At times, I breathe ice
cold smoke pillows out with each exhale, no fire can melt this breath of lone ice.
At times, I breathe fire
gray smoke escapes my nostrils,
I exhale truth, a truth of liquid flames
—a windstorm of longing to belong.
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.
Without boundaries, it exists swirling existing in the air around you, never within light and kind warming you from the outside in. Wrapping its arms
Minced garlic, chopped rosemary, grated ginger swirl as the wooden spoon twirls around the lamb with the trio. It is Sunday. Lamb Stew’s on the
The crisp cool air catches my cheeks, like a mother holding the face of her child in her palms– I gaze back into her eyes: