Open Write is a community celebration of poetry—an invitation to write, read, and reflect together. You’re welcome to write a poem a day or to come and go as you need. Reading and leaving a brief note—a line you loved, an image that stayed, a feeling a poem stirred—is also a meaningful way to participate. This is a generous, low-pressure space. We’re glad you’re here.

Our Host

Joel /hō-ÉL/ Garza called roll for the first time on Monday, August 23, 1993. He lives in Dallas, where he teaches high school English at Greenhill School. He also teaches Fiction Writing as well as Race, Culture, and Community through Global Online Academy. He writes each day with his students, sometimes posting things to the interwebs. When he is not teaching, Joel reads, drinks coffee, and basks in the glow of his wife, three kids, and a cocker spaniel.

Inspiration 

To quote the one thing I’ve read by Ludwig Wittgenstein, “How small a thought it takes to fill a whole life!” Poetry is the genre for these small, life-filling thoughts. 

My studies taught me that many poetic forms winnow down in length as they ramp up in meaning. A sonnet’s couplet, a sestina’s envoi, a haiku’s closing pivot, a villanelle’s quatrain – you get the idea & the impact: As the form gets smaller, the idea feels more potent, more provocative. There are exceptions. Exceptions like the cherita. 

The Singapore-born London-based poet ai li created the cherita on 22 June 1997. A cherita (Malay for “story”or “tale”) is a concise form that expands in length with each stanza. Each cherita follows a three-stanza form. 

One one-line stanza, one two-line stanza, and finally, one-three line stanza. A narrow gateway, a path, a terrain. The vista broadens in this story but maintains the power of the briefest of poetic forms.

Process

Remember that the cherita is a story. Aim for a tale that you need to tell (or maybe a tale that you’ve never told). Be as direct as possible in welcoming your reader – one line only. 

As you develop the story, be deliberate and succinct. Two lines only for this middle stanza. 

Finally, resolve with a comparatively expansive meditation on the meaning or mystery of this story. Knock yourself out — A whole three lines!

Perhaps today’s writing will prove to be an exercise in brevity for you. Perhaps it will be a form that emboldens you to be direct and honest – with your reader and with yourself.

Make a list of the narrative anchors of your life – moments when you were no longer jet-skiing across the surface of obligations and responsibilities. Choose one that compels you to drop anchor and dive deeply, bravely, carefully. 

One line. Two lines. Then, three lines. I really love this form, which I have returned to often. Here’s the first one I wrote.  

Joel’s cherita

Driver’s seat by Joel Garza

Once we hit the highway, she said, “I think we should get married.”

Two hundred miles from home. No stops planned. No one else in the car. 
No way for me to avoid what this lovely girl said.

Three hours, two people, one question: How much longer did I need
to know that she was the one? One thing I knew for certain.
She knew how to pick the right moment — and for her, the right guy.

Your Turn

Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) 

Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. 

Six lines seems not enough? The poet ai li anticipated that feeling in setting parameters for a cherita terbalik (an inverted cherita). Instead of a pattern of lines that read 1-2-3, aim for this pattern: [3-2-1] [2-1-3] [1-3-2] [2-3-1] and finally [3-1-2]. 

Have an image or link that will enrich the poem? Include it! 

And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. 

Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. 

Finally, keep this community communal – please be sure to respond thoughtfully and kindly to at least three writers.

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Luke Bensing

The dirt is in the details

anxiety to choke out my confidence
depression to snuff my joy

staring at the floor
ocne again
but differently than ever before

Joel R Garza

i really appreciate the balance / tension between the sensory self and the emotional self here, and especially given that conversational first line. Love how the poem leaves such an open gateway for readers to enter — imagining their own staring, their own anxiety

Cayetana

moving away even though anticipated

It is not easy. Twenty-five years. The house was bought with inheritance from the Pacific.
Sweet yellow house with white trim. Oh and the flowers in the window box, my aunt cooed.

The new house is closer to school; no more hour-long commute. The community, mostly retired, often gathers for potlucks, there is a swimming pool. There is a park and a walking trail. This white house with green trim is indirectly bought with inheritance from the Pacific.

Joel R Garza

I’m really enjoying the bittersweet tone here — leaving a home you’ve known for so long but enjoying clear comforts, having a new beginning with people in a different stage of life than yours. My favorite part is the way that the white house trimmed with green feels like a place you can write on, like a clean slate, framed with greenness & life & possibility. Thank you, and welcome home!

Matt Forrest Esenwine

I’ve been enjoying reading everyone’s cheritas – and thank you, Joel, for introducing the group to this form! I love it for the very reason it was created: to tell a narrative. I actually had one published a few years ago in the anthology “Friends & Anemones: Ocean Poems for Children” (Writer’s Loft Press, 2020):

One small boat

yet what happens
once off the shoals

amidst the swells and rolls
makes all the difference
to adventurous souls.

  • (c) Matt Forrest Esenwine

https://reflectionsontheteche.com/2020/11/09/its-monday-friends-anemones/

Keep up the great work of teaching poetry!

Joel R Garza

You work so well with short lines, and rhyme too! Wow. A big fist bump to your adventurous soul animating this poem!

Kim Douillard

I so appreciate the reminder of this form–and loved your explanation of it. I did “cheat” and used this form to also answer the National Writing Project’s Write Out question about the value of going outside to write.

Step outside and feel nature course through your veins.

Senses ignite and ideas sprout. Slugs slide, waves wander, trees trumpet, offering invitations your pencil can’t resist.

