Hymn to the Home Brew in the Basement (and-an-extra-hymn-against-harm)
It was an old train round, I'm told
It's chilly outside and I'm stressed about a late afternoon commute -
But when I step inside, the smell of moisture and hops makes me smile
Demeter, goddess of grain,
Too often I think of You framed against a field
Hands full of herbs, regal and resplendent
And surely You are, goddess
**
But this is the first time I’ve imagined You
In the high-ceiling arena of a brewery
Pouring Your carefully harvested grains
Into silos
I’m sure you and your nephew Dionysus exchange brews
I’m sure He recognizes the miracle of His aunt’s creations
As much as You must admire His own harvest
**
Demeter, the man I love is here with me, and I drink Your fermentation on an empty stomach
I am dizzily reminded of ergot, how what we harvest can make or break us
Can fling us across worlds, fill our bellies or stop our hearts
May the Earth rest this winter, Goddess
May You experience the kindness of strangers this winter, as You did the first year Your daughter left Your embrace
May You bless the brew we make, we drink, we share
**
(And a secret prayer to You, Goddess,
Against the extremes of intoxication – Your nephew has never answered that prayer for me, you see –
And the ever-creeping dangers of mold slipping past the air lock.
Your daughter’s presence is here, Mother, even now.
Keep me from meeting Her for another year.)
