Vivienne Glance
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Spectrum
There is no real difference between dark and light though I measure memory and beauty by shades and love by the umbra of what you said.
Your spectrum ranges far beyond my sight and as the palette of this landscape fades I am left with burning visions of infra red.
But still my breath stops suddenly when i see a crow's laborious ebony above my head or water sparkling under broadleaves shade the gash of black dissecting sterile white –
you asleep upon my bed.
first appeared in Indigo, August 2007
Indian Tea
On tea clinging mountains my father lived with green waves filling his vision monsoon washing his skin
He saw colour-draped women clip verdant tips – bitter scent seep into brown skin. He stood by fresh green spread to ferment and succumb to slippery black
Furnace-breath-dried leaves stuffed weighed, labeled in coarse sacks – a pungent harvest stacked awaiting English tables
My father inhabited this place between coast and plain - its contours bowed like the backs of women and colonised by tea. Born into this place but
serving another place – foreign stock grafted on native root belonging
to neither