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.
March 20, 2019 at 10:30 pm
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.
March 23, 2019 at 10:15 am
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
March 24, 2019 at 6:43 am
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?
March 25, 2019 at 12:13 pm
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+!