At times, I breathe ice
cold smoke pillows out with each exhale, no fire can melt this breath of lone ice.
At times, I breathe fire
gray smoke escapes my nostrils,
I exhale truth, a truth of liquid flames
—a windstorm of longing to belong.
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.
What’s your size? She asks. “Oh, you know, 6, 8, 10.” I. Am. A turtle, retreating into her shell. A deflated balloon on the frozen
From a distance I stand in mountain pose, channel the ground beneath me to center the particles that long to join the majority of tribes
Illustration by Allie Olivares Attention Please by Kelly King The rage I carry threatens to eat me alive. This March, I jumped into leading protests
“Traditions bring people together,” declared a 7th grade student in my 5th period class. We were sitting in large squarish circle. Our first Socratic Seminar