La Chispa (2007)

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La Chispa Literary Magazine

Sandia Preparatory School 2006-2007

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Table of Contents Cassie Padilla: Prelude to Insanity…….5 Molly Mendenhall…….6 Emily Patterson: Waves…….6 Katy Baca: An Ode to Emo Kids…….7 Molly Mendenhall…….7 Steffani Norman: Sonnet 1…….8 Neesha Arter…….8 Shannon Glass: As I Sit and Wait…….9 Danielle Lucero: Special Talents…….9 Chadwick Reinicke: Trust…….9 David Gangwish: Ruff Ryder Anthem…….10, 11 Scott Kendrick…….11 Anonymous: Fear…….12 Dominic Sanchez: The Bad Descent…….13 Phillip Jacobi…….13 Chadwick Reinicke: Think Twice…….14 Scott Kendrick…….14 Emily Patterson: Time…….14 Brian Tregembo: 180 Days…….15, 16 Katy Baca: An Ode to White Rappers…….16 Zack Perls: ‘Round the Bend Out…….17 Chadwick Reinicke: Feelings…….17 Lawson Stiff: I am the man…….18, 19 Philip Jacobi…….19 Olivia Croom: Cheesecake…….20-23 Cassie Padilla: [White Against White] or [White Against Chaos] …….24 Scott Kendrick…….24 Grace Isner…….25 Jordan Karsten: Winter…….25 Lauren Weber: Fall…….26, 27 Katy Baca: An Ode to Coca-Cola…….27 Cassie Padilla: The [Angel] Confesses [Again.] …….28 2

Scott Kendrick…….28 David Gangwish: America in 90 Minutes…….29, 30 Morgan Maddoux…….31 Phillip Jacobi…….31 Melody Tangyunyong…….32 Alyssa Jojola…….32 Miquela Ortiz…….33 Dani Castioni…….33 $QRQ\PRXV 5HÀHFWLRQV LQ D 0LUURU«« Marilyn Gaupp…….34 Amanda Gold…….35 Hannah Gillis…….35 Anonymous: Snow Covered Mountains…….35 Katy Baca…….36 Meghan Baca: Sonnet…….36 Eric Loftus…….37 Scott Kendrick…….37 Jen Swanson…….38 Anonymous…….38 Anna Roane…….39 Rhianna King…….39 Jordan Bobrick…….40 Melody Tangyunyong…….41 Raye Wormington: Trapped…….41 Jay Caughren…….41 Jen Swanson…….42 Amber Higgins…….42 Michelle Williamson…….43 Aiden Saavedra-Buckley…….43 Molly Mendenhall…….44 Cassie Padilla: [Witch Craft] …….44, 45 Katy Baca: Ugly Betty…….45 Dominic Sanchez: An Unfortunate Penguin Incident…….46 Lizzy Vargas…….46 Scott Kendrick…….46

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Jay Caughren‌‌.47 Emily Patterson: Lightening‌‌.47 Craig Brashner: Sushi‌‌.47 Kristen Alcon‌‌.48 Garrett Lewis: i‌‌.49 Jay Caughren: A Ninja’s Ambition‌‌.50, 51 Kendall Weingardt‌‌.51 Aiden Kodas: The Shadow of the Forgotten‌‌.52 Scott Kendrick‌‌.53 Dylan Larson: The Year of 1955‌‌.53 Cailyn Kilcup: Invisible‌‌.54-56 Kate Joiner‌‌.56 Lucy Kozikowski: Hands‌‌.57 0LUDQGD *RWWOLHE 2K %XWWHUÀLHV Craig Brashar: Drifters‌‌.58 Neesha Arter‌‌.58 Laura Fitzpatrick: My Name‌‌.59 Phillip Jacobi: A Monday‌‌.60-64 Alex Moller: Oz‌‌.64 Janine Armstead: Dear Friend‌‌.65, 66 Maila Kodas: Hero in Black‌‌.66 Garrett Lewis: Ode to 103‌‌.67 Grace Isner: Laundromat #2‌‌.68 Olivia Croom: The College Search‌‌.68-70 Phillip Jacobi‌‌.70 Rachel Roth: Malka‌‌.71 Natalie Reid: Memory Lane‌‌.72 Teal Wilson: Shooting the Messenger‌‌.73 Lucy Kozikowski: Night Dirt Road‌‌.74 Miranda Gottlieb: Waves, Listen‌‌.75 Rachel Roth: Udder Delight‌‌.75 Carmen McClelland: Love Bites‌‌.75 Terrance Ward‌‌.75 Matt Draper: Believe I Believe This I Believe‌‌.76-79 4

Prelude to Insanity Lying awake among the ocean waves, gazing up at the sky burned black. 7DVWLQJ WKH DURPD RI ÀHVK and a crooked smith of teeth. Turning to face the horizon, shining orange in the night. Chaos breaks free, beasts run wild. Demons confess sins, angels’ hands grow bloody. The Devil laughs –loves. And God watches in pain. Lying awake among the waves, eyes close shut to forget. Under the lids lay parallel universes, along with alien galaxies. There dance the mermaids in seas of light and song. While also do the storm clouds rage, leaking gray tears, one eye opens, while the other –closed. Lost yet found in the prelude to insanity. Cassie Padilla Grade 9

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Molly Mendenhall Grade 12

Waves The waves are so calm Watching the sky create storms The madness won’t end Emily Patterson Grade 7

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An Ode to Emo Kids Emotional Sullen Youth, You bring so much laughter to my life Too bad you hate‌everything, But don’t worry, I will give you no knife. Emotional Sullen Youth '\LQJ \RXU KDLU EODFN DQG ZHDULQJ D ORW RI H\HOLQHU LV ¿QH But as long as you don’t take it to the extreme, You can be mine. Emotional Sullen Youth School is a place to learn, And though you think it’s not, You’re the source of your own spurn. Katy Baca Grade 12

Molly Mendenhall Grade 12

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Sonnet 1 7KH ZRUOG LV ¿OOHG ZLWK ORYH DQG WXUPRLO :KHUH ÀRZHUV EORRP DQG FKLOGUHQ FU\ Although we know our happiness will end in the soil, Happiness stays and no matter how much we try; We go through life trying to be true, Unjust, though it may seem, we always come to believe, That life is life, through and through, We know we can’t always stay; we’ll have to one-day leave Life and death are nothing new, Everyone knows the unknown, but refuse to acknowledge, We live life like we never knew, Even if all we want to know is only a midge; Life is all we make of it and each of us all adore, So know how to live and you’ll be forever more. Steffani Norman Grade 10

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Neesha Arter Grade 11

As I Sit and Wait As I sit and wait, Many things are seen, Like I can see people when they are late. You can tell by their brisk walk Through the city with lights, You can see the people talk. Loving life with family and friends Gazing at the Statue of Liberty, Spotting the picture through the photographer’s lens. It is a city of romance, You can tell by all the couples And a few even dance. There are people walking their dog, And me As I sit and wait. Shannon Glass Grade 7

Special Talents Kenny Chesney sings Edgar Allen Poe writes and Paris Hilton drinks. Danielle Lucero Grade 7

Trust Dog a trustworthy Partner to protect family A really good pet Chadwick Reinicke Grade 7 9

