Corydon said, Look neighbor, the cow br from my village gave the sweetest milk. br In April a thin green-white nectar br with the flavor of the smallest new pea. br Even deep in winter her milk’s br aroma constrained the tongue to release br its depth. It’s what I long for, and when br the Dellwood man drops bottles in my tin br box, I sigh for a thicker layer of cream. br br Antigenes said, Neighbor, here are my grapes— br trim them and trick them up br br around a few sticks, here, and they will be fat br as Elizabeth Taylor’s jewels. Have the Knife br Man give you his horse’s best gifts, br Be patient in picking, be cruel in crushing br and the wine will keep you all year to the next. br br Phrasidamus said this cherry tree—this one— br in this strip of concrete patio will flower br and fruit like the Czar’s second-best. br The pink of the blossom will soothe a restless br dream and the fruit’s red will give your mouth br the strongest flesh it’s ever conquered br even as your tongue searches for the hard br pit. Let your daughters harvest what they will. br br We did. We climbed the ladder and we picked. br There was no bowl sweet enough br for the cherries and, later, the grapes br So I carved one in the winter and while I did, br I sang, and filled jugs tall as I was br with must and sugar and slop, br filled jars as small as my mother’s hands br with pectin and wax and cotton. br Through the row house sheet rock br came screaming of names and private br grievances, through the night. Worse br than we could say, we heard—strange curses. br And every morning the sun shone br on the garden strips of the lost mother tongues.