Eleven Rivers Review Vol. 7 (2020-2022) by Eleven Rivers Review

Eleven Rivers Volume 7

Fall 2020 - Spring 2022

Eleven Rivers Review Palo Alto College Student Arts and Literary Journal Volume 7 Fall 2020 - Spring 2022

Cover Art “Seduction” Fhatima Hart The Eleven Rivers Review is an annual student-sourced publication that highlights the creativity of Palo Alto College’s diverse student community. Our name is a homage to the Texas rivers from which our campus buildings take their names. The works selected for Eleven Rivers Review represents the views of the student contributors, not necessarily the views of Palo Alto College. All selections are printed with the permission of the authors and artists cited. Copyright reverts to the authors and artists immediately after publication.

Acknowledgements The Eleven Rivers Review would like to give special thanks to everyone who made this issue possible. Dr. Robert Garza, President Patrick Lee, Dean of Arts and Sciences Tina Mesa, Dean of Academic Success Thomas Murguia, Academic Program Director Jennifer Scheidt, English Department Chair Hector Garza, Fine, Performing & Communication Arts Department Chair

Beth Tanner, Vice President of Academic Success PAC Marketing & Strategic Communications Staff PAC Fine Arts & English Faculty

Editors

Student Editor

Staff + Faculty Advisors

Loretta SilverWolf

Karen Mahaffy Rita Ortiz

Table of Contents First Date at the Singularity Grandma’s Flowers Untitled In The Dark The Psychosis of a Red Collar Killer Burst of Feelings Can’t Breathe Midnight Storm Strange Familiar Home Reminiscing Registers of Nature A Heart in the Dark Untitled Aeronautical Just A Dream Arizona Cactus Graveyard Untitled Arroz con Amor InterconnectedMoments The Guardians Untitled

5 6 7 8 9 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 32 33 36

Carey Calvin Maria Eslora Sandra Gomez Hailey Verastegui Mari Cruz Andrea Zuniga Andrea Zuniga Hailey Verastegui Adelita Madrigal Jordan Orosco Mari Eslora Desirae Garcia Sandra Gomez Aaron Klemkosky Andrea Zuniga Mike Adams Mercedes Tirado Sandra Gomez Carey Calvin Joni Rodriguez Sierra Sanchez Sandra Gomez

Flames Untitled Untitled Driving Me Crazy Warm Hands A Poignant Recollection Untitled Wandering Blank Canvas Plant Life Starbright Broadway I’m Blue Too Untitled Manchas My Blue Sky He is a Boy! Time Sun Through A Tree White Walls, Wet Eyes Untitled Untitled

37 38 39 40 41 43 44 45 46 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

Diana Hernandez Mike Adams Diana Hernandez Galvan Abriana De La Rosa Abriana De La Rosa Timothy Ahmed Hasin Sandra Gomez Jasmine Peoples Andrea Zuniga Taylor Yarges Briana Montanez Anais Munoz Kayori Greer Sandra Gomez Diana Hernandez Galvan Jordan Orosco Endora Garcia Maverick Sandoval Jaron Carvajal Moriah Sosa Sandra Gomez Sandra Gomez

First Date at the Singularity Carey Calvin At the beginning of time you and I shared the same space in the same star with the same heart and the same mind. At the birth of the universe it's hard to define where your body's particles emerge and mine decline All I know is since the start we've been entwined You've been mine. Woke up in the dark and decided to light it up with the same shine.

Grandma’s Flowers Mari Eslora

Untitled

Sandra Gomez

In the Dark

Hailey Verastegui I can hear you late at night The silence, filled only with my heart Yet your claws click against tile like tap shoes In the dark, I desire nothing more than your demise In the dark, you believe you’re safe In the dark, a predator awaits The morning cannot come soon enough By then, the cat would have earned her treat

