Good riddance, 2016

You won't be missed. 

40/52: rainbow

the rainbow bends low

we chase the horizon so -

only the lights go

38/52: the white earth

when I am speaking to ghosts
I prefer to be walking in the woods

and I prefer it to be in winter,
snow crunching beneath my boots

as I carry on the one-sided conversation
reliving with the dead

words that cannot be resurrected
arguments that cannot ever be won

I stand next to the frozen stream
knowing the ice is not thick enough to hold me

and I tell the ghosts enough for now!
and sometimes

sometimes

the wind takes them then

and I am left with only the white
white earth.

37/52: bone

There is little ice in the cracks and creases -
it is mid-December and the wind blows cold
over dead grass and leafless trees.
But not as cold as it could.

What is outside is not what is inside.
I feel winter's bony claw
tighten around my heart,
bone on muscle, jolting the rhythm

of all that is life
making the dark come sooner,
sooner than I thought.

36/52: waiting for a thing they do not want

Through my morning window
I see the trees standing black against the grey sky
naked and stark, and
I am looking for the metaphor for what this means.
They line up in the winter dawn
like Civil War soldiers waiting,
waiting for battle.

I imagine a bed roll over one shoulder
maybe a leaky canteen.
Hungry and tired.

There is no desire to move forward
no desire to move back.
They are just here
waiting.
Waiting for a thing they do not want.

35/52: a meditation upon meeting the wizard at the grocery

I saw the wizard in the produce aisle
but it was Tuesday, so he was not wearing his usual robe
the one with the stars and moons.

Nor was he wearing a top hat and tails
that would only be appropriate on Saturday night.

Nor was he wearing a long brown traveling cloak
and of course he did not have his staff
with the raven carved at the top -

it was only a trip to the grocery store
not into the wilderness where wild things speak
in a language older than time

and whisper of the true forms.

He was picking up avocados and gently squeezing them
in the palm of his hand.
He smiled when he saw me,
"You know they're ready if they yield
with just a gentle press.
Anything will yield with enough force,
so you have to learn to know the difference."

He replaced one and took another, paying me no more heed.

That was wizard talk, I knew,
for something.

I nodded, considering the meaning of the ripeness of avocados
as I made my way through the cereal aisle,
pausing occasionally to pick up a box,
feeling the give of the sides between my fingers and wondering
what might really be inside.

34/52: gorgon

I've been meaning to tell you
about the dream I had
where I came upon you
in a cave
by the sea.

You seemed to hiss, Whassup?
But I was fixed in place, like stone
when I saw the hoses coming out of your head
like snakes
but not.

They were, without a doubt
lengths of garden hose
raggedly cut off at random forearm lengths
writhing and twisting
in the wind
well, I would have said the wind
if there had been wind.

You looked like a high school mythology project
dreamed up on a Sunday night before it was due.

We walked out among the rocks,
rocks that looked strangely like heroes,
then sat together looking east
as rosy-fingered dawn unfurled...
her rosy fingers.

we sat without judgment,
but also without understanding.

I know, I know,
what were you doing in a cave
by the sea?

---

Audio: https://soundcloud.com/mbonica/gorgon