Tea with no strings attached
by Guenter Sahr
In the cool morning on the plantation’s slopes
the dew gathers in the netting of my cowl.
Its dampness caresses my aging face
and my thoughts turn to thrills of a love
long lost from the hill sides.
As mid-morning’s sun beats down upon the terraces
I have filled my sling bag for the eleventh time
and seek out the sweet murmurings of the women –
mothers and daughters –
at their joyous gathering.
Spring water brought to boil over a small open fire
Black tea brewed strongly in a pewter pot
Parvati shows her daughter how to add the creamy butter.
Murmurs and laughter subside
In a rustle of colors
bright-eyed girls dole nourishment into our tin mugs.
Girls tease the tally-boy as he chalks up our accumulated harvests
and deftly disappears to return before sun-set
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