Lift those magic wands—indoors or out—conjuring words. Words that dance and leap and twirl with the music of wind and water and land. Let them bring us to your place so we can love it like you do.
#writeout #writewherewestand #cherita #smallpoems

Joel R Garza

“your pencil can’t resist” — you’re reminding me of how often, thanks to this community in a large part, I see the world anew because I know that I can capture it in writing. Thank you for showing the magical contained in the natural — that pencil as wand turn is next level : )

Barbara Edler

Kim, your poem’s raw honesty is alive with movement. It literally sings off the page. Loved slugs slide! Fun sounds throughout this one!

Allison Laura Berryhill

Joel, thank you so much for introducing me to this form. I loved reading the potent narratives of the poets here. Great “on-ramp” for pushing a moment into meaning through a poetic form. I’ll use this one alongside my students. Your countdown of “Three hours, two people, one question” sets the stage for blast-off. So good.

Joel R Garza

Oh, thank you! I have benefited so much from the guidance of you all that I am humbled to know that the on-ramp works for you — it will for your students too!

Allison Laura Berryhill

Diagnosis

Eight months into life with six children, twins at the end.

“I am not okay,” I told the fatherly physician–
expressing a fear not yet fully formed, heavy on my heart and tongue.

“You need exercise,” he placated, patronized, poo-pooed.

So I exercised.
And ten years later my new doctor believed me.
She prescribed the Paxil that changed my life. At last. Ten lost years too late.

Last edited 20 days ago by Allison Berryhill
Tammi R Belko

Allison,
Those “fatherly physicians” need to retire! I am happy to hear you found a doctor who listened to you.
.

Sadly, you had to wait so long. Why don’t doctors understand that we know our bodies? I’m sure the exercise was good, though.

Stacey Joy

I’ll be so glad when doctors can care for us women the right way. I’m glad you received what you needed, even though it was late.
💛

Mo Daley

Allison, your specific story is so moving because it could be so many women’s stories. I’m glad you eventually got the help you needed, but what a shame it took so long!

Kim Douillard

I love the way the form let you tell your story so fully in such few words. I love the “heavy on my heart and tongue.”

Joel R Garza

I love the way you animate what feels so universal — a need to be heard in our not-okay-ness. Love the characterization via those popping p’s from the “fatherly” doctor … and I appreciate the way that sound drives the new-you (prescribed, Paxil). What a blessing to know that you’re not losing years anymore!

Barbara Edler

Oh, Allison, this is heavy! Your poem’s raw honesty flows and lands perfectly. Hugs!

Barb Edler

Joel, thanks for hosting today. It’s been quite a while since I’ve written a cherita, and I need to return to this form more often. I loved your poem, especially the closing lines.

Still Breathing

Outside, tangerine tipped leaves smile.

Inside, poets carry their weathered suitcases.
Unpack their bulging valiant valises.

A lifetime of heartaches spill.
Squandered dreams, a parent’s mental decline, a grandchild’s suicide, revealed.
They hold their precious bundled poems to their breasts and weep.

Barb Edler
17 October 2026

Mo Daley

Wow, Barb. As always, you manage to pack so much into a short poem. Your last stanza is spectacular.

Sarah

I am reading this. The community of poets here and elsewhere where humans unpack thos suitcases for others to witness and carry a little weight of the bundled and weep tears, too in solidarity or compassion. Love this.

glenda funk

Barb,
Oh my. That’s quite a contrast from “tangerine tipped leaves” to “bulging valiant valises.” filled with poetic confessionals. It feels like a lot to ask folks to carry. I get uncomfortable when I don’t know people who share so much. Hugs to you.

Tammi R Belko

Barb,
Your poem embodies so much emotion and heartbreak. Expressing difficult life moments as “bundled poems” is beautiful and haunting.

Allison Laura Berryhill

Oh wow, Barb. The contrast between the smiling leaves and the heartache of the final stanza casts both in relief.
I am grateful to you for providing space for the healing, cathartic power of poetry. Hard and needed pain.

Denise Krebs

Barb, wow. This is so beautiful. The bravery of sharing the suitcases full of pain is breathtaking. I wonder if you are at a spoken-word conference. I’m holding all the poets in that last line.

Anna Roseboro

Barb, I concur with others who allude to the psychological benefits of our writing together each month. I give Sarah the thanks and God the praise for encouraging her to set up this platform, but also for each of our contributors who feel confident telling the truth even when it is not pretty. Your closing lines sum of an experience most of us have had over the years.

And, Barb, sometimes those tears have been tears of joy!!

suejeanart@me.com

I love this line “I lifetime of heartaches spill.” It is so true as writers search their souls. Love the tangerine, the weathered suitcases, the bulging, the squandered. Such great words to describe.

Stacey Joy

Oh, Barb, what a treat! It’s a perfect way to honor the Ethical ELA community here. I was not sure what to expect with the opening line. Such a sweet surprise!
🍁

Outside, tangerine tipped leaves smile.

Joel R Garza

Barb, I am so very moved by the outside & the inside. The shift from smiles to weeping, imagining each packed one of us holding heartaches — it all makes me happy that we have this space to weep & unpack with one another.

Tammi R Belko

Joel,
Thank you for your poem and prompt. I really do the love the twist.

Two years ago my son and his partner bought a 17acre farm and farmhouse. When I first saw it I thought it should have been condemmed or used in a horror film. But they proved me wrong.

Haunted

The house looks haunted in an Amityville Horror sort of way, I thought but didn’t say.

