Orchids

On a Sunday morning
Quietly, comfortably,
We methodically pot orchids –
Plants subsisting mainly
On mist and thin air.

Dendrobiums, phalaenopsis,
Arranged into clay pots
Anchored with dried coconut husks
And smooth white rocks filched
From a neighbor’s landscaping.
Cattleyas, in Chinese vases,
The potting medium brought over
In a balikbayan box
From the States.
Vandas, tied with strips of nylon stockings
To fabricated tree trunks
With cement blocks for roots.

We have over a hundred orchids.
Some are survivors of the lahar,
Brought here from Guagua
In the back of a van,
Their vibrant colors subdued
By gray soot and ash.
Others were purchased,
By ourselves or as presents,
On the basis of lineage
Or their various hues.
Still others, hand-carried,
Through airports, on planes.

But a singular one we left untouched,
Coming upon it unexpectedly
In a tropical rain forest.
Deep in that dim cathedral,
Nestled into a rotting tree trunk,
The fragile orchid
Bowed its head low
In prayer.

My sister, Glynis D. Tejada, majored in English literature with a concentration in International Studies at Barnard College, Columbia University, in New York City. A longtime resident of San Francisco, she now divides her time between the Philippines and the United States. Glynis is the Literary Editor/Creative Consultant for Strange Tango: Life as Art. We’re privileged to debut the work of this gifted writer.