I see through your game of pretense; the game of tag that has no end.
I see through you time, even when you slam minutes into the crown of my head—a hammer to a nail: pound, pound, pound
I see through you fear, even when you drag me to the edge of the cliff and taunt me from below, firing image after image of endings and uncertainties.
I see through you all
For I am above—
A sturdy mountain of truth and nothing is moving this mountain
Not today!
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.
all the pieces they add up—to desires, deep yearnings of belongings that are not mine to have they hover, slap me with icy fingers, each
Two years ago on the day after Thanksgiving break I took a mid-year position teaching 7th grade English. Coming in mid-year is the most insane
I hold you and you close to my heart warm warmth gooey love against my chest tiny faces, racing heartbeats button noses similar to mine
We. with our eighteen student classes, sunny campus, with a Mansion and a Dacha, forty minute lunches, two to three planning periods, endless supplies, technology,