friday night writing group

we met more or less monthly
to share our poetry
more or less
while mushrooms steeped
and joints were rolled,
we drank glasses of wine
and bottles of beer.

a motley crew, we were
there by choice.
a chorus of voices
joined by a love of words,
a grasping for meaning:
the philosopher and the sci-fi nerd,
the hippie and the party girl,
the cheerleader and the engineer,
the earth goddess and the goth.

we made ourselves vulnerable,
and shared our songs.
we did that for two years.

later, there was dancing.
some of us mistook our love
for words for the possibility of love.
some of us never took that chance
and then all that remained
was the memory
of writing, what was
and what could be.
 
all those dreams:
that together we could build a new world,
that our words could change hearts,
that we could make someone fall in love,
that the attempt is beautiful.