I see through your game of pretense; the game of tag that has no end.
I see through you time, even when you slam minutes into the crown of my head—a hammer to a nail: pound, pound, pound
I see through you fear, even when you drag me to the edge of the cliff and taunt me from below, firing image after image of endings and uncertainties.
I see through you all
For I am above—
A sturdy mountain of truth and nothing is moving this mountain
Not today!
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 place the paper boat on the water, Fingers lingering to support the transition from steady to moving And wait. She sways unsteady at first,
all the pieces they add up—to desires, deep yearnings of belongings that are not mine to have they hover, slap me with icy fingers, each
The lid on my head is heavy, keeps me under a constant state of bringing to a boil. The comfort of this cycle is a