Poulami Somanya Ganguly
It was a big house on the mountains
with a long drive leading to the front door.
There was snow on the drive. I took my suitcase
from the small boot. The living room had large windows.
My sister’s child was petting a large dog.
A friend had invited me. Don’t remember who.
I drove there in a Rover, the grey Rover
I haven’t thought about in fifteen years.
It had a hard clutch. My foot was hurting.
There had been ice on the road.
The dog had the face of a bear. Its face
was changing. It was raising itself on its hind legs
dripping saliva from its teeth.
My suitcase was in the bedroom on the upper floor.
I was throwing a pale orange t-shirt when the dog–bear
entered. Its face was now a low growl.
It came up to my bed just as I got down
on all fours. I looked it in the eye, in the eye, in the eye
till its face became the face of a good boy
and I asked him: who’s been making you do this?
He came even closer and spoke. I was surprised
at the name he told me. Then, I let him
lead me to his hiding place.
Poulami Somanya Ganguly is a writer and researcher based in London. Her poems have appeared in Ink, Sweat and Tears, Consilience and elsewhere. She graduated from Royal Holloway’s MA in Creative Writing in 2025.
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