Ruff Ryder Anthem Every weekday morning between 7:42 and 7:50 a maroon 1986 Honda Accord pulls into the Sandia Prep parking lot. Each day the muscles of each member tense as we attempt to drive over the hideous hump in the south side of the parking lot and inevitable cringe, at least once a week, as the sound of metal scraping cement reaches in our ears. Then all ten eyes scout for a parking spot, hoping that we will not have to park too far from the school. For most of us this only means a longer walk but for one it means lunch detention with the unavoidable Mrs. Libbey, a fate to which he has been summoned no less than 17 times this year. Five bodies emerge from this tiny vehicle and converge around the trunk, ZKLFK SRSV RSHQ IRUFHIXOO\ XQGHU WKH RXWZDUG SUHVVXUH RI ¿YH backpacks, three baseball bags, a tennis bag, and a volleyball bag and at least twice this year, a shovel. Assembling our gear we wander to assembly knowing we will inevitably convene for the ride home. )LWWLQJ ¿YH SHRSOH DSSUR[LPDWHO\ SRXQGV DQG inches of accumulated height, in a 100 cubic foot space, 15 minutes, twice a day has its dilemmas, but its advantages are uncountable. We have come to blows on the rock laden cement of the parking lot for shotgun, slammed doors on a array of body parts, yelled about everything from politics to women. Saving at least thirty dollars a week is only a small reason we band together. The car pool word of the week changes from ÀDFFLG WR FDQRRGOLQJ WR SURSULRFHSWLRQ DQG WKH RQH ZKR FDQ VQHDN it into a non-sexual, unstressed sentence during the week is the winner. We chunk deuces to fellow citizens who let us merge in and glare harshly at the slum who cut us off. We will reconvene after our individual practices, but one member is always held hostage by the volleyball coach until 5:45. The other four of us sit, stand or slouch in the parking lot pretending to do homework, kicking a ball around or doing nothing at all. :KHQ RXU ¿QDO PHPEHU DUULYHV ZH MDP RXU ERGLHV EDFN LQWR WKH car which now smells only slightly better than the Axe laden mid10

school boys locker room. But there is hope. Junior Chocolate Frostys. They are our only sanctuary. The collection is made and if we have collected enough, we head to the Mecca, Wendys. After we drive though and purchase them, we consume our delectable treats. The passenger holds the wheel so the driver can indulge in a few delicious spoonfuls of the thick, chocolatey heaven. Then conversation switches to the junior chocolate frosty monster and wether he would be a bright blue like the cookie monster, or a dull brown from all the chocolate frosty he had spilled on himself. The disturbing question of if in fact his fur did taste as delectable as a frosty, would one of us dare to suckle on it? As we unload at our houses we say our goodbyes knowing that in less than 13 hours, we will meet again. As individuals we are lost and vulnerable, but together we are invincible. We are brothers in arms, mentors and protegees, a body to vent at, a shoulder to cry on, a bosom to seek comfort in. Kyle Sears. David Gangwish. Danny Silverstien. Justin Gangwish. Anna Sears. Zia car pool for life. David Gangwish Grade 12

Scott Kendrick Grade 11

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Fear Fear to speak up or fear to be heard or fear or to take a great leap. 0D\ WKDW IHDU À\ DZD\ OLNH D ELUG because no fear is meant to keep. Easier said than done, I know Because it’s not much fun, to be scared or have a row. But fear of people will come and go. As we embark forward in life :H FDQ EH FRQ¿GHQW RU FRZDUGO\ DQG So, &KRRVH FRQ¿GHQW DQG VHH fear does not have to be sharp as a knife. %HFDXVH , WKLQN \RXœOO ¿QG fear is only a state of mind Anonymous

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The Bad Descent One day I was walking along Minding my own business where I belong When all of a sudden I heard a clatter And in the ground there was no matter I fell longer than I could tell And as I was descending I felt an enchanting spell I heard a diabolical laugh I turned and saw a fork on a staff 7KH ¿JXUH KDG KRUQV RQ KLV KHDG From head to toe he was red As I tried to get up again I fell And I heard a deep voice say “welcome to hell!” Dominic Sanchez Grade 7

Phillip Jacobi Grade 12

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Think Twice The date is set, the time, place, and way. A gun, knife, pills, noose, water, suffocation. The letter is written out. You sit there staring at the knife. Wondering “should I do it?” Or “should I not?” But there would be that person that truly loves you, always telling you It is an eternal problem to a temporary solution. Chadwick Reinicke Grade 7 Scott Kendrick Grade 11

Time The clock ticks and tocks $OZD\V ¿QGLQJ PDQ\ FKLPHV Can’t catch up to time 14

Emily Patterson Grade 7

180 Days These papers are too heavy and my shoulders sore. Twelve hour days and the weight of the back and forth is just too much. 6R DW WKH HQG RI WKH GD\ , ORFN WKHP DOO DZD\ LQ D ¿OH FDELQHW , SXOO RSHQ WKH ¿UVW GUDZHU DQG WKHUHœV WKH IROGHU IRU 6HSDUDWLRQV Divorce and the Occasional Acts of Violence. It’s right up front, bent and dirty with use. 7KHUHœV D WKUHH ULQJ ELQGHU ¿OOHG ZLWK SDJHV Impressions slipped into plastic covers. A dysfunctional scrapbook for the Adopted and their Displaced Siblings; For the Anorexics, Bulimics, and the Cutters; The Druggies and Alcoholics; Not to mention the Virgins and the Not so Virgin. Suicide gets three sections of its own: one for the Talkers, one for the Unsuccessful, And the one I just label Otherwise. 7KH ORRVH SDJHV OLWWHULQJ WKH ERWWRP DUH XQ¿QLVKHG SRHPV DERXW dreams, cancer, the death of Grandparents. Uncles, Mothers. Cats. Poems without titles or endings where lines just stop Expecting ellipses... To be continued... Or simple, The End. Period. Tossed in amongst the debris is a red pill case. Inside: Lexapro, Zoloft, Paxil, Ritalin, Adderall, Celexa, Effexor, and Prozac, the towering, crisscrossed characters meaning Hope painted on the lid. 15

And in the very back, there is a box, locked and hidden where I have gently laid the memory of a baby –unwanted, lost and loved just the same. Taken by the pressure of being young and unsure. Four drawers high and at the end of the day I close it. The lock is strong and the key is too heavy for my pocket. But I put it there anyway, accepting, with a weary sigh, that I will need it again tomorrow. Brian Tregembo Faculty

An Ode to White Rappers Sweet Sweet Whitey, Your skin is so pale and fair Though you try so very hard, For you, the rap game just isn’t there. Sweet Sweet Whitey, In your mind you should be the main feature But little did you know, I’m hear to be your teacher. Sweet Sweet Whitey, I know how you long to rhyme, And I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, But you’re just wasting your sweet, white time. Katy Baca Grade 12

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‘Round the Bend Out It’s wack, these drastic measures I take to make me feel like I’m more than just human, but truly, this shrewd dominance of abstract intelligence makes no difference to the function of my countenance at this junction don’t I look apey with this gaping mouth jabbering just one more animal beyond its maximal point of sustainability and my durability of delusion of seclusion of consciousness makes for problems but damn the only plan I can have is survival, this tribal funk I’m drunk on, this cyclical dunk Into the gene pool cause that’s truly what it all seems to be and me dripping these scribblings onto a page the rage of aging and creating a million little pages of nothing Zack Perls Grade 12

Feelings Feelings are a path Destruction or salvation Please do the right thing Chadwick Reinicke Grade 7

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I am the man I am the man that walks slowly While others walk fast I am the pen that writes the story The voice that gives advice I’d be the cawing of a bird drowned out By the roar of a lion I am the bull with no horns The old ball thrown in Little league The forgotten toy of a boy long away to college I am the two-story house In a neighborhood of mansions The wooden cross in a graveyard of marble tombstones The yellow patch of grass that needs watering The old lunch bad crumpled in the trash I am the sunset just missed The old dog walking in the ghetto 7KH GHDG OHDI ÀRDWLQJ LQ WKH VWUHDP The car traded in for a new one Shiny, sleek, and better I am the horse that does not win or lose The worn down chalk I am the wind howling on a stormy night The light of a lantern too far off to reach I am no good or bad I am myself I’d be no one else Lawson Stiff Grade 7

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In the Army The young men standing Dressed in the Best :DLWLQJ WR 多JKW For a noble cause The medals the dream of Shining on their chests An arm waits Bright and new They talk of family and home The food slop The training hard But it will be Worth it They will be famous Women and warm beds $QG IRRG 多W IRU NLQJV

They play cards And smoke cigars Only what they feel is Frightened They want to go back so badly That some cry Weeks later it is even worse Friends have left Many to never see home again The men left alive know their destiny And it is not their dreams It is a sleep without wakening Lawson Stiff Grade 7

