Behind Glass Eyes
1
Retrospect 2018 Behind Glass Eyes
2
Retrospect 2018 Behind Glass Eyes Editing Team Printing
General Editor: Aubrey Higdon Editors: Adri Kingston Ashley Higdon Hayden Huffman Advisor: Jon McClintick
Design Team
Lead Designer: Bri Lubinski Support Designers: Fisher Bachman-Rhodes Esperanza Parkins Tyson Hatfield
Lyle Hancock, Ellensburg School District Print Shop
Bri Lubinski
Cover Art
Contest Winners
Best Art: Mother Earth, by Bri Lubinski Best Creative Writing: The Formula for Lead and Balloons, by Aubrey Higdon
The Retrospect Literary Arts Magazine is produced in collaboration between the Creative Writing Club and the Digital Design class of Ellensburg High School. Submissions are accepted from current
EHS students throughout the year. Email them to retrospect@esd401.org and include title of the piece and your name. All past editions of this magazine can be viewed at our web page: https://www. esd401.org/ehs/activities/clubs/retrospect. Questions? Comments? Email us: retrospect@esd401.org
Eye Project, by FisherBachman Rhodes
3
Table of Contents
4
Behind Glass Eyes, by Bri Lubinski - Digital Art ............................................... Cover Eye Project, by Fisher-Bachman Rhodes - Digital Art ...................................... 3 Mother Earth, by Bri Lubinski - Digital Art ...................................................... 6 The Formula for Lead and Balloons, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ..................... 7 Alegra The Destroyer, by James Fujita - Short Story .......................................... 8 Fall, by Emma Clark - Drawing ......................................................................... 10 Encompassed, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ......................................................... 10 Untitled, by Taylor Bell - Photography ............................................................. 10 Haiku, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .................................................................... 11 Haiku, by Raven DiMaggio - Poetry .................................................................. 11 Lightning, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ............................................................... 11 Haiku, by Ava Anderson - Poetry ...................................................................... 11 A Sunny Day In Pacific City, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa - Photography ......... 11 Model, by Katie Engle - Drawing ....................................................................... 12 Hickory Dickory Dock, by Audrey Piacsek - Poetry ........................................... 12 Pop Sonnet I, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .......................................................... 12 Grace, by Breanna Smith - Drawing ................................................................. 12 Post Malone’s “Rockstar”, by Thomas Snedeker - Poetry .................................. 13 Thomas, by Zoe Bright - Drawing ..................................................................... 13 DVA, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Drawing .......................................................... 13 Pop Sonnet II, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ........................................................ 13 Lull Before The Storm (Part II), by Valentyna Belofsky - Poetry ...................... 14 Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography ....................................................... 14 Evening Sky, by Felice Bello - Photography ...................................................... 14 The Poet’s Tree, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ...................................................... 14 Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas - Photography ........................................ 15 Silver Falls, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa - Photography ..................................... 15 Raindrop, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ............................................................... 15 Hey, Colby, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ............................................................. 16 Untitled, by Taylor Bell - Photography .............................................................. 16 A Daffodil, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa - Photography ...................................... 16 Untitled, by Codie Sullivan - Photography ....................................................... 17 Untitled, by Codie Sullivan - Photography ....................................................... 17 Static Minds, Silent Sounds, by Greggory Cole - Poetry ................................... 17 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................... 17 The Riddle, by Greg Cole - Poetry ...................................................................... 18 Untitled, by Reese Braman - Digital Art............................................................. 18 Snowfall, by James Kirkham - Short Story......................................................... 19 Hamlet Grieving, by Nicolette Anderson - Drawing ........................................ 19 The Background Smorgasbord of the Brain, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ......... 20 Demogorgan, by Katie Engle - Drawing ............................................................ 20 Step by Step, by Greg Cole - Poetry ................................................................... 21 Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography ....................................................... 21 Untitled, by Tyson Hatfield - Digital Art........................................................... 22 Places Like Here, by Valentyna Belofsky - Poetry ............................................. 22 Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography ....................................................... 22 Sestina - Nature, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .................................................... 23 Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts - Photography ........................................................ 23 Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas - Photography ....................................... 23 Sleep Paralysis, by Allison Cleman - Poetry ..................................................... 24 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................. 24 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................... 25 Promise, by Naomi Brons - Short Story.............................................................. 25 SECOND PLACE, by Shannon Nolan - Short Story.......................................... 26
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................... 26 Jessica Foley, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Photography .................................... 27 Sincerely, Your Llorona, by Isabel Williams - Poetry ......................................... 27 Teddy Bear, by Ben Johnson - Monologue ........................................................ 28 Margaret, by Zoe Bright - Drawing .................................................................. 28 Loss Is Something That Is Felt, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry .............................. 29 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................... 29 Katie, by Amethyst Martinez - Poetry .............................................................. 30 Mixed Emotions, by Rose Vasquez-Cosio - Art .................................................. 30 My Side of the Ditch, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ............................................. 31 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................... 31 Seasons of Haiku, by Cooper Ricard - Poetry ................................................... 32 As Seen By Man, by Steven Szombathy - Photography .................................... 32 Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas - Photography ......................................... 32 Seasons, by Shannon Nolan - Poetry ................................................................. 32 Black and White, by Hayden Huffman - Poetry ............................................... 33 Caught, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ................................................................. 33 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography .................................. 33 Bitter Candy, by Shannon Nolan - Short Story.................................................. 34 High School Love, by Raven DiMaggio - Poetry ................................................ 35 Dance Dance, by Katie Engle - Drawing ........................................................... 35 Curled Hair, by Shannon Nolan - Short Story.................................................... 36 Wax, by Katie Engle - Drawing .......................................................................... 36 Eye of Curiosity, by Raven DiMaggio - Watercolor ............................................. 37 Still Growing, by Charlie Gimlin - Drawing ...................................................... 37 Untitled, by Taylor Bell - Photography ............................................................ 38 Ugh, Life - A Petrarchan Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson - Poetry ..................... 38 Sonnet - A Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson - Poetry ............................................ 38 Smoked Eye, by Kristin Raustein - Digital Art .................................................... 38 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Art ...................................................... 39 Cat, by Zoe Bright - Drawing ............................................................................ 39 Untitled, by Haley Rominger - Art ...................................................................... 39 No Parking, by Shannon Nolan - Drawing ........................................................ 39 Sombra, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Drawing ..................................................... 40 Eleven, by Fisher Bachman-Rhodes - Drawing ................................................ 40 Camille, by Zoe Bright - Drawing ..................................................................... 40 Untitled, by Austin Ketzenberg - Watercolor and Ink......................................... 40 Cigarettes, by Shannon Nolan - Poetry ............................................................. 41 Alice, by Shannon Nolan - Drawing .................................................................. 41 A Nightmare of Sorts, by Esperanza Parkins - Digital Art................................. 41 Understanding, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry ...................................................... 42 Untitled, by Haley Rominger - Drawing ............................................................ 42 Untitled by Valerie Lopez-Kirkham - Photography ........................................ 43 Abigail, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis - Drawing ..................................................... 43 Untitled, by Valerie Lopez-Kirhham - Photography ........................................ 43 There’s No Place Like Home, by Isabel Williams - Poetry .................................. 44 Bike Rack, by Taylor Bell - Photography ........................................................... 44 Black Hole, by Iden Bottcher - Glass Etching ...................................................... 45 Spider Man, by Bennett Huffman - Pixel Art ...................................................... 45 Technique Bird, by Jared Rojas-Garcia - Digital Art.......................................... 46 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................... 46 Diner Bathroom, by Shannon Nolan - Poetry ................................................... 47 Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Photography ................................... 47 Untitled, by Haley Rominger - Art ................................................................... 47 Kyrre Gørvell-Dahll, by Hanna Callender-Bohman - Digital Art..................... Back
5
Best of EHS: Visual Art As voted by the Creative Writing Club
Mother Earth, by Bri Lubinski - Digital Art
6
Best of EHS: Creative Writing As voted by the Creative Writing Club
The Formula for Lead and Balloons, by Aubrey Higdon - Poetry In the world there is a structure to stick to, A schedule to follow. Society decides how many rocks go in your shoes to keep balloons for heads from floating astray and being lost, shut away from all life. The assembly line produces successful lives and order offers a chance that helium can’t give. Grounded means successful, It means a chance But it means a weight that keeps us down, Maintains the reject pile, But you don’t get lost, shut away. Proposed equation: heavy = happy. Yet, when you are happy, weight falls away, Gravity subsides to your shine with subtle grace, And every smile that joins yours brings you higher. And it lifts you away, Though not away from this space, or these people, Not away from reality, But away from those who do not cast a ray to meet your light, who do not dare to float. For they are too far in the dark to exist in your world: The one that’s projected by your eyes as a reflection of you and your love. The one that tunes out all the noise, To find the music amid the faces of the crowd And listens, and flies with the smiles and eyes that speak beyond the public conversation. The melodies that blend with yours, that compliment with similarity, and change. And you get lost, shut away Together with different colors of elastic. Less order, less control, But more happiness. There’s an error in our formula, Maybe we forgot to balance it.
