the rain mixes with turmeric and
bleeds gold into the
grey pavement of victoria road.
the clyde runs cold
but in the kitchen
the kettle is always boiling.
cardamom crushed under the
weight of a heavy mug,
a sharp, sweet steam rising to meet
the dreich morning.
we are born of two waters:
one that cuts through the stone of this city,
and one that flows hot, sweet, and spiced
in our blood.
