cork

(A poem inspired by a cork I found.)

Her dusty soul-cellar
Houses bottled memories
Like aging grapes
Trampled into wine
Corked and hidden deep in the dark.

The fruit of youth ripened long ago
And was crushed beneath the feet of life

Her thirst would quench
If she’d pop the cork and drink deep

But she’s swept the cellar clean
And whisked the cobwebs into dust.
Ascending to the brighter world upstairs,
She paints a smile

While all the while
The grapes
(And her heart)
Are aging.