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“Picking Grapes in an Abandoned Vineyard” by Larry Levis
An excerpt of a poem by Larry Levis, available here and here.
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Picking grapes alone in the late autumn sun—
A short, curved knife in my hand,
Its blade silver from so many sharpenings,
Its handle black.
I still have a scar where a friend
Sliced open my right index finger, once,
In a cutting shed—
The same kind of knife.
*
*
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I would stand still, and chalk my cue stick
In Johnny Palores’ East Front Pool Hall, and watch
The room filling with tobacco smoke, as the sun set
Through one window.
Now all I hear are the vines rustling as I go
From one to the next,
The long canes holding up dry leaves, reddening,
So late in the year.
*
*
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Today, in honor of them,
I press my thumb against the flat part of this blade,
And steady a bunch of red, Malaga grapes
With one hand,
The way they showed me, and cut—
And close my eyes to hear them laugh at me again,
And then, hearing nothing, no one,
Carry the grapes up to the solemn house,
Where I was born.
*
– photos by Jeremy Ball
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