7
Alegra The Destroyer, by James Fujita Alegra stood at the window of a tall sentry in his castle. The sky like an ocean of deep black, he could barely see a thing. That’s when he could hear the flapping of his carrier pigeon’s wings. It gracefully landed on the edge of the window, offering the message to Alegra. He wasn’t expecting it. Curiously, he began to unroll it. The first thing he noticed was that it was all in Comic Sans, and Alegra was already boiling with rage because of this.
Dear Alegra,
I bear most unfortunate information. Bakara, Ruler of the Shadow Realm, has escaped his prison. Of course you know this means the end of the world, without your help. Alegra the Mighty Ogre, you’re the only one with the strength to battle this dark creature. His last known whereabouts are in the Plains of Badacharka. Good luck, my love. Sincerely, Shrek Alegra took a deep breath, and then without hesitation marched over to his armory. He turned the hulking valve on the vault door with a struggle and forced it open with his mighty ogre strength. He flipped a light switch revealing his vast collection of bow ties, rainbow suspenders, and medieval weapons. He put on his favorite bow tie and suspenders and raised his war hammer, the polished metal glistened in the light. He rushed downstairs out of his armory and called for his horse, Jim. Together, Alegra the Ogre, destroyer of worlds, savior of the swamp, hero of the stars, war hero of the Clash of the Spirits, and Jim the horse will save the world from the dark overlord Bakara. He mounted his horse, it’s knees almost gave at the hefty weight of Alegra (because of his large bulging muscles). But the horse persevered and they rode into the dark. Eyewitness say Alegra had an expression of pure determination and might. He rode to a small village built near the plains, it was trusted to keep Bakara from escaping since there was too much risk to keep him in the King’s castle. He could see the village in the distance, standing out from the dark surroundings because it was erupting with fire and collapsing. Alegra speeds up to the wreckage, seeing the silhouette of a humanoid figure squatting like a gargoyle on top of a tall structure looking up into the moon. He dismounted Jim and could hear a loud cackle the closer he approached the figure. He was sure it was Bakara. “Nothing else can do that much damage to this village in such a short time,” thought Alegra as he drew his hammer. The laughing stopped as the figure stood up and turned around facing Alegra. It was a slim, muscular figure with deep crimson eyes, and sharp triangular ears. They glared at each other for what seemed like ages. Bakara then made a raising motion with his hand and a wall of stone is raised from the ground around the perimeter of the village. He leaped from the building and they faced each other for the second time. “Bakara! I will banish you again, just give up now!” Shouted Alegra in an strong, assertive tone. Bakara had a long low chuckle and said, “You can try, you clumsy oaf.”
8
“Very well then,” Algera said quietly. He raised his hammer in the air and bellowed “Back to the Shadow Realm!” And with his ferocious ogre power, swung his war hammer down at the ground and opened a portal to the Shadow Realm. “Wait! No! Please forgive me Alegra! I never knew you were this powerful!” Bakara pleaded as he was being dragged into the Shadow Realm. He sheathed his hammer and walking away just before he was completely engulfed by the portal. He walked facing away from the portal and not looking back to look cool. The stone walls had crumbled. He had saved the world. As he was just about to call Jim back to his side, he hears a loud low bellow of a war horn in the distance and looks over to the direction of the noise. It was Shrek, riding on top of a bull. His army approaching as well. Alegra was confused since he had already defeated Bakara, rather easily too. When Shrek was well within shouting distance, he shrek shouted in a scottish accent “Ha ha you fool, you summoned my trap card!” As his legion of skeleton people approached, all wielding large, deadly weapons. Algera was confused. Right as he was about to speak up Shrek began explaining his reason for being there. “I’m sorry my love, it was all a trap. I helped Bakara escape so you would open a portal to send him back and also throw you in. With you out of the way I can finally be the most powerful in the land.” Algera was heartbroken. His true love had betrayed his trust. “Unforgivable” he thought, as he walked closer to Shrek. “We have you surrounded …At least from this side. It’s over.” Shrek said. They both said nothing as Algera came to meet Shrek face to face. Time seemed to stop for a moment as they stood there: a war hero on one side, a traitor on the other. “Well then, come and get me.” Algera said as he locked with Shreks eyes. Shrek then yelled “ATTACK!!!” The entire army rushed directly at Alegra with no hesitation. Alegra then made a sweeping motion with his hand and all of the skeleton people collapsed into hundreds of pieces. He smirked and Shrek displayed an appalled expression on his face, which quickly changed to anger. He leaped from his bull and said “Alrighty then.” Alegra leaped from the ground high into the air, drew his hammer and bellowed into the mighty sky. “ Begone you pratling thot!” As he brought his hammer down onto the ground. This opened another portal below Shrek, and he was quickly consumed by the portal. He reached his arm out of the portal right before he was completely gone as a desperate last attempt to free himself. He closed the two portals and called for Jim. Without looking back, he rode back to his castle. Alegra found it hard to do this, but he slept in until sunrise. He then stood at the window of a tall sentry in his castle and he realized that he doesn’t need Shrek to feel complete. He then looked off into the sunrise peacefully and smiled. Alegra is love Alegra is life Le Fin
9
Encompassed, by Aubrey Higdon In the deafness of snow That opens your mind Beyond yourself. In the sound of bells That ride the frigid air And flicker in your soul. In the thick smell of pine That speaks of season and tradition, Family and nature. In the perception of lights That sprinkle the earth And ignite the spirit of life. In the ubiquitous energy That flows through the atmosphere And into the heart of togetherness.
