The Winemaker
He rises early
The winemaker…
The vessels to be prepared.
With arms surly
The barrel he’ll take her
With the others to compare.
Methodically
Back and forth he rocks her
She’s washed clean with such care.
So Carefully
The wire he lowers
Suffer that burns without air
Meticulously
Cleaned is every corner
Her treasure ready to bear.
Musically
Calling the sleeper
Wake up! Come help if you dare.
Joyfully
The children hear
And come running down the stair.
Tenderly
He moves her
The vessel completely bare.
Quietly
He steadies her
Ready to receive wine so rare.
Thankfully
Scarlet colored
To heaven he lifts his prayer.
Liquidity
To the center
Of her heart the wine does tear.
Beautifully
He fills her
With treasure she was made to bear.
Mysteriously
Surely I am her
Christ in you,
the Winemaker.
Bodega Bay
D'Angelo
Roma, Italia
10/2/20 Originally Written 3/30/08 This intimate poem was written for my husband on his 42nd birthday. As I write it out today the layers of meaning are just as evident now as they were then. In this season of preparing for the harvest and the years vintage, Angelo would soak and clean the barrels. I can hear the distinct rhythmic sound of him rocking them, and feel the coolness of the early morning air. I can see his strong hands accomplishing the task and feel the security of following the order of the seasons. As much as it’s a poem about the process of winemaking, it’s an intimate poem about us. Always the profound mystery is how my husband could reflect so deeply and beautifully the love of Christ, as a friend, a father, a lover and a winemaker.
