The blame—it stacks high, an unyielding tower of sharp pieces of stone.
You assemble and build and construct…
So focused on this up surd structure
So consumed by the long hours you put in to lay each stone just right for all your viewers to see
but you are blinded—
blinded by the work, unable to see that each shard of rock has your name on it too.
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.
Each sunny day, I jog downstairs with my lunch bag and sit at the same park bench in the courtyard. The one drenched in sunlight;
This weekend I get to go to New York City to help celebrate a friend’s thirtieth birthday. (I, too, went to NY and Long Island
‘Twas the week before the end of the quarter Not a soul could be found relaxing All were stressed, grading everything they saw Grading and
Disclaimer: By an auntie-ji who knows nothing, except she did get married in her thirties so that may count for something, but in truth she