Fall, by Emma Clark
10
Untitled, by Taylor Bell
Haiku, by Aubrey Higdon In my soul there is A hunger for something more That will not be quenched
Haiku, by Raven DiMaggio Take a breath of life Life will dance within your lungs Now breathe the word out.
Lightning, by Aubrey Higdon
Haiku, by Ava Anderson
Deafening crackles Gray skies brought to life by sparks A flash captures the moment
Crinkle crinkle pop Reduce, reuse recycle Plastic water cup
A Sunny Day In Pacific City, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa
11
Hickory Dickory Dock, by Audrey Piacsek Open mine eyes upon the glorious morn The blood of yonder bard flows in my veins No cares plague me, for I’m supplied with ale No wages fill my pocket, yet no mind; For now the lads do crowd to hear our tale Although we spurn them if they look unkind! We all become cashiered with passing time Some rascals at my figure peer and shout Our drunken revelry makes reason not nor rhyme We dance till dawn or landlord boots us out Or till the constable comes ‘round his route And does divine the source of our great noise So threatens with the stocks to make us mute If he discovers us, we’ll end our joys. Don’t end this revelry; rather, increase The ticking clock counts seconds, never cease. Adapted from Ke$ha, “Tik Tok”
Model, by Katie Engle
Pop Sonnet I, by Aubrey Higdon Hello my shadowed friend, again we meet To speak, for dreams that softly creep like bugs Have scattered seeds amid my drowsing seat. Alas! The fantasy has roots now dug Inside my thoughts and it resides amid The vacancy of voice and melody. Amid unclothed ablaze, what saw I did Was thousands. Muted speech unheard by me, Unheard by ears of listeners. Superb, Cancerously it grows, consumes people’s Hymns left unshared as no one dared disturb The lack of sound around the steeples. I hoped to reach you, hoped to teach you, though Into the sound of silence words do go. Rewrite of Simon and Garfunkel, “Sound of Silence”
Grace, by Breanna Smith 12
Post Malone’s “Rockstar,” by Thomas Snedeker While in the company of many, I Ingest the substance on which I depend. If you choose to mess with me, I say bye, ‘Cause upon hearing “gra-ta-ta,” you end. The substance we inhale is in plain sight, But caring is not in our train of thought. I think your girlfriend likes me, yes she might, Cause she sneaks in but proceeds to get caught. My life could be described as a collage On hedonistic impulses, transfixed. “Oh why do you have a twelve car garage? ‘Tis excessive since you only have six.” My lifestyle boosts my mood and my ego So yes, I feel like a rockstar fo sho.
Thomas, by Zoe Bright
Pop Sonnet II, by Aubrey Higdon My friend and I’s relationship has changed Be not it hard defining why the switch For love my brother finally arranged And jealousy has forged a heavy glitch. Thy maiden’s eyes, how watchfully they lie On him, how sweetly she caresses him, I know she must! And under the night sky He holds her tight, and makes my mood so grim. With drama do I play along But their canoodling does soil humor. I hunger to reveal where I belong. Alas it is too late, love’s but a rumor. Oh where alas will such a woman be? For Jesse’s maiden do I greatly plea. Rick Springfield, “Jessie’s Girl”
DVA, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis 13
Lull Before The Storm (Part II), by Valentyna Belofsky At one point or another, we were all the same We must have known we were equal, as we fail to remember so often Nowadays Yet love never fails to link us in the strangest ways The lines connect when the stars align And the world is in change As if it really is One great design By the divine, in their eyes We are no different, Indifference To how I can see The stream opposite me The vision of separation is merely illusion How could I feel what isn’t real? Baby, this life is so surreal And it’s one great design; Geminis mysteriously appear Moon cycles, tide cycles, heart cycles And eerie summer nights Can you see the lights? Abide by the signs They show that this is likely Just the lull before another storm.
Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts The Poet’s Tree, by Aubrey Higdon I looked out from my branch and studied the scene, one piece at a time. Society and nature. In the silence of writing, the outside-looking-in still made so much noise. Below, someone called my name and the tree came back into focus. I responded politely. In curiosity, he climbed up into my tree. I looked at him with a smile and he declared, “I want to join you in your mockery of the world.” I looked down at the scene, then back to my paper, the ink seeping into its fated design, and replied, “It’s not a mockery, it’s a microscope.”
14
Evening Sky, by Felice Bello
Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas Raindrop, by Aubrey Higdon A single drop, One of the few gracing the glass Before the downpour. A single circle holding its own world, A small reflection of a bigger truth, Untouched before the collision of other worlds, Before one mixes with another, A broader view, A clearer reflection, A new composition Complementing, changing the boundaries of the first. The grip on the height collapses with the weight of new Minerals, Of new life, Falling, and collecting pieces of right and wrong And it falls, Only into a puddle of new perspective, A new place to belong, Or to evaporate from, Using the heat of surrounding pressure To rise, to fly back into the hope of ubiquity. Together as one, Till possibly, It finds itself again, Reforms, And falls back, singular. Alone on the earth again, But never the same.
Silver Falls, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa
15
Hey, Colby, by Aubrey Higdon Hey, Colby. I’ve been wondering, About the white roses, The ones that bloomed in spring And climbed the air before our eyes. The ones that still live in my hometown And your past. Are they alive in your mind? Hey, Colby. Do you remember, How we thought the velvet of the petals would last forever, Even as we watched them fall? How they yellowed then browned And we tried to convince ourselves they just looked better, More real. But death is real, isn’t it?
Untitled, by Taylor Bell
Hey, Colby. Did you find new roses when you left, Or did you just leave the blossoms behind? Did you get tired of roses and watching them die? Did you cry as the last petal fell and tell yourself it was over, It was dead? Well, you know, Roses grow back if you’re there to see them. Hey, Colby. Did you know they’re still around, the white roses? They’re tangled and bent But some of them still bloom. Not as bright as before, not as brave, But their fragrance still dares to perfume your memories, Their presence still sends you to that young, bright spring You can’t forget. Hey, Colby. I’m not mad. Not at the the cold, quarreling winds That hailed from your breath and withered the flowers, Not the roots you ripped out in anger When you thought they were holding you down, Not at the thorns that dug into my hand From the stems we were holding together. Hey, Colby I’m just bleeding, Like the life out my petals, And I wonder if you know.
