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Red “I wanted to create red in a world that is too often black and white.” -Terry Tempest Williams Create a world containing neither black nor white, in which pepper’s acknowledged as gray and dried pink crumbs fall from a snowy sky; learn yellow, there – an ash-yellow road whose pores have inherited her stripes. Learn blue, that same road hours later, cradled by ash-gray spires naked against the night. Skin is pale blue at the delicate inside of your lover’s wrist, rose where her breast flushes as you kiss that same wrist, the woman you first loved is amber, the one you denied you wanted, burnt umber, the exact shade of the tree your new lover bends over now, drawing the shape of a woman’s hips from maple burl. Turned wood, she calls it, lifts it toward the light where the swirls settle into its grain like dust – Can you remember learning to color in wax, cover pages in aqua, yellow, orange, green and gray, scratch your message with the sharp point of a pin? What message could you have sent then that would still resonate now that your world has gone from the black and white sureness of childhood into the knowledge of red?
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