Perched at the tip of nowhere, it reeked of lonely and broken.
It’s vacancy offered a sweet haven for bats and mice to stay.

But, they would slice through brambles and thorns, coax out critters with SnowWhite like song. With flesh and blood they would transform hollow walls and rotted bones into a home, and I would be wonderfully wrong.

gayle sands

Tammi- what a wonderful fairy tale allusion! This phrase— it reeked of lonely and broken—is perfection!

Mo Daley

Tammi, I’m so glad you didn’t say anything! When my MIL saw our first house she cried. Years later she told me she admired us for having the vision that she didn’t. Thanks for bringing me back down memory lane.

Barb Edler

Tammi, I love “reeked of lonely and broken”. I love the way you close this one….”wonderfully wrong” is such a lovely surprise!

Allison Laura Berryhill

Tammi, “I thought but didn’t say” is a mantra that has saved me from myself many times parenting adult children.

Coaxing out critters with SnowWhite song is magical! I can see this joyful, transformed place.

Joel R Garza

The joy of this being wrong! The harvest of sounds & images in the closing lines is such a delightful and life-giving payoff .. thank you!

glenda funk

Tami,
Im reminded of Maggie Smith’s poem “Good Nones” and love this haunted into home story. We need before and after photos!

Cayetana

Thanks for sharing, which helped me to remember. When the price of gas wasn’t what it is today, I had often driven just to drive. In the country I would see these soon to fall structures and I too thought of their pasts.

suejeanart@me.com

Ok.. A re-do and more to the form. Thanks Joel

In a car full of stuff and needing help, she pulled along side of me.

I told her to call 211 for help with basic needs such as food and housing. 
Referrals would be given and she would find a place to rest. 

She drove away quickly without making the call.
Where was she headed? It would be dark soon and I hoped she would be off the streets. 
I prayed she would find the help she needed.

glenda funk

Sue,
This poem is fortuitous as today I was talking to a woman who has been trying to help an unhoused couple locally. We talked about how more unhoused people are coming into our area because winters are warming, and we talked about a local organization that runs a warming facility that I’m looking into for volunteering. I’ll keep your poem on my mind as a reminder to give back.

Such a cherita captures a secene of expectations and hope. In between stanzas, I see space to wonder if the car wanted 211 or the help enough was in the brief voiced exchange. A moment of connection. And then the other side lives a connection that lingers long after still in this poem. The scenes we carry.

Tammi R Belko

Sue,
Your poem is so timely. In today’s climate, it seems that there are so many people in this precarious state. I hope she finds the help see needs.

Barb Edler

Sue, your poem aches with the desire to help and the realistic situation many face. I really felt the tension with “She drove away quickly without making the call.” The closing line shows the narrator’s perspective well. Powerful!

Joel R Garza

Sue, wow. The compact drama reminds me that we’re surrounded by lyric moments. And your courage & kindness reminds me of two definitions I learned from this podcast conversation with moral theologian James Keenan: Sin is when we don’t bother to enter into our world with love; mercy is the willingness to enter the chaos of another person. Thank you for this poetic reminder of the opportunities to show mercy in our world!

suejeanart@me.com

Homeless Woman

In a car full of stuff, she pulled along side of me. I need help, food, and water. What shall I do?

I told her to call 211 for help with basic needs such as food and housing. Referrals would be given and she would find a place to rest. They would help her with health needs.

I saw she had a cell phone. Maybe no money to keep it charged? She drove away quickly and without using it. Where was she headed? it would be dark soon and I hoped she would be off the streets. I prayed she would find the help she needed. 

suejeanart@me.com

Need to work some more on this. I really didn’t stick to the form.

glenda funk

Joel,
Thanks for this reminder about the Cherita. It’s a fun form. I wrote a couple this morning, and found inspiration in your wedding story; however, I’m sharing another one.

Less than 1 Scaramoochi 
[Cherita]

No one knew Katie Zacarias, self-proclaimed China lawyer, not attorney. 

On her first day behind the podium she crashed & burned. 
Her inability to read & her incompetence were evident to all.

Internet comedians parodied Katie in wig-clad costumes & beards. 
Fox’s Hannity interrogated the newest bleach-blond, Mar-a-Lago-face liar. 
They say Katie lasted less than one Scaramoochie, another woman under the clown car. 

Glenda Funk

IMG_6075
suejeanart@me.com

Excellent! This Trump character has been on my mind for a few days. She fit the blonde mold of women he likes but I guess she was more of a liar than he expected.

Last edited 20 days ago by suejeanart@me.com

What playful and at once absurd scenes you so artfully collage here, Glenda, with a zinger of an ending in the clown car. I see the political cartoon.

Barb Edler

Glenda, your diction has such a striking way of showing what’s happening in real time. Loved the reference to Hannity and of course, “the newest bleach-blond, Mar-a-Lago-face liar.” says it all! The final line is the gobsmacker! Yes, “another woman under the clown car”……Wow! What a close. Perfect Canva, too.

Tammi R Belko

Glenda — Your last line —
“They say Katie lasted less than one Scaramoochie, another woman under the clown car”–
had me laughing out loud.

We are living in such a bizarre time. Truly astounding incompetence!

gayle sands

Yes! You have given us the story in a nutshell. What a clown car…

Denise Krebs

Glenda, this is so good and timely. “Her inability to read & her incompetence were evident to all”–even trump, who was embarrassed by her, a cardinal sin in his world. You put in all the details, great recap of the last few days.

Mo Daley

Oh, Glenda! I love this so much. I had to show a friend who is staying with me this weekend. We are roaring!

