Weddings and Vino

For Kari Kennedy

It’s locked in a vault.
That distress signal
that adheres to the
side of a vessel when

the heat of pain rises
past the point of boil.

Like the time the car
was loaded up,
maneuvered down to
Columbus, Ohio.

Or to the vineyards
that bask in southwest
region of the wolverine
state with their grapes,
just beyond the table
wine of the Indiana.

The faces, with lips and
teeth stained red, in the
crowd laugh and cry
the ceremonial harmony
of false matrimony.

Identity crushed like
grapes under violent,
dollar-dance feet