The Psychosis of a Red Collar Killer Mari Cruz It's a known fact that you walk past at least 16 murderers in your lifetime, so it was only a matter of time until one showed up. For Theodore, it just so happens they all pass when they walk by a mirror. Theodore J. Patterson, age 37, graduated top of their class at Stanford and as the CEO of Merge, a revolutionary clothing company aimed at inclusivity. Theodore, or as they prefer, Teddy, was a hardworking and honest person; not a harmful bone in their body, making an honest living off the American dream they achieved. Being adopted into the wealthiest family, --Teddy vowed to make their community proud—both the LGBTQ+ and the entirety of Haiti. To Teddy, love has always been easy so long as their partners understood the freedom they searched for. All the way back in their childhood, Teddy remembers summers in Haiti just running along the street with their friends in the orphanage. Not having many memories of their family before the orphanage, Teddy began building their life on happiness and perseverance. At around age 13, Teddy was adopted from a well-off family in the states. The Pattersons of Maine, well known among the community as they often donated to charities and threw banquet balls for medical research. For some reason, this was the moment Teddy refers to as the shake in his moral compass. Teddy was knowledgeable, but not very smart in class until they reached their junior year when a sudden interest in economics and statistics set their trajectory to one of the best business schools. Teddy fought their demons long and hard until it pleased their audience to which then they’d breathe a sigh of relief. Often, living in a state of anxiety and fear of letting anyone down the stress took a toll on Teddy, but when would that toll come? No one knew; 9

however, Teddy began to build and participate in big name projects that would shape their role in the community plentifully. Just like any other big boss, Teddy would steer off course and travel into the life of drugs and sex workers, but when they needed to most, they’d always corrected themselves. It was the pride his family bestowed upon them, including the knowledge of their ability to return the favor to the broken economy in Haiti, that kept him on the right stride. Teddy would then pluck a candidate from their homeland and provide them a chance to thrive in the states, enough to return back home and contribute back into the land and build the community up. Teddy’s love for Haiti helped start the course to finding people like them, strong, honorable, willing to sacrifice, and trustworthy. The more time Teddy would spend with the person the deeper the connection would be. Then, ultimately, Teddy could build a bond with them that far extends the workforce. So true rang for the first love, Fabiola. Teddy’s family and the community they participated in were very happy they found each other as that meant more children for their legacy. Fabiola worked with Teddy closely for a couple years and even passed her internship; she stayed in the states to keep her relationship with Teddy going. Rumors started spreading of infidelity when Teddy was also spotted cozying up with a man outside work hours. Fabiola never addressed it to be malicious but the press calling a scandal a scandal nonetheless Teddy had to be reprimanded. After giving Merge twenty-five years of their life, Teddy was let go for fear of retaliation for their lifestyle. What is a genderfluid polyamorous entrepreneur supposed to do if they can’t be seen in the same light as others? “I’ve lost my worth”, Teddy says talking to their reflection. “I’ve lost my love”, they continued. “I’m no more influential as I am scummy according to them and I don’t want to let them win. But what can I do? I just love them both. Fabiola, the girl from the island so eager to learn and grow. Dennis, the scholar who spoke to my heart on a level no one has matched since I left the island. Why do I have to pay the price? It’s not my fault I couldn’t be born to know my gender, not my fault I wasn’t born to know my sexuality, not my fault I can’t find the balance to keep up 10

appearance. I’m not going to change so they can be happy, and I’m not going to give up because they’re onto me. Teddy Patterson, you grew up on the island, you grew into money, you started a booming business. I’ll be damned if you decide to kill yourself because paparazzi thinks my love life is scummy dirt. No, I won’t kill myself, but I know who I can…” The next day, Teddy wakes up in their usual routine, but instead of keeping to this disguise they forced themselves to, they decided to let freedom ring, wearing the dress hidden behind the closet, the shoes they’d broken into comfort, and that devilish shade of lipstick they refrained from wearing. They were free, driving back to Merge to collect their things, they decided to call the press to have one more conference in their office. Having planned to address their absence at THEIR company, Teddy decided they’d go out with a BOOM. Pulling onto their private bay, Teddy parked their car in a rather peculiar way, but nonetheless proceeding with airy confidence. Riding the elevator up, Teddy is coiffing their hair in their reflection anticipating a stellar reaction. The doors open and the front desk receptionist pauses to watch who walks in. “Good morning, who are you here to see ma’am?” Teddy sneaks a little laugh in as they assume the receptionist doesn’t know them, “Merla dear, it's me. Teddy finally in my proper form”, not skipping a beat and walking into their office. Merla, in shock, lets out a little squeak of a laugh to what she thought was a pathetic use of self-expression. Shaken, Teddy continues into the office, rings their assistant, “Pablo, I called in the press for a quick conference. I’ll be packing but let me know when they arrive. You’re not going to want to miss this.” Around noon that day, the conference room was filled with some of the most prolific news writers that had their stake in Teddy’s position at Merge. Nervous about their appearance, Teddy brushed off the jitters and opened the conference. “Hello everyone, some of you may not recognize me as the EX CEO of Merge. A clothing company geared towards inclusivity amongst the LGBTQIA+ community. I was adopted from an island called Haiti and ‘saved’ from my life in squalor and debt. What I did with the Patterson 11

