This post is part of a series exploring where we are writing from this summer. Click to learn more.
I'm responding to your call for the blog and send the following
postcard from Bangalore. I'm looking forward to seeing what others
write and, of course, to the upcoming issue!
All the best,
Postcard from Bangalore
It's a summer of mosquitos, newly hatched.
They settle on the hibiscus, the spider plants,
the freshly laundered sheets & Catholic school pants
wicking in the sun. I wondered where all the birds
were coming from: the shrubs, twitching, the tiny
seismic avalanches of twigs as birds hop, feasting,
branch to branch. Even the woodpecker that for days
I heard but never saw, appeared in my yard,
tall & sleek with feet like pen strokes. I should be writing
this down, how the lawn erupts in upward flight
when I step out: mosquitos disperse like
a rising inflection and bulbuls flit
inside dense bougainvillea. It crisscrosses
like a basket, like a cage, like the ribs of a whale.
Ellen Kombiyil, born and raised in Syracuse, New York, and a graduate of the University of Chicago, Ellen Kombiyil’s poetry has recently appeared in 2river, Beloit Poetry Journal, Juked, and MiPOesias, among others. She currently lives in India with her husband and two children.