Phillip Jacobi Grade 12 19

Cheesecake “We came over as soon as we could.â€? Linda stood in the doorway, her posture stiff and perfect like a cadet’s. She held out the cheesecake as though presenting arms, her all purpose, toothy smile glaring into the darkened interior of Veronica’s apartment. That’s what it was now, Veronica’s apartment, not Tom and Veronica’s. Veronica’s ghostly pale face peered through the cracked door. Purple shadows surrounded her bloodshot eyes, and the slices of cheek on either side of her reddened nose were chapped. Her shadowy hair hung lifelessly, a few strands stuck to her forehead. Wearing black sweatpants her WRUVR VHHPHG WR Ă€RDW LQ WKH GDUNQHVV 7KH GRRU FKDLQ ÂżUPO\ NHSW /LQGD ZKR ZDV YLUWXDOO\ vibrating in place, out. Veronica slowly shut the door and I thought for a moment she might lock it and leave us out in the hallway. I hadn’t wanted to come, but Linda had insisted, saying she’d spent two hours making her secret recipe cheesecake and she wouldn’t let it go to waste. “Besides, it’d be rude not to stop by with a little present when everyone else has already been by.â€? “It’s not a potluck, leave the cheesecake,â€? I’d said. But Linda hadn’t. Veronica slowly opened the door and turned away. Linda practically leapt in while I paused on the threshold. “Come on, Derrick,â€? Linda said over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to talk to her?â€? What am I supposed to say? I thought. “I’m sorry there isn’t anything to drink,â€? Veronica said. “I haven’t been to the store.â€? Her voice was thin, the 20

ZRUGV IDOOLQJ Ă€DW DV VKH XWWHUHG WKHP +HU H\HV ZHUH GXOO with thundering grief, her politeness a brittle wall holding it back. The apartment air was stagnant and warm. The curtains were drawn so tight that not even a sliver of sunlight could penetrate. A lamp in the entryway was the only light in the entire interior. Linda went into the kitchen and immeGLDWHO\ VWDUWHG Ă€LSSLQJ VZLWFKHV 9HURQLFD KHDGHG WRZDUGV the living room as though retreating from the sudden brilOLDQFH 7KH Ă€LFNHULQJ EOXH RI WKH PXWHG WHOHYLVLRQ WXUQHG WKH glass top of the coffee table turquoise and the green couch black. A mound of blankets lay on top of the couch, a hole burrowed into one end with a pillow in front of it. Veronica contemplated her nest for a moment before collapsing into an armchair, her back to the light. I sidestepped into the bright kitchen. A feast in clear-wrap covered every surface. There were Jello molds, casseroles, SLHV SXGGLQJV DQG FDNHV RI HYHU\ NLQG /LQGDÂśV VOLJKW ÂżJXUH was silhouetted in the dim light from the refrigerator. It was empty, as was the freezer and most of the cabinets. Linda set to work putting all the food away. I watched her body moving busily, unable to stay still. “There’s nothing in here,â€? she said mostly to herself. She opened up a drawer and pulled out a box of instant hot chocolate. “Veronica, honey, do you want something to drink? Some hot chocolate maybe?â€? She didn’t wait for a reply – none came anyway – before she put a pan on the stove and started heating up some water. “I like to make it with milk but she doesn’t have any. Do you think we should stop by the store tomorrow?â€? I took her by the arm and held her for D PRPHQW P\ KHDG UHVWLQJ RQ WRS RI KHUV )RU WKH ÂżUVW WLPH since she’d started making the cheesecake, Linda was still. 21

“That would be a nice thing to do,â€? I said. Linda nodded into my chest. The bubbling of boiling water set her in motion again. She opened one of the packets and poured it into a mug then stirred the contents together. After she’d ÂżOOHG DQRWKHU PXJ /LQGD KDQGHG WKHP WR PH “Why don’t you take it to her?â€? I asked, suddenly panicky. “I need to get this food put away so nothing spoils,â€? Linda replied. “We can’t just leave her alone out there.â€? Why not? I thought and instantly felt guilty. I went into the living room holding my breath and didn’t let it out until I’d placed the mugs on the coffee table and was seated safely opposite Veronica. Her eyes rested on the television, not acknowledging the hot chocolate or me. I tried to ask questions but they died on my lips as murmurs. She didn’t move. I looked around at the desk piled ZLWK SDSHUV WKH WLVVXHV RYHUĂ€RZLQJ IURP WKH ZDVWHEDVNHW next to the couch, the bedroom where a slice of an unmade bed was visible. The glare from the kitchen created deep shadows on Veronica’s side of the room and the television made her white tank top, one of Tom’s, glow in the depths of her armchair. Books were open on the coffee table and I realized they were albums. There was a picture of the four of us when we’d gone to Aspen. The next was just Linda and me. On the opposite page was a picture of Tom laughing and then one of Veronica and Tom kissing in the lodge. The television caste dancing shadows across the laminated surface, DQG LQ WKH XQFHUWDLQ OLJKW LW VHHPHG OLNH WKH ÂżJXUHV LQ WKH SKRWRJUDSKV ZHUH PRYLQJ Âą DOO RI XV VKLIWLQJ WR ÂżW LQ WKH SLFture, Linda and me turning towards the camera, Tom laughing at a forgotten joke, Veronica and Tom’s unending kiss. “I’m sorry about Tom,â€? I said quietly, pulling my eyes away from the photographs. Veronica gazed at me for a mo22

ment. Her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth. Âł<RXÂśUH WKH ÂżUVW ZKRÂśV FRPH RXW DQG VDLG LW ´ VKH whispered. “There’s all the food and the commotion, but no one’s looked at me and –â€? Tears ran down her face. She reached out blindly seeking the tissue box. I handed it to her and she blew her nose. We were silent for a moment, the only sounds the clicks and thumps from the kitchen. “It’s real isn’t it?â€? she asked looking up at me once again. I nodded. She seemed too frail to hear heavy words. “Veronica, do you know what you’re going to wear to the funeral tomorrow, dear?â€? Linda appeared in the bubble of light at the entrance to the kitchen. She stayed at the edge of the living room, unwilling to enter the dim space. Veronica shook her head. “You know that black pencil skirt? That might be nice. We can have it dry cleaned if you want. You’ll want a jacket‌â€? Linda walked down the hall. Veronica turned as the bedroom door creaked open. “Thank you,â€? she whispered down the hallway, but Linda couldn’t hear her. She looked back at me. “Thank you so much.â€? Olivia Croom Grade 12

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[WHITE AGAINST WHITE] OR [WHITE AGAINST CHAOS]

6QRZÀDNHV IDOO OLNH ÀRZHU SHWDOV LQ WKH ZLQG Swirling, blowing, spinning until coming to rest on the earth’s harsh surface. /D\HU XSRQ OD\HU RI ZKLWH FRQVXPLQJ WKH JUDI¿WL RI KXPDQV Each one burying the truth deeper. How beautiful it is, to see the glistening lies, twinkling white under soft gray skies. All is serene, all is quiet. The troubles of man hidden beneath sheets of the purest peace. Yet mother sun will not allow us to be deceived. From those soft gray skies she stirs. Poking through, she strips away the layers of snow. Soon the white of the Heavens is disappeared. The destruction of below revealed. The chaos within the beauty. Cassie Padilla Grade 9

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Scott Kendrick Grade 11

Winter Blowing the Cold as it brushes my face then I embrace the wet feeling of Winter Jordan Karsten Grade 7

