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.
Christmas of 1995. Sam and I were independent enough to give presents using our funds. It was an exciting time. I knew exactly what I
My friend, Walter, stood about five feet and eight inches tall. He had sparkly warm blue eyes, weathered pink skin, and an electric, infectious smile. His wild eyebrows were often furrowed reflecting his deep thought, worries, and sadness. I met Walter after he was discovered living deep in the wild Northern California mountains.