Heavy,
I’m so heavy
Heavy full of space
Ballooning out sideways
A resistance band
so, so heavy
Heavy filled with time
I’m so heavy
Heavy flat on the cold floor
weighed down with iron petals
which hang like wings from my back
each clinking and clanking with every step
I’m so heavy– Heavy
Heavy full of rusty old roles
ones that I
just
don’t
fit
into
anymore.
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.
As a college student, I lived my life dreaming about endless possibilities. Each day had the possibility of being completely meaningful and vital. I was
I.
Minutes
into that first class –
two and a half full
decades since she’s done
anything like this –
she has to admit
there is a kind of poetry:
the manipulation of numbers,
a focused search
for the pattern
that will represent it
all.
Begin: again and again and again you can sit me down and point your scrawny finger at me, judge me, pierce holes of doubt on
Yesterday a colleague questioned my informal style of communicating with the parents of my students. (I address parents with their first names in emails and