The lid shudders as the soup bubbles underneath.
I watch it seep out in short bursts of tremors.
I should turn the heat down, but all I want to do is turn it up;
all the way up so that it explodes
on to the stove and ceiling, scorching the floor too.
A puréed mixture of good and evil; happy and sad.
Everyone looks at this as a mistake, but I am relieved–finally.
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.
droplets of salty sweat glide down my torso,tickling my identity, the one I’ve made so cozy.Safely tucked away in the suburbs outside the nation’s capital,I
My silence seemed like abandonment, neglect, angry to you on those days when I asked for a reprieve, a moment to gather, mourn, feel. It