POETRY
The Vineyard
Through each wrist, nails burst
into sanguine tears
that fall on the dust
made sterile by sweat
and serpents’ tongues.
Vines lightning-fork
from the grave-dug ground
and burst into wine grapes
that swell as they drink
through blood-slaked roots.
Swords beaten into plowshares
and spears into pruning hooks
tend the vineyard
that grew from the man
beaten to pulp and seed.
Hollow-boned birds sit among the branches,
swaddled in shade,
dew-bejeweled fruit at their beaks,
which burst in melodies that
skip and chase along the vines.
“The Vineyard,” read by Teague McKamey.
Teague McKamey lives with his wife and two children in Washington state. In 2020, he self-published his first book of poems, The Wind and the Shadows.
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Photo Credit: “Grapes…wbi_223” by Klaus Riesner, Flickr.com. (Modified by Veronica McDonald).
Heart of Flesh Literary Journal 