RIPENING

RIPENING

A huge vat held the secret swirl
Of small mauve fruits
As rich red liquid
Carried their sweetish circles -
Pummelled by a prodding stick

The practised hands
Which stirred the crop
Had stirred such grapes
On ancient soil

And in this modern echo
Lay a fermenting alchemy
For tomorrow's joy and songs
And tears

Then by surprise
Two tender hands
Grabbed the pummelling stick
Snatching an unexpected space
In these ancestral rites

The big brown eyes
Guided the downwards pole
And missed the vat
Smearing tomorrow's promise
On the little boy's cheeks