In the end, when the rough winds slow and clouds slide away,
Warmth returns and I can get strong again and again and again.
Today I learned I am iterative.
So don’t worry girl, ’cause I’m coming back around–
not once, not twice
but always.
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 used to cling, one-handed to sides of cliffs, pulled myself up to every summit. I used to speed downhill-no hands-crash to a halt and
2:37am
I wake up
eyes wide open
body is alert
I sit up
Why did I say that?
What are they thinking?
What should I do?
“We have to make a full tea set.”
“Okay, okay,” Pooja said. She dug deep into the soil to retrieve our clay. I waited patiently for her to show me her roll-and-bend technique to make the tiny handles for our teacups. We were artists, rolling clay into the tea cups to use for our pretend tea parties. We were hosts. We were sculptors. We were friends. I was her confidante. She told me about the boys who teased her for raising her hand in class. She confessed that she couldn’t wait to get her menses. She told what she thought that was. Her narratives made me feel more. More than six. More than a measly first standard student. When we were together in public, I carried myself taller, like her, chest out, spine straight.