Stony Ground
my vines grow best in stony ground, he tells me
not fed too much, just sun and rain
and a soil half-chalk, half-flint
between the rows of hand-sized leaves
honed secateurs gripped for summer pruning
I pause to listen, to sniff
sour-sweet, the ripening grapes
twists of birdsong and distant chuckling of chickens
a calm I could learn to touch
with just a little more time
I water only during times of drought, he says
so that their roots are forced to go down deep for moisture
a thirsty morning's lesson, the noonday sun
skewers of lamb and herbs grilled over the coals
salad greens fresh-picked this morning, the dew still on them
the fine vintage from three years back
a feast rooted in dry stones and long vegetable patience
try this new rosé, he urges me, try this sharp new white
the vines are only ten years old
and we’ve only picked them twice
my taste is fickle
I like them all
I'm so easily satisfied
but what is the ground telling me
about the struggle, the depth, the slow, steady climbing?
here is a single flint, lifted, rubbed, slipped into my pocket
golden-grey, polished by time
shall I pretend I hear it whisper?
I squeeze it hard and the sharp edge cuts my palm
bon appétit, my friend
we hope to see you at the harvest
take a bottle home with you
to help you remember today
my roots are shallow
I understand so much this afternoon
but – forgive me – I might forget it all by tomorrow
and forever misremember the ground where I picked up this stone
Lawrence Wilson’s fiction, poetry and essays have appeared in Albedo One, Agenda, Gramarye, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Stone, Root and Bone, Best of British, The Poetry of Roses, The Pocket Poetry Book of Marriage, The Pocket Poetry Book of Cricket, The Darker Side of Love, on Salon.com and in other journals and collections. His first two collections, The April Poems and Another April, are available on Amazon.