on the rocks (2018 Wine + Food festival poem)

March 3, 2018

in Charleston,
we don’t need
to be persuaded
to party.

the shadow
of spring
is reason enough
to take slow sips
of liquid sunshine
in the
predictable newness
of January,
the unexpected heat
of February,
the blooming business
of March.

in Charleston,
we sing gospel hymns
to gin
on holy and humid afternoons
to douse out
the oppressive flame
of our city’s pain.

in Charleston,
we use ice
from cocktails
as a cold compress
to numb stress,

we let our inhibitions
spill out
over pristine streets,

we are blessed.

blessed
to be able to consume
fluid and festive
conversations
when the rest of the world
feels dehydrated and
depressed.

we are blessed
to be in a place
that savors history
and celebrates
each season’s seasoning
while cultivating
our country’s
culinary future.