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2. vin santo wine: coda of a commoner’s unrequited love
there is a thin ribbon of red
pouring from
the mouth of the bottle
into the clear glass of the decanter
framed by her translucent wrists
and you can only think
of your own blood
flooding from your heart to your brain
until your body becomes as cold and brittle
as fossilized ice
pretentious
you think involuntarily
a girl not raised on
traces of almonds or grape stubs
grew up on coffee grinds
2am mornings
bloodshot eyes
has never known the leisure of the evening
never known a life other than grasping
this is the best meal you’ll have for a while
you remind yourself
keep in mind the looming years
of instant ramen
microwave dinners
plastic utensils
so you try and savor it
a little more
fine art, cuisine, wine
white tablecloths
throwing out a meal half-finished
appalled
your fingers twitch
aching to grab
think of the homeless man
you passed in the city weeks ago
who hungers on the street
survives not on the warmth of vintage brews
but on powder bought from the nearest 7-11
wince as a plate
of scallops
chocolate drizzle
balsamic vinegar
is turned away
the smell distinctive
tipsy
adults at the table grow louder
their half-lidded eyes dim
the vin santo
treacherous even from here
wafts and whispers
it’s ok, let go
we all turn to salt and rock in the end
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I was inspired by an experience I had going to a REALLY fancy restaurant for the first time in New York, where only the really wealthy could afford to go there. I was uncomfortable the whole time, constantly noting the inequalities in the back of my mind between the less economic fortunate and other lifestyles. It left a very strong impression on my view on East Coast privilege and made me reconsider my past biases. I learned about different perspectives on luxury, art, and cuisine in this moment. The smells and tastes only served to intensify the whole experience.
Ultimately, the only way I could communicate these conflicting emotions was through poetry.