The Grapes-Folk of Rath
by Tulaijeet Tuqueet
On Planet Rath, where purple moons
Rise over trellised, silver dunes,
The Grapes-Folk gathered, plump with pride,
For wine and wit and friends inside.
Their host, Lord Merlot, raised a glass:
“Tonight, my clustered guests, we pass
Beyond the usual berry press—
To humans, bottled at their best!”
A hush went round the candlelight;
The corkscrew turned with soft delight.
“A Napanese,” cried Dame Syrah,
“Such delicate—ah!—je ne sais quoi!”
“It carries notes of rain and pine,
Of sea-salt dreams and temple shine;
A patient vintage, poised and fine—
A truly thoughtful human wine.”
Old Cabernet, with inky grin,
Declared, “I taste a scholar in!
A little sorrow, courage too—
And hints of midnight, boiled with stew.”
Then sparkling flutes were carried near,
With popping corks and cheering cheer.
“Champagnian!” laughed young Rosé,
“The bubbliest people, so they say!”
The pale gold fizz leapt high and free,
A thousand laughs in every spree;
“It tickles all my tendril toes—
That’s personality, I suppose!”
The guests grew merry, darkly pleased,
Their leafy fingers lightly squeezed
The stems of glasses, bright and thin—
While thunder grumbled far within.
For somewhere underneath the floor,
A cellar door had one lock more;
And from its cracks, both faint and slow,
Came muffled murmurs: “Please don’t grow…”
Lord Merlot smiled. “Ignore the breeze.
We age our vintages with ease.
Now toast our guests, both still and fine—
To friendship, flavor… and good wine!” *
About the author : Tulaijeet Tuqueet dance-writes in balloon pants from the Sol-Noma Vinevalleys.
About the artist : Romeo Esparrago likes zero-human beer instead.
PLANET MAGAZINE 