Stacey Joy

Glenda,
I love that I can always depend on you to share the shi$tty shenanigans in poetry! Perfect! And the image just adds the cherry on top!

Joel R Garza

Thank you for bringing some laughter here — I truly needed it. And thank you for reminding me about that unit of measuring time : )

Sharon Roy

Thanks to Joel Garza for hosting and inviting us to write a cherita. Thanks for introducing me to a new form and providing such clear instructions. It was hard to get in all the images and details from yesterday’s adventure, but the structure was helpful in cutting away. 

Love the in medias res punch of your first line:

Once we hit the highway, she said, “I think we should get married.”

This is fantastic too:

Three hours, two people, one question

I also adore the sweet cherita on your site about bathing your daughter.
____________________________________________________________

haere mai

bundled birders on boardwalk of Manawatu Estuary

haere mai, bar-tailed godwits, to Aeteorou
my sister-in-law spots birds on knitted hats

a hawk chases away red knots
while professor explains
eight-day migration from Alaska

Poem and photos posted on Pedaling Poet.

glenda funk

Sharon,
Sounds as though you saw some beautiful birds.

Barb Edler

Sharon, I love the sounds within your poem and the clear setting. I am especially intrigued by the birds spotted on knitted hats and the hawk chasing red knots. Very fun poem!

Tammi R Belko

Sharon,
I love how detailed, yet succinct this moment was. The action of the hawk chasing the red knots juxtaposed with the professor explaining migration works superbly to show how nature carries on around us.

Denise Krebs

Sharon, I had to do a little research to learn more about the traveling adventures of the bar-tailed godwits. Fascinating! I love the Maori words, and the strong sense of place in your poem.

Joel R Garza

You’re rocking some sprung rhythm here that would do Hopkins proud! And I love the power of the hawk juxtaposed with the professor’s explanation : )

PS That daughter I bathed is really enjoying her freshman year at college!

gayle

Joel-great prompt, great story! The news today was (again) so disturbing.
There were at least 99 incidents of gunfire on U.S. school grounds in 2026. In those incidents, there were 33 deaths and 63 injuries. (everytownresearch.org)

Birthday Present

It was a gift for his 16th birthday.

At 1 PM on Thursday, he tossed his gift over the fence
and followed it onto the playground where he used to play.

He shot his way through the school doors with his gift.
Three children and a teacher died. 
She bought him a gun for his birthday.

“Every day, nearly 130 people in the United States are killed with guns, twice as many are shot and wounded, and countless others are impacted by acts of gun violence.” 
Everytown Research and Policy

Leilya Pitre

Gayle, this is staggering statistics, and your poem is sobering. That final line is devastating. Out of anything that can be gifted, why did it have to be a gun? I don’t understand it, especially when it comes from mothers. Thank you for sharing.

Ann E. Burg

wow…I wanted to write about this, but couldn’t find the way in… you have and your poem is devastating in its directness.., your use of the word “gift” turns me inside out…

Joel R Garza

That galloping cadence of the last line is so darkly potent, and the way that it rhymes / undoes the play of the opening & third lines … omg. I’m also here ruminating on the way you return to gift. Those of us that teach know the way that gifts of character & intellect lay dormant or are cast aside or are misused. You’re gonna have me thinking & feeling this one for a while, Gayle. Thank you

Sharon Roy

Oh Gayle,

Thank you for writing about this heavy topic. It’s so hard for me to understand our country’s love of guns. Why do so many people want guns at the cost of the lives of children and teachers? I cannot understand.

He shot his way through the school doors with his gift.

Three children and a teacher died. 

She bought him a gun for his birthday.

You’ve captured the cognitive dissonance of combining playgrounds, birthday presents and guns.

glenda funk

Gayle,
Talk about unintended consequences. I hope that mother gets charged and rots. Also, your poem is perfect, but I have few words for these heinous acts these days.

Susan Ahlbrand

So dang powerful, Gayle! Gut-wrenching event.

Barb Edler

Oh, Gayle, your poem is a shot to the heart. Incredible title and vivid action to show a real-time tragedy in motion. I really love the added statistic. You need to share this one where ever you can. Powerful!

Tammi R Belko

Gayle,
Sandwiching the birthday present between the events of that day illuminates the tragedy on multiple levels, by reminding us that a 16 year old child perpetrated this horrific crime with a gift from an irresponsible and negligent parent.

Allison Laura Berryhill

Gayle, your use of “gift” is a gut punch. Following the gift over the fence to the playground…There is so much pain in this world, in this 16-year-old. And the “gift” allows him to fire that pain into lifelong reverberations of pain for so, so many. Why do we arm such pain to create more?

Denise Krebs

Gayle, thank you for telling this story. When will we learn? Eventually, will our young voters who have grown up scared through active shooter drills decide we have failed them and do what we have refused to do?

Anna Roseboro

Ditto!! The tragedy of unwise gifting. And the fact that it’s nearly three dozen school shootings this year… already…and several have been here in Western Michigan!

Cayetana

Thank you for putting into paper what many of us continue to agonize over.

i make my way

to the vine
but cinghiali

have already arrived
teaching me
to harvest sooner

Leilya Pitre

Sarah, I had to look up “cinghiali” to know who or what beat you to the vines. Such a complete, little tale with a wisdom. Sounds like a perfect cherita.

Cayetana

Thank you for looking up “cinghiali”. It is usually an early frost that beats me to some of my harvest.

