The leaves sizzle on the wind
dangling in crowds like kids on monkey bars.
They twinkle in the early evening sky:
stripes of green, yellow, brown.
I see them for the first time,
truly alive,
declaring silence and stillness in breathy whispers.
Masses of box-squared frames speed past;
their owners vacuumed into a throbbing cacophony.
But I,
I listen.
And it’s my first:
A silky premiere.
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.
To Those Who Stole My Autonomy:
I stand a sturdy sixty inches; mostly fat,
a rumbling glacier
threatening civilization’s end.
a grown-ass brown woman
standing outside your pretty bougie house
of perfectly manicured lawns, stainless white fences.
Love is the whoosh of a dishwasher filled uncomfortably to the brim, only to be emptied days later in a hurried, not-into-details way, which results
This month I cooked my first meal for 15 people. Initially, I thought this was an easy task. After-all, I feel confident about my abilities
Still breathing I am no matter the weight of your words like a virus flying through my veins multiplying, infecting my beautifully calm, decisive platelets