In the Garden

 

“A man who doesn’t have a rice field should

strive to cultive the land within himself”

– Ida Pedanda Made Sideman, ‘Salampah Laku’

We lived like kings and queens

in a spoiled garden

our homes built of stone

while the locals lived on grass

their feet pasted with mud and rice

serving our smiles

away to the west a cloud rose

a sort of incense finishing the day

we drank beer

watched frangipani fall into a pool

ducks and dogs and flags

moving in the padi fields

the rest of the world

was made out of t-shirt slogans

motorbikes, kites and wi-fi connections

children played football in the dust

the sun was the sun but it was green

voices talking, a séance of the globe,

jewelry on a wrist

beside the road men sat caressing roosters

children stared through a window screen

men like tiger-things – teeth + smile –

Sprite, fries, sorrow: the entrepreneurs,

while the musicians turned echoes into bells

outside at night the dogs barked

at the already dead, hepatitis moons

shone in the eyes of the mosquitoes,

a boy holding a used plastic bag

walked down the road seemingly happy,

horns tooted and a thin trail of smoke

ghosted the darkness as a motorcyclist

took another drag of Djarum Bl∆ck

and rode on

everywhere else the strewn offerings

for the dead

were kicked and trodden on, or avoided,

a climate of flowers and pizza

breathed in the shadows and dirt,

masks and dancing, cobras, transgenic rice, cobwebs

they dug up the dead chanting a new litany and burned them

while the roosters killed each other with knives

and the crumpled notes unfolded in dry bloom.

  

- Mark Mordue

* Written on the eve of the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival in Bali. 
First published at Meanjin online October 7th, 2011. 'Djarum Black' is a 
local cigarette that uses a triangle instead of an 'A' for its branding.