Fermentation
Kathryn Alison Graves
This is the way it has always been
white on the outside, red on the inside
it wasn’t until my finger slipped that I felt the sting
funny how nobody really knows what I am talking about
until the time of festivities have passed
and they begin to gossip
What some think of as pleasure has begun my pain
and my certainties are now hanging
as fruit of the vine not yet picked
not yet a part of the crush
I never said a word to him how
the other makes me feel
and it is killing me
within a fold of lies is what I serve
until I am true to myself
I am bottled within this vintage
I am separated
good from the bad
and then the barrels are laid out
in a slow procession
of fermentation
and in the glass remains
my residuals
what is left
Screaming for your attention
producing what is required of me
as fluidly, and as easily as words
and this is where I remain
one taste as bitter
as the first
and between my empty bottles....
