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.
The first time I saw the words “ms. chintha is a bitch” inked on to walls, I was 29 years old. I had been teaching for a mere four years, but felt so veteran already because I had stopped crying when fights happened in or near my classroom among students. Up until my fourth year, I blamed myself for not creating a safe enough space for my students and that’s why they began fighting.
Autumn’s first frost forms, a thin layer of crystals cover the blades of grass we take our early morn’ family walk, thinking thinking thinking i
Baby bulbous bubbles sprout to the surface spiraling to the top and bursting into fizz each eager bulb excitedly bouncing around; they spin together playing
Glistening spinach and Chorizo atop thick tender scallops arrive in front of me Saturday night. The plate sits next to the mason jar filled to