MUSE

MARISA MADRIGAL ’18Editor-in-Chief

TRI-AN CAO ’17Cover Artist/Editor

MATTHEW CHALLENGER ’17Editor

DYLAN BROWN ’17Editor

MR. DAMIAN BARNESAdvisor

The Darkest Skies Produce the Brightest Stars 2017

THE

Photo by: Jospeh Firestone

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The light is dim with moths on the bulbA flurry of their wings just stirs the dustImpatience brings the mood through paths just leftHeed my advice: one should not rush that which takes time.

A task of life at its most inconvenientOne must refrain from forcing a thing to beThough you may not be sure of where to goAnd less of what to do whilst one’s waitingThe key is to allow the mind to pauseFor absence makes the heart grow fonder yetBut one must then know the pain of absenceThen the light will shine and the dust will settle.

Editor’s Note

Dear readers,

As classes come to a close and summer approaches, the Muse would like to commemorate the darkness and the light of this past year. For many of us, there has been great loss and suffering with great tensions arising. For others, there had been much joy and celebrations. Together with the help of our artists, poets, writers, and photographers we hope to present the nuances of life – all our failings and our success, our darkness and our light. Hopefully, we might all remember that the darkest nights produce the brightest stars.

Best Wishes! MarisaMadrigal,EditorinChief‘18

Photo by: Jospeh Firestone

PATIENCETYLER ENGLEMAN

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Artwork by: Natalie Huaco

Art Show

Art by: AJ Balbas-Malicor

Art by: Kira Debro

Art by: Nadia Ralston

Art by: Audrey Byrne

Art by: Amaris Durst

Artwork by: Maggie Parker

Art by: Ella Van Auker

Art by: Cosette Backus

Art by: Arielle Brackett

Art by: Aisha McMahon

SNAP SHOTS

Art by: Lauren Murphy

Artwork by: Olivia DuffArt by: Kira Debro

Art by: Nadia Ralston

Art by: Lizzy Avery

Art by: Alicia Liu

Art by: Thane Wisherop

Art by Kaia DobbsArt by: Sarah O’Malley

Art by: Lizzy Avery

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This war is far too hard, For a girl of only sixteen.Too young to fight for life, Who knew the world could be so mean?

“You are almost done here”, Says the bullet next to my heart, “You will soon feel relief”This is by far the hardest part.

Hiding in the darkness, Yards away from what was my home, But is now a graveyardA remnant of where I would roam.

“This war is almost through”, Whispers the bullet in my chest, “Death will soon relieve you”. I wait, tears dripping on my breast.

Touch is the first to go, Leaving my hands grasping nothing, The pain in my chest ends, I no longer feel the bleeding.

“Do not worry my dear”, The bullet attempts to allay, “Your family is waiting”, I guess it’s best for me this way.

My sight begins to fade, And with it my fears depart me, I’m not afraid to die, It will be best, I now see.

“You’ve made it to the end”, The bullet tells me happily, “Death is now here for you” My eyes move around sleepily.

My world grows blacker now, Pulling me into an abyss, Death has me in his grasp, Welcoming me with his dark kiss.

“Death will be here quickly”Assures the bullet as I cry, “It is all easy now”, I nod as I hear guns nearby.

Taste leaves my body next, Taking away the tang of blood, And saltiness of sweat, Even the taste of the thick mud.

“I will help you through this”, Reassures my deathly bullet, “I will stay till the end”, I am almost ready to quit.

Smell departs my body, The scent of burning corpses goes, Allowing me relief, Now, not one thing reaches my nose.

“You have almost made it” I hear the bullet say to me, “Soon you will be no more”I nod, knowing I will be free.

Hearing goes away now, Giving me rest from the screaming, And the exploding bombs, Allowing me time for thinking.

I fear for my future. One where racist, sexist, close minded fools prey on those full of life and positivity,

Enabling those who want to better themselves and better the world around them.

I fear for my future.Men shooting at each other, day and night, because they don’t know any better.

And children as young as five being forced to work and provide for their families.

I fear for my future.Where people of color are targeted by police and victimized,

And genocide occurs because a group of people do not share the same beliefs.

I fear for my future.While impoverished and low-income citizens are marginalized because of economical status and ethnicity,

Women are dehumanized by their bodies and portrayed as sex objects.

I fear for our future.

BALLADAVERY COLLARD

CHANGE THE WORLDTEIXERIA COOPER

Photo by: Nicole Beales

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Photo by: Nicole Beales

I am the type that reads between the linesI am the one to find the silver liningI am knowledgeable of the dark sky

I am the one to know that stars are still shining

I am really a small boat in a stormI am also the person who can cause the hurricane

I am just the drizzle before the downpourI am also the cloud that spewed the rain

I am the smallest fishI am the one to take on the shark

I am working on my plansI am trying to make my mark

I am striving for something newI am going to journey to the dark depths of the night

I am just at the beginningI am still in the sunlight

I am learning about the ocean and the skyI am still learning everything in between

I am not sure where it will lead meI am curious, there is so much to be seen

I am still figuring it outI am becoming someone new

I am peering through the looking glassI am working through and through

SEARCHINGMIA LAUER

Climbing from tree to tree the loris is very strong.They are able to see everything with their big eyes.

The loris is flexible and long.They can’t fly as high as the birds in the skies.

The toucan has a colorful beak.With their wide wings they catch air.

Their soft, black feathers are very sleek.The toucans always fly in a pair.

The tiger’s eyes are very vivid and gold.Nothing can beat a tiger’s run.

Unlike other animals, their stripes are bold.In the afternoon, they like to lay in the warm sun.

The animals are the only ones there,The jungle is as quiet and peaceful as a prayer.

EXOTIC ANIMALS IN THE JUNGLEANASTACIA LOUKIANOFF

Art by: Ella Francis

Art b

y: Sa

lome F

inau

I hustled for a roseBut clipped away her petalsWar within my mindFoot heavy on the pedal

She runs deeper than the surfacePlastered by versesPared like a fern but her warmth, so full of substance

Her body, a deskOur words the pencilI have written my pieceAnd explored her cruxSo, what is loveIf lust is enough

Our goodbye’s bittersweetOur hearts, beat for beat

Like a gift without ribbonLike a bed without linenA rose without water has no option, but weep

A ROSE TO COUNT MY MISTAKESJOSEPH FERRIS

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Photo by: Nicholas Entrekin

The car is surged with the reserved,The Metro Sage in the corner felt pen in the left hand, leather back notebook in the right.Hanging out in the aisle, his coat pocket.A little fifth of Jameson peeks his head out to gaze.