name since coming to the states has been nothing short of hard work. What you folks as journalists don’t see is that this company wasn’t built just for the sheer goodness of community, but as an expression of myself. I’m a genderfluid polyamorous person with love to give and throughout my years in this city, my name has been tarnished by the likes of you for a good buck with little to no reverence of what it would do to me as the subject. Because you people viewed my polyamorous lifestyle as scandalous and newsworthy to report, I lost my lifestyle completely. I’m without a job, because Merge doesn’t want to further affiliate with ‘another corrupt CEO’, and I’m without a love life because my truth got twisted about. After today, I will also be without a life because when I get back home with my belongings after this conference I will have taken my life.” A huge clamor fills the conference room, all just to cease as Teddy readies their last statement, “now before I finish this conference do you have any questions?” Moments full of answering questions erupted with some cringeworthy explanation and half skewered attempts of words to form an apology, all for Teddy to regain the control of the room again, “Now, all I have said today was true. I do plan for suicide, but until I get a few answers for myself.” Just then, Teddy locks the room turns back to their audience and walks back to the head of the table, “I’m going back home with the intent to die happy and fulfilled and to do that.” Just then a silence fell as Teddy cocked a gun under their skirt, “I have to handle the people who took such good care of me.” A blaze of papers, gunfire, hands, and bullets blurred the room. Teddy claimed the lives of the head journalists leaving very few to survive and tell the story. They grabbed their box, walked out the front doors to the elevator. Merla, not knowing what happened just moments down the hall, jokingly says, “Have a great day Ted-”, as the doors shut Teddy let off one final bullet hitting Merla before she could finish the sentence. “It’s that condescension that got me here.” Teddy walks out calmly to their car, starts it up, and proceeds back home. Teddy calls Fabiola, “Fabi, I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m not sure how to fix it but I can assure you. I’m paying my dues as we speak. Farewell, my love.” The final miles home were quiet as Teddy contemplated how to finish the day to which they decided 12

a knife to the heart was the choice. After making final preparations, Teddy wrote a letter to whoever was to find them and made one final call, “Hello, my name is Theodore J. Patterson. I’m calling to turn myself in and would like to have the police sent to my address…” Finally, with the calmness in their head from momentary insanity, the knife was drawn and punctured into their chest. Teddy laid bleeding in bed and fell into a pose as their life fled from their body. By the time the police came Teddy was dead, and next to their body was a note that read: To anyone who wants to read: My name was Theodore J. Patterson but went by Teddy. I lead a life of love and dedication. Life likes to beat us down because we’re different and for those of us who stand tall, the hungry want to chop us down. I never committed a to a life of corruption and built my empire on honest work and for my life’s work to be tossed aside for my lifestyle as a polyamorous person isn’t yet accepted. I hope there is a day that people like me, well before I snapped, that don’t identify as one gender that don’t prescribe to the love of just one soul, I hope that we get to prosper in a time soon to come. Until then, don’t tie my crime to being genderfluid. Don’t tie my crime to being polyamorous. If you must generalize my crime to a group of people associate me with the people tired of hiding and paying for other’s greed To my family, I’m sorry I besmirched your name. To Pablo, I hope you can recover. To Fabiola, I hope you forget me. To Dennis, I hope you’re stronger than me. To the reader, I’m sorry you had to read this. From beyond, Theodore “Teddy” J. Patterson

Burst of Feelings Andrea Zuniga

Can’t Breathe Andrea Zuniga

Midnight Storm Haily Verastegui Light floods the darkness The air sings with booming sound Peace comes in silence

Strange Familiar Home Adelita Madrigal My home isn't mine to call it so This isn't something I can make up or write off It sounded better as a story I once read A character to resonate with There is no longer a barrier between non and fiction I can't lie in this bed and feel like I belong here A woman I've always loved has deceived me so My family tree cuts off at a branch Our connection...isn't that kind of connection Our paths crossed in a courtroom My younger years aren't forgotten so easily Like memories flashing Of a life I lived in third person My mention of despair is understated Warm hugs an extension Of the pain I cannot escape Because it is not the pain that I fear 17

