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.
It’s 4:15PM and I’m desperately attempting to exit the city to make a Zumba class at 5:30. I am parched beyond parched, but still avoiding
Today I stood at the edge of the atlantic with my feet under salty water where sky blends into ocean and clouds sail overhead in