Each stop sends a blizzard of apparitionsEach face blends in with the otherAnd yet an unseen hand put me next to each specific stranger.A planned coincidence,

A light show every time one enters a carDiverging lights on intersecting pathsAll meet for a movement of solidarity

And in the moments of movements, if someone actually noticesThere’s something grand.

In the car, the Metro Sage sits where he was drawing spirals so central.Just as he was when I got to the station.

GRAND METRO STATIONNOAH HAN

A girl and boy hooked up one nightJust for pleasure and for fun

But they di’n’t know that very nightThat night they had a son

She missed her monthly cycle next

But di’n’t fear or fret too quickThen when she went to take the test

She saw the line so thick

She cries in bathrooms, turns awayShe does not know what to do

Her friends come urge her to abortIt’s ‘gainst all that she knew

And they all say “Save your own life

This small blob is not aliveIt’s you that’s more important than

The child that is inside”

The mom decides to make a choiceHer son she’s disposing of

She dosn’t know he has fingernailsA heart so full of love

The baby cries from in the womb“And now what about my choice?I have a mouth but cannot speak

So who will be my voice?”

“I want to go and see the worldFeel the wind upon my arms

Go swim in oceans, run in sandMeet cows and pigs at farms”

WHO WILL BE MY VOICE?CHRISTINA PIRROTTA

He tries to kick to let her know

He is real, alive, and trueAnd wants a chance to live a life

A chance to meet mom too

He wants to hug and kiss his momAnd to go to school and play

To find a wife, to have a houseBut it’ll all end today

For mom di’n’t want him in her life

And then neither did the dadIt was too easy for them just

To fix this thing they had

The mom goes to the clinic andThe young babe is filled with painBut most of all, his heart so aches

His life is now in vain

The mom will cry and weep all dayFor she knows she killed her sonThe ‘bortion she will ne’er forget

Till days on earth are done

From high in skies, in lands unknownThe young child will meet his KingFrom up above, he’ll see his mom

Forgive her for e’erything

“So mom, I’ll pray for you up hereFor my siblings you may birth

Please treat them well and be so kindTo give them life on earth”

Photo by: Nicole Beales

“Ew! skunk”swallowed motheras the wrinklessmoothed from her nosemeanwhilered ropes and blobsare neatly packed and sealedinto the plump body of a blissful skunkand the SUV rolls Back up the winding road

SKUNKPHOEBE LAWTON

The ally dark as the nightAs though someone has taken your sight You wander into the darkTill you hear an echoing barkYou freeze As you feel the cold breeze Is something behind you?

You whip around to seeBut all you see is the faint outline of a treeYou start to worry But as you go faster your eyes get blurryYour breath gets heavyYour balance unsteady Is something following you?

Your head starting to ache Then your whole body starts to shakeYou feel something on you neckYou quickly reach your hand around to checkThe moonlight allows you to faintly make out what it wasYou pause What is it?

THE ALLYALIYAH KNIGHT

Art by: Mia Rosati

Full moon lights up the darkest night. Steer mountain on the left of the 100km/h train; darkest ravine on the right side of the soaring train. The ravine looks like an infinite

black hole that can vanish everything. Far end is the carbonated, black steam.

SHORT PIECE OF IMAGERYMIA LAUER

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Photo by: Cece Garofoli

To the touch the wood is iceTo the heart the wood activates a furnace

Fingers upon a memorium, from a land over the seaEyelids crash like waves and the scene begins to playI am not alone, while moving to melodies in the sun

Next to me a good friend makes sure we don’t forget the groundThe weight of life flows out of me like lava dancing into the sky

Fish of stop and fish of go orbit me like lights on a Christmas TreeThe sea is a shamrock and I am a leprechaunI go up and down as the waves stop and goI feel magic like Christmas no need for snowI am a leprechaun, no need for a rainbow

As the sun goes down the waves stop dancing, they vanish from sightLight to dark and dark to light, as I wipe the sea salt from my eyesMy heart remains a furnace, as my day dream crashes to an end

In my hand remains a memorium, from the land over the seaI place luck and magic back on my chest to wait

For the next time I want to sail away.

DAY DREAMJACOB HIRSCH

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Photo by: Emma Stephens

Photo by: Nassir Ward

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by: N

assir

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Photo by: Nassir Ward

Photo by: Nassir Ward

Photo by: Nassir Ward

Photo by: Nassir Ward

Photo by: Nassir Ward

Photo

by: N

assir

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TO LOVEROCHELLE ESPINOSA

FEATURED PHOTOGRAPHERNASSIR WARD

I had a dream.Emotions pooled into a flood.My heart, ripping at its seams,Yet deep in love.I didn’t know if I should.I felt the spark,And my mind knew I could.On a journey I did embark,Unsure of my rankI lost myself as a writerAs my heart sank.I held him on a pyreClose to my soul.Only to love was my ultimate goal.

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I was on my way to the hospital. It’s three P.M. right now, the sun just passed across above of my head. My appointment was at six, so I found something to do to kill the time. My stomach began to grumble, and remind-ed me that I did not have lunch. Right, I was on my work. I tried to finish up some details, which always make me crazy, and I did not have time for lunch. Therefore, I found a restaurant to kill the time and save my stomach. I walked into a restaurant; it’s not dinnertime yet, but many people were in there, so it’s probably worth to try. I found a quiet spot in the corner and called the waiter. He is also the manager of this restaurant. He has some beard on his face, I believed he is probably around thirty years old.“Can you bring me the best you got?” I asked. “Sure!” He then went back into kitchen with a smile. His smile reveals his pearl-white teeth; I could tell he is a positive man, who has a happy family. I stared at my surroundings. Few fans hang on the wall; some pictures decorate the room. I like here; It’s plain but makes me feel great. He brought me a bowl of noodles. Only a little green onion sprinkled on the noodles, but I believed that was the best noodle I had ever had. The noodle was far better than it looks like. Not too sweet, but it had some sweet spice in it, and some kind of unknown juice was mixed with the noodles. I called the manager again to ask for the check, but he said if I could do him a favor, the noodle would be free. That’s such a great deal, cozy environment and tasty noodle, and now I have a chance to get a free one. He said something odd, and I didn’t know what he asked, but I did it anyway. He told me to go to the restaurant across the street and tell the waitress, who is also the manager in that restaurant: “I don’t love you anymore.” I thought that’s funny, but compared with getting a free lunch, I will do it. I walked in the restaurant and saw the manager. She stared at me with surprise and shock, which made me bewildered. “Hi, I don’t love you anymore.” I said, I thought that was awkward, and so I just laughed for a bit. She did not think this is awkward, because tears rolled down on her face, and I could tell she’s sad. She was so familiar to me, but I could not remember when I had seen her.“Thank you for letting me know, please go back tell him my answer is ‘yes.’” She then turned back into the kitchen. I told the manager, and he gave me the free lunch. In addition, He told me the story between them. He’s so excited when he heard what I said, and then he started his story. He loves the woman across the street, and had proposed many times, but she never said yes, because she said she had someone else in her heart, and she believed her lover would come back one day. She would only say yes to him if her lover tells her that he does not love her anymore; the male manager said he would wait, but he didn’t know what her lover looks like. He opened a restaurant close to her, and gave everyone who went across the street and told her what I said a free noodle. I thought this is great romantic story. I wanted to spend more time to hear their story, but it’s almost 6. I had to hurry up. I was late, and I knew my doctor would be mad at me. My doctor asked me, “Where did you go? We had an appointment almost an hour ago.” “I was hungry, so I just grabbed some food on my way to here.” I realize my fault and I should not be late next time. “You have to be careful, otherwise your amnesia won’t get better.” My doctor said.

