A myriad of branches spread
like veins in a body–
a screen door for the sky
thick and thin
strong and slim
lines, matrices of dark brown
stand independently in union
against the morning dew.

A myriad of branches spread
like veins in a body–
a screen door for the sky
thick and thin
strong and slim
lines, matrices of dark brown
stand independently in union
against the morning dew.
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.





“You got fat,” he said. “You got fat, grandpa,” I say but I know it’s not true, he’s not fat am I? When was the
Today I have returned to myself, the weight of your passing, a wound still healing. 30 days have passed. Today, 30 minutes I moved, releasing
Strolling through old stomping grounds, I hold hands with the twenty-nine year old me, now thirty-nine. She had just said yes to marriage; she had