16
A Daffodil, by Melissa Lopez-Barbosa
Untitled, by Codie Sullivan
Static Minds, Silent Sounds by Greggory Cole Nobody knows The strength of my will I see what’s beneath Wishing for faith When faith isn’t real All I need’s a chance to clear my name I don’t want to play these waiting games I feel the spectres haunting me Haunting me with past memories With thoughts of better days The memories are gone And I’m starting to move on I’m hearing voices call And tell me not to fear Even if they’re not real I’m talking to walls To nothing at all I’m withering away But I’m not falling down today change was bound to come I wish you the best And now a whole new life can start
Untitled, by Codie Sullivan
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman 17
The Riddle, by Greg Cole born of the earth are we all condemned to hell? we’ve tried so hard but can’t save us from ourselves. we’re born of the dust, and to the dust we will return, destined to die from the moment of our birth. sometimes we need reminders of everything we are worth. why have we forgotten everything we are worth? why have we forgotten everything we have learned? i’ve been tortured by this riddle and i don’t know how to start. i’ve had six years of luck and i’ve seen six on the line. i’ve seen much of nothing and nothing’s the game. there’s been much confusion with too many hurt. there’s been too many people in too many years that break like fever and fall like rain. with a lightning flash and a thunder voice it feels like this wound’s doing flips. sister sweet sister, i’ve seen all your pretty things and i’ve seen your work all around. i see my life merging with these poor souls underground and it’s clear i need a plan. there’s been too many tears in too many years that break like a fever and fall like rain, some tears of laughter and some tears of pain. i feel like i’m dying and there’s mercy in hell. sister sweet sister, i’ve been tortured by this riddle and i don’t know how to start, why have we forgotten everything we are worth? why have we forgotten everything that we have learned?
Untitled, by Reese Braman
18
Snowfall, by James Kirkham Snow falls on a dark night in the city. The light from a street lamp provides just enough illumination to reveal the silhouettes of two figures on the corner below. As the snow begins to fall more heavily, the cold winter breeze carries fragments of the conversation down the street and into the night. “I’m cold.” The woman. “Why are we out here?” The man: “I needed to talk to you.” The woman shifts uncomfortably, shivering in the cold despite her thick fur coat. “Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow? Or at least until we got inside?” The man looks up at the sky, fat flakes of snow landing gently on his upturned face. “Three years, four months, sixteen days.” “Hm?” “That’s how long it’s been since I first met you.” The man turns to face the woman, gazing deeply into her deep brown eyes. She holds his stare for a few moments, then turns away. “Listen, it’s actually getting really cold, and-” “I love you.” He interrupts. She turns to face him, her head cocked to the right in confusion. “What did you say?” He turns to face her, a steely determination in his eyes. “I said, I am in love with you, Amelia.”
Hamlet Grieving, by Nicolette Anderson
She steps back a pace. “William… I… What am I supposed to say to something like that? I mean, I like you, but not like that, and-” Amelia is cut off as William suddenly seizes her in a deep embrace, and their lips meet. As the warmth of his lips to hers contrasts the feeling of the biting cold of the winter air on her exposed skin. Amelia closes her eyes and pulls him closer, and for a few short moments nothing in the world exists but the two of them, beneath the street lamp, under the snowfall, on that cold, wintery night. Suddenly, William breaks away and takes a deep shuddering breath. Amelia, still stunned by the event that had taken a moment but felt a lifetime, remained silent. “Amelia- I’ve felt this way for- for a long, long time. I just needed you to- to know how I felt- how I feel.” Amelia remains silent, listening to William’s words. “I don’t expect you to reciprocate, or tell me you understand; frankly; I don’t expect you to do anything. I just needed you to know.” Amelia begins to take a deep breath in, then releases it, clouding the air between the two of them. She opens her mouth as if to speak, the closes it again. Shaking her head, she says quietly but clearly, “No.” She shakes her head, turns, and walks away. Knowing there was nothing more he could do, William turned the other way and began walking down the street away from the corner. As his breath rises in warm puffs, he shakes his head and mutters, “Oh, well.” Frankly, he had expected this outcome. What he hadn’t told her, was that he had accepted a job in another state. The next morning, he would board an airplane and fly away, never to see her again. And so, on that winter night, the paths of their two lives diverged, never to meet again.
19
The Background Smorgasbord of the Brain, by Aubrey Higdon Welcome to the Here, There, Were Cafe Open 24/7 days a week and counting Serving unproduced utterance to you, yourself, and I. We walk on gravel here (Once you cross the federally constructed roads) And pass through walls because every thought is a door. Don’t step in the puddles (they’re actually lakes) And keep your head above the sand Because you can only drown if you see the water. You can ride the train (if you can catch it) but no matter how far you go, the snap of a finger will bring you right back to the entrance of the station, the cafe, the broken assembly line, whatever you want to call it. You can’t escape yourself here, Not when it’s made of every thought you can and cannot catchTo score that winning touchdown in the game you hardly knew you were playing. We’re in the outskirts of town, you and me, You in mine, me in yours When you really think about it, But don’t think about it too much, It’s crowded as it is.
20
Demogorgan, by Katie Engle
Step by Step, by Greg Cole Counting the seconds and every breath. Watching the road roll out like ribbon. Every word that they etched, burning like cinders. I remember the miles that we walked along this road together. Heaven still feels so far away even as we keep pace. Never daring to even think of rest because our demons keep hungry A single moment is all it takes for them to catch us. It’s getting harder to know if we are sane. The haze is still thick as we walk together along this road of broken dreams Drinking in hope that we come across while on the move. Any excuse for hope is good enough, it’s almost addictive to feel its effects But it’s also fleeting. It moves quickly through us as we continue through these lives. Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts It never numbs the pain for long, we can still feel the kneading glass claws of demons clinging to our clothes, pricking the skin for its lifeblood, letting it leak out of us in small drops. I can feel them streaking down my back before soaking in and staining the colors a muted and rustic red. Clinging to my skin painfully once it drys. The pain burns like fires from hell But we dare not react to this agony, they will only dig deeper making things worse. Sometimes they lose their grip on us however. It usually takes them a while to catch back up if we keep moving, hence the reason we do so. We make our way along this path leaving traces of markings behind that tell our tale in fragments and in different meanings and words. Many don’t seem to understand these markings and words but that’s ok, they are also a test. Those who understand are free to walk alongside us. We walk between the lines of light and dark. Corruption and purity. We have the true power of willpower. We can create and destroy things with shear force of will, the only limits are the ones we impose on ourselves to hide our true powers and nature from the prying eyes of this harsh yet fascinating world. How we walk and stray from our paths decides the fate of our worlds. We have gazed into both the light and the void and walked in between the divide. Knowing the cost of all three realms We keep the peace between the spaces of our mind. Not all things we do are always successful. But we continue to walk this path long thought broken. Others are free to come and go as they please. However long they decide to walk with us before deciding their path is up to them. Whatever your choice is, keep moving. We all get to where we’re going eventually.
