DAMNED GRAPES

m. cygalski
november 2001

before the snow came
was the last time i saw you

you were sitting pale
behind the kitchen table 
tasting them ripe grapes
and looking disappointed

if you had what it took

your regrets
a handful of grandchildren
turkey dinner and a fireplace

if you knew you could

your desires
lost strands of gray hair
snow on the house in the suburbs

but you did what you did

since spring
the wind blew
your cries and joys
like brown autumn leaves
past the sunsets
of your eyes

and it took what you had
and that
you knew you could give

yet you looked disappointed
tasting them sweet grapes
clenched your fists
pressing them against your knees
said the grapes tasted damn good

your anger
a fading memory of blood red dusk