Scott M

I love that you made this into a learning experience for your speaker, Sarah! Wild boars — thanks, by the way, for this new word! — are doing what wild boars do, so your speaker is, like, well, it looks like I’ll need “to harvest sooner”!

Joel R Garza

That line break between 1 & 2 is elite. So often, I’ve thought cherita stanzas as discrete units, but you blew the dang form open. Thanks for showing us how it’s done : )

Allison Laura Berryhill

Sarah tightened the form with the briefest lines and freedom to enjamb her stanzas into one sentence. So good to be reminded of “owning” a form.

gayle sands

lesson learned! 17 words, great message!

Sharon Roy

Sarah,

I love your short, simple lines which carry the weight of regret and acceptance.

glenda funk

Sarah,
This little narrative captures a hard lesson about timing. I, too, had to look up cinghiali.

Barb Edler

Oh boy! I completely understand the disappointment at the end of the poem. So much said here in so few words.

Allison Laura Berryhill

I appreciate the tiny narrative you crafted into a universal message: harvest sooner. I am nearly 67. I need to be harvesting now, not waiting for later.

Fascinating! I’m learning so much today. What a lovely word for wild boar. I can’t imagine seeing them (or their handiwork) in my garden.

Scott M

Listen

2 things you need to know about me
only 2 things, unnerstand?

but, see, I’m gonna only tell you 1 of ‘em
and prolly not e’en that
‘cause, why should I? 

_______________________________________

Joel, I love your cherita and the accompanying screenshot!  Of the three routes, your highlighted one was the quickest, but it also didn’t have any “tolls” and that seems like a nice addition to your cherita.  Now for my offering, I tried to be mysterious, lol, and, by that, I mean, probably, just annoying…

Scott, I love the apostrophes standing in for letters and holding space for clues.

Leilya Pitre

Scott, I am all ears ))) I like the way you use your lines, and the contractions along with missed syllables create such a nice conversational flow.

Joel R Garza

I love that I can hear you with this one, Scott. I’ve been talking to my students about reading a poem to see what’s not answered but merely hinted at. Can’t wait to show them yours : )

gayle sands

I can HEAR this!!

Barb Edler

Love the title and the voice in this one, Scott. The last line lands perfectly.

Allison Laura Berryhill

I love the bait and switch! I am now looking between lines and letters for that second one–wait?! Where was the FIRST? What a joyful, paradox of a poem.
I, too, have 2 things you need to know about me. So there.

Stacey Joy

Scott,
I don’t know if it’s intended today and yesterday, but I think your students are giving you lots of inspiration! I love this. My favorite line reminds me of my daughter’s messages:

and prolly not e’en that

Keep ’em comin’, Scott!

Lori Sheroan

Joel, thank you for hosting and for introducing me to the cherita. Your title contributed powerfully to your example – what a moment! My cherita was inspired by your invitation to “drop anchor and dive deeply, bravely…” I’ll never forget the moment, 19 years ago, when I realized my brilliant, funny, dynamo of a grandmother was grappling with dementia. That moment was the beginning of a painful last chapter; but even in her confusion, she often found comfort in books she’d loved. She called her nurses the names of favorite characters and described, in vivid detail, fairies she claimed were perching on her windowsill. Even now, my memory of her fills my life with wonder.

Not Okay
I called her every day (lucky, at 37, to still have my Granny).

“Hi, hon,” she said, distracted. “Hold on, I need to make him a sandwich.”
“Who, Gran? Who’s sandwich are you making?”

Her pause pummeled my heart. “I don’t know,” she cried.
She was alone, confused. I was hours away.
I called my mother, sobbing. “Can you go to Gran’s? She’s not okay.”

Ann E. Burg

Thanks for sharing this Lori. I just learned about the cherita today, but this is a beautiful and poignant example.

kim johnson

Lori, what a moment of panic! Those times of lucidity and then confusion are like little pinches of reality that are painful. I’m sorry about your grandmother and happy that your memories of her are good ones.

Lovely dialogue here, tender in the voicing of the fissures that hold Gran’s sandwich-eater. A rhythm or routine she still carries even though there are absences.

Denise Krebs

Oh, Lori, what a sweet moment in the life of your Granny. Your specific details are heart rending. I’m so glad you had her so long. I love that last line in your intro, “my memory of her fills my life with wonder.” Beautiful.

Joel R Garza

The dialogue here does such heavy narrative lifting — and those “alone, confused” hard pauses draw in any reader emotionally. My wife’s people have a saying around loss: May her memory be a blessing. Clearly Gran’s is. Abrazos!

gayle sands

Your introduction touched me. Your poem reminded me of times I have been through. Beautiful.

glenda funk

Lori,
The cherita illustrates how a few words can say so much. This is a sad story. The line “I don’t know,” she cried.” is a real gut punch.

Susan Ahlbrand

Oh, Lori. This captures that moment . . . that moment when you realize something’s not right. We lose them twice that way.

Scott M

Lori, this is beautiful. I love the craft of the line (and hate the reality of it), “Her pause pummeled my heart.” And I love love the fact that “she often found comfort in books she’d loved.” Thank you for sharing this (and her) with us!

Cayetana

My heart hurt for you, even after all those years ago. Thank you for writing about your love for your grandma.

Stacey Joy

Hi Joel,
Thank you! I don’t recall writing a cherita in the past and I’m loving this form. My poem is sad because it’s what I recently read online. My mother believed all people should be taught to swim so this story hurt me to my core.

Justice Cries

9-year old, King Overton, attended day 1 of Swim Camp in Virginia

He was eager to learn how to swim before visiting South Carolina.
The camp staff put him in a “free swim” unstructured area of the pool.

