This Cabernet Has Legs

someone asks about you

and I choke on the memory of that night

the wine went down wrong, I say

which may have been true

because I feel grapevines

slither ‘round my ankles

and creep up toward my throat

this cabernet — ahem — not so smooth

I focus on the moths

under the gazebo, ashen and fluttering

as I was

when I found your truck

airbags deployed and doors open

like the set of a play

lit by blinking headlights

while actors hide backstage

I wait for you to appear

and when you do not

I scream your name

hoarse and high-pitched

I’m still screaming now

only my voice doesn’t carry

because this cabernet has legs

far better than the last

So I swirl my glass

grateful to exist here

among the vines

and endless chatter

knowing part of me

will always be there

shouting your name

into the black