Sharp earthquakes tilt us together into a pile of debris and I should be able to see it as hope and possibility and evolution, but the metallic taste on my tongue lingers, reminding me of all the tiny, teeny pieces of bricks that I’ve already cemented together.
Whose bricks are these on the bridge I’ve been building for two decades? Did they come from a trendy hashtag or my heart?
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 grasp the color between my thumb and index finger, light and flexible Glide the pastel against paper like it’s a skate on ice, smooth and
A year ago, when I was working at a small insurance company, my work bestie invited me to a vision board party. We were having
She peck, peck, pecks rhythmically drumming a beat that fills our upstairs. It’s sharp and sudden, making me panic. I listen closely, following it to