King Overton drowned.
Wrongful death lawsuit filed.
Another black boy’s name streaming in tears and cries for justice. 

©Stacey L. Joy, 10/17/26

kim johnson

Stacey, I remember a specific poem you wrote about your mom and swimming and it was about your hair. It sticks with me vividly. I know that this must be painful for you, particularly given your mother’s passion for swimming. A sad poem, but one that needs to be known. When I taught in SC, our coastal area school sent all public school third graders across to the Rec Center pool for swim lessons as part of the curriculum. I hope they still do that.

Denise Krebs

“Justice Cries” what a powerful title and ending to your poem. Yes, yes to this beautiful cherita told about King. Thank you for writing it, and your mom was right. And King was right. He wanted “to learn how to swim before visiting South Carolina.” He certainly should have been taught.

Joel R Garza

Thank you, Stacey, for your vulnerability and for showing us the loving embrace of this community. You create such a potent and direct drama in that shift to short lines in the third stanza — omg the tears and cries that resolve this cry. thank you, and loving prayers for King Overton.

PS On the off-chance that you or others out here don’t know Clint Smith’s work, here are three powerful poems about Black boys and open water. And here’s a prompt from an Open Write 2023 inspired by the opening poem of his 2016 debut collection.

gayle sands

Oof. That last line. Another one. Too many..

Sharon Roy

Oh Stacey,

Thank you for writing about this tragic injustice.

Another black boy’s name streaming in tears and cries for justice. 

The shift from a boy eager to learn a new skill before a looked-forward-to trip to the death of yet another black boy is heartbreaking.

suejeanart@me.com

Oh my gosh! How could a swim camp be so irresponsible? Such a sad story.

Barb Edler

Damn! This is such a heartbreaking poem. The specific details show the injustice. Your title is perfect and the end resonates. Thanks for sharing this one, Stacey!

Denise Krebs

Joel, thanks so much for your great, enthusiastic prompt today. I am inspired to try more cheritas. I love the idea of digging deep and being honest. I do want to try that some more. This was a very old memory that came. It was hard to get it into one cherita, but it’s all I have time for today! I love the “right moment” and “right guy” message in your cherita.

The One That Got Away

I was new to the Wolverine State, keen about life in my new digs–

At the big Macatawa lighthouse with a crowd casting for end-of-season
salmon, I shouted my support for all. After hooking one he knew

he didn’t mind losing, one angler handed me his fishing pole.
After the initial shock, I got into a five-minute fray with this Coho.
It was smart and SO HUGE! I was thankful for a fish story to last a lifetime.  

Photo by fish socks from Pexels

pexels-poopfishsocks-34034876
Last edited 20 days ago by Denise Krebs
Joel R Garza

Denise, I love the big catch moment—you bring a reader in emotionally so well, so swiftly. I appreciate the “I was new to [x]” conversational opening — plan to journal that on my own. Thank you for the inspiration!

oh and the sound of “initial shock” with “five-minute fray” lands on the ear so well!

Leilya A Pitre

This is a story to remember, Denise! I like the beginning that builds suspense and anticipation of an incident. Like the sound of “a five-minute fray with this Coho.”
The the final lines with alliterations sound perfect to complete the story:
“thankful for a fish story to last a lifetime.”

Lori Sheroan

I love the image you created of reeling in your catch! This cherita is filled with excitement.

glenda funk

Denise,
Fun story. A little poem for a big fish story! I have an image of you “wrestling” that salmon into the boat. Did you get to keep and eat it? I feel as though I need a sequel.

Denise Krebs

Ah, it did get away. I think it has been an even better story, since I never got to weigh or land it.

Barb Edler

Denise, I love this! The specific details pulled me into the scene. I love the diction: Wolverine State, Macatawa lighthouse and Coho. The closing lines show the joy! Sweet!

Allison Laura Berryhill

“Fish story to last a lifetime” <3

Kim Douillard

Got to love a cherita fish story! I can only imagine the 5-minute fray with the Coho–now I’m looking forward to the cherita as told by the fish!

Ann E. Burg

Hi Joel! I love this new form and the story your cherita told was just perfect. (wishing continued happiness to the couple). Here’s my No King’s Day morning, presented as a cherita!

Saturday Morning

This time, the crowd was small.

Was it the cold air? the reticent sun?
Certainly it wasn’t our old age and feeble voices.

When she had finished speaking, the woman with the microphone 
asked us to sing with her. This little light of mine, she began, 
and like a chorus of gray-headed catbirds, our voices rose to heaven. 

Joel R Garza

Spread the word about this form! It is so accessible and directs such a rewarding deep dive. Love the long line that resolves this hopeful joyful light moment. Join my voice to your chorus!

Ann E. Burg

Hi Joel! took your advice to spread the word about this form and blogged about it…I have a very soft voice, but I do still get teachers and students to read my blog occasionally! You can read what I’ve written here https://anneburg.blogspot.com/2026/10/celebrate-cherita.html. I’ll post to substack too though that’s usually a place for my rantings. Have a great day!

Wendy L Everard

Ann, I loved the picture you painted here! And I just loved the simile to the gray-headed catbirds!

Lori Sheroan

That last stanza paints a glorious picture. I can hear the song now!

gayle sands

The last stanza paints such a lovely picture. Those catbirds!

