Each time the seasons change
It rises above sea level
Waiting to be released
Waiting to flood and force
A reboot
Each time the seasons change
It tightens in to the tightest of knots
Ready to break, to allow a clean break
A new start
Each time the seasons change
It builds, it boils, it twists
Filling my eyes, my soul, my body
But there’s no clean break here
No reboot
Just static silence
Until the season changes and it dissolves temporarily
Sonia Chintha is an Indian American writer who lives in the Washington DC area. She blogs, writes poetry, and fiction. She is also an English teacher who believes that our experiences teach us more than any test. She is the founder and co-editor of Good Little Girls.
Fire limned with resentment, eating up the air until I choke— this is my anger, gaslit, bewildered. No longer able to tell who should be
Her eyes narrow behind sunglasses, she tilts those shades up as she picks one– sniffs deep for the right scent: sweet, ripe tests its firmess
Last night after months of anticipation, I got see Florence and the Machine. I drove an hour to Merriweather Post Pavilion–a concert venue I haven’t