The word: Bonita

I was shopping for ingredients for a soup when Gabi and I stopped what we were doing and had a conversation: a moment, a margin, in an otherwise full-page day.

The Stranger: Gabi

The Word: Bonita

The poem I wrote:

It is a beautiful song,
and we don’t need
to be tied to a mast
to hear it. Bonita,
this day of rupture
and negotiation
made by hand and seed.
Bonita, our chattering
young. Aren’t you dying
to look hard
at each halved worm,
each feather fallen,
at every last wonder?

The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.

4 comments on “The word: Bonita

  1. Martin Mayland of Cedar Creek

    March 20, 2019 at 10:30 pm Reply

    It’s Not That Easy

    Aww! The baby is so… bonita!
    Or should I say, bonito?
    Pink or blue for booties?
    Tell me what is so.
    Umm, well, in our modern age,
    We’re not taking it by chance.
    We’re afraid it’s not as easy
    As just looking in its pants.
    Today, it’s complicated
    And we could get it wrong
    So, we will have our patience
    Until it can sing to us its song.
    Until the time that it decides,
    I guess we’ll have to wait.
    Experts, now, are telling us
    Around six or seven, maybe… eight.
    Until then, we’ll avoid
    The use of blue or pink.
    We’ll not be the ones
    To tell it what to think.
    Our baby will have freedom.
    Will not be having to conform.
    He/she/it will be emancipated
    From the notion of what’s norm.
    Yes, there will be toys.
    Lots of them for fun
    Many will be stuffed animals,
    Perhaps, a Barbie and a gun.
    What about a name, you ask?
    For a daughter or a son?
    We’ve chosen something unisex.
    Its name is Marion.
    And what about the clothes?
    There will be pants and dresses.
    And thank gosh for rock and roll.
    I love some curly tresses.
    The birth certificate?
    We will have to see.
    We’ll not check the F or M
    But the third box, TBD.

  2. Bonito or Bonita
    not many know the difference
    One is cute or pretty
    the other is a fish

    Tu eres muy bonita
    I blushed when I heard this
    sitting in a restaurant
    eating tunafish

    I learned to cook Bonito
    wearing a pretty dress
    with peppers, onions and tomatoes
    bonita none the less

  3. American Dreams

    It was fruit crate labels
    that pulled us.
    MexRio, Gemelos, Yokohl,
    SunTag, Prodiglo
    They showed us
    life was tilted, and blessings rolled west
    like sun bright lemons
    of the Sweetwater Valley,
    piled high in Bonita.
    We were helpless
    in the face of fruit art
    in Cleveland,
    in goulashes,
    living and dying
    and nowhere to go
    to go for a ride.
    Didn’t everyone doubt
    but silently dream,
    and finally sing, California?
    Didn’t we break,
    like spring ice on the Cuyahoga,
    and go, like Woody Guthrie,
    innocent
    and in love with
    our giving and giving land?

  4. Oh, Bonita

    Calling our professor by her first name, well, it was just not right.
    Sure, we all knew she was never going to be a friend but only a fright.

    She drilled us with nouns, adjectives, verbs, and a preposition or two;
    Over and over and over again until parts of speech were all could spew.

    Despite our fear and our loathing for the subject matter at hand,
    we nevertheless learned all the content she had for us planned.

    So, thank you Professor Bonita for all that you taught us.
    Even after all we endured we know that grammar smarts are A+!

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