Leilya A Pitre

What a glorious ending to your cherita tale, Ann! Love how you made the form work for you so effectively. “This little light” grows when multiplied by your voices.

glenda funk

Ann,
Im hoping folks skipped the NK protests for good reason, such as the turning tide. I did attend our local protest. Instead, I worked at the Yes On Prop 1 booth at the Farmer’s Market.

Barb Edler

Oh, Anne, your last line is delivered perfectly. Love the questions and the metaphor! Fantastic poem!

kim johnson

Joel, thank you for the prompt to write a cherita today!

The Rescue

My heart was heavy with dog loss grief.
I contacted the rescue: please, make a good match.
Meet Jay.

kim johnson

I went with only three lines because that was all I needed today to tell my story :).

Joel R Garza

i feel like this form might nudge people toward spondees 🙂 So much goodness on the ear with others and yours — the heaviness of “dog loss grief” and the lovely lift of the long voweled “Meet Jay” 🐶🤠

Wendy L Everard

Kim, Congratulations — and so sorry for your loss! Love your succinct retelling.

Lori Sheroan

Welcome home, Jay! I felt every line in my heart. My Jersey died August 13. Our home feels the void. Thank you for sharing.

Leilya Pitre

Kim, so glad you have Jay now. For a human with such a great heart, you needed Jay as much as he needed you. I would like to see his picture too. Thank you!

gayle sands

Kim- all of this. All of it. I am so sorry, and I am so glad for Jay.

Susan Ahlbrand

I want to meet Jay!! I’m sure he doesn’t replace Fitz, but I bet it’s nice to have another four-legged family member again!

glenda funk

Kim,
Im so glad you have Jay, even though no dog can replace your special boy. Still, knowing Jay has found his forever home and you a new companion is a lovely story.

Barb Edler

Kim, your dog-rescuing heart sings through this one. Glad Jay was lucky enough to be found by you.

Scott M

Kim, I’m so sorry for your loss! I’m in awe, though, of how well crafted your poem is. Joel hit the nail on the head in his comment: the sounds, the weight, of “dog loss grief” is so perfectly juxtaposed to the lightness of “Meet Jay.” So good!

Susan Ahlbrand

Thank you for this challenge today, Joel. Had to use the road trip we are on as inspo. Doesn’t really tell a story so to speak but captures what we are doing.

Road Trip

In the dark of night, we arrived in Beloit on a road trip north to check off a bucket list item.

Morning light reveals a quaint town with blocks of a downtown farmers’ and crafters’ market, the second largest in a state resplendant with makers and growers and doers.

We explore, then hop in our car, en route to Green Bay and the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field to watch a showdown between his Cowboys and the green and yellow legendary program that pulls in more than the cheeseheads, even this southern Indiana lukewarm NFL fan.

~Susan Ahlbrand 
17 October 2026

Joel R Garza

For a draft that “doesn’t really tell a story”, this one packs so much : the dark & light, the market & the grid iron, the he she team rivalry. Love how rich “what we are doing” always is! “makers and growers and doers”–love the surprise word choice at the end of that line by the way : )

kim johnson

Susan, the story you tell is of adventure – a road trip in the dark of night, a bucket list, a small town coming to life in the morning light. Oh, what a lovely scene you set. I’m glad you are adventuring, and thrilled that you can use your writing to share it with us!

Wendy L Everard

Susan, love the vivid word choice in this, especially the words you pulled into your last stanza. The second largest farmers’ and crafters’ market intrigued me so that I had too research it: jealous! And loved the contrast between the two endeavors.

Lori Sheroan

You’ve captured the story of a road trip in such detail! I feel as if I’m along for the ride.

Barb Edler

Oh, Susan, your ending had me laughing out loud. I love the specific setting details. This is rich and resonates!

Anna J. Small Roseboro

Joel, you’ve tapped into a challenging situation many of us face: when to say “No” nicely, but purposefully. Here’s my version of the dilemma. I often have to pray, “Is this the time to say, “No”? And, then be willing to accept if the answer is “Yes.”

Help Me Say, “No!”

“Help”, he says, “because I need more.”

“Help you some more?
I’ve helped you before.”

“Do not send them away if you can help.”
That teaching in my mind continues to whelp!
But, what if he needs to learn to be the helper?

Teacher-Imagines-Peer-Tutoring
Joel R Garza

Love how the rhyme suggests the firmness of your resolve here stanza by stanza. Lately when a student is asking for what I think is unneeded help, I’ll say, “I trust you. You have plenty to go on.” Which is why your last line works so well — what besides the content will the student learn when they try?!

PS By the way, I said yes to the girl in the car : )

kim johnson

Anna, I find myself praying this prayer often. Your cherita tells the story of a great dilemma, and praying for answers.

Leilya A Pitre

Anna, this is a lesson for many of us. I can teach someone to say no, but I can’t learn it myself. On the other hand, I also think what if I ruin something good by saying no. The circle continues. Thank you!

Leilya Pitre

Good Morning, Joel! Thank you for introducing a new form for me. I already love it and am going to use it quite a bit. In your cherita, she sounds like a wise woman knowing what she wants ))
After yesterday’s quite a loaded day, I wanted something simple, enjoyable, playful, so here it goes:

Almost a Family

Sally, almost domestic squirrel, lives in the oak tree.

Every morning she swiftly inspects surroundings
For weather conditions, lost grains, fallen nuts.

In the evening, she celebrates peace,
Quietly settling down by the back porch fire,
Hoping to get another sweet treat. 

Last edited 20 days ago by Leilya Pitre
Joel R Garza

Thanks for this right-outside-the-window poem! And the way you manage time here — beginning with a kind of eternal present, then every morning, and then it feels like we’re with her yesterday evening, seated with her by the fire. Thank you!

