Chardonnay in the Sun

Chardonnay in the Sun

(“There they stored up a large amount of wine and summer fruit.” Jeremiah 40:12b)

Maybe you’re among the fallen ones,
maybe you’re just living your best,
maybe you’ve always had what you wanted,
maybe your dreams have turned to dust.

I don’t know if your fields lie fallow,
or if you will start your harvest tomorrow.
I don’t know if you’re talking to yourself,
or if you’d rather be anywhere else than
surrounded by the four walls,
closed in by the silence,
waiting for the fruit to ripen,
waiting for the wine to ferment.

Maybe you’ve been waiting to belong,
maybe you think you’re the chosen one,
maybe you’ve learned to shut out the world,
maybe the days are full of best friends and bluebirds.

I don’t know if your doorbell works,
or if your telephone is off the hook.
I don’t know if you’re fixing dinner for three,
or if you have waited all day for company
to fill the silence and your anxiety.
Maybe I should call you,
maybe bring coffee and lunch.
Maybe we are both the same, maybe we are not.

But a walk through the vineyard might do
both of us some good.
Chardonnay in the sun and
a book read out loud,
a day without fences, a week less certain
than monuments of the past; just hearts that
beat and eyes that see
and tongues that cannot wait to taste
the sweetness of the dawn.