MR. STRANGEPAGE HUANG

Photo

by: N

icole

Beale

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BOY OF FIREKAELYN SHIRLEY

He is known as the Boy of Fire.not only for his hair,burning red like scorching embers,but for his exuberant personality,which radiates from his eyes and mouth.Everyone he speaks to leaves with a smile.A simple touch of his hand, and you can feel the warmth of his heart.He makes you laugh,a real laugh, not one of those fake, forced, chuckles. The freckles on his face; stars in the milky way,numerous and never ending. He refuses to let you be in a grumpy mood.If you are, he does whatever he can, to save you from despair.His drawings are not Monet, or Michelangelo,but they are all his own.He forgives like the issue never happened, and loves unconditionally.He stands up for those closest to him,interjecting himself into the middle of fights,risking his own health, for the safety of others. If he cries, his tears make flowers grow.If he yells, he shakes the sky.When he strums the chords of his instrument,he makes Mother Nature stop and listen.He is the embodiment of true happiness,luminous like the sun.He is the Boy of Fire.

HOMESIDNI RESNICK

A bright blue sphere (spinning) Suspended

(around) in the pale light of (stars) dust light, life (encompassing the) darkened space “preserve” and “cherish” the (un known) souls that drift everywhere above, below, inside, (outside) stuck to gravity and the (universe) vast, emptiness of a world (of) uniqueness (mystery) and sacred to mankind The (Terra)rain, falling water upon the life and (is) invigorating an abundant (home) planet

UNTITLEDANA SOFIA JED

I am the great granddaughter of a phycologist and artistLover of cute things and nice foods

Who likes traveling and biking and hiking in the woodsWho won’t stand messes or stresses or anyone’s sass

Just overall she can be pretty badass She grew up in Rockville, Long Island New York

And went off to a collage she thought full of pompous dorksUntil she me Bruce Jed the light of her life

Until many years later when they divorced with a fightShe went through several more husbands before meeting the last

And they adventure together on dirt roads and through grassArnold Wendorff is the name with his inventions and degree

But she kept him because he was always so funny

I am the granddaughter of a writerThough that’s not all he used to be

He used to own a business selling lots of coffeeHe used to be a cook, and a poet, and a riot But now all that’s left is this deafening quiet

The cut is still fresh, still new, still raw And I think we just always thought he’d be there through it all

And now when I breathe there seems to be emptiness thereThough I suppose that’s just proof that he mattered, that he made me care

But I’ll try to remember the good time the laughter and smilesAnd maybe the pain will stop for a while

So I’ll try to remember, his greatness with words His jokes, his dinners, his love of the absurd

I am the daughter of a builder Who once was just a nerd

He knew he wanted to work with computers but that was just unheardSo he tried out the sciences and got a biology degree

And clutching that traveled straight across the countryFrom New York to California where he met his awesome wife

But then a little later his job was met with strife He found he didn’t like biology, it really wasn’t for him

So he thought maybe he should do computers just on a whimThen after working for some companies he thought he’d build his own He set up several little businesses and we reap lots from all he’s sown

I am the daughter of an opportunistWho took what she could to build the future she wanted

Who was sent away for high school and changed schools without her parents knowl-edge

Who traveled from Mexico to the United States to fine some better jobs And became one of the best damn teachers at any place she taught

I am just a student, a girl of sixteenBut I am also an artist, a writer, a cook so it’s been seen

Living in Oakland in a wonderful roostCompletely within walking distance of anything of possible use

So life has been good the short sixteen years that I’ve hadThough all things considering I don’t think it will ever be really that bad

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BROTHERNICHOLAS CHUNG

the fire roars and crackles in its placetwo brothers sit and watch,

between them there is much roomto each other they will not face,

their emotions are concealed by a shadow nothing but darkness resides to their left,

they owned nothing and nothing was left,the brothers both crave to leave this dreadful place,

both men bear a grey five-o’clock-shadowand their hearts had synced with a tick of a watch,

but they could not look at each other face-to-facetheir silence grew greater like the walls of that room,

the echoes of childhood memories travel from room-to-room,and these memories remained in their minds and never left,

time had not yet taken its toll on their youthful facethose boys wished to live out their days in this place,

with their imagination, they would alter the tv shows they’d watch one would lead and the other would follow in his shadow,

over time they would leave those memories in the shadowsthe ones that had echoed from room-to-room,

it was hard for them to just sit and watch those memories fade, the ones that they had left

but they belonged in that placelike a name to a face

a depressed look covered one’s facebut remained hidden due to the shadow,

what once was home now feels like a foreign placethese walls onced welcomed them, but now just make a hollow room,

all the love that lived there packed its bags and left,the house that used to look out for them doesn’t care or even watch,

the other looked down upon his silver watch,he gazed at the hands that turned around the face,

slowly he lifted his head then turned to the left,he only noticed half of his brother’s face the other half hid in the shadow,the furniture behind them felt miniscule compared to the rest of the room.

they felt like ants compared to this place

the fire left and took its shadow.they stayed and watched the embers that redend their faces.

darkness had consumed that place and silence remained in every room.

