“Anatomy of a Honeycomb,” “Basket of Needles” and “Cabin on Detox Island”

Poetry by Monica Viera

“Anatomy of a Honeycomb,” “Basket of Needles” and “Cabin on Detox Island”

Anatomy of a Honeycomb

Post-mortem,

After having lived a life

In and out of mental hospitals

For what could only have been simplified...

Of attacks acute sweetness or withdrawal thereof

An autopsy was performed on me,

And a honeycomb for a heart

Was discovered–

In the center of my chest!

A few bees flew out,

Stinging the surprised medical examiners.

The honeycomb had a few holes filled up with saps...

MY SAPS–the men I had once loved.

That I had kept hostage in there for years.

And I had thick honey running through my veins.

All the way through to my clench fists,

That would explain those episodes of lovesickness.

And as my spirit watched from above.

As they gutted my physical body in awe.

And handled the honeycomb,

Which served as the vessel of my voids–

That I’d nested deeply in my chest

The saps loosed up,

And rose up to the ceiling with me...

And we–all the spirits–left that sterile hospital together...

And were suddenly in the middle of a field...

In the lot outside,

Into the center of a yellow flower.

Together, as pollen.

And immediately, the sound of buzzing bees could be heard.

And we would be distributed into

Honeycombs or hearts

Or honeycombs as hearts

Again.

Blanket of Needles

Come sleep with me!

If it’s safety that you seek.

I can’t guarantee you much warmth,

But the warmth your heart will know,

If you want this kind of protection,

Will grant you a good night’s sleep.

You see,

My blanket is made of needles.

You’ll be safe as you lie next to me...

Under this metallic blanket...

As long as you don’t move or try to leave.

Any escape on your part won’t be a quiet one,

As the quills pull on your skin and tear.

So, if you seek true comfort,

Lie under this bedspread of needles with me.

It takes a dedicated kind of loyalty,

But I promise,

It and me will keep you safe from

This chaotic world...

That created these harsh necessities in the first place.

Cabin on Detox Island

If you ache to be reborn

You need not travel far

Detox Island has a vacancy

But beware, it's quite bizarre

The regulars are sober

But they're pretty high on life

They laugh and smile and talk together

No sight or sound of strife

But when the sun starts to set

The regulars disbar

They trot back to their detox cabins

By light of the North Star

Once they're in and all alone

They lock their doors and sigh

And after nine, on Detox Island

You start to hear them cry

Behind their wooden cabin doors

They're trapped in with their fears

So, until the sun rises here

You'd best cover your ears

The wind is thick with screams and sobs

That cover you with chills

And you realize there's no escape

From these cabins on the hills

A night on Detox Island

Is enough to go insane

For the regulars that mull around

Have souls already slain

About the Author

Monica Viera

My name is Monica Viera and I am a 29-year-old brain tumor survivor living in East LA. I am half Mexican, half Puerto Rican. I work as a caregiver. I enjoy my black cat and listening to jazz and punk.