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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=567974" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Orchid Weather</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I loved that jungle, the one behind the house:<br>it bore the wild Malayan Emergency<br>leaf-knitting colonies of chilli-red ants<br>and scowling ahmas <br>dicing pork <br>to a very fine and furious mince <br>enfolded in dumplings<br>purple chicken’s entrails<br>sweating in pots of broth.<br>Fortunes told, widows in black,<br>clairvoyants in a house of exorcism –<br>more incense in the shrine, fresher<br>pyramids of tangerines.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Burst fireworks confettied the air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Young fauna, my brother and I<br>dried off in Royal Selangor<br>Golf Club towels in a house that<br>reeked of quinine, limes and gin,<br>almost mixed them myself<br>for darling spinsters<br>who never scolded,<br>with butterfly collections<br>and how-to-paint books.<br>We became their undeparted sons<br>two cheeky gnomes<br>under cushions<br>in their too cold conditioned<br>highland mansions. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Inquisitive and flirtatious<br>with the servant classes<br>we prospered in the orchid weather<br>over-nurtured and beautiful.<br>Chauffeur, silent behind the wheel<br>Koran on the radio; <br>and “our gardener”, the greatest<br>in the business, hands stained with the soil<br>of an intense wormy blackness<br>calloused and hot to the touch. Recipient<br>of our old London blankets, for the family<br>we never saw.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We mimicked the ahmas<br>their singsong speech<br>angry waving of meat cleavers.<br>We were Master’s sons risking sour medicine<br>to take new territory: alcoves and playgrounds<br>of camphor and silk, black lacquer<br>tiffins of pickled cabbage rice</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and almost typically<br>fell in love with the ahma’s daughter<br>in a galvanised tub,<br>scrubbed with Camay<br>her ribbons hung to dry on a bamboo stick<br>for whipping bad boys and dogs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In games of war and riding the dragon<br>tadpole hunting and killing the tiger in the tiger’s lair<br>we fell from air to earth, warriors in a two child Opera<br>where every wound was fatal.<br>We glazed each other’s knees<br>with Tiger Balm, Gold Cup Brand<br>and sucked and chewed on salted plum.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We learned another way of saying<br>no, yes, and how delicious<br>and yes the lights stayed on<br>when the rain belted down<br>all night folding paper<br>into cranes, the tamed menagerie<br>bending their wings back<br>no pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Adam+Aitken">Adam Aitken</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=567974" data-title="Orchid Weather de Adam Aitken" data-description="I loved that jungle, the one behind the house:
it bore the wild Malayan Emergency
leaf-knitting colonies of chilli-red ants
and scowling ahmas 
dicing pork 
to a very fine and furious mince 
enfolded in dumplings
purple chicken’s entrails
sweati..."></div>
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