Photo by: Nicholas Sanchez

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THE LIGHT IN A DARK WORLDMARCOS OROZCO

In a barren wasteland she was a spot of luxurious floraShe used to treat me with kindness and an affectionate love I had never knownShe used to look forward to seeing me everydayI loved talking to her for hours on end at school or on the phoneAnd she loved talking to me too because she was always smiling Whenever she was near I felt the air become warmer and life flourishing And whenever she spoke it was like a soft delta breeze was rolling inI hoped that the thought that highly of me too She made life enjoyable for me Everyday seeing her made me content with life I thought that I had actually for once understood what love is Love is when he or she walks in and your heart rate risesYou can’t speak or think straight Because you don’t want to say anything dumb Everything about her was perfect and I couldn’t find a flaw Even though the flaws were there the love I felt completely overshadowed them I can be construed as loud, annoying, crazy, among other thingsAnd she overlooked those things But she overlooked them tooWe would talk everyday and see eachother everyday I met her family and they loved me and she met mine and they loved her She was a kind hearted girl who caredHer eyes were a vast ocean that I would get lost in from time to time Everything about her was lovely and I thought I didn’t deserve her Life for once was actually going spectacularlyBut life often does get good then come crashing down She wasn’t acting the same and wouldn’t talk to meI wondered if it was something I had said Or if there was something I could have done differently I begged her to give me another chanceBut she said it was her and not me I had to accept it She didn’t want me anymore I was a complete and utter wreckFor once in my life was quiet I was hurtOn an emotional and physical levelI didn’t want to show it to my peers so I hid it deep inside I had to move on because she did It seemed as though she moved on rather quickly She was laughing and talking to other guys already I tried to move on but couldn’t I tried and tried but the thought of her never stopped floating through my mindI wish it would but it just won’t I don’t think it ever willThe more I see her the worse it gets I still have feelings but I don’t know how to tell her I wish I could tell her but she seems happy with her life and I don’t want to ruin itSo I just sit in silence with the thought of her running through my mind Everytime I see her instead of happiness it has turned into sadness Wanting her to be mine is still a wish of mine but I know it won’t happen I wish I was ok with that but I am notI have to be ok with my heart being ripped out everydaySo I just have to coast through high schoolAnd I have to be ok with that because happiness isn’t a goal anymoreIt’s fighting the sadness

Photo by: Jospeh Firestone

don’t (tell me) I can’t.because i (no!) i cAn.you try to break Mebut (I) am a comeback kid.stronger i (will) return each time.you are so coNdescendingit’s Very unbecoming. you know you can’t (re)place a southern (bel)le lIke me.i am a Nightmare.when you say i Can’t do somethingI turn around and do it Better than you ever could.never underestimate those beLow you.for those who arE oppressed on earth, will thrive in heaven.tell me no; i will rebel.I am invincible.

I AM INVINCIBLECLAIRE KELLY

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I hate to start this way I don’t know no other The project’s due today Oh, that makes me shudder So when will it be ready? That’s really what I wonder. The words float like confetti… Can all this just be done?Or will I be unsteady And put it off for fun. I’m hoping for the former But I have not begun.

LATENOAH LINDE

A rewind to my foolish childhood. Adolescent, naive, oblivious.

When I was not aware of adulthood.

When I was thought to be gregarious.I had no care about my future self.

With dreams of cooking, I was serious.

I did not need to work to prove myself.When playing sports was not competitive,

With trophies I would win made the high shelf.

When making essays was not relative. When situations fixed with apology.

And my eyesight was not imperative.

I dream of youth, when I was not so grown.When everyone was kind and friends with me,But now the masks unfold and lies are shown .

Some people act the way they shouldn’t be,They think that bullying is comical

Because now they think they are grown and free.

BACK TO THE PASTMAI SANTIAGO

A smile,A pure image of happiness, yet when caught on camera it is fake.Lined up for a photo you smile to impersonate true happiness.You become an imposter in the real world.People say: “smile for the camera”, “say cheese”, “everybody smile”But it is all for the false impression of happiness.Instead of insisting on photos,Take a moment to remember the good times in life.The real smiles.Remember the times full of true happiness, For those times will bring true light to your life.

MEMORYBEN SAMUELS

Photo by: Andrew Medeiros

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tick tock tick tock “And then I said to the guy ‘no your time management skills are poor, you’re delaying the whole project!’. Hah, he said that I should get off his case. Can you believe that Joe?” Even though Joe was standing at the water cooler next to his co-worker, his head was actually deep inside the loud clock they had in their office. His co-worker was always real excited to corner him and talk about this kind of thing. He had beads of saliva dripping out of his mouth like a dog.tick tock tick tock “So I said to him, ‘you need to get your act together or you can take your severance package and go back to school. Maybe then they’ll learn you how to meet a deadline!’ Don’t you think that’s true Joe?” Joe was incessantly fixated on the clock. His co-worker might as well have been speaking chinese. It always annoyed him that Joe never cared about what he had to say. Joe didn’t know that though. The clock was speaking to him. Joe focused hard on the clock. Once, a long time ago, he had discovered a skill. It’s a dangerous skill that anyone could use if they dared to

use it. Joe regretted his life. He wished he could go back and find out where he had gone wrong. He thought about the things he had done wrong a lot but he couldn’t think of one particular moment that had made his life so loathsome. He focused hard, harder, as hard as steel until the clock did a very odd thing.tock tick tock tick The clock wound backwards, the second hand going from 4 to 3 to 2 to 1. His co-worker talked backwards too, breathing each meaningless word back into his mouth before finally walking backwards and giving Joe peace. From there Joe experienced his day backwards, reliving it in reverse like he was a ghost haunting himself. The sun began to rise as all his co-workers took their punch cards out and went to go get coffee. He walked backwards back to his car, drove backwards back to his house and went to sleep as the sun rose. He got up at night, watched T.V. for a couple hours thendrove backwards to work. This cycle repeated more or less for years and he went backwards

through his life quickly and hazily. It went by very fast as there was not much worth noting. Joe relived his first and only romantic relationship. Played backwards it started with his girlfriend coming back to him and looking at him with a serious expression before healing a slap mark on his face with a quick caress of her hand. She began inhaling in some mean words shehad said to him, starting out furious but eventually calming down to a more relaxed demeanor.They walked backwards and slept in the same bed. Joe forgot why they had fought. Joe passionately kissed his girlfriend and sucked all the venomous saliva he had left in her mouth. To fully heal her he had to do this many times until they finally reached the day they first met. They had met on the subway. Forwards she had fell and Joe caught her. She looked up at him with bewildered affectionate eyes. Backwards he took her in his arms and threw her back into the crowd of the train, so that they never had to hurt each other again. It was fixed. Joe relived his school life. He had always wanted to be a drummer instead of working as a manager, so he was glad that he caught his

graduation cap and returned his diploma. He couldn’t quite erase the diploma yet, however, he had to use his pencil to magically vacuum up all the lead he had put into every exam he had ever done. When he was done with that he went back to grade school and did the same. All his failed grades were erased. They were fixed. Joe started noticing some odd things as he relived his life backwards. Instead of playing beats the drums he pulled the vibrations back in with his sticks. The rhythm was warped and backwards. The destructive force took a feeling of deep happiness he started out with at the endof the performance and trapped it inside of his drum kit. The audience, unimpressed with his sound removal, filed out of the auditorium. He kept breathing in all the words he had said to his friends, until eventually they got bored of him and walked backwards out of his life. He felt apathy towards them as they walked away. His mother started to care for him more and more and he loved it. He didn’t have to do anything. He could give back what he had wasted. His mom used a spoon to drain food out of his stomach and put it back into jars, which she placed at the store and the store shipped off to factories where the

