I hear you
brewing,
twisting,
tearing
through the trees in the backyard.
A violent energy—with the strength of dragons, crushing the tiny buildings beneath your fiery feet.
I get close to the window,
watch you near
smile at your magnetic pull,
let myself gravitate to the unflinching field of vehement,
hope to find my roar!
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.
To Those Who Stole My Autonomy:
I stand a sturdy sixty inches; mostly fat,
a rumbling glacier
threatening civilization’s end.
a grown-ass brown woman
standing outside your pretty bougie house
of perfectly manicured lawns, stainless white fences.
In a faux fur coat, one knee bent, arms flaring up, huge smile, I pose with my colleagues for our group Kindness Week photoshoot. strike
I lower my chest and inhale everything blurs the white line in front of me, the screaming crowds. My heartbeat slows and suddenly it’s all