PS Thanks for the nice words about my poem. Reader, I married her : )

Wendy L Everard

Aww, this is such a sweet picture, Leilya! Love her — and your tribute to her!

Ann E. Burg

I always appreciate a poem about the humble squirrel! Chased from so many feeders you have captured her swift and daring daily escapades. I’m glad she finds peace by the back porch fire!

kim johnson

Almost domestic. That is perfect for Sally, and I can see her settling down by the fire to celebrate peace.

Lori Sheroan

This could be a picture book! I loved reading about Sally.

Leilya Pitre

Lori, thank you! I was just thinking today about a picture book. I already mentioned Sally a couple of times in my previous poems. One day, when I grow up retire, I may write picture books–always wanted to write a children’s book.

glenda funk

Leilya,
I can see this turned into a picture book. Squirrels are so cute, but I try to remember they bite and carry disease.

Barb Edler

Leilya, ahhhh! I love the focus on Sally and how she wants that sweet treat at the end of the poem. Lovely use of language throughout this one.

Denise Krebs

Oh, my, she has a name! So sweet, this little Sally who gets treats from you. Love this story, and it does help sometimes to write a sweet story when there is so much pain in the world.

suejeanart@me.com

It is peaceful and of beauty. I love quietly watching the wildlife outside. Even lizards become my pets.

Wendy L Everard

Joel, thanks for this fun prompt — I’m planning on using it with my seniors soon!
Growing up in the North Country of NY, my husband Jim grew up a sportsman — a hunter and fishermen. I, myself, grew up in the suburbs of Buffalo and knew nothing of this life. But I quickly learned that true sportsmen have deep respect for animals, that much of the money collected for hunting and fishing fees goes to wildlife preservation, and that hunting and fishing these wily creatures is much harder than it looks.

“Hunter”

Day by day, he sits watch on hill, silent in tree stand:

Then one bright morn, I look out kitchen window
And, startled, spy a doe trot by.

“Look,” I say.  We rush to see
four deer feasting on apple trees,
safe for the moment under our awed gaze.

Joel R Garza

The sound of this poem, Wendy, reinforces the visual charm : “spy a doe trot by” “four deer feasting”. I found myself lingering over the meter & word choice — love it!

PS In my experience, this is great for students drafting college app essays — forces clarity, nudges them beyond narration & into meditation, etc.

Wendy L Everard

Great idea about the college essay! Thanks for that!

Leilya Pitre

Wendy, phew– they are “safe for the moment under our awed gaze” I was, for a second, worried about the deer’s fate. )))
I always wanted to see them somewhere in our yard, but I also heard complaints from people whose gardens are often visited by deer. Thank you!

Wendy L Everard

Leilya, they are here all the time — to the chagrin of my husband who comes home often empty-handed! XD

Leilya Pitre

Send them to us 🙂

Stacey Joy

Wendy, as someone who rarely sees deer in their natural habitat, my heart raced at the end. I am relieved to also learn what you shared about hunting/fishing money used for wildlife preservation.

When I visited North Carolina last year, we saw deer visiting in the backyard. There was something so spiritually calming to know we needed to remain perfectly still to watch them and not scare them away.

Barb Edler

Wendy, your poem is cinematic. I love the focus on this singular moment and feel the awe of watching the deer feast. Gorgeous!

Mo Daley

My Dream Man
by Mo Daley 10/17/26

My niece Angie and I traipsed up and down the Atlantic coastline of Clifden, a hundred yards ahead of the rest of our relatives.

We hopscotched over puddles of frogspawn, hoping their comma forms would turn to tadpoles soon.  We hoped that when we got to D’Arcy Castle all would be revealed to us as Dorseys, potential inheritors of the once grand estate. 

We rounded a bend and a farmer amongst his sheep asked, “Where are you lasses off to?” Then he leaned against his pitchfork and relayed a history of the castle to us in ten dramatic stanzas. I have never been the same since the day the Irish farmer regaled me with poetry on an early spring day. 

Wendy L Everard

Mo, what a memory this is! (BTW, I loved the “comma forms” of the frogspawn.) And, wait — were you an inheritor of the “grand estate”?? Inquiring minds want to know!

Joel R Garza

The title, first of all, is a prompt all its own : ) Thanks for this patient, surprising story of poetry out in the world. I especially love how the quickness & motion of stanzas one & two slows waaaay down for the history you hear.

PS Speaking of poetry out there in the world, check this article about Frank O’Hara posted this week.

Leilya Pitre

What a wonderful tale, Mo! I can “hear” the Irish farmer–love their accent. And to tell “a history of the castle to us in ten dramatic stanzas” that sounds glorious.

Stacey Joy

Mo, I was not expecting to see you here as the first post! Does Kevin know you took his spot?🤣
What a fun tale! It sounds like one that should be in a children’s book. Let us have another chapter, verse, stanza, book!!

Mo Daley

LOL. I may have been up from last night still!

Mo. I love this poem so much. For the story. For your friend, Angie. For farmer’s regaling or regalement of poetry. Perfect.

Barb Edler

Mo, I am totally captured by the setting in this one. I have never heard of frogspawn before, but I totally understand the word. Love the farmer’s voice and how well you show this entire scene. The pitchfork is especially keen. The last line sings! Gorgeous poem!

Linda M.

What a beautiful prompt! I love the whole introduction…the first year you took roll to describing a cherita to yours. Wonderful. I’m off to write. Thanks so much!