21
Untitled, by Tyson Hatfield
Places Like Here by Valentyna Belofsky this street on this hill in this town is burning like the tip of an oversized cigarette one that can’t stop inhaling and i would do so much to see what the outside world is like; to shrink myself even smaller and fly as a micro-gondola along telephone wires flying away‌ to somewhere far away seeing this place from the perspective of outside looking into places like here to be anywhere except places like here
22
Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts
Sestina - Nature, by Aubrey Higdon I love the feeling of walking through nature, Lending my ears to the song of the birds and the hum of the trees making music. The wind ruffles the branches as it breathes Carrying leaves towards the sky. Most fall but a single leaf floats Slowly rejoining the green of life. The city swells with life But not that of nature, It is pollution and ambition that floats In the air, only traffic and anger make music As closed-minded people reach to the sky But it is not until sleep that the mind breathes. Deep in the forest the wolf breathes. The smell of death and Life Fill its nose as it looks toward the sky, To hunt with the pack is it’s innate nature, Together their howls fill the night with haunting music. Loudly silent they slip into the gloom as forest fog wistfully floats. In the desert the heavy wave of heat floats. With humid difficulty a man breathes, Walking amid the music Of the rushing sands, hollow of life, The only nature Is that of the deathly desert sky.
Untitled, by Trinity Lyghts
Calculating eyes raised to the sky, A fisherman in his sturdy boat floats Surrounded by vast, unending nature. The salty air and sea breeze is the calming cure he breathes. Always above a mixture of dragging death and mysterious life, The seagulls and waves play him music. The northern lights sing music In the indescribable sky, Dazzling the life That dares to peer above the cold as snow floats Through the air, the polar bear breathes. The predator of the coldest part of nature . Nature reaches from earth to sky Unendingly filled with untouched music that forever floats And breathes the stories of life.
Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas 23
Sleep Paralysis, by Allison Cleman You think you’re awake, but really you’re not, Until you find yourself stuck in the same spot. Only your eyes can move. So, you take a glance You regret it immediately, as the shadows begin to dance. Except, it’s not a happy dance. Not one filled with laughter or cheer. But rather an ominous one filled with malign and fear. They begin to close in, and that’s how you know With your eyelids like curtains drawn, they’re about to start the show. A new feeling washes over you, like an ocean in your head. You try to escape, but you can’t move; you’re a prisoner in your own bed. “But this is my room!” You think, but can’t speak. You can’t even pinch yourself, your arms are too weak. The fear washes over you like the tide moving in close. And terror pricks at your skin, like getting bitten by a ghost.
Some invisible force is prying and gripping at your brain. You cannot cry or scream, because all of your power, they contain. You can hear it whispering, you know it’s there. The shadows are rising. It’s too much to bear. You close your eyes and shut them tight. It’s the only way that you can fight. Everything fades away. The grip is let go. Suddenly, time feels so very slow. You think you might move, but you’re afraid that you can’t. Afraid that if you try, the shadows will dance and chant. So you lay still, still petrified with fright. You know you won’t sleep again for the rest of the night. And so, the sun rises, and you walk out the door, Almost forgetting the events from the night before. But it’s always there, deep inside of your head, That perhaps one day, you’ll never leave your bed.
It’s not a dream, yet, you don’t feel alive. Every sense is heightened, yet equally deprived. You feel like you’re cursed. Perhaps Ursula took your voice. She took your legs too, left you with no choice. Your soul is screaming and it can’t get out. It’s trapped behind unmovable lips. Lips that just want to shout. Praying does you no good as you’re pinned to your bed. For if God let this happen, then God must be dead. The Antagonist is at your bedside, and still, you cannot budge. It’s malicious and determined, as if it has a grudge. It’s as though that while you were sleeping, somebody cast a spell. And once you awoke, your bedroom was then in hell.
24
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman
Untitled, by Hanna CallenderBohman Promise, by Naomi Brons
A summer which felt like a hundred years ago, I went to my uncle’s house; he wanted to take us out to show the property. The truck rumbled underneath us. He showed us a lightning struck tree with an eagle nest on top of it as we were heading towards a man-built pond. “What if I jump out of this truck?” “You’ll probably get badly injured” “What if you jump out of this truck?” I ask. “I would probably be okay,” dad told me. “Why?” “Because I’m about the same size of the truck and it’s not going that fast. Still hurt though.” We got to the lake and you could see the pinks and purples in the sky. With trees that touched the sky and a river to the left. We were feeding the fish. “You know, with how much you’re feeding them those fish will be nice and fat next year, good for fishing,” Uncle Howard hinted. “Really?!” I ask. “Yeah. Maybe we could fish this pond next summer.” “Promise?” “Promise.” That was the last conversion I had with him. I was not aware of his death until the day of the funeral. I remember that morning everything felt different. Everything felt desaturated and heavy like a shadow who was there to stay. It was fall, and my parents not quite being themselves, barely speaking, looking down before telling us what happened. A funeral, which was for my Uncle Howard who died at 72. We went on a long and saddened journey to the funeral as the leaves fell - the reds, the oranges and the dead looking browns. We got there to the sad, imposing looking old church, a rickety old playground to the left, cover by a dark grey cloud. We went in, greeted by my grandmother. After I was able to fully comprehend what had happened, I looked at my mom and bubbled up “b-but he promised to take me fishing” She looked back at me and stated, “There are some promises people can’t keep.” Which is something I had to learn many more times after that. It was one of the hardest lessons I had to learn. Again and again. Promises are broken due to the fact that there are some things that are just out of our control, like death.
25
SECOND PLACE, by Shannon Nolan You start the race steady. You see him pass you, but it doesn’t bother you. You make sure he doesn’t get too ahead, but you know to keep your speed at a pace until the very end. You’ve been training for this race, for a very long time. First lap completed. Your legs start to burn but that’s normal. You know you can win this. He’s the only one in front of you. He’s the only thing in your way. It’s been like this since kindergarten. You were the fastest kid in your class until he showed up. You guys were friends of course, back then anyway. You had shared similar interests back then: running. But this isn’t kindergarten. You both still liked to run, and you both still were friendly to each other. However, the competition in both of you is too strong to be friends anymore. He can’t spend time talking to someone he’s determined to keep at a far distance in any athletic contest. Just like you can’t make amends with the man you are prepared to destroy. It’s halfway through the third lap. How did he get so far ahead? You didn’t get any slower. You have to start going even faster to try to close the gap. It’s the fourth and final lap. How is he still so far away? Why isn’t your strategy working? Why is it always like this? In the third grade you had tried so hard to keep up with him you nearly passed out. You had gotten yelled at but at least you had almost beat him. You want to kick yourself for not trying to keep up with his pace with sooner, but you know the truth. As you sprint faster and faster, breathing heavier and heavier, you know you won’t catch up. He’s 100 meters away from the finish line. The gap is too wide. You’re pushing your limit, you’re wheezing. You have asthma and you might be having an attack, but that doesn’t matter. You come up about 30 feet behind him. He crosses the finish line. You finish 12.3 seconds after him. It’s always a matter of seconds. You should be happy about how you finished. You’ve beat your highest mile time and tied with the school record. But, he, him of course, beat that record. You are second place. You are congratulated, but you are second place. Rage and jealousy bubble inside you, but only for a moment. It’s replaced with sadness. The cool air is calming. You are still second place. You will always be second place. As long as he and you are alive on this Earth together, you will be second place. And no matter how hard you try, nothing will change that.