TICK TOCK TICK TOCKSHAWN SCHULZ Photo by: Emily Gayton

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contents were placed back into the earth where they were stolen from. Shebegan to do the same with her breast milk, draining it from his stomach and back into her bosom, reclaiming it for her own use. He had no longer wasted all that precious food. It was fixed. Suddenly Joe found himself back in the hospital where he was born. A doctor took him out of a plastic bin and brought him back to his mother to hold. His mom looked at him with love and smiled at him and cooed over him the breath of life. Joe’s little heart beat.tick tock tick tock A doctor snatched him from her and frantically tried to shove him back into his mother’s womb. His mother screamed and cried, desperately resisting his push inward, desperately trying to keep him out. Joe also

screamed, scared of leaving his new world behind, scared of goingback into the womb. He screamed so loud that the universe listened. His mom pushed him out with such force that he flew back through his life, a gale force at the speed of light, blowing through his school life, his romantic life, his work life. All the words he had ever said came out in a thundering maelstrom, scarring everything they touched. Then he found himself standing in front of the water cooler again, his co-worker smiling and looking at him with pleading eyes. The clock in the office had broken in that moment and stopped ticking. “Anyways, how was your day Joe?” Joe thought for a moment that lasted a lifetime. Joe hugged him and cried tears that streaked down his co-worker’s shoulder and to the back of his heart.

Photo by: Cece Garofoli

springsspout from glossy faucets;luminous, silvery spouts allowgrounded rain to our parched worldat beck and call,entrapped by ceramic bowls, enraptured by skin,until drops follow drifting souls down the hole tothe Underworld.

infinitesimal droplets spew and churnin watery vortexes:down,out,around,return, again.and in the lifeless, rebirth--like turtles who risk death to travel thousands of milesback to home, to produce life,like the fish of the sea who consume and be consumed, like the very ocean which gave birth to all life amid terrible destruction.

you may think the ocean only exists in momentous basins carved into the Earth,but the ocean imbues all matter, all beings--even the air we inhale and let go.so ponder this, the next time you find yourself by a fountain or in a bathroom:“from when and how and why did this water flow, and where will it go?”

BATHROOM THOUGHTSTRI-AN CAO

At the end of the dayWhether you can see it or notWithout fail, it will always happen

Sunsets may hide behind the soft white cloudsThey may seem like they’re completely not there at all

One may become fiery and scaryLeaving you with no hope at all

Flames filling eyes, left a bleak outlook on the future

Or maybe the opposite The gradient in the sky is the prettiest you have ever seenBut the sun will always set no matter where you are

And without a doubt in my mindThe same will happen tomorrow

SUNSETSOPHIE WHITMAN

Photo by: Cece Garofoli

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Photo by: Cece Garofoli

My toes squeezing the cool, moist sand, as I drop down my shoesBlue, warm water brushing against my ankles, refreshing and fantasticA surfer whizzes past me without a clueOf the shark in the water, moving as fast as elasticHis strong biceps and abs display his strength to swimAs his board moves across the placid water, as if he can flyIn a flash of time the beach becomes grimThe water turns red, like a cherry pieI run further in the water, it is like a broken pen, inkyDeep slashes across his chest, like he has been in a battle with swordsI scan his strong, quivering body, his flesh is all pinkyI bring him up on the beach and place him on my boardI am his savior; in the sky I am his starHe is broken like a snapped string on a guitar

JAWSSYDNI RESNICK

Leaving the beach extremely tanned,a boy frolicked and jumped.

He tripped and fannedfor his mother; his eyes widened when he felt a lump.

The mother seemed engulfed in her reading,configuring decorations for their lawn.

This sight is misleading; she showed no interest as she exhaled a great yawn.

The boy figured he tripped on his yoyo,he was scared to death.

His mother reminded him that leaving toys was a no-no.Her irritation left with a deep breath.

The two planned their next trip to Paris, France.This time the boy will know to wear shorter pants.

UNTITLEDHANA JOHNSON

WAVESSAM TAYLOR

Deep blue shadows beneath the sparkleRich as sapphire, though forever bold

PUDDLE IN THE STREETTYLER MANCA

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Detective Michael Stretch entered the profession for one reason: it felt right. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be referred to as Detective Stretch. He pictured it as an exciting, glamorous job. He’d seen the Humphrey Bogart and James Cagney films. He relished the chance to snoop around with his hat over his eyes, a gun in his back pocket, and his dame by his side. It seemed like a dream job come true. And he was right. He investigated hundreds of cases and arrested 54 criminals. He even busted out his Sam Spade impression occasionally.But the glamorous, Hollywood-style detective work soon disappeared on a fateful day when his boss put him on his toughest case ever: the mysterious criminal known simply as “X.” X committed every bad deed imaginable: robbery, fraud, murder, tax evasion, kidnapping, drug deals, racketeering, forgery, hustles, bribery, and extor-tion. He traveled all around the world, but never saw any trials, convictions, or jail time. The only evidence? A letter X, spray painted in gold, left at the scene.“I don’t get it,” Stretch would think whenever one of X’s crimes was uncovered. “How can someone make it so obvious and get away with it?” But Stretch was on the case and searching for clues in the last place where X had committed a crime: Granada, Spain. Four houses had been robbed, the telltale gold letter painted, and X’s whereabouts unknown. Stretch arrived in Granada, and quickly found the area with X’s mark on the ground. He knew that to question the residents of the houses was useless. X only robbed at night, when no one was awake. Stretch looked around. He scrambled about every room in every house, his head tucked into every nook and cranny like a rodent sniffing out food. He be-came incensed as he came up empty. He could not find a clue in any of the houses. As he made his way out of the final house, he slipped on something and smacked his head on the ground outside. Pain quickly rushed to his head. The pain turned to anger when he realized what the object was. “What the hell? Don’t just leave your stuff lying around!” Stretch shouted to the house’s owner. He picked up the object. It was a single sheet of plain white paper. He walked back into the house and thrust it into the owner’s hand. “That’s not mine. I ran out of paper two weeks ago. I’m not sure how it got here,” the owner replied. “You’re not sure how it got…” Stretch began to say, but stopped. He flashed back to training school and the information about hidden messages. There were two possibilities. He flew outside and held the paper up to the sun. Nothing. He sprinted back inside. “Do you have milk and a match?” “Yes,” said the flustered owner. “Why?” “X finally made a mistake,” Stretch replied. He put drops of milk on the paper, then lit the match. A flame jumped to life. He touched the flame to the corner of the paper. Words revealed themselves on the seemingly blank sheet. “Mission in Granada successful. Off to Chubut Province, Argentina. Meet there and we’ll divide what I have. Jeremiah.” “So now we know X’s name, and we know where he’s headed,” said Stretch. He called up his fellow detectives and policemen, and before long, the plane soared through the air, headed for Argentina. Stretch was already formulating his first line. “‘Arrest that man!’ No, too cliche. ‘Freeze, dirtbag!’ Better, but it needs work. Well, I’ve got almost 24 hours to figure it out...”

