Of You and Summer and Wine Country

By Matthew Johnson

She walks the rows like she planted them;

She knows their names, their years, their moods,

And just how to lift the glass

Where the wine glows just right,

Like a sun caught in crystal.

---

He walks beside her, counting steps, not vintages;

He tags along with wide-eyed sips, quite unsure of most things:

Misnaming scents and laughing low,

The wine all playful and mystery to him,

Like jam, or rain, or something close.

---

She offers him her glass: taste this,

And he does so, not because he exactly knows,

But because it’s her asking.

---

He grins: half-wine and half-wonder,

And she smiles back, pouring a little more,

Patient as earth and tender as a memory

That you can’t

help but to smile.

💕💕💕💕💕

---

Matthew Johnson is a poet and author of multiple collections, including, Far from New York State and the forthcoming, Jackie Robinson's Real Gone: Baseball Poems of New York. His poems have appeared in Apple Valley Review, London Magazine, Ronaoke Review, and elsewhere. Recipient of Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations, as well as a finalist for the Diverse Book Award (Grand View University) and E.E. Cummings Poetry Award (New England Poetry Club), he’s managing editor of Portrait of New England and poetry editor of The Twin Bill. www.matthewjohnsonpoetry.com