After the wine harvest

our feet were stained with grapes

we pressed them down all day

did the women’s work

then ate our crepes.

With stiffened fingers stemmed

we held our glasses tight

an angry male jury

The grape condemned.

The picking work is done

parents wine and children

whine in chocolate dirt

and spoil our fun.

The purple stains our lips

the yellow dry as ice

vessels clink with words

I launch my ships.

I’ll say: it is a story

by Betsy Byars. Let’s

go swimming in the night

these pools of glory.

We’ll dip our feet in glass

ceilings will become

our floors. We’ll wave on down

when ant men pass.

Today's poem is based on suggestions from six peeps:

Regarding form:

• @sorrel_smith: "first three lines in iambic tetrameter; last line only two feet. Rhyme not too rhymey: ABCA? Several verses!"
• @facelikethunder: "How about something to do with tense and/or aspect?" (I've done the first two verses in past tense, the second two in present, the last two in future. Sort of. Kept confusing myself.)

Regarding theme:

• @msmisrule: "nightswimming (water, children, parents, wine)"
• @pinknantucket: "Dry ice & chocolate dirt please."
• Tammy: "Women, pancakes, purple" IWD FTW!
• Mark: "waving down through the glass floor"

The suggestion of 'nightswimming' reminded me of the Betsy Byars book 'The Night Swimmers' - anyone else remember that? Such a lovely, sad book. I went through a massive Betsy Byars phase as a kid. Shortly followed by my Eleanor Spence phase. And as yesterday was IWD, Tammy's related suggestions are an appropriate celebration!