But the kindness I reveled in

Reminiscing Jordan Orosco

Registers of Nature Mari Eslora

A Heart in The Dark Desirae Garcia They had taken my cane and told me to keep walking forward until I couldn’t hear their voices anymore. I did just that after I’d heard my father cock his gun. Every time he bellowed another “keep going” at me with all the hatred he could, my heart broke a bit more. How could he? How could my brothers, who I had taken the blame and beatings for do this? What could I have done so wrong that they could simply abandon me, their blind daughter and sister in the woods? I kept walking, tripping, and holding my hands out to guide me until I couldn’t hear their chuckling, or yelling about how I was just another mouth to feed with no use to them. A sob choked me and ached as it clawed at my throat while I wandered in the woods, knowing that my death here was going to be long and horrible. The leaves gave way easily, but every snapping twig felt like a dinner bell ringing for any and all beasts. Here! Come here! Blind girl for supper, all garnished with extra fear and pain. I was being served on a silver platter and I knew that it was a matter of time before something found me. If I wasn’t found by a hungry beast, I was sure to die of starvation, or thirst, or of a festering wound, of which I had many by that point. I kept pushing my way forward, step by step, foot by foot. Noises surrounded me and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of cricket chirps, snapping twigs, crushed leaves. This was agony. This was absolute fear. I sat down on what I figured was hours of walking; my feet and legs already sore from my travels and I knew I was truly lost to these woods. I ran my hands through the leaves, various bugs scurrying from my touch. My stomach growled and I considered that I might have to eat bugs when I get truly hungry when my hand hit what felt like a stone. This stone felt very different; it felt smooth, except for certain patterns that ran along the surface of it. My mind went to when father would let me run my hands on his wooden sculptures and feel the features of his work. Of course, though father was gifted from what I’ve heard he would comment on how I could never truly 20

appreciate his work. “What, with being blind and all.” I couldn’t quite identify what exactly this was, though, and it kept extending. Up and up, and as I felt my way around, running my fingers intently over every small nick and curve I found myself at what I could only assume was the top. Down the back of it was smooth still, but the front had small rifts and what felt like… I threw myself back, pushing away with my feet and finally pressing myself against another stone. It all came together very quickly, the realization and the shock after mapping out this “sculpture” in my mind, and this was definitely a face. Why would a gifted sculptor just leave a work like this out here? I pulled myself up, using the stone behind me and shakily felt that one. I quickly and shakily found the top, then ran my fingers down the front of it. A scream ripped its way through the silent woods as I realized this was another face. I wasn’t a praying girl—why would I? God had all but cursed me directly, but I began praying. No one would spend that much time and talent to make the rumor of these woods seem true. I held my hands out directly in front of myself, walking quickly to have a sense of where I was going to escape these eerie figures only to find my hands on more stone figures. My breath hitched and the sounds of the forest seemed to grow louder around me. I couldn’t focus—the fear was intense and though I knew being out here would eventually kill me, I didn’t want to die the way the villagers had described. “There is a witch in the woods.” I hiked my skirt up in one hand, placing the other out in front of myself as a guide again. Modesty be damned. Every step seemed to bring me to face a new sculpture. “She favors men, but even women are better than eating nothing.” I couldn’t find my way out without colliding or backing into another stone sculpture. “If you wander too far into the forest, and find her personal forest of victims…” Spinning. The world began spinning. Tears streamed down my face and I bent down to find something, anything that would serve as a weapon. Was the snapping of twigs my own panicked footsteps or was it something following me? “The witch will snatch you up, and turn you to stone as she eats your very soul.” I screamed again as my foot slipped and I felt myself plummet. 21