Grace Isner Grade 11

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Fall You would call me a crazy fool, among other things. You would say I have brought this sadness upon myself, and you would be right. After all, I believed in promises that I knew were impossible to keep. He tried to save me from the evils of this world by taking them on himself, and I let him. And in this useless pursuit of the elusive ghosts of honor, heroism, and glory, he lost himself. It is my own fault. +H GLG SURPLVH WKRXJK DQG LW ZDV GLI¿FXOW QRW WR EHOLHYH him. The warmth and strength of his vow settled in my heart, sweeping away doubt as soon as it appeared. And soon, with that promise, denial and blind, stupid faith grew like a dark, dangerous garden, badly in need of tending. I couldn’t tend it, though. Those silvery black vines trapped me the moment I heard the world scream as one fatally wounded entity. The thorns pricked my skin when I saw his outstretched, powerless arms. The wounds have never quite healed. He promised. He sat next to me on that grungy street corner, an impish grin playing on his lips, and promised. With his words, he preserved himself, and again I clung to that belief. Even through long absences and a hardened tone, I believed that he would return to me unchanged. Yet upon his arrival, I realized that I had been blind again. He was rigid, aged, haunted, and broken. I yearned for his rare smiles as though starving. He promised. But in saving me, he destroyed himself. So have I truly been saved? Or will I fall to ruin, just as he has? I cover his tired, dull eyes with gentle hands, closing them in sleep just as I will close them in death. The steady beating of his heart and the even whisper of his breath make no difference to me. It will end soon, through his doing or my own. 26

I whisper vows I have no intention of keeping against his bloody lips, just so he can see how it feels. There are pills in the bathroom, knives in the kitchen, and two neatly arranged ropes in the garage. Together we will fall. Lauren Weber Grade 11

An Ode to Coca-Cola Oh my dear red vessel, How you do give me life! When I am walking, RU ZKHQ , DP 多OOHG ZLWK VWULIH Oh my dear red vessel, You are so sugary and sweet. But if not for your special blend, You would not be so neat! Oh my dear red vessel, I would gladly give you my heart! But sadly I cannot, For you make me not-so-smart. Katy Baca Grade 12

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The [Angel] Confesses [Again.] What do you do when the best isn’t enough? How do you fool yourself LQWR WKLQNLQJ \RX DUHQ¶W VHO¿VK IRU DVNLQJ" I have all that I need. All that I want. But each night I drive home feeling empty, like the moments we spent together weren’t satisfying. The snow makes the city lights frosty, and all I want are your arms to warm me. Yet it never seems as though I’m wrapped up in them long enough. Every moment spent without you seems to overwhelm those when we are together. How do I give you what you deserve, ZKHQ , FDQ¶W HYHQ VXSSUHVV P\ RZQ VHO¿VKQHVV" I think I love you, but is that enough? Cassie Padilla Grade 9 Scott Kendrick Grade 11

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America in 90 Minutes Foreigners visiting New Mexico would only need about two hours before they completely understood American culture if they spent that time at the New Mexico State Fair. In fact, if they spent much more time than a few hours at the fair they might have time to think to hard, and in turn lose the magic of it all. Our alien friends would begin by simply driving from the airport to the State Fair by way of Central. They would start down in the South Valley and pass the adobe bail bondmen’s of¿FHV RQ WKH IULQJH RI ROG WRZQ WKHQ VNLUW WKURXJK GRZQWRZQ DQG zip through Nob Hill. Nearing the Fair, they would see a 25-story bank no less than two blocks from two tire stores and a car wash. 7KH\ WXUQ OHIW RII 6DQ 3HGUR WR PHHW QHDU JULGORFN WUDI¿F D FRQWLQXRXV OLQH RI ÀXRUHVFHQW RUDQJH EDUUHOV WRSSHG ZLWK URXQG blinking orange lights, and no less than three police cars with WKHLU OLJKWV ÀDVKLQJ VLOHQWO\ IRU QR DSSDUHQW UHDVRQ Entering the Fair parking lot they pay seven dollars; they receive a ticket and give it to another attendant ten feet away. They drive the 2006 rice burner they rented at the airport past a hog posh of Ford trucks, SUVs, Ford Focuses with spoilers and ÀDPH SDLQW MREV XQZDVKHG -HHSV &KHY\ WUXFNV DQG EODFN PXVcle cars before parking picturesquely between a red 3500 Dodge turbo diesel and purple low rider with 13 inch wheels with a white sticker of the Virgin of Guadalupe on the tinted black back window. $OUHDG\ WKRURXJKO\ FRQIXVHG WKH\ SD\ DQRWKHU ¿YH EXFNV HDFK WR HQWHU WKH JDWHV 7KH ¿UVW WKLQJ LQ IURQW RI WKHP LV FRXQWless food stands selling turkey legs, ribs, barbeque sandwiches, roasted corn, beef brisket, chicken and curly fries only to cite a IHZ $PHULFDQV LQ ÀDQQHO WLJKW MHDQV DQG ELJ FRZER\ KDWV SDVV by holding four foot tall multicolored plastic glasses of lemonade DFFRPSDQLHG E\ ¿YH IRRW VWUDZV /LWWOH 0H[LFDQV LQ KXJH ZKLWH t-shirts walk around with their girlfriends wearing tight jeans, no belt and tank tops that show belly button rings, and bangs curved perfectly over foreheads with pride. The two distantly different 29

groups don’t even raise their eyebrows at each other. Buying turkey legs, they wander toward the midway RQO\ WR ¿QG WKHPVHOYHV LQ WKH $IULFDQ $PHULFDQ SDYLOLRQ ZKHUH blacks only secure their stereotype as every stand sells Hip-Hop CDs, big chains with even bigger Cadillac emblems hanging off WKHP DQG %RE 0DUOH\ LQFHQVH 'D]HG DQG FRQIXVHG WKH\ ¿QG WKH PLGZD\ RQO\ WR KDYH WR FRS XS DQRWKHU ¿IWHHQ GROODUV IRU D FRXSOH RI TXLFN DGUHQDOLQH IXHOHG ULGHV /LQHV RI ERRWKV ¿OOHG with conmen ready to tell them that it’s easy to win a bugs bunny stuffed animal the size of a twelve year old kid are only part of the charade. One of the newcomers might notice something seemingly out of place among all the blinking lights and disarray of the fair. The sun setting in the west lights up the sky with striking hues of red and orange while the mountains to the east turn a marvelous pink. The moment of tranquility is short-lived as they rush to the rodeo. The rodeo is a whole new kind of diversion for our exotic DPLJRV 7KH KLFNV WKDW ¿OO 7LQJOH\ &ROLVHXP HUXSW DV HDFK KRUVH tries to buck off its cowboy. Then there’s the calf rope and tie, WKH EDUUHO UXQ WKH KHDG DQG KRRI URSLQJ DQG D FORZQ WR ¿OO LQ WKH WLPH EHWZHHQ HYHQWV VR WKH FURZG QHYHU JRHV XQDPXVHG 7KHQ ¿nally the savage battle between man and beast; the bull ride. The foreigners cringe for every 8 seconds that the bulls heave back and forth, spinning in an endeavor to throw off the cowboys. But it is not quite the end as the last cowboy is bucked from his bull. The lights in Tingley go out and one spotlight cascades down over the gate at one end of the arena, steam pours out as a herd of KRUVHV ÀRZV LQWR WKH FHQWHU IROORZHG E\ WKH VSRWOLJKW $V WKH KHUG FLUFXODWHV DURXQG WKH GLUW ÀRRU RI WKH DUHQD WKH DQQRXQFHU WDONV proudly about what these horses represent, and what America values most, freedom. David Gangwish Grade 12 30

Morgan Maddoux Grade 12

Phillip Jacobi Grade 12 31

Melody Tangyunyong Grade 12

32

Alyssa Jojola Grade 11

Miquela Ortiz Grade 10

Dani Castioni Grade 12

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5HÀHFWLRQV LQ WKH 0LUURU Looking in the mirror, I see a girl with shattered hopes, blackened dreams. Her heart is broken. Her body—crumbling. Her soul’s been beaten, and her spirit is darkening. She bleeds— From her eyes, crying red tears of pain. Inner torture sounds in her sobs. And her hands are bare and bloody. She is injured. She is broken. She is tattered. She is dying. And, /RRNLQJ DZD\ IURP WKH PLUURU , ¿QG she is me. Anonymous

Marilyn Gaupp Grade 11 34

Amanda Gold Grade 11

Snow Covered Mountains Breeze is spine chilling. The great view is heart warming. The smell is cheerful. Anonymous Grade 7