FIND XALEXANDER HUTTON

“Concentration” Art by: Amaris Durst

A mighty redwood in the ancient grove Grew tall, majestic, lofty, and serene,

And towards the cloudy sky her branches strove In velvet robes of glossy, needle green.

And from above a foggy blanket fell, A ring of ghostly mist that crowned her queen.

It brought dark coolness to the quiet dell With pearly dewdrops settling on the ground.

A stillness followed like a magic spell, The warbler’s call the single eerie sound.

The redwood stood a guardian in the calm And to the earth her roots were tightly bound.

Beneath the soil the hearty anchors drove, A mirror to her branches’ reach above.

THE REDWOODLINNEA GULLIKSON

Photo by: Nicole Beales

Artist’s Statement

In this day and age, technology is a big part of our lives. The more technology we use, the less connected we are to our surroundings. I wanted to depict the impact of this. The lack of facial details reflects how people are becoming emotionless and distant from each other.

The job of the artist is to connect us to our common humanity.

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I am from the color RedFrom the pathway that leads me to my home, to the door that lets me enter itRed is the loud washer-dryer on sunday nights, the tea kettle that transform the white tiled kitchenRed wraps my body with warmth and comfortI am from Red

I am from my grandparent’s house From dinners on Friday nights, Shabbat Chicken and CandlesI am from cringe worthy over sweetened grape juice and bubbly ginger aleI am from loudness and choas I am from family

I am from my Dad’s GuitarFrom the White falcon that never leaves its caseTo the SilverStone with the hula girl sticker that won’t come offFrom louds to soft, Rock to SoulFrom music in front of the fire to my living roomI am from the Guitar

WHERE I AM FROM (INSPIRED BY GEORGE ELLA LYON)HANNAH REBACK

I lived inside this house for many yearsWith my dear loved relatives for long periods

The house lies on the hill with many streetsAlong with other houses in the mark

Ten years, my loved ones lived in Oakland withMy grandparents when I was small and youth

I lost the track of why and when we moved I should ask my dear loving parents why

Since they can always tell me since they knowAnd will never forget they picked said house

It’s nice, it’s near, it shows an open viewI’m glad I live inside the house todayI feel sadistic yearning of this house

Farwell great house, I won’t see you next year

THE HOUSE I LIVED INTAM CAO

Photo by: Sierra Jimenez

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“Portrait of Old Man” Art by: Kaelyn Shirley

The tropic sea bore my body;I sprung forth fromhydrogen, oxygen, sodium: tears,mingled with brothers’ blood.My family lived in tight sardine cans,transported in fishing boats that fled humid, red landsto brackish Bay air which I inhale with my foreign--not so foreign-- chapped lips.I am what I am.

The black dirt underneath my nailsgraced my dark skin,specks matching my inky, lengthyhair.Short limbs and eyeglasses gave me a gangly, wild look,while scrapes, paper cuts, and bruises marked my hands.Grass-stained jeans and my brother’s stolen shirt were all Iwould always wear,that’s true.I am what I am. The air blown through oak organ pipescreated my lungs.Ringing church bells and Thanks be to our Godwhistled between my teeth.I learned and lived to read from music books, heartbeats and notes and rhyme schemes flowing like sweet honey.I was a singing sword, loud amid impassioned war, cutting the airwith words.I am what I am.

I am I am.

WHAT MAKES METRI-AN CAO

I am the stone that the mountains refused,The odd one out, always trynna catch up,

Confidence on 10 in public but maybe a 3 all alone,Hate the crowds but never see me frown,A weirdo assimilated to this crazy society,

Do I even know who I am?

I am the ultimate mix of generations and races,So much in me I don’t even know what I am,

Been searching since a youngin to find just who I am,Am I black? Do I rock that? Am I this?

But who knows? I’ll just keep going on doing me,

I am a different kind,Being a product, that’s the best excuse for being crazy,

Trying to fly, there ain’t no excuse for being lazy,Just like daddy, crazy as hell,

Just like moms, smart as MLK even in that cell,

I am a hot head but surprisingly humble, Never see my bragging or walking around arrogant,

But try me and there will be hell to pay, I don’t have a limit when I lose my head,

Hopefully someone can cool this dread,

I am not one to always finesse but if need be you can see that I’m dressed,Not that blessed, always got to wear a vest,

Feel like there’s always a target on my chest,No Shakespeare but I’m trying my best,

To make this poem and stay unlike the rest, I am me.

I AMCHESTER MALI

A smiling woman picks upa perfect pie from the dining table,Carries it to a cooling rack,Carefully peels away The crisscrossed pastry andPuts the stripped pie into the oven.She removes a fresh pie Unfolds and rolls up the dough,Gathers steaming berriesInto a large potHappily pulls errant curls from behind her earsUnspooling a sweet vortex of Sugar and cinnamon and berries andLemon zest and flourWith a wooden spoon.Removing handfuls of ingredientsFrom that magical pot

PIEPHOEBE LAWTON

An unknown man walked down the streetHe asked himself ‘what should I eat?’

With no food shops or spots in sightHis stomach growled with all its might

He searched for something that might sufficeAfter making it through that gruesome night

Anything at all would be alrightEven if it’s a nibble, or just a bite

Hours later, no longer steadyHe asked himself, ‘Lord am I ready?’

Wandering down those grim streetsStill without ever grabbing something to eat

5am, everything is silent, except for a few soundsThe unknown man is missing, nowhere to be found

Some say he’s long gone by nowBut if you listen carefully, you’ll hear his growl

UNKNOWN MANLANDON COOK

My drive from school to home,Takes about 12 minutes,

On Highway 13 my Jetta roams.Imagination with no limits,

As I think to myself,The yellow lines and barrier prohibit.

