Remembering Why the Grape Sours

She wonders sometimes
how it is that friends
can be so strange, reserved

as a new-pressed wine,
bitter, an aftertaste of soil
and manure, which drops,

like the fat raindrops-
smacking against my windowpane,
with the monotony of familiarity.

Sometimes it is hard to remember
why the grape turns sour,
the soil barren, the heart still.