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.
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
They are a secret society, A loud parade, A marching band, A cacophony A band of drummers practicing downstairs They Have It And outside alone
June 22nd, 2015, I drove off in a black rental Chrysler towards New England. My head rested against the headrest pulsing with that first day