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.
1. Him: “What’s this?” Me: “A Poem” Him: “But it doesn’t rhyme.” 2. “When I eat something, my shirt eats it too!” 3. Me: “What’s
When it comes to you my friend, I have an unyielding fight in me, a forest fire—raging, no amount of rain can put out. I
Period one: Close eyes to meditate with a circle of eleven eighth graders, hear a giggle, slide eyes open and supervise with stern looks. Try