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 time I look in the mirror
so I follow the clouds, eyes exhaling hunger—an empty vessel, I sweep the sky strapping myself to each cloud
an empty embrace of pieces I will not possess
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 you don’t see is that one inch needle I inject into the skin of my belly every Saturday: the counting to three, the self-talks
Like the leaves squeezed into bags that line my street, it’s time for me to rest my fingers’ beat. Like the epic finale to Purple
To you Mr. O who taught me Not only how to be a teacher, but also how to live my life the right way. Some