I Come From Postcard Land
I came from postcard land, my neighbors
were growers and cut back vines
for the spring.
In places like this
I woke from its wine dreams.
My hands cramped. Kneecaps ached
at the edge of the vineyard.
It did what it wanted --
maybe some of it to me --
and I did what I
may have wanted and it didn't
matter to it. But
I kept dignity. I live
as though it did.
Gerald
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