It was quite a short fall, but as I landed I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my head. A loud crack rang through my head and I felt myself slip instantly into unconsciousness. The first thing I felt was the ache of my head, making me wince audibly as what felt like hands probed it lightly. Hands? Whose hands? I groaned again and the hands froze. My entire body felt so heavy, but I couldn’t quite remember where. Oh. I sat up instantly, the pain in my head turning to a sharp stab. I put a hand out in front of me just as I felt someone jump just out of my grasp. “Who is there?” I tried to sound stern, but my voice shook. I turned my head from side to side, making it more evident that I was blind and therefore an easy target. I opened my mouth to repeat myself but I felt a hand grab my own. The fingers were long and thin, delicate almost. They pushed their fingers between mine and I found myself holding hands with an absolute stranger, possibly a hallucination. “You… cannot see?” A woman. She didn’t sound like a witch, though. She sounded about my sisters age, older than me but still young. I nodded and tilted my head, facing where the sound was coming from in an attempt to gain some sort of control. “Come then.” She lightly forced my hand down for her to guide me. I hesitated, but I had to trust her, didn’t I? I had no choice. The walk was brisk and she grasped my other hand in hers to guide me closely, as the ground was uneven. She stopped and gently pushed my shoulders down, urging me to sit and I did so cautiously. “I am not a witch.” I suppose I looked shocked, because she went on. “You were mumbling before you came to. Your village has some cruel rumors, but I am not a witch. I have not eaten any souls.” She sighed and I heard a clacking of stones. Soon, I heard the crackling of a fire and smelled smoke waft my way. I heard her blowing on it, feeding it from a spark to a full flame and I felt guilt grip my chest. “I… I’m sorry—“ I started, but she cleared her throat as if to dismiss me. I pursed my lips and I could feel my face grow hot. “I am not a witch but I don’t think anyone would consider me

quite human either.” She said solemnly. She sounded so sad, and I felt the loneliness in her voice. “What… are you then?” What kind of question was that? My father, cruel as he was, raised me with better manners than to ask that. But before I could even begin to retract my rude question she chuckled sadly, and took my hand in hers again, raising it. I leaned forward, not knowing what I was going to be feeling for, but found my hand on an almost smooth surface. Smooth except for small ridges, and whatever I was touching was moving slowly. I almost jerked my hand away upon realizing it felt like the garden snakes my brothers would trick me into holding, but I kept feeling my way up, and around. I counted five snakes total until I hit what felt like… skin. I ran my hands up, and came upon another snake, but down I felt—a shoulder. I moved my hand to the front, brushing across her neckline and feeling her flinch every bit of the way. This was a woman. I brought my hand up to her face and felt along her nose, and despite a few of what felt like scales around her eyes, she felt like any other woman. I sat back down. I don’t know what kept me from running. The solidarity in a life of isolation and hate maybe, but she began to explain everything. Thousands of years travelling, millions of people turned to stone just for glancing at her and she felt the guilt of each life she had taken. No one survived her, and even when people would try to hurt her, they were never prepared for what would happen if they looked at her for even a moment. The only chance she’d had was with the blind, and yet even they ran in fear upon touching the writhing mass of snakes upon her head. There were so many times that her voice broke, or she choked back a sob to continue telling me her story. At some point, she began cooking and began feeding me, asking how my head was feeling. She wasn’t any sort of monster. By the end of the night, she brought out a mat for me to lay upon and blankets that we shared between us. She whispered the theories she had of how she came to be to me, but by the end of it we simply giggled at the most ridiculous ones. Her mother sewing snakes upon her bald baby head as a wig was my personal favorite. In turn, I 23

told her mine. How I was born blind, and my mother died shortly after. How my father had kept me locked in a room most days so I wouldn’t wander off and how I would often be forgotten for days, even weeks. Despite my lack of vision, I feel her tense up when I mentioned that part. How my siblings all loathed me and played cruel tricks to either scare me or hurt me in some way. She cried with me through the hardest memories as I had done with her, and through the shared ache of isolation, loneliness, and hatred felt at our very existence. That night we found a kinship. “You don’t think I’m a monster?” she whispered as we both drifted off to sleep. I smiled and put my hand on hers, feeling true friendship and kindness for the first time in my life. “Your heart is so radiant, even the blind could see it,” and we giggled as we drifted off to sleep.

Untitled Sandra Gomez

Aeronautical

Aaron Klemkosky Fly me somewhere Someplace unknown Where I’m never alone Let our troubles cascade the air As sordid droplets in morning dew Have our feet ascend the heavens glazing its canvas ivory new Then once we’ve soared To joys so finite It may be elated in these majestic crevices of limelight Yet, do not spare a word Allow me an occasion of serenity A moment to relapse to bask in this joyous fantasy While the Sun begins to set In my anthesis to clarity I would have beckoned the sky To have taken me far Away from what is known

To have given me wings I would have already flown 25

Just a Dream Andrea Zuniga

Arizona Cactus Mike Adams 27

Graveyard Mercedes Tirado Lie down, WAKE! Lie down, WAKE! Repeat for five lingering and dreadful days. Sleep? NO! Nap. Overnight work is killer, but you're not killing, it kills you. Lie down! You'll never see the sun until you leave the graveyard.

