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.
It is my belief that those who invented brunch, like me, did it as an excuse to eat more. Last year on a lazy Sunday,
The blame—it stacks high, an unyielding tower of sharp pieces of stone. You assemble and build and construct… So focused on this up surd structure
I. Around my neck hangs a tiny, silver disc, dulled by the oil of my skin, and sunscreen, so small it’s hard to recognize the