Vineyard

Tonight the wine turns to water
and flows back uphill, leaving
the gripes behind, and our son,
the vast acres of land owned
by our parents, the local
heap of help and acceptance,
the mountains and their valley
stomping, marriage equality,
clouds of vinegar, dust
and moisture, our fermenting
curse words under years
of labels, bottled
up, corked, stored
for the two of us to sell
or on this perfect
anniversary shatter at our
feat of lasting this long a part
of a bouquet sniffed without
identifying cedar or caramel,
care or amends, the chances
we took, hints of smoke,
when the sun froze,
when he noticed, and now old
enough and adopted,
he rises to toast much more
than the vintage whines of his fathers.

#NaPoWriMo 2016 Day 26

Published by

Richard Leis

Richard Leis is a writer and poet living in Tucson, Arizona. His poetry has been published in Impossible Archetype. His essays about fairy tales and technology have been published on Tiny Donkey and Fairy Tale Review’s “Fairy-Tale Files“.