1756
by Rita Krane

Then,
I was a bottle of Madeira
shared between a tanner and a sack-maker
in a tavern of Niece.

I was cheap, but regal.
When left to my own devices, I was stately solid
in hues of pomegranate and sun-burnt hay.
When shaken by an eager hand, I tumbled,
crest over trough,
into gaping throats scratched by grippes and consumption-
down noxious corridors that lead to ruin.

They drank me with relish
because their existence was rougher than my consistency
(also, because the cold was upon them then).
They were young, middle-aged.
They wore their history on their slumped, thickset bodies.
Their wives were both slightly pregnant.

I was the sum of their monthly incomes.
In the cabbage stench of the tavern
civilians inebriated themselves for the sake of victory.
"To another day", said the tanner.
"May it be so", said the sack-maker.

Rita is a member of the Class of 2009.