A spritz of salty sea water sweeps my skin, wisps of thin hair tickle my cheek, under the fleecey warmth of our sun.
This coast, these concrete paths, the speckles of diamonds skipping across the bay, this weaving breeze that kisses the back of my neck–all of whom greet me as family.
And I, like a dog shaking off his fur to get dry, sit in the middle of this pier shaking off the rest of the world.
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.
For a month you freed me of— but now I am the center of the whirlpool, the very current my mother warned me of as
for wearing ties and high-heeled boots for Speaking up for speaking the truth I burp, I curse, I’m hard as asphalt I’m tired of your
Behind me, they await and I strain my neck trying to fit into the frame I shift back standing at an awkward angle, mouth a