26
Untitled, by Hanna CallenderBohman
Jessica Foley, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis
Sincerely, Your Llorona, by Isabel Williams Finding my comfort, I destroyed myself, I learned that breaking things was the only way they could be fueled. I am broken, for yet I can not be fixed.
I sit and cry, I miss the you I used to know. I miss the way you read to me. The sound of your laugh is my favorite noise. You are my favorite color.
Crying, screaming, finding. I am lost, Putting my pieces back together. Crying, screaming, finding, I am loving, I am lost.
Finding my comfort, I destroyed myself. I learned that breaking things was The only way they could be fixed. I am broken, for yet I can not be fixed.
Llorona, llorona, they call me a cry baby. I weep, I woe, For you. Each day is easier, but still no while. Llorona, I am.
I am broken and that’s okay, I am a crier and that is me. I am not your Llorona, for I only belong to me
27
Teddy Bear, A Monologue, by Ben Johnson (Begin Panhandling) No one ever gives us money on the street, Sidero. We’ve been begging all day. And I’m just as poor as I was this morning. This is so boring. I’m so tired and cold. Why isn’t life easier. It makes no sense. Nothing makes any sense these days. You’re probably right. Let’s get back to it. (Continue Panhandling) It’s no use, Sidero. Nothing’s going to change. I miss my sister. I miss my mom and my dad. I wonder when dad will be back. He’s taking an awful long time getting the milk. How long has it been, three years? Oh, four. Got it. Hopefully he’ll come back soon. Everyone is so rude to me. Sorry, us. One bear spit on me, can you believe it! I don’t understand. They mock us and yell at us. The nicest ones just pretend we don’t exist. Sometimes I think it would be better that way, Sidero. Would it be so bad if we just ended it all. I don’t think anyone would be upset with us. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice. Two months would pass and one bear would say “Hey, wasn’t there a child on this corner?”And another bear would respond, “What’s it matter?” And that will be all. 9 years has seemed like a long time. But the first day I’m gone I’ll have had no effect on this world. I guess only a few do. 9 years I’ve lived and all this pain is worth nothing. Hope is all that’s left. Hope, and you, Sidero. Well, back to work, old friend. We have a long day ahead of us.
28
Margaret, by Zoe Bright
Loss Is Something That Is Felt, by Aubrey Higdon Loss is something that is felt, Above all the noise of physicality. In the fall, I feel the loss of life, The browns of decay dragging away the freedom of summer. In the cold, I feel the loss of warmth, Frost in the wind stinging the sense of security. In the silence, I feel the loss of presence, The awakening void of awareness ringing anticipation in my ears. In the crowd, I feel the loss of connections, The swirling noise of separate lives twirling the tether of my mind. And in the empty rooms, I feel the loss of you.
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman 29
Katie, by Amethyst Martinez Katie was a young girl. Who always thought for others before herself. She was there for when someone has fallen. She was there for her friend’s breakup. She was there for her brother when her parents were yelling down the hall. She was there smiling at a young boy. She was there when he held her hand. She was there when her parents got divorced. She was there when her mom got in a car crash. She was there when her mom was dying from pain. She was there at her mom’s funeral holding her brother’s small hands. She was there when her life got flipped upside down. Standing alone. No one to go to. She decided to go on a walk alone along misty green trees. Hearing the birds singing their sad songs. She had terrible thoughts. Should I end my life? I have nothing to look up to. Everything was taken away from me. “Katie,” someone whispered. Mom? She felt the breath of her mother. Saying the words “There is still more to see.” Katie smiled with a tear falling on her cheek. She looked up and saw the sun shining high in the sky. She soon went home and there she stood with her brother in one hand and her mother in the other.
30
Mixed Emotions, by Rose Vasquez-Cosio
My Side of the Ditch, by Aubrey Higdon Everytime I walk down that dirt road, The one with cow fields on the left and an irrigation ditch on the right, That dog barks at me. It lives in the yard across the ditch, The one with two little toddlers playing in a sandbox and no fence or foliage to block the view. Unfortunately, that dog’s only view: Is the cows in the distance and me, And it must not like me. The second I come into view, That dog’s bark pierces the music in my ears and the thoughts in my head. Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark. It throws anger and disdain at me with every bit of its small form, As if I don’t have the right to walk there. I grit my teeth and try to ignore, The annoyance of having my peace spoiled, And my solitude invaded. Why can’t that dog just leave me alone? I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m on my side of the ditch. I walk faster to get out of its view, Take longer to come back. Resenting another round of annoyance. All I wanted to do Was walk down my walking trail and relax, But that dog ruined it.
She went on for a long time About the friendly pup who gave her love And protected her children. She laughed about the little thing that would fight a bear to protect those kids, Who always made sure they never fell in the ditch. The woman said her dog loved everybody she met. But the little thing demanded she get to lick your hand and introduce herself first, That way you were family, not just a stranger anymore. That sounded like a good dog. And as I thought about my walks, about that dog across the ditch, I felt like a bad one. On her side of the ditch, she was probably wondering Why a stranger would spoil her peace without an introduction, What she had done wrong to make them angry. To her, there probably wasn’t a “her side” and “my side” There was just a hateful person, disturbing her solitude and threatening her babies. As I walked home, on nobody’s side of the ditch, I hung my head, The one I used to wrap up a little creature in my own anger, And I missed having an interruption to the deep silence I thought I wanted. I guess this says a lot more about my head, than the little creature in it.
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman
After that, I found a different place to walk. I enjoyed my peace, until I found another reason to move And decided to try my trail again. As I walked along the ditch, There was no barking, And I enjoyed the silence with a sigh of relief. But the next day, in town, I heard a woman talking, tears in her eyes, About her sweet little dog that died.
31
Seasons of Haiku, by Cooper Ricard Flower The flower is pure He shows energy to me. The flower is kind. Snowflake The snowflake is cool She dances through the lil’ sky The snowflake is prim. Golden Leaves Golden leaves are rough She twirls and dips to the ground Golden leaves are warm
As Seen By Man, by Steven Szombathy
Sunbeams Sunbeams are so hot He burns my skin with happiness Sunbeams are so cruel
Seasons, by Shannon Nolan Summertime brings on the heated jealousy and angers of no plans to fulfill, and the weighted block of black coal sunken in your stomach making you sweat. Autumn brings on the new hope, excitement and death of all things past, with the fluttering of blood red leaves, falling to the mercy of the ground. Winter brings still backdrops to the cold, lonely figure in the distance that block in brown hues of the distinct feeling of being lost. Slight jingling of bells can be heard in the distance.
Intangible Beauty, by Ruth Douglas
32
Spring brings on the rain and a new dawn from the neverending freeze that still blankets your mind. You feel a sense of relief and refreshment as you are baptized in the sunshine and sky.
Black and White, by Hayden Huffman
Caught, by Aubrey Higdon
Eons many, the world has told The White is one eternal round; But as whited sepulchers show Unto me, ‘tis solely earthbound.