Untitled

Sandra Gomez 29

Arroz con Amor Carey Calvin Your palm against my famished face Your nails drawing down the seam of my lips and parting them to feed me of you My fingers a blind man’s discovering your shape for the first time, burning every dip and valley into the space behind my eyelids, and filling it with living after-images of your motion: fluid and beautiful, as bounding shadows washed through stage light, opening only when desperation peaks to devour more than a hollow picture of you If things were different, I would brave the chance to explore you beyond the simple limits of my imagination; I would sate my palate with the light of your mind, savoring the flavor of your brilliance and insight while drinking deep from the wellspring of your satin skin, 30

the color of sweet cream; whipped sugar melting on my tongue Lost primordial cravings brought to a boil by a smile that channels the goddesses of dead civilizations, distilling the essences of Aboriginal blood and crystallizing them into one soft face with softer eyes that glance back at me through the centuries from the very heart of Teotihuacan. But that’s if things were different. Instead, the ghost of my longing whisks itself aimlessly about, flitting to nowhere meaningful, like a bird without perch. I understand my stomach must remain empty, and my mouth dry; my adoring gaze content enough only to look on as a luckier man daily fills his soul with you.

I could never eat from another man’s plate. No matter my hunger. No matter how delicious or fulfilling the meal. I would sooner die of starvation.

InterconnectedMoments 2 Joni Rodriguez

The Guardians Sierra Sanchez Everyone has a guardian angel; it has always been common knowledge. The little voice in your head that tells you when something seems dangerous or whether or not you should return that twenty dollars you saw fall out of that man’s wallet he didn’t notice? That is the guardian angel always trying to keep you on the right path. What most people don’t know is just like they say in every movie about good and evil—there has to be a balance. In this case, since everyone has a guardian angel to push them towards the path of light, they also have a guardian demon. Yes, you heard right, guardian demon. All those times you did the “bad” choice? That was your guardian demon’s voice you chose to listen to. You know all those times someone did you wrong or hurt you in some way and somehow, karma seemed to bite them in the ass? That’s where the “guardian” part of the demon kicked in. Everyone is assigned their own guardians from the moment they’re born, a perfect balance. Sure, some people are worse than others, following the darker path, but that isn’t because their demon was stronger, it is because they made the demon stronger the more they listened to it. Your guardians know you; they know how light or dark you are inside, making it easier for them to help you shape your life, help you become the person you’re meant to become. You never see them, but they’re there, always by your side. Josie Salazar was one of those people with a stronger inclination to the light, though she managed to have just a tiny rebellious streak that could get her into trouble. Her guardians Daniel and Maze loved that side of her, just as much as they loved the side of her that volunteered on more than just Christmas and worked hard for everything she had. Maze had it easy, being Josie’s guardian demon; all she had to do was remind her girl to have fun every now and then. However, she did manage to have her hands full making sure that “karma” came to the right people. Apparently, it didn’t matter 33

how much good a person had in them, the world still managed to hurt and bring them to their knees. Maze’s latest project had been Preston Martinez, the boy that had been making Josie’s life a living hell for the past year. Maze and Daniel sat at a table in the coffee shop where Josie sat, working on her assignment for her Shakespeare class. Maze occasionally peered over the table to take a peek at the document open on her laptop. “What if we just save this for another day and go see a movie with Lili?” Maze whined, slumping back in her seat. “Please, Jo. I’m so bored.” Daniel rolled his eyes, but not in a way that was hostile. Everyone always assumed that angels and demons didn’t get along, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth… Well, at least guardians got along, for the most part. “The Frida Kahlo exhibit opens tomorrow at the art museum. You know she’s been wanting to go to that. If she doesn’t finish this assignment today, she can’t.” Maze whimpered, “Shit, I want to go to that too.” “Uh huh, so let her focus.” The door opened behind Josie, none other than Preston Martinez walking in. “Besides, you have a job to do.” Maze smirked, tilting her head ever so slightly. As she did so, Preston went crashing to the ground, tripping over his own two feet. As expected, everyone’s eyes landed on the boy on the floor, a handful of people laughing. Josie didn’t even look up though, too focused on her work to notice. “She didn’t even get to see it.” Maze pouted. Preston picked himself up off the ground, heading to the register to order his stupid little coffee. The mission of the day was to keep him away from Josie. Every time she saw him, she became a jumbled-up mess of nerves and emotions before inevitably exploding in the quiet of her bedroom at four a.m. Maze twisted in her seat to keep an eye on Preston. So far, he hadn’t noticed them, and Josie hadn’t noticed him—it needed to stay that way. Maze stared at the barista, watching as he pressed the wrong keys, repeated the wrong order, and just generally screwed up in every single way possible the longer she stared. Luckily, the guy 34

