It’s hard
to stare down a woodpecker’s
unblinking eye—we grab some grape bunches anyway
and leave the rest to him
ak-ak-king, hammering on the arbor wood;
lustrous black red
white and that eye of his, when somehow
it’s the tanagers who take over
by stealth without woodpecker noise:
how do they eat so many
in one gulp?—10 to 1 of a woodpecker’s take!
Old timers say grape berries ferment
inside a stomach—who knew
getting drunk was so simple? picking
crushing straining refining
bottling aging—
tasting rooms
completely unnecessary.

From ten mile creek almanac, a forthcoming collection.
© by Grace Hughes Chappell.
Used here with the author’s permission.