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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

 

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