Hannah Gillis Grade 11

35

Katy Baca Grade 12

Sonnet As the days go by me slow, in the cold, Dreams of sun come from shadows of my mind Thoughts of warmth my imagination does hold ,Q WKH VQRZ KDSSLQHVV LV KDUG WR 多QG The days grow long and the sky turns gray Green disappears from the last leaves Dreaming of the calming weather of May Fooling my hopes, my wanting deceives Wishing on every last bright, icy star Hoping for rays of the loveliest season Come shining from the clear heavens afar Wanting of summer needs no apparent reason I spoke about my desire for spring Now I await God for my gift to bring

36

Meghan Baca Grade 10

Eric Loftus Grade 12

Scott Kendrick Grade 11

37

Jen Swanson Grade 11

Anonymous

38

Anna Roane Grade 11

Rhianna King Grade 9 39

Jordan Bobrick Grade 9

Melody Tangyunyong Grade 12 40

Trapped Waking up, dazed confused Looking around an unfamiliar room 0HPRULHV FRPH ÀRRGLQJ EDFN Seeing things in white and black The walls are blue The TV off The sun is up I’ve had enough Looking over, slightly down Soft brown hair that’s tossed around I close my eyes and turn away To keep my running thoughts at bay I look at the clock The air is dense The numbers glow but make no sense Slowly, lit lines piece together I want to get up but I know better Falling back Sinking deep , ¿QDOO\ MXVW IDOO DVOHHS Raye Wormington Grade 9

Jay Caughren Grade 12

41

Jen Swanson Grade 11

42

Amber Higgins Grade 11

Michelle Williamson Grade 12

Aiden Saavedra-Buckley Grade 9 43

Molly Mendenhall Grade 12

[ WitchCraft ] They say a picture is worth a thousand words but what about a stare? Could there be something behind those icy blues, something that’s ready to leave me spellbound? There’s something in the way you smile, in the way you smirk, that leaves me breathless. I almost wish you could hear my 44

thoughts, so that you could witness the power you have over me. Neither of us will admit it, but you’ve got me hooked. You’ve trapped me in the mystery behind those eyes. Cassie Padilla Grade 9

Ugly Betty Katy Baca Grade 12

45

An Unfortunate Penguin Incident Penguins slide downhill They go faster and faster Hit by a snowplow Dominic Sanchez Grade 7

Lizzy Vargas Grade 10 Scott Kendrick Grade 11

46

Jay Caughren Grade 12

Lightning Lightning strikes the ground Shocks every soul in sight Stand clear of the light Emily Patterson Grade 7

Sushi The sushi is green With a fuzzy white substance 0\ QRVH LV RQ 多UH Craig Brashar Grade 6

47

Kristen Alcon Grade 12 48

i i am imaginary, the second of one dimension, and when i am square, i am still not whole. i am still more worthless than nothing. They say i am irrational, but who are they to judge when they die themselves o’er me? i am simply too elusive for them, And so i am taken out And set aside Just like one or zero. i am more though. i am me. I am the individual In talk mathematically. Garrett Lewis Grade 12

49

A Ninja’s Ambition

&OHQFKLQJ DQG FXUOLQJ P\ ÂżYH \HDU ROG ÂżQJHUV LQWR D WLJKW ÂżHUFH \HW VWLOO ZHDN ÂżVW , GUHDPW RI Ă€\LQJ WKURXJK the air, slicing my hands one in front of the other, defeating all enemies, and saving the day without even breaking a sweat. I dreamt of becoming a ninja. My bible and go-to guide for anything ninja was one small nine-inch television that sat very much alone on the dusty wood carved desk in my living room. The room was similar to anything that a lumberjack might construct as the walls were lined with a thin yet believable layer of fake wood. The carpet stained with milk and cereal remnants from previous Saturday morning cartoons, and my SLWLIXO ZKLWH VRFNV OD\ VFDWWHUHG DFURVV WKH Ă€RRU SUDFWLFDOO\ VSHOOLQJ RXW ÂłKRPH RI D ÂżYH \HDU ROG ER\ ´ ,W ZDV LQ WKLV space that I leapt from couch to chair practicing my moves, awaiting any possible foe that might stumble into my house looking for a rumble. Every morning without fail, I would roll out of bed DV GLVFUHWHO\ DV SRVVLEOH DOORZLQJ P\VHOI KLW WKH Ă€RRU DQG I would lie there covered in laundry, blending into my surroundings, until I was absolutely positive that no one knew of my presence. I would then change into my uniform of only black, black slippers, black mittens, black pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of black pajama pants turned upside down around my head. Each pajama pant leg had to be delicately draped around my head ensuring that only my eyes were left uncovered, for obvious reasons. For weeks I reigned over my house leaving no trace of my perilous existence, but at some point, the act got old. I traded in my black mittens for plastic surgery gloves, and 50

my daggers for scalpels, hoping to spend more time in an Operating Room than any grungy old living room. Jay Caughren Grade 12

Kendall Weingardt Grade 9 51

The Shadow of the Forgotten A shadow on a barren plain, Leaping, bounding, jumping toward me, A graceful cold shadow, hidden beneath its grey eyes I stare at it and I’m mesmerized. I can’t blink, can’t turn, can’t look away, Only to be forgotten. A small, dull, spark of life, In its forgotten eyes, I look closer; look closer, Then it’s gone, Only to be forgotten. A solemn look, in its eyes, A painless, yet hurting, look in its posture, An idea within, so crazy yet sane, Only to be forgotten. It stares at me, and fades away, into the dying sun, My love, my heart, is lost in its gaze, A cold, hard reality rising and churning within me, And forever, I seemed to stare in its eyes. Those lost, cold, wandering eyes dropped down upon my heart Forever to be burned within my mind, Forever it seemed to stare back at my drifting soul, Never to be forgotten. Aiden Kodas Grade 7

52

Scott Kendrick Grade 11

The Year of 1955 It was the year of 1955 when Emmet Till was tortured, Beaten and murdered. It was the year of 1955 when you dragged him out of his Home for saying two words. It was the year of 1955when the trial of Emmet Till was held. It was the year of 1955 when you were proven innocent. It was the year of 1955 when you shrugged off the murder of A 14-year-old boy. It was the year of 1955 when Emmet Till’s body was shown To the world. It was the year of 1955 when Emmet Till’s spirit lived on in Many others. ,W ZDV WKH \HDU RI ZKHQ EODFNV ¿QDOO\ WRRN D VWDQG IRU Their rights. It was the year of 1955; it was the year of Emmet Till. Dylan Larson Grade 6

53

Invisible , OLJKWO\ WDSSHG P\ VPDOO IULJLG ¿QJHUV RQ WKH GHVN while secretly whispering to my friends during our Math lesson. I was having trouble patiently waiting through the multiplication tables for my turn to teach the class. As person of the month, it was my duty to give a presentation about myself. As it was March, I had been waiting for 7 months for my turn as the star. My presentation was in about ten minutes and I spent the rest of the time daydreaming about being in front of the class; daydreaming about playing the role of our teacher and controlling the class. I imagined myself standing in front of my peers correcting their every mistake; FRPPDQGLQJ WKHLU HYHU\ PRYH , HQYLVLRQHG P\VHOI ¿QDOO\ living out my two greatest childhood ambitions: 1. Being the boss of someone instead of being bossed around And 2. Ultimately getting noticed and being the center of attention. 0\ VWDUOLJKW PRPHQW ¿QDOO\ FDPH DQG , ZDONHG SRPSously up to the front of the class by the chalkboard. I took a SLHFH RI FKDON DQG ZURWH LQ WKH ¿QHVW FXUVLYH , FRXOG PXVWHU “Cailyn Kilcup” I said, “Hello, I’m Cailyn Kilcup and I’m person of the month and today I’m going to talk about me.” A few members of the class chuckled, but I held my head KLJK DQG JDYH WKHP WKH ¿HUFH JODUH WKDW , OHDUQHG IURP RXU teacher which told them to shut up. I started pulling pieces of my life out of a grocery bag to show my classmates. I brought certain memorable items from home such as my snow globe collection (that consisted of two snow globes that were both my mother’s), my rock collection, my favorite stuffed animal and my favorite book. As I was showing 54

