cindi Neisinger, Ai Miyamoto Kelley, Barbara Berg, Pat Murkland

Cooking in the Time of Covid
April 7, 2020

The fish get away; chickens are free
to run; cows, lambs you’re safe too.
Carrots, beans, potatoes, pasta noodles
run and hide we’re after you.

Potatoes sliced thin, tossed in olive oil
and Himalayan sea salt, then baked for 15 minutes.
Oh yeah, french fries!

Oh, still enjoy quesadillas, tacos, burgers, pizzas, fries
but more homemade, much healthier
and definitely more generous with their vegetables!!!

Scored 25lb. bags of beans, rice and flour.
Frijolitos, arroz, y tortillas de harina = Sabrosito! Burritos
Did it really expire in 2008?
Flour can’t make me sick though, can it?

Maiz o Harina? I’ve made them both!
I think it’s time for Tia’s Tamales! Mole (Mo-leh) Tamales!
New Mexico Green Chile or New Mexico Red Chile—
Maybe Christmas is your style.

Gonna make tortilla soup from tortilla pieces,
hey, where’s my tortilla? Who took my tortilla.
Oh, there it is! Invented when folks didn’t have mucho.

Reach for Doritos and Coke, or nosh on
a lunch of defrosted year-old meatballs?
Don’t do it…don’t open that
bag of peanut ‘M&M’s for Easter.

by Kris Lovekin, Nan Friedley, Cindi Neisinger, Barbara Berg, Rick Champion, Natalie Champion, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Julianna Cruz

Original prompt: Today, let’s think about food! How has your diet changed since you’ve been staying at home? Do you reach for different things? Are there things you miss? Let’s keep the focus on food – what are you snacking on during quarantine, what new recipes have you tried, what comfort foods are you making, or tell us about that strange thing you defrosted and cooked up from the back of the freezer….