by Ellen Kombiyil
I write this like goodbye
or is it like a restraining order,
keep back 500 feet, further
than arm's distance, further
and further, until distance
matches vastness, your wheat fields,
your tornado crops, your mountains
cleaved up and rainwater
running sideways
into the oceans.
I write this like goodbye
for Byzantine
or Chichen Itza,
knowing one day
your time will come.
Nothing good
will come of this, nothing
good will come.
While I still can, I celebrate
your freeways, how wide
they ride, how smooth!
But oil drips like blood.
There, I've said it.
I haven't been arrested
at least not yet.
What of my children?
I tell them, there is goodness in everything.
Amber fields undulate in wind.
How beautiful, how desolate the sound
when I whisper I love you,
voice scratchy like grain,
my homeland, my country --
cracked chaff
falls from my mouth.
Ellen Kombiyil is originally from Syracuse, New York. Her poetry has recently appeared in Sojourn, 2river, Eclectica, and Contemporary Haibun. In addition, she had the honor of appearing as Featured Poet for The Hiss Quarterly's April 2007 issue. She currently lives in India with her husband and two children.