Hang on, let’s put that thought on the shelf,Need to pay more attention,

Don’t want to crash and have to call for help. Thinking too much I need some stress prevention,

I’ll put on some music,That will ease the tension.

UNTITILEDTHOMAS FLYNN

Art b

y: Ca

mille

Caleg

ari

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Photo by: Maya Perkins

My friend Toni has milk chocolate skin. It’s smooth and soft like porcelain.

She loves herself, especially her natural hair do’s.Whether it’s up, down, left or right.

Fluffy, big, simple or short.She takes pride in her hair, and the way that it looks.

What happens when someone thinks otherwise?They dislike its frizzy state, the way it covers her eyes.

“Your hair is great, it reminds me of a toddler who woke up out of bed”,Is what he said.

He touched her strands, smoothing it down with his hands.But what he did is because he didn’t understand.To Understand that to be natural is a good thing,

Not a messy child on a Saturday afternoon.There’s nothing wrong with luxurious locks smothering one’s head.

It’s simply a gift from God, not a look from getting out of bed.This didn’t anger Toni, she wasn’t furious nor bitter.

She only felt the need to educate those who were ignorant.See, to be black is to beautiful,

And beautiful is who Toni is.

MY FRIEND TONIANYA HARDEMAN

Jazz is the first American art formLike a bright Flower that bloomed in dark room

Improvising with the drums, strings and horn Like Wop ba-ba lu-mop and wop bam boom

From spirit of jazz was born rhythm and bluesStevie, Marvin, Whitney, Janet, non-stop

Love, peace, and soul was their unfailing museShoo be do wop do wop do wop do wop

Street poetry merged with melodies and beatsUrban Shakespeare’s gave life to hip hop

I see the “roses that grew from the concrete” To the tick-tock you and you don’t stop

The art grows yet oppression still lingers ‘Cause I love the songs, but not the singers

FROM AMERICA TO BLACK MUSICNYLA TOURE

Waking up on my back, afraid to stand on my 2 feetIt learned to breathe FRESH airLong live the rose that grew from concreteWhen no one else, even caredThat last line is what Pac Says, R.I.P the legendUnsure of who I am, afraid of all forms of expression

I line up all my “friends” and look through them like a CAT scanCome to find out they not my friends, it’s a cold world and it got feeling like a snowman Every night praying wishing upon a starThat one day my life can be nice and sweet like a chocolate bar

Sorry, Folks that’s not the reality, life is full of trials and tribulations,Everyday we have to fight to push, further, the Statue of limitationsWe are all roses that bloomed from the concrete, damaged by the evils of manTake all the hate ball it up in your hand proclaim KOBE, swish right into the garbage can.

UNLEARNISAIAH HENRY

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I look up to the twinkling moonand its wide array of smiling starsthat look down on us as we walk.

Just two people in love,we stand as two fish swimming alone in a giant sea.

Hand in hand walking through the field.

I reach down and pull a bright flower from the soft earth of the field.Its soft petals glow with the entrancing light of the moon,

shining softly with the eerie and cool colors of the sea.Its wavering petals then creep open and look up to the stars,

praying for the warm embrace of their love.They laugh, almost seeming to mock us as we continue our walk.

We pause for a moment, the howling wind interrupting our walk.It swirls and screeches as it runs around the field,almost desperate, searching for comfort and love.

It then calms and simmers, quieted by the welcoming comfort of the moonand the added embrace of the supportive stars.

It is as if it has been engulfed by waves of love crashing from the sea.

We reach the end of our journey and place our cold toes into the icy sea.It halts us, and we jump, no longer wanting to walk.

The sky hums with the gentle laughter of the stars,sprinkling joy into the dark and empty field.

This is followed by a deep roar from the moon,its laughter like a moan; its own way of showing its love.

I turn and face the beauty, the woman that I love.She has fallen into the soft embrace of the sea;

she looks even more alluring under the light of the moon.I reach for her hand, the hand I held on our walk

and I lift her up and we escape the water running to the fieldwhere we collapse and laugh under the eyes of the stars.

Our eyes start to shut, our eyelids growing heavy from staring at the stars.They wrap us in a soft blanket of their love

as we fall into a deep sleep in a soft bed made of the field.Our trust keeps us safe; it’s tightening grip as vast as the sea.

We both know we should get back up and continue our walk, but our protests are quickly silenced by the watchful moon.

The stars fade away and we are left with a darkness as wide as the sea.A light soon fills it with our love as we are holding hands, on a walk,

moving farther away from the field and towards the patient embrace of the moon.

THE ASTRONOMY OF LOVEELIZABETH KEATING

Art b

y: Ka

elyn S

hirley

Across the pond a bullfrog waits, quiet.In squishy brown mud, among towering reedsIce-cold, his gaze in search of evening’s mealA fly, two beetles, make that five plump fliesIn striking distance of the green and brown.

The sun sets behind the moon’s dark trek of nightAbove the silent bullfrog stars shine, gems,Upon the cobalt blue still pond, calm, quiet.His eyes reflect the stars’ twinkle and danceLike flies and beetles dancing o’er the pond.

These dancers, oblivious prey of night,Don’t notice danger, their keen predatorWho waits in silence for the perfect time.

The tall grass rustles as the breeze picks upMoths, flies, momentarily blown off-courseA moment, silence, two, the buzz, the humAll resumes, soon to be this night’s frog prey.

The bullfrog stills himself, the ambush startsLegs tense--his eyes reflect the sky of nightUnblinking stare, they scan the scene, the prey--Now stretch full length, up leaps the skyward frogUp, up he goes, his mouth agape in waitBut waits not long, the fruit fly caught, no, snatched,The bullfrog lands, croaks, shatters silence, peaceThe small, calm pond, distraught, sends warning wavesTo those inhabitants, the bullfrog hunts.Too late, in vain are these midnight alarms,No fly, no beetle will be safe tonight.

A NIGHT IN THE LIFE OF A BULLFROGSPENCER SCHMIDT

The waves are monsters crashing on the sand,They roar and drag the pill bugs in their rage. A little boy with sand dollars in hand, Enjoying life and nature at this age. The squishy sand alive beneath his feet, He dances on his deep blue ocean stage. The sandpipers above flutter and tweet.The ocean gives the boy a token gift, A conch shell white like where sky and earth meet. He blows into the shell and music drifts. The sun begins to set; the beach is still, Except for a lone boat on its night shift. The boy can feel the air now has a chill, He skips back to his house, his night fulfilled.