them a shell, a souvenir from the beaches of California, our secretary, Priscilla, walked into our class and very professionally stated, “Cailyn‌your mom left a message for you LQ WKH RIÂżFH DQG VKH QHHGV \RX WR FDOO KHU EDFN ´ 7KLV KRZever, was not out of the ordinary for my mom frequently OHIW PHVVDJHV IRU PH LQ WKH RIÂżFH 7KH WURXEOH FDPH ZKHQ my teacher asked if I could go after my presentation and we heard, “No, it’s urgent.â€? I glanced my confused face from my teacher to Priscilla waiting for a reply when my teacher PRWLRQHG IRU PH WR JR ZLWK WKH VHFUHWDU\ , TXLFNO\ VKXIĂ€HG my plump 3rd grade body through the huddle of children and out into the bitter cold. As soon as the brisk wind hit my face, my nerves started running along with scattered thoughts about what this urgent message was. I held my head low as we walked so as to not reveal my angst to the gentle woman, and we WXUQHG URXQG WKH FRUQHU LQWR WKH RIÂżFH 3ULVFLOOD ZDONHG around her desk and then handed me a yellow slip with a scribbled note on the front. The message read: Cailyn’s mom called- call her back on cell phone-sister is coming to pick her up-urgent! I looked up at her, and she smiled sympathetically while passing me the phone. I called my mom. She answered and sounded very anxious. I asked her what was going on, and she hurriedly told me that my godfather was in the hospital and that my sister was going to pick me up and bring me to meet them. My godfather had always had heart problems, and it was not unusual for him to make the routine hospital run and then go home. Being used to this, I imPHGLDWHO\ DVVXPHG HYHU\WKLQJ ZRXOG EH ÂżQH 0\ PRP WROG me to behave and then I heard one of the worst sounds I’ve ever heard. I heard my mother trying to suppress her tears over the phone. I heard my mother trying to conceal her fear. I heard my courageous mom try to disguise her worry and 55

asked, “But mom...Steve’s gunna be ok…right?” And she wearily replied, “I don’t think so Cailyn… not this time.” My heart sank and the tears started coming. My mom and I said our “goodbyes” and “see you in a second’s” and we hung up. I hid my tears and sat nervously biting my lower lip and holding tight to the comforting pink chair in the of¿FH My sister picked me up. We were silent. We picked up our siblings and the sons of our godparents and headed to the hospital. Reality hadn’t struck for most of the kids but for me…life was silent. Life was still. I was silent. I was still. I was still when I kissed Steve goodbye, and I was silent for days afterward. No longer did I wish to stand in front of everyone and talk about myself. No longer did I yearn to be the “boss.” No longer did I think I could control my peers or control life. No more would I want to be the center of attention. I was silent. Invisible. Cailyn Kilcup Grade 11

56

Kate Joiner Grade 9

Hands With two hands in constant motion, $ ER\ RI ¿YH \HDUV 8VHV WHQ FXULRXV ¿QJHUV To explore the world’s many wonders. His hands are the pallets of his daily endeavors; 0XGG\ ¿QJHUQDLOV SDLQW FRORUHG VPHDUV Sweaty, tender pink palms, Both perfectly uncalloused by work’s repetitions. Imagination drives these hands Through building blocks and rock collections, Through water streams and spider webs, Through cautious requests to keeps hands to himself. What prints will these hands make On the world as they grow? With pencils, with shovels, ,Q ¿VWV RU LQ KDQGVKDNHV" What things will these hands hold In love and in strife? $ FDU VWHHULQJ ZKHHO RQ D ¿UVW GDWH $ WLFNHW IRU KLV ¿UVW WULS DZD\ IURP KRPH And oh what these hands will feel :KHQ KH KROGV KLV ¿UVW EDE\œV KDQGV And when he wipes away tears From his crying child’s face And whose hands will he hold last After all the work is done? I pray he’ll feel comfort in remembering then 7KRVH YHU\ ¿UVW KDQGV WKDW KHOG KLP Lucy Kozikowski Faculty 57

2K %XWWHUÀLHV As I was waiting at the stage I heard a cage open with rage )ODSSLQJ DQG ÀXWWHULQJ DURXQG They gently hit the ground I breathe in one last time :KHQ WKH EXWWHUÀLHV ÀHZ LQ ZLWK D VOLPH 'RZQ P\ WKURDW WKH\ ÀHZ Oh my goodness that was my cue Now on the stage I realize And this is no surprise ,Q P\ VWRPDFK DUH EXWWHUÀLHV Miranda Gottlieb Grade 7

Drifters We are the drifters Who play the great game of life :H VLQN ÀRDW DQG live Craig Brashar Grade 6

58

Neesha Arter Grade 10

My Name Named after a woman with long hair. She got plump, came out of the closet, had children, depression. Sang so sweetly that Dad didn’t come out of his room the day she died. Maybe the reason my parents stayed together. The same notes pulling their heartstrings, causing them to fall in love over and over, eliminating that sense of barely knowing each other. And there was always that fear that Daddy loved her so much – that singer from New York – that he loved her so much that one moment he might be listening to his old record and the next he’d be on his way to the Big Apple to lose himself in her voice forever. I’d like a new name. Something foreign. Not so white. Not known. Something people would comment on, saying, unusual. Something brown with gold jewelry. A name that calls fruit off trees, laughs with a wide smile. Named after a woman with long hair. She got plump, came out of the closet, had children, depression. Sang so sweetly that Dad picked up his little girl and knew only one word for a love like this. Laura Fitzpatrick Faculty

59

A Monday A.K.A Dance of Death A Monday. A slow quiet Monday which seemed a bit off. The sun had shone through my window earlier, but the Moon shined brighter now. Slowly grasping my surroundings was no easy task, feeling for some sense of purpose. Humans weren’t made to go to work and sit in a cubicle all day calling other ape descendants about switching their form of communication from one brand to another. Clock In. Clock Out. No one actually CARES about switching from the Friends and Family plan to the Free and Easy plan. No one actually LIKES one interrupting their nightly meal for a sales pitch they have heard before. Step. Step. Shower. Clothes. Brush. Walk out the Door. Slowly turning the corner down to the street from the apartment I had just left, I wonder about the people I am passing by. Those people whose faces I meet while walking down the main thoroughfare, passing faces I had never met, people I would never meet. Men in suits, headed to nowhere in particular, or at least nowhere I cared about. I walk on the same sidewalk I have for ages before, but it isn’t the VDPH , VHH D ¿UHPDQ ZKRP , KDG PHW DQG EHIULHQGHG D ORQJ WLPH DJR edge his way forward. I see his shining boots gleam in the light from the streetpost overhead. He looks tired and haggard, his breath raspy in the dusk. The man edges past with a glance through his guarded exterior. He doesn’t want to know me now. The wind blew forward, but the dust blew back. I look at the glowing moon; what was once dependable, is no longer. The Moon’s eerie red shifted light quiver as the street lights do. I look up and notice that something solid had formed in the air. The wall of death lowers, and the wind blows, blowing the dust onto 60