A gray machine sits purposeless, Dwelling over unturned wheels and undisturbed silence. Suddenly, A beacon of sound, Eyes ascend from the downward gaze of self reflection, The closed gate swings open. A sudden charge of robbers in white leap from black horses, Smoothly grabbing the rails. They slip inside, no opposition. A train held captive and steered in a new direction, Not for the hope of taking gold, But of reaching it. Not against the train, But with it.
Hypocrites have told The White stays, Yesterday, today, forever; As contentions, famines, and plagues All remain, and all endeavor. The White is tarnished, like bright snow Blotted by the thickest of mud; The Black is honest in His ways, Betraying all truths in cold blood. Eons many, the world has told The Black is mine adversary; But the intelligence of few Perceives what’s carefully buried.
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman
33
Bitter Candy, by Shannon Nolan It’s the big Halloween party. Even though almost everyone shows up it feels light and not crowded. Most kids are just milling about in the living room, making jokes and eating heaps and heaps of candy. She’s sitting at the edge of it all, basking in the happiness of her classmates and people she knows. She herself does not speak, but she feels fully immersed in the conversation around her. Everyone decides to watch a movie. She nods her head as if she were an important part in the decision. No one notices. Halfway through the movie the kids get restless. They make another decision to play truth or dare while the movie finishes. She did not not smile or nod this time. She hates truth or dare. No one notices. No one asks her “truth or dare”, but she’s just fine with that. The host of the party notices not everyone is getting asked a question, and the kids are just daring their friends in a circle. He announces that they’re playing a different game. She is eager to play anything else. He passes a bowl of candy around. He tells them to close their eyes and pick any random piece of candy out. He says that the candy you choose will determine their fate. Most roll their eyes and snigger, “What did you drug them or something?” He shakes his head no and says to not defy his fortune telling powers. The kids laugh some more and start passing the bowl around. She’s determined to pick a good piece of candy and be respected by her peers, or least slightly remembered. But, she thought, wouldn’t it be more memorable if she chose a bad piece of candy? The bowl finally makes its way to her. It’s almost passed over her head before the host reminds them of her existence. Embarrassed, she grabs of piece of candy quickly and passes the bowl before anyone can ask what she got. Maybe she can be memorable another time. The bowl had eventually made a full circle around the room, back to the host. He smiled and told everyone to eat their candy. Confused chatter began again, but candy wrappers started to be unfolded and people started to eat. She was also confused, but happy because she picked a small hershey’s chocolate bar. She liked chocolate and could smell its sweetness as she tore off the wrapper. Then she bit into it. She nearly gagged in surprise. The candy was terribly bitter. She could see everyone else around the room laughing and grabbing more candy and more.
34
Their candy is sweet and just as candy should be. She tries to chew more of it; maybe it’s a trick of the mind. With each bite down it got worse and worse. Bitter turned to downright disgusting, as she felt it fill all her senses. Did she really get the one bad piece of candy, the only one that was bitter? The host stops the conversations with a loud clap. He examines the room. “Did everyone’s candy taste sweet?”, he asked. Everyone rolls their eyes, laughs, and say yes. She tries to nod too, but is only nauseated as she feels the bitter chocolate seep down her throat. The host’s eyes land on her. She knows she can’t hide from it. She can’t deceive him. It’s shows so clearly in her eyes, the panic, the uncomfortable knowingness of bitter sludge ever so slowly invading her every feeling. He flinches and glances away. The words being spoken around them have risen in sound again, so much so, that no one notices the host walking towards her. Sympathy and disappointment shrouding his gaze. She’s struggling to breathe, the candy can’t just sit on her tongue. She feels gooey liquid ooze into her head, her thoughts. She’s choking on the bitter taste of disembodied horror, while no one around her notices. She doesn’t want it to be like this. He finally stops at her feet. He sits in the empty space next to her, and doesn’t do anything. After a moment, he asks her, “Was it bitter?” She nods slowly, trying not to notice the vulgar taste of whatever the once bitter Halloween candy had turned into. He nods as if expecting this.” You are the odd one out”, he says to her, “the only one who could feel and taste something not right within this room”. He looks at her. She’s confused and upset, but clearly intrigued. “People aren’t always aware of how they stand in a situation, or how something really tastes”, he whispers. “Everyone else tasted sweet, straight sugar, because the all felt happy and blended together in cloying harmony, while you, you felt the bitter reality and non-conformity to their estranged laughter. That is how I know you’re fate, you are forever destined to be bitter in a pool of sickly-sweet.” She is finally managing to swallow her vile chocolate, and sputters, “I think I should go.” He nods again and leads her to the door, leaving behind the warm air of laughter and comfort. She opens the door and sighs. This night hadn’t gone as she’d planned. “If it makes you feel any better,” he says, watching her turn and stare at him expectantly, “mine was bitter too.”
High School Love, by Raven DiMaggio Are those eyes really to die for, that smile of his or hers? Even though their smile may not be for you, You wish from the bottom of your heart that that just isn’t true. A laugh that triggers some wave that floods your head with warmth and a nostalgic feeling. An accidental bump on the shoulder that sends your heart through the ceiling. That switch in your head of patience and sense flipped off, That switch of longing and perseverance flipped on. Your tone may change, your laugh, as well your personality. Your true self shoved in the back waiting to flip the switch of reality. Old friends may be shoved aside For you see this new person needs to be by your side. They push and try to be there for you They try and push to stay true Yet after your tone changed, your laugh, and personality, Your true self flips the switch of reality. With your friends shoved away after so many times And that person you were head over heels for walks away With another person, another life, and another day. Tears push, but are held in or let loose Anger is yelled into your pillow as you tie an imaginary noose You feel alone and heart broken like a fool. Yet just remember, this is only high school.
Dance Dance, by Katie Engle 35
Curled Hair, by Shannon Nolan You’ve finally done it. You can now become the girl you wanted to be, because you finally convinced your mother to buy you a curling iron. It’s not that big of a deal. Most girls curl their hair at 15, right? But, that’s why it’s such a big deal to you. It seems every other girl in your school has perfect curls or light, bouncy waves. They look so beautiful in their silk tops and heeled boots. Can’t you be beautiful too? The answer is yes, yes you can, because now you can curl your hair just like theirs. After your mother talks endlessly about how to use it, and not to burn your hand, and blah blah blah, she FINALLY leaves and you rush to the bathroom. You rip open the package and for a moment you just stare in awe at it’s shiny metallic finish. You can’t believe you’ve done it. You break your gaze, and hastily plug it into the outlet by the sink. You attempt to section your hair, like you’ve been told, while the iron warms. You realize that you can’t hold your hair and curl it at the same time so you just decide to hope for the best and reach for the iron. You immediately almost burn yourself. You jump back, wait a few seconds, and then cautiously grab the handle of the iron. Trembling you wrap a section of hair around the barrel of it. You count the seconds quietly and try to keep the iron very far away from your face. You had been warned that it could burn your hair off if not careful, and this thought jumps at you, causing you to quickly unravel the strand and watch it bounce back. You try doing it a couple more times and eventually you’ve curled all your hair.