YOUTHKAELYN SHIRLEY

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FEATURED PHOTOGRAPHERMARCELLO CULLIGAN

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And now I sit the last time in my hood.As fading winter lights around grow dim.Forget the things that should or could or wood.Let’s go and track the peace within fate’s whim

A silent room with boxes packed stacked high.Can catch its breath a moment ‘fore the move.A piping bowl of broth lets out a sigh.From knowing it has no thing left to prove.

Battered and crisp the shrimp tempura crunch.Becomes a mushy wet delight in soup.The salty soup is too much of a punch.The flimsy udon noodles bloat and droop.

And in this bowl does all the world belie.All fright and joy and salted tears that cry.

A tight rope. Tight and thin. Wobbly and always unstable. Unpredictable. Why walk at all? Why chance it? Because of the occasional “along the way”. People, experiences, laughter, ups and downs. Those little bursts of sunlight. But you work at it for so long. And sometimes it rough. For just a little too long. Sometimes you wonder if it’s worth all the stress.And Some FallThen they’re gone. Off The TightropeAnd they were stumbling for a long time before they finally slipped:A bridge,A crash,One too many pills.It’s a cover up. A constant mask that almost seems apart of you now. And why take it off? The numbness wears off when the mask is removed. But some people… never had a mask. Never needed the cover up. They made it across as unstable and uncertain as the rope was, they made it across.

Scraps of gray paper blotted in iridescent inkA gentle hand gingerly turning each page.Straight out of a Charlie Chaplin film as he sips his steaming drink.Floating in the modern world, he is reminiscent of the Golden Age.

A pungent of coffee, dark like the moist soil of EarthA hand of wrinkles, a proof of time scrapes, the inside of a bag,Caressing a cold, silver can of wax, invoking my mirth.Swish, swoosh, his finger on the wax drags.

As he delicately caresses the tiny dark strandsOf his lustrous moustache tinted with the shimmer of starsAnd a bend of his hair like slopes of the Badlands,Frozen in time, a living memoir.

Crystallized and basking in the heat of the coffee shop,Stars glistening in his eyes staring in awe at the newspaper against the tabletop.

UNTITLEDANDREW HERNON

Feather’s descent , an enduring effectAccepting gravity, helpless to strayAcknowledging truths, nothing to detect

Yet a “special” few, believe they can sway Unaccepting of time that leaves so swiftBy proclaiming lies, truth begins decay Absent from reality, minds adrift A pride and lack of doubt, fill a hive mindOnly hatred found in ideas that rift Feathers suspended are in time confinedA False control substitutes for the truthAllow fear to flow, and hope to pass declined

T I G H T R O P EMIA LAUER

FROZENSYDNI RESNICK

Peeling an orange at 11:00 pmpeeling an orange at 11:00 pm is sorta like

a poem in its fruitful textureEach layer torn back

like the curtain to a dressing roomonly I’m not supposed to be there

and I peek into somewhereI don’t belong

Could those seeds insidefattening to the 11:00 pm metabolism

hold someGenesis kinda knowledge

Or is it fruitlessLike a bad decision in Eden

Or is it meaninglesslike all those poems I handed my English teachers

STRANGE FEATHERSKALIMAH DAVIS

PEELING AN ORANGE AT 11:00 PMSHAWN SCHULZ

Art by: Yuxuan “Derrick” Wang

before I knew it I was falling I wandered into your words and got caught in the whirlwind surrounding your world and did not want to escape

I tripped into oblivion and found myself floating in a river of stars I mistook you for the moon attributed the swaying of the waves to your glory until one day I discovered that they simply reside within you somehow I loved you just the same

I gravitated towards you never sure why never sure how only sure that I wanted and needed to be near you and hoping that I was near being wanted and needed

this constant orbit my continuous falling never brings me nearer without the will to leave nor the energy to get closer I never reach you

I do not know how to stop falling I tripped into oblivion and enveloped myself in your gravity I am so accustomed to the darkness of the empty space you leave me in I would not know how to see if I escaped I am so acquainted with suffocation I would not know how to breathe if you let me in and so I float I rotate around you and mistake you for the sun I exist in your orbitand continue falling for you for I do not know how to exist anywhere else and do not know how to want to escape I do not know how to stop wanting you I do not know how to stop spinning my only hope for release is reliant on you if only you would let me go

ORBIT A COLLECTION OF POEMS WITH SHARED MOTIFS

ALDEN O'RAFFERTYThe fall in time

In the pastIn the presentIn the future

The fall of towersThe fall of nations

The fall of governmentWhen will it stop?

HAILEY TOM

How do you know you’ve fallen, If you never get up?If you never get up,

Were you ever down? If I sink so low

So as to never be up,Can I ever be down?

You put me down, try to break me downBut the joke’s on you

Because I was never up

SOPHIA RODRIGUEZ

if I slip then I fall if I fall then I crack, I’ve been spinning so long that I cannot keep track, through the shadows in space past cloud in the sky, I’ll always keep falling and never know why. but maybe I’ll be somehow be grounded one day, maybe you’ll help me to not fly away, so if I fall into you then that’s where I’ll stay, but you’ll always be millions of miles away

KATE CHERRYHOLMES

What else to do as I’m pulled to the earth?This slow gradual decent started at birth.

I can smile as the wind rushes through my hair,But I continue to question whether or not this is fair.

I stare up as I see the clouds whiz by.If only...if only I was able to fly.

I spread my arms as if they are wings,I wish with all of my heart for this simple thing.

My arms can’t stop me as the wind slows my fall.I open my eyes, looking over it all.

If only if only I wasn’t still falling, desperately stalling, is this my calling? My fear snowballing and I begin bawling because it’s all so appalling.

But is this so wrong?I can hear the song.

The sound of the wind whistling by my ears,At that point I smile and let go of my fears.

I accept where I’m at cause there’s nothing but that.Live in the moment with no need for atonement.

Get up on your feet, there’s no need for crawling.We’re in this together even if we’re

Falling Falling Falling

NICK HAGER

Falling?It’s an illusionIt’s a trickLife is fallingAlways fallingAir blows through hairCold fills my sweaterThe sun warms meAm I done falling?Am I home?Am I safe?The chills come backHeart like iceEyes like glassSkin like frostWill I thaw?Will I feel?Body numbLungs frozenFalling. Falling. FallingSuch a deceitful feelingIs falling a feeling?Or is feeling just fallingCrumblingDownDown and awayAway from hopeAway from loveAway from hereToward fearFalling.The more I descendThe less I comprehendFallingFaster nowColder nowFalling.Through the skyMoments fly byFalling.Down. No more feelingNo more fallingWhere am I?Gone.I am gone.

ZOE READI BROWN