I posted a prose piece about my experience in the vineyard the other day but I also built a poem around the experience – converting the prose text to a poem. It’s gone through several revisions and here’s the first draft, very different than the final which I’ve submitted to a poetry journal.
my friends labor in the vineyard
one acre of semi-neglected grapes
growing out into an idea.
Weeks on end, neglecting my own
garden to work under a
strengthening sun, a sun that shines on both skeptic and committed.
A widening network of bodies
comes to help, friends of friends,
spouses, far flung relations.
People who will never taste
the fruit’s final yield come.
to snip at the branches, to pluck leaves.
Grapes flower in clusters
I’d never seen before
they’re small inflorescences that
echo the coming grapes
Working together, working each
to our row, humming, bending, weeding
like bees in a solitary dance, together