P\ VNLQ , FDQœW PRYH LW , IHHO OLNH D À\ VWXFN RQ À\ SDSHU DV WKH VZDWter comes. Images appear in my head quickly, and without relenting. Powerful visions that I can’t shake. Emotions. Happy, Sad. Anger. I have entered the border between being asleep and awake. Time has no place here, dark and light are one. Twilight has come. , ORRN DURXQG DW P\ VXUURXQGLQJV DQG , ¿QG ZKHUH WKH ZDOO VKRXOG JR but none is there. There are no barriers, but only doors. Doors as black as black can be. Creaking. But which should I go through? I need to go back to where I came from. I ask to nothing which I should go through, but I receive nothing back. I imagine my friends and colleagues telling me which to go through, but I have to decide for myself. , ¿QG RQH This is the one for me, it is as timeless as the oldest tree, and yet it is time to meet whatever is in front of myself. Is it Sanctuary, or a nameless hell? Like the one that I have been going through, never-ending? The door slowly opens. It’s a table. A perfectly round one, not unlike any other. Supper’s ready. Food is there, but the meat is a sickly green color, and green is the color of the inexperienced. I sit down to wait for the main course with an appetite for knowledge. Namely, where I am, and where I am going. There are no clocks in this room, as time has seemingly stood still. Maybe this isn’t WLPH RU DQ\ZKHUH DQ\RQH FDQ JR 0D\EH LW LV RXWVLGH WKH FRQ¿QHV RI reality, or simply some sort of torturous afterlife. A chime from somewhere. And another. And another. Ticking. Tick Tock. Chimes, bells, whistles. All forcing me one direction. 61

“It’s Eleven O’Clock, do you know where your children are?â€? A headless voice asks. I run, through the door, but I cannot help myself, and so I enter another. The door disappears behind me as I step and slide into the grey mud that moves under my feet. Dust and wind blow. Barbed Wire, and a darkly lit sky enter my vision. , FOLPE RYHU WKH ZLUH ZLWK UHODWLYH HDVH DQG ÂżQG VLOKRXHWWHV LQ WKH GLVtance dancing. I walk over to where I can, and, trudging along, come to a gap in the mud. I cross it. :KHQ , SHHU RYHU WR WKH RWKHU VLGH ZKHUH SHRSOH GDQFH , ÂżQG PHQ Men with gas masks on, but no longer moving. They had danced as their bodies died, spasms shooting through their bodies as the gas took effect, coursing through their veins. Yes, they had had their gas masks on, but by then it was too late. The sun appeared though it was night, brighter than I had seen it before. It slowly rose up across the night. Not illuminating the sky though, merely itself. In the bunk where the men had lived only moments before, a phone rings. I picked it up, listening only to silence on the other end as well. Silence that penetrated every part of my brain, permeating it. I bent down to the ground as slowly as I could, and as soon as this action completed itself, the bunk was gone to time. I was back where I had started, the third door ahead of me. Slowly edging towards it, I have doubts whether this is the one I should go through, but it is too late for me to go back. As I step, time whizzes by, seemingly forever. Moon. Sun. Moon. Sun. Moon. Sun. It stops Somewhere off in the distance, I hear a jazz band play in the street. Its’ slow mournful tones blowing in the cool remorseless wind. It slowly approaches, mourners weeping quietly as the band played on. Pallbearers as it passed by, then family. It stops, and changes direction back again, slowly playing the same slow mournful tune it had just moments 62

before, it went back from whence it had come before disappearing into the distance. I try following it, and come to a great hall. Opening the doors, the same band from before come from the shadows. One by one, each member stands before me, whispering me a word, like a child with a secret. “Whenâ€? “Theâ€? “Goingâ€? “Getsâ€? “Toughâ€? “Theâ€? “Toughâ€? “Getâ€? “Goingâ€? Before I could call out, they had returned to the shadows where they had been, and disappeared forever. As I exit the hall, the dust gathers to a small storm, and pulls me away from this place. Swirling around to and fro, I land on my feet. 2QH ÂżQDO GRRU IRU PH WR JR WKURXJK As Black as my thoughts, as light as my heart. I open it with a sense of anxiety, and a sense of wonder. A clown appears and gives me a balloon animal, saying that it was a friend from a long ago. I grasp it in my shaking hands, and it popped before I could say a word. 7KH FORZQ WKHQ VORZO\ WXUQHG DZD\ FOXWFKLQJ D VPDOO ERXTXHW RI Ă€RZers. As he trailed off, he said one sentence to me, “You’re never too old to make a joke.â€? , VORZO\ VWDJJHU DURXQG WU\LQJ WR ÂżQG PHDQLQJ WR WKLV EXW FDQ ÂżQG none. The door opens again, and I walk through it. The alarm clock buzzes methodically. , DP EDFN KRPH LQ P\ EHG D VPDOO ÂżOP RI GXVW DURXQG PH EXW , DP glad to be back. Shower. Clothes. Brush. Walk out the Door. 63

, VWHS WRZDUGV ZRUN SRQGHULQJ WKH VLJQLÂżFDQFH RI ZKDW , KDG EHHQ through. Was it a dream? Was it just a dream? $V , URXQG WKH FRUQHU WR P\ RIÂżFH EXLOGLQJ WKH Ă€LFNHULQJ OLJKW KLWV PH Heat pours from it. )LUH ÂżUH VWDUWHG E\ D PDQ ZLWK QR KXPRU Firemen standing around because nothing could be done, and the one I knew talked to me. “The only way to get through this is with humorâ€? No more job, but not all was lost. I was able to explore what I wanted to do, The lesson taught to me was simple, 7KRXJK OLIH PD\ EH ÂżOOHG ZLWK FRQIXVLRQ YDJXHQHVV GHDGOLQHV DQG death, there is no reason to not be able to have fun. It simply keeps the bad away. I walk back home content, and in peace, before returning to rest after a long and eventful night sleeping. I know what to do now, and why. Phillip Jacobi Grade 12

OZ Tornadoes Twirl Strike Dorothy’s twirling through the wind She’s in Munchkinland Alex Moller Grade 7

64

Dear Friend My friend, my dear friend where have you gone? I miss you terribly When will you return? Will you come to talk about the people we adore? Will you come with your smile which brought me such joy? Will you ever come at all? The memory of your tragedy UHPDLQV DIĂ€LFWHG LQ P\ KHDUW That horrifying image Which I cannot strip away I saw your body in the street too much for my mind to bear I held you in my arms You life stained my hands You took your last breath You were to smile no more Oh how my heart longs to hear your merry laugh Oh how my eyes ache to see you kind face What creature could have done this to one of such loving nature? This creature who brought such pain? 65

You did not die unloved and you know that to be true My friend my dear friend why did this happen to you? Janine Armstead Grade 9

Hero in Black At the age of 14 years old, Emmet Till was a child, His killers were older but much more wild. He was beaten and shot and thrown in a river, His hope was reduced to a tiny sliver. They took him away from his little house, They had strength over him like a cat with a mouse. They were two evil men, too evil to describe, That would fall to the hands of any tempting bribe. To just a boy, two words weren’t much. But to this little boy they packed a powerful punch. Driven away to a unforgiving place, Where people judge you by the color of your face. There is no love, no justice, no hope. Only the prison of one binding rope. No chances, no right for a single black man, Only the clutches of the Ku Klux Klan. His parents left grieving and cursing the men, Nothing to say, not a letter to send. Maila Kodas Grade 6 66

Ode to 103 103 is nothing new; It is just a real whole number, But when you add factorial, The story’s quite another. For 103 factorial Is quite a larger factor. There are 19 zeros, Just at the end, And many more inside. The digits are 100 more And about four-dozen others. <RXU 7, FDQœW ¿QG LW Nor can your HP-X5. If you’re lucky then perhaps you will With at least a TI-89. But if you’re stuck, You must program it In computer languages. And an int or long is not enough An array becomes a must, But is there any other way to waste a Summer day? Garrett Lewis Grade 12 67

