Used to be that weekends were my refuge, my resting place, my recharge station
When did they become the other? Filled with mysteries, I obsess to solve in my head letting thin slimy threads slip out now and then
Used to be that evenings, I couldn’t wait for, bouncing the minute that key jiggled in the lock, a puppy awaiting her owner
When did they become a dreaded period? hours immersed in fears I can’t escape. A constant state of restraint from my desires.
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.
Glistening spinach and Chorizo atop thick tender scallops arrive in front of me Saturday night. The plate sits next to the mason jar filled to
“It’s a hard place to leave but an even harder place to live.” –Papa F aka PG’s philosopher dad. I know for a few days
I am a merry-go-round of questions, unrelenting, nauseating with only one result at its end: spinning till pure exhaustion. I try to stop, dangle my
I like to stew on somedays—in the bubbling, gurgling thick starchy liquid of doubt. It’s warm and cozy: a pot of unyielding fears and questions.