‘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.
I was eight years old when Esperanza fell off the swing. In the backyard, she stood on a flimsy piece of wood, rotted from many rains and held together by two strings, rocking her body back and forth. While she reveled in her weightlessness, I sensed impending catastrophe. From my spot safely in the grass, I pleaded with her to stop. Barely hearing my pleas, she rose higher, closer to the sun with each swing. I turned away from her. Bracing myself, I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears. She called out to me, determined to show me that if she swung high enough, she could see above the hedges separating our yard from the neighbors, above all the rooftops neatly lining around the cul-de-sac, to somewhere even more distant. Perhaps she even believed that she could reach back in time, back across the ocean, to her childhood in the Philippines. So she swung, higher and higher and higher.
I believe in vegging out. For my 28th birthday, N and I went to Chicago for the first time. We were so excited because we
I am–but damn I try hard not to be– I am yet anotha girl manipulated into—cornered into enabling your male privileged ass That one who