Wine Making to Marion Williams Singing
When it quits working, seal the jar tightly and store in a dark place.
The Foxfire Book of Appalachian Cookery
Swing low, sweet chariot
the gushes of juice,
slurping between our fists
sunk in hundreds
of purple-red grapes,
indiscriminately splatter
our arms, faces, counter
tops and bare feet—
out of time with the choir.
I looked over Jordan, and what did I see
the overripe are easy
yielding their water
under a firm thumb
and hooked forefinger,
a band of angels coming after me
but the others, we have
to grind between our palms
until the translucent
glop is squeezed
coming for to carry me
from its filmy skin,
the juice, peel and neglected
bits of meat sifting sweetly
between our tired fingers.
Swing low, sweet chariot
when all our grapes
are crushed together, we
gauge, pour the sugar, wonder
how long we can wait
coming for to carry me home.