all the pieces
they add up—to desires, deep yearnings of belongings that are not mine to have
they hover, slap me with icy fingers,
each time I look in the mirror
so I follow the clouds, eyes exhaling hunger—an empty vessel, I sweep the sky strapping myself to each cloud
an empty embrace of pieces I will not possess
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.
My first memory of scarves is of a dupatta that you wear around your neck over a salvar or chudidar. I loved wearing them and
Wispy strands of air whip my body, a gentle massage only a winter’s morn can provide; I tilt my chin up into the brilliant blue
she likes to dream big dreams she gets excited about it all greener grass, driving down curvy roads laying on the sand, watching the clouds
As my year off, sabbatical, leave of absence, whatever you want to call it comes to an end, it’s hard not to look back and