Once in a while,
as though pulled in by some desire
or force,
some decide to take a ride back
to Writers Cafe.
It's not always a long visit, yet
they still come back
as though returning to their old home.
"I remember Robbie,
or Marie, or Frieda P," they might say.
They may recall this place in a way one might remember
flags that lined porches
or trees on each side of the street where they lived.
But still, they remember this place.
Their names are still on the mailbox.
For better or worse, this is a community.
Some have moved on, as they should.
And some are still here, pruning nouns
or mowing verbs.
Some have even died.
The street may look different.
Trees may be bigger.
And old friends may be gone for good.
But on this block,
you're never turned away
no matter how long you've been gone
or how many times you move on.
There will always be opportunities to write about
the sun, the rain, a train...
Writers Cafe
on this block, once in a while,
they still come back.