‘Twas the week before the end of the quarter
Not a soul could be found relaxing
All were stressed, grading everything they saw
Grading and grading into the night and early morn’
Until I saw, she saw, we all saw that sparkling honey bee
It was you who provided me with love when no one else was awake
It was you who boosted me to grade just. one. more. essay.
It was you, you, you
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.
One rainy evening, after a hip-hop class, I boldly asked to my then artistic director her opinion of my ability. For ten months, I had
Knees high, wide strides I run towards nothing away from everything laughing loud and free Bare feet on sand I chase after everything Stop Turn
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.