Wax, by Katie Engle 36
You stare at the mirror. You’ve curled all your hair; it’s bouncy and it’s shaped like all the other girls’. But you don’t look like the other girls. Your hair looks like theirs, but something is off with the image looking back at you. You run to your room and scramble to your phone. You search hurriedly on Instagram. Your best friend’s account stares back and you look through her pictures. She also curls her hair, but she’s gorgeous. The curled hair didn’t do that. She was always pretty. You drop the phone and go back to the bathroom mirror. You wonder if there was true beauty there all along. You enter the bathroom and realize you left the curling iron on. You panic and suddenly all your reason for caution is gone. You grab the iron and it burns. Oh no, it burns it burns it burnsitburnsitburnsburningburningburning. Oh it hurts so much. There is only so much you can do as your shaky hand unplugs the iron. You look at your hand and start to cry. It’s so red. You try to run it under cold water. It kinda works, but you still feel your hand blistering and burning. Defeated, you wrap the cord around the iron, very careful as to not touch the iron’s chrome metal. You put the iron away, hoping you’ll never see it again. You then find some bandages, and slowly wrap it around your hand. With your hand still trembling, you walk back to your room. You grab your phone and start to scroll through all your friends’ accounts. They’re so pretty. In every picture they look naturally perfect, casually gorgeous, as if they’re not trying. They look like angels, with their filtered glow, and, their curled hair. You feel blindsided by your own stupidity. You can’t believe that you thought that curling your hair would make you like them. Maybe you’ll never fit in with them. You let that thought sink in as you sink down your bed, messing up your curled hair.
Eye of Curiosity, by Raven DiMaggio
Still Growing, by Charlie Gimlin
37
Ugh, Life - A Petrarchan Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson What world is this that I live in today A world where we collect just memories A world where ending is a remedy One mind we have and lose another day It seems to me this life is all in vain We touch, we know, we grow and then succumb We move our pieces blindly, having done Not but one move in one eternal game
Untitled, by Taylor Bell
We go on ever changing, never changing To try to find what we will never be To try to find some savior from our hell And after all this pain and suffering I found the end and looking back I see One story not a soul will ever tell
Sonnet - A Sonnet, by Benjamin Johnson Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? You last too long and make me sweat with grief How could someone find beauty in this way And write it in a tedious motif I don’t like writing sonnets very much They are so strict with form and topic too Iambic meter is too hard as such The rhyming scheme is hard to undertake The third stanza is probably the worst The writer’s stretch it out for way too long No substance has been needed since the first But this one just goes on and on and on and on and on Although the thing that gets beneath my skin Is how there’s always couplets at the end
38
Smoked Eye, by Kristin Raustein
Cat, by Zoe Bright
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman
Untitled, by Haley Rominger
No Parking, by Shannon Nolan 39
Eleven, by Fisher Bachman-Rhodes Sombra, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis
Camille, by Zoe Bright 40
Untitled, by Austin Ketzenberg
Cigarettes, by Shannon Nolan He took out a pack of cigarettes And handed one to me He said “These are the antidote” “Take some, and you will see” I lit one, then two And I didn’t understand I couldn’t do what he did So I held them in my hand He said “Can you feel it? “The air move all around?” I nodded my head yes And didn’t make a sound He asked if I heard it If I heard the buzzing tune I wanted to tell him no The smoke hit him too soon He asked me if I saw it The great burning land I desperately wanted to But the cigarettes had gone out in my hand He saw the fallen, blacken ash I almost wanted to run away He asked me for some cash To buy me another cigarette So I could see it and stay
Alice, by Shannon Nolan
A Nightmare of Sorts, by Esperanza Parkins 41
Understanding, by Aubrey Higdon
People come to me, They ask me for the understanding, The relationship I have with the literature, the poetry that runs across my skin. My soul soars to express Emotion and passion for words woven to free the human soul.
However, their voice and their mind cut me off. They don’t want my emotion, They want my information, The words that fill in blanks on school papers. They want answers For a test of paper, not of life. They don’t care for my heart that pumps words of color For the chance of mixing mine with theirs, They care for what holes on the page my color can cover up. They do not care to listen to me. To another “pretentious” poem to waste their time To feed my head, forgetting completely my heart. I have found it is easy to use someone, But it is seemingly too hard to care about them. How many times I’ve wanted to shout to them, To make them listen, to make them understand Why I need to form my feelings into something malleable, Something alive, To make them feel the ache that I feel As they put their hand over my mouth, Suffocating on the life pushing through my chest, Begging to burst from my mouth and paint the world a new color. The things they don’t “need” to hear Or, as they begin to drown me out, Dulling my color and fading my light, I want their guilt and their hurt to form before me So that we may again be equal, eye to eye. But I’m afraid that then the door will close, That the light of a smile will no longer pour into the darkness before me Pleading, “Please! Ask me anything.” That the door will be shut. No longer able to simply cross the threshold, They refrain from approaching the door. Suddenly, they no longer have a reason to come at all, Their footsteps recede sharply, without returning. Sooner or later, I will be forced to flip off the switch of the waiting porch light, Sending me, and the door, into the cold, silent darkness. I’d rather just pretend they were listening, Or that they cared.
42
Untitled, by Haley Rominger
Untitled, by Valerie Lopez-Kirhham
Abigail, by Jared Gomez-Vilchis
Untitled, by Valerie Lopez-Kirkham 43
There’s No Place Like Home, by Isabel Williams As mentioned before, It is clear that I am not from here. I’m terribly sick of this, Violent wind, Seeing a ridge from 360°, This high desert I live in. Where the humidity is low, But the rate of humility is lower. The never ceasing gossip, The dirty looks, The grudges, The bedazzled butt-jeans, Even my unlikely friendships won’t make up for these. I want to smell rain in My valley. That is, the Tualatin Valley. Where hicks and hipsters both peacefully hate the Portland fuss I miss my big small town, With the 6A school. I miss the never-ending activities
I long to hear Piper and Libby Sing again. It pains me not being there for Graduation because instead, I have to be here. I want to see my best friend walk Across that turf, I need to tell Czerks “thanks” For pushing me. I left so much unfinished. No, I don’t hate it here. Yes Ellensburg is a nice school In a nice town. It’s not for me. It’s not that I want to be Anywhere but here; I’d just rather be home. I’d rather be found back on South 5th unit G106 Than in this full-lonely town.
Bike Rack, by Taylor Bell 44
Black Hole, by Iden Bottcher
Spider Man, by Bennett Huffman 45
Technique Bird, by Jared Rojas-Garcia
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman 46
Diner Bathroom, by Shannon Nolan Have you ever gone to a diner bathroom And stared at the walls The walls that have been painted over and over again With black ink and words of madness If the lights are off you simply return to your seat Because you know you’re too nervous to go in Where it’s cold and the light switch has yet to appear You’ll simply wait It’s usually silent too No one is talking or humming It’s not crowded You’re forced to sit and think
Untitled, by Hanna Callender-Bohman
The stark contrast of the colorful conversation you were just having And the deafening silence Is eery And you wish the noise would return
Untitled, by Haley Rominger 47
Retrospect 2018 Behind Glass Eyes
48
Kyrre Gørvell-Dahll, by Hanna Callender-Bohman