Sometimes it’s okay to leave the old behind to slide into a satin ballgown that sweeps the floor as you tiptoe across town.
Sometimes it’s just right to walk this tight rope and cross over to a pool of soft blue.
And sometimes,
Just sometimes
It’s blissful to bite into a pillowy pastry and let the world around you dissolve into a sugary sweet syrup.
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.
Each year it stares at me from the wall next to my desk. May 19-June 8: the state testing window I glance at it in
“We have to make a full tea set.”
“Okay, okay,” Pooja said. She dug deep into the soil to retrieve our clay. I waited patiently for her to show me her roll-and-bend technique to make the tiny handles for our teacups. We were artists, rolling clay into the tea cups to use for our pretend tea parties. We were hosts. We were sculptors. We were friends. I was her confidante. She told me about the boys who teased her for raising her hand in class. She confessed that she couldn’t wait to get her menses. She told what she thought that was. Her narratives made me feel more. More than six. More than a measly first standard student. When we were together in public, I carried myself taller, like her, chest out, spine straight.
