Some nights when the clock strikes midnight. Some days in the early hours of dawn, when I am asleep and also awake, I feel an intense icy wind stir.
Like the inside of a vast cave that resides inside a forest, the wind fills my bare insides, stirs the sharp vacant space.
In these times, the hollowness is palpable; a forever stamp of what this body will never bear.
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.
Today we sat like equals and discussed my blog post, your preference of teaching styles and giggled like old pals under the burning sun on
Arms outstretched, I twirl my skirt flies ballooning into perfect waves I tilt my chin towards the blue parachute above me Daffodils Buttercups Roses Petunias Me
What I’ve learned is alarming my insides and yet when you notice it in me, I flutter with pride. Could I do it, genuinely? Yes,