11/52: heartstorm

If you find yourself having looked into the eyes of the heartstorm

deep

to confront the cowl of madness,

there is no looking away.

Down there in the deep

down there in the deep

down there in the deep

where no one knows but you your secret grief.

Your secret hood

over your ears and eyes

you pull it,

the light fades

down there in the deep

where you can not escape

the eyes of the heartstorm

in the deep.

---

audio: https://soundcloud.com/mbonica/heartstorm1

10/52: Starbucks abduction

On the way to work this morning
I was abducted by aliens.

It's not the first time.

They took me to Starbucks
and forced me to order them
mocha lattes.
Well, forced is a little strong,
but it sounds good.

They uncertainly sipped
at the foamy concoctions
and told me about their lives
back home -
how most of their people
never ventured out
past their everyday existence -
as if exploring other planets
and other civilizations
wasn't actually a choice.

Everything is a choice,
insisted the tall one with two heads.
His other head agreed.

We shook hands,
all three of theirs and both of mine,

and then they beamed me back
into my car and my life.


Audio: https://soundcloud.com/mbonica/starbucks-abduction

8/52: the grey interlude

The snow has dissolved into the earth
leaving the gardens exposed,
raw branches of the blueberry bushes
naked and grey.

Everything is grey for this brief period.
it is the grey interlude
between winter and spring.

I am tempted to dig in the mulch
with my fingers,
hoping to expose the black fruits
as if they are somewhere down below
waiting to emerge whole,
popping out as if the branches were straws.

The grey interlude lasts too long
and my patience wears thin
after months of hiding.

7/52: hello, tree spirit

Hello, tree spirit
I know you are following me,
following me in the woods.

Do you love me more than the others?
You hide treasures along the foot path:
moss on an old log,
three leaves laid just so,
a mushroom blooming like a young woman.

Are these for me? Only for me?
Or do you share your secrets
with whomever happens along?
The old man with the damn dog
that should be on a leash;
the couple running in spandex
with iPods plugged in their ears -
together, alone;
the three college boys smoking weed
as if no one had smoked weed in the woods
before them.

How do they deserve your attention
when I walk so slowly
and I can feel you following me,
just behind my peripheral.

Do you share your secrets with them
when I do not come for days?
Do you share your secrets with them
when I am not clever enough to see
the gifts you have placed in the shadow,
or in the glinter light?

Be faithful to me, tree spirit.
I am but a mortal, with a mortal man's years.
Be faithful to me,
follow me, only me, in the woods,
and I will love you when I am old.

When I am gone, lay your treasures
by my footprints
grown thin with time.

---

Audio: https://soundcloud.com/mbonica/hello-tree-spirit

6/52: onions

To caramelize the onions properly

requires a certain state of mind.

One can't be holding on to ancient pain

or the onions, sensing your anger,

burn black and hard.

You must acknowledge the imperfections

of your life, the dreams that will not now

at midlife come true,
and let them go
like a balloon accidentally released
from a child's hand.

You must stir steadily, regularly,
with a wooden spoon on the cast iron pan
feeling the tension ease out
of the longitudinal slices
while the aroma evolves
and fills the kitchen.

Another balloon drifts away carrying with it
worries about next week's meeting,

and another about your daughter's future.

Stir, stir,
there is time for all that later.


audio: https://soundcloud.com/mbonica/onions

5/52: Not of this planet

I am not if this planet,
I feel I must tell you
because today is Tuesday,
and it is raining.

I've heard rumor that you are also
a stranger from afar.
Isn't it odd that we would meet here
of all places,

so far from home.

4/52: Refined

Pour it into a bottle and cork it,

carry it down to the cellar where no one can see it.

In the darkness lay it down,

let the fermentation process eat away
all the sweetness of memory,

until only the refined
blood red bitterness remains.