Cursed Ground

Brother. Sister. Mom. Someone near. Pull me from Heaven if that’s where I’m half-headed.
I am not ready, yet I hear the wind whistling from the cracks 
and crevices of my home.

It drives me to taste the wine in my eyes, and sing to voices not my own,
voices that make my body sway. Cursed ground I set foot on, unbeknownst of what lies dormant within me. A voodoo of the mind, the hunger from inside that remains starved.

And now, I am called on to walk down to the river

and wash the unbeknownst away.

A vintage, 2014 Merlot from Clarksburg, California.