By Charlie Gittins (he/him)
I do not choose the finest grapes
only what is found in my garden
plucked by my own hands,
grown from my own soil
nothing is imported from France or Belgium
no fine new machinery helps me on my way
all the same I have been brewing
this chaotic act of creation
I have taken something that could have been complete
and put it through fermentation
Everything but the catalyst comes from me
my backyard conception
then I am left to trust in nature
find faith in waiting
and it takes so much time and patience
some days it feels like my hands are always dirty
Like I am always thirsty for something that never
comes
But just out of sight something incredible is happening
that will bring more joy than any fruit or water
when the days of packed soil under my nails
and hands filled with splinters
will leave me sitting back laughing and drinking in
everything I thought could be just a bit better
