The wine in the glass
remembers the long days in darkness
how it couldn’t breathe,
how it lost its scent of grape
and became more grapefruit,
more green pepper, more grass.
How it lost its harsh taste,
lost its astringence, and became
rounder, more smooth, more
wine. I, too, am changing
in these long days.
I, too, am converting what I’ve known
into what I will be.
I, too, am becoming something
I almost don’t recognize—
heady with transformation,
yet tethered by memory
of what it was like
to feel trapped,
what it was like
to steep in that darkness,
to have to learn to trust
whatever came next.
Oh my God, I love this so much.
thanks, sweet friend! Oh yeah … and aging we are. and transforming all the time!
big hugs to you,
Rosemerry
Seems there may have been a copy/paste glitch here? Although the poem is twice as nice to read again. 🙂
[…] Hundred Falling Veils is a blog I visit often. Poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer posts a poem there every day. I like their […]