Wine Tasting By Kim Addonizio
I think I detect cracked leather.
I'm pretty sure I smell the cherries
from a Shirley Temple my father bought me
in 1959, in a bar in Orlando, Florida,
and the chlorine from my mother's bathing cap.
And last winter's kisses, like salt on black ice,
like the moon slung away from the earth.
When Li Po drank wine, the moon dove
in the river, and he staggered after.
Probably he tasted laughter.
When my friend Susan drinks
she cries because she's Irish
and childless. I'd like to taste,
one more time, the rain that arrived
one afternoon and fell just short
of where I stood, so I leaned my face in,
alive in both worlds at once,
knowing it would end and not caring..
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On Monday we had to take the car back to the dealer to get some kind of waterproof coating on the windows that came with the long care warranty, so we took our computers and hung out in the cafe with free cookies and coffee/hot chocolate. The woman who sold us our RAV4 was off work but actually in the building picking up her own new RAV4 with her husband, so we chatted with them, then afterward we went to get haircuts and stopped at Safeway.
Evening TV included the new Wallace and Gromit movie on Netflix, Vengeance Most Fowl, which I liked better than the last one (penguin! evil robots!), and Cunk on Life, which is laugh-out-loud hilarious, even better than the British history and human technology episodes ("Why do humans with DNA have to piss in their jeans?" "...pass on their genes?") From Hazel Wolf Wetlands over the weekend, where we saw damp woods and damp animals:
