Each time it comes, I run, filled with curiosity and glee, pick up the strangely light box; hopes not quite shattered.
It is a box. It has arrived at my doorstep. It has to have something I will need.
And.
Each time. I open it, there lies space upon space of nothingness,
Just air.
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.
Last week a friend reminded me that I am not a mother and she is. Initially, it stung, sending me into a spiral of I’ll-never-be-good-enough’s
So many times I sank rocks in my pockets, heavy Now, I walk forward palms heavy with rocks one foot in front of another Steady
