The Red Rhone

It occupied its shelf, resting,

this green bottle holding

memory and promise, waiting

for its moment of glory.

The young proprietor, speaking

only a fraction of English, smiling,

had offered it, assuring

in his English-less French, nodding

his recommendation.

He would not see the two, leaving

France the next day, Americans

again, but the green glass containing

his suggestion would be a gift,

a red from the Rhone Valley, reminding

them of the young proprietor managing

his shop on the Rue des Martyrs.

In 1999, my wife and I were in Paris, and some two blocks from our hotel discovered the Rue des Martyrs, with its flower stalls, food shops, candy shops, bakeries and a wine shop with a young proprietor. The bottle, when we opened it later back home, lived up to the English-less recommendation.

This poem is submitted for the TweetSpeak Poetry prompt offered Monday by Seth Haines – Gluhwein Memories.

It’s also submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live today at 2 p.m. Central time.