The flowers are still on the table,
the ones I so hastily purchased to brighten this place of mine
because those colors, they will break up this block of ice that’s burning my feet
but I couldn’t even place them in water—couldn’t give them their most basic need, couldn’t do for them
for I haven’t, haven’t been doing for me—my most basic need.
So they are dying.
slowly, a soft yielding death
while I, I remain standing on this frozen block,
feet numb.
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.
Loud, boisterous laughter filled the dimly lit dining room. A fire-place a few feet away warmed us. A chicken lover, a pescatarian, 3 all American
As a ten-year old in a new country, all I wanted was to be part of this new culture and its customs. We arrived in
In the end, when the rough winds slow and clouds slide away, Warmth returns and I can get strong again and again and again. Today