Laundromat #2 Grace Isner Grade 10

The College Search “You don’t want to be stepping over protestors to get to your dorm room.” My mother disliked Eastern schools. She’d spent hundred of hours going through the Fiske Guide, the Princeton Review, the College Board website, and school websites, and she solidly disliked New England schools. ³5HPHPEHU ZKDW WKH\ VD\ µ3HRSOH IURP WKH FRDVWV À\ RYHU the rest of the country.’ You want a place with a solid curriculum, not trendy courses like ‘transsexual poetry’ and ‘African lesbian literature.’” I’d given my mother the criteria for colleges, strong creative writing program, more than 2,000 students but not a big state school, and not in the Southwest, Texas or California. She’d proceeded to add conditions of her own: near an airport, not in the South, not in New England, and in a small town. I was completely content to let her do all the dirty 68

work for my college search, but this was getting ridiculous. “Mom, are you college shopping for me, or for yourself?â€? “You need a pleasant climate,â€? she insisted. “Mom, you’re not following me to college.â€? “But it would be fun. You can come over on Sunday and do your laundry!â€? “Mother, I can do my laundry in the dorm laundry rooms.â€? “I’ll cook for you.â€? “I’ll go to the Student Union. Give me the books,â€? I said picking up the guide books and pamphlets. “I need those!â€? “One thousand mile radius, mother. I’ll buy and map and put a big circle on it and pin it up in the computer room so you can see the area you’re not allowed to enter when you and Aunt Donna start shopping for real estate.â€? “One thousand miles is an awfully large area.â€? “You’re lucky it’s not three thousand.â€? Entering my upstairs bedroom, I dumped the books onto my desk and sat in front of the T.V. I felt an unpleasantness in the air, a pervading harshness that hadn’t been there before. The college visiting campaign was coming up in a couple months, and I needed to start getting serious about what schools I was interested in and the ACT. But The Real World was on right now. My dad called halfway through the show. I told him about WKH WRS ÂżYH FDQGLGDWHV 8QLYHUVLW\ RI (YDQVYLOOH %XFNQHOO University, Miami University, Ashland University, and Penn State Eerie. “Where are those again?â€? “Indiana, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Ohio, Pennsylvania.â€? “Go to Ohio or Indiana. Those are in the Big Ten. You’d get to see some good football.â€? “Thanks, Dad.â€? 69

“That’s an important part of college you know, the sports.” “Oh, I’m sure, Dad. But they’re all pretty small except Miami U. I’m not sure how big their programs are.” “Well, go to the one with the biggest football program. You need to have a pleasant social life.” “Thanks for the advice, Dad. I’ll keep it in mind.” I hung up the phone and scrutinized the pile of books and mailings on my desk as “seven strangers picked to live in a house…” droned in the background. Olivia Croom Grade 12

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Phillip Jacobi Grade 12

Malka Malka is my teacher. I call her Morah Malka because “morah” is Hebrew for teacher. She is old and wise. She says she was in the Holocaust. She was in one of those lines: lines to go to the camps, line to go to the gas chambers and lines to be free. She says that her family and her were in the line to be free. The soldiers went around and chose people to go into the line to go to the camp. They picked her little sister, but she just came back to her mom. She wanted to be with her family, but they kept picking her. They didn’t notice that she kept moving back. I don’t know what happened to her little sister, she doesn’t tell the rest. Morah Malka always cries when she tells this story. I don’t want to see Morah Malka cry, but she does. Rachel Roth Grade 6

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Memory Lane The clouds sparkled overhead, taking the literal meaning of every cloud has a silver lining. The sun began to peek above the horizon line. My rickety old bike jerked suddenly after it hit a rock. I caught myself and continued down the dirt road. I was savoring the moment. I could almost taste the sweetness. I rose until I came to my spot. Any other person would walk right by, but not me. It was just a tree to them, but to me it was a break from my demanding life, my separate peace, but more importantly it was a piece of reality that was completely mine. I jumped off my bike and climbed up it. I didn’t even have to look down to see where I stepped; I knew the tree by heart. I came to the heart of the tree and sat on the thickest branch, my back resting against the trunk. The trunk had molded itself to my back. I got comfortable and soon fell into a deep sleep. The sun had turned in to a deep red and was now disappearing. My dad walked into the door, obviously in a EDG PRRG :H VRRQ JRW LQWR D KHDWHG ÂżJKW ZKLFK OHIW PH running out the door in tears. I rode on my bike blindly for a long time. Soon I came to a tree, which I climbed and found a thick branch. I sat down, and got comfortable and calmed down. I woke gasping, automatically trying to come back down to reality. I jumped off the tree and rode home in a daze; I hadn’t had that dream for over a year now. “Another trip down memory lane,â€? I whispered to myself. Natalie Reid Grade 6

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Shooting the Messenger ,Q D ¿W RI UDJH I shot the messenger. He came to my doorstep Knocked on my door And when I answered He told me that my dog had died. He said he saw it in the road, Lifeless Sprawled out Hit by a car that drove away to save the embarrassment. My emotions were beyond me And grabbing the gun from the kitchen drawer I shot him Grazing his calf And in the confusion of the climax My sister ran to the police And told them what I’d done. $QG LQ D ¿W RI UDJH His emotions beyond him And grabbing the gun from his holster The police shot my sister, Who was only the messenger. Teal Wilson Grade 11

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Night Dirt Road Intoxicating summer night &RRO ¿QH VDQG EHWZHHQ RXU WRHV You and me, out for a night walk A desolate dirt road Clear clusters of stars pierce the country night In our path, a distance down the road, 7ZR EHDPV RI OLJKW ÀDVK HQJLQH EHKLQG We squeal in fear The truck rumbles slowly toward us. With animal quickness, Dashing over the bank into deep desert sand, :H ¿QG D VKDGRZ UHDFKLQJ DZD\ IURP ORZ EXVKHV /\LQJ ÀDW Covering our faces our faces Hearts pounding Breathing hard . The truck idles by Slowing just slightly And slowly picking up again Red taillights fade in the distance Young girls should not be out On a dirt road at night Lucy Kozikowski Faculty 74

Waves The waves move slowly Against the sand so lightly Moving away fast Miranda Gottlieb Grade 7

Udder Delight White, cold, luscious drink Creamy in my coffee cup I ask you, GOT MILK? Rachel Roth Grade 6

Terrance Ward Grade 12

Love Bites Biting at your soul. Passion heating through your heart. Walking right by you. Carmen McClelland Grade 7

Listen The wind always sings Listen closely and hear it It cries to be heard Miranda Gottlieb Grade 7 75

Believe I Believe This I Believe I believe in the power of words :RUGV GH¿QH RXU YHU\ H[LVWHQFH And the words we use are as important as how we use them Words are what we speak and what we think And what are we without speech and thought? I believe in words that brought you here Words that have been said to you over and over Words that now bore you, but that in their repetition contain the deepest truth I believe that most words are forgotten before they are even said But when you hear something truly powerful, you will repeat it to your grave When you leave today you will remember nothing that I say now Except for perhaps a few key lines that are spinning around your head‌ Believe I Believe This I Believe I believe in the power of the classroom A good classroom is a small village Where magic happens and no one is who they appear to be I believe in the power of the good classroom to transform 76

To transcend the very subject that is being taught and to teach something deeper Something that you will never forget I believe that a good class is fun, but serious and challenging A good class teaches us not to laugh at our frailties But to build on our strengths I believe that after leaving class you should feel good Because you did something serious and challenging, And had fun doing it. Believe I Believe This I Believe I believe in you As a group you have the power to raise this school up But you also have the power to tear it down I believe that this class is yours to create And that I am here to be your ally But I will teach you the greatest lessons when I have to become your foe I believe that it is possible for each one of you to succeed here To grow To learn To become a person whom everyone in this room admires But these things are only possible if you believe them too I believe in fresh starts 77

Every day, we make the choice to act the same way we did yesterday But Tomorrow is not the time to change The time to change is NOW And now is here, so let’s change‌ Believe I Believe This I Believe I believe in the power of the written word The power of the written word is that it speaks the truth For what the author sits and stares at for hours late at night Must surely hold more than what gets blurted our thoughtlessly every lunch period I believe in giving thanks every day for the ability to write Is it not writing that is so often used by those in power to repress those who aren’t? And is it not writing that has paved for millions the path to freedom? I believe that writing is our future :LWKRXW ZULWLQJ ZH DUH MXVW VHO¿VK LQGLYLGXDOV JXLOWOHVVO\ seeking self-improvement. But with writing, we might just be able to save ourselves from ourselves So as you leave class today, I want you to think about what you plan to do with yourself each time That you step through my door during these next nine months 78

I can tell you where to go and what to do But ultimately the choice is up to you To follow what you believe And maybe if you do that, just maybe You can learn more from this class than just three words Believe I Believe This I Believe Matthew Draper Faculty

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