was fairly new, so no one would question why he was messing up so badly. Just for a cherry on the top, Maze made sure Preston’s cup said “Princess” instead of “Preston.” Daniel focused on the woman behind Preston, looking to her guardian angel for help to restore the balance. A silent understanding passed between them as the angel leaned to whisper in the woman’s ear. Seconds later, the woman put a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar. The guardian angel of the barista saluted both Daniel and the other angel in thanks. Daniel nodded in response, giving the angel his own silent “thank you”; after all, he had stood back to let Maze work her demonic magic. It was like everyone was in perfect understanding about what was going down with the asshole currently waiting for his hot latte. “Chai latte for Princess?” One of the baristas announced. The entire coffee shop erupted into giggles as Preston grumpily stepped forward to claim his latte. Even the angels were laughing. It was like everyone in the room knew what Preston had done to Josie and agreed that he should suffer for it. Not even his own guardian angel had gotten involved to stop any of it when she very well could have. Keeping his head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone after embarrassing himself not once, but twice, Preston booked it to the door. He didn’t even notice Josie, still typing away at her keyboard, listening to Lorde as she wrote. He just wanted out of the coffee shop, something he managed to do all without spilling his coffee or bumping into a table. Maze sat back in her seat, fist bumping the demon of the woman that tipped the barista. Daniel shook his head in amusement, “I’m surprised you didn’t make him spill the latte on himself.” “And risk him demanding a new one and staying even longer? Not a chance.” She looked at Josie fondly. “He won’t spill it until he’s a safe distance away. I made sure of it.”

Untitled

Sandra Gomez

Flames Diana Hernandez Skin to skin contact becomes A connection for a desperate love Every delicate touch A spark begins Sparking from head to toe The burning sensation from within Spreads through the veins Traveling towards our delicate hands Hand and hand holding each other The burning flames become One large spark of flame

Untitled Mike Adams

Untitled

Diana Hernandez Galvan

Driving Me Crazy Abriana De La Rosa

Warm Hands Abriana De La Rosa

A Poignant Recollection Timothy Ahmed Hasin

The moment my father picked me up, he said, “Shahrukh”, because the only thing he saw was my “beautiful face.” It could not be that beautiful if he was just going to leave, giving me a cursed name for the majority of my life, with no ties to my identity. There has always been a stigma in my name, carrying with it the weight of the 9/11 attack. Peoples’ lives torn apart by the act of a few horrible hijackers. I was a child forced into solitude because somebody wanted to make a point, being pushed out of everything by peers and educators alike. The only family I had left was a batch of bigoted, prejudiced, and ignorant galoots that my mother called kin, so my torment did not stop at school. Haji, towelhead, and camel jockey are just a few of the names that I could not escape--even at home where I am supposed to be able to be myself. I was tired of being the half Pakistani monster that everyone said that I was, and I wanted to be all white. Every time I begged my mother to let me change my name to something less foreign, she always gave me the same answer, “NO, you’ll thank me when you’re older.” So, I did what any other kid without options would do. I hid. Fortunately though, as adulthood drew near, more and more people started accepting me. The acceptance was for who I was, and not what my name says I am. To be fair, I never gave them a chance to see my “beautiful face.” Shahrukh, the middle name I tried to hide in shame; always deflecting the question of my title with a snarky rebut as to why that person did not need to know. It was the only viable option I had. I could be rude to a person once and have them hate me for a short while, or I could tell the truth and be branded a terrorist by the vast majority. The latter is a hell I have experienced and do not wish on any child. Now, as I have more fully matured, there seems to be far less negative emphasis on my name. After people hear it, they stop talking and raise an eyebrow like they used to when I was younger, 43

the curiosity now out of intrigue, not hate. As I have grown to ebrace my name, rather than be afraid of it, people seem to hold me in high esteem. There is nothing for them to make fun of because there is nothing wrong with my name. From time to time there are those who try, but it doesn’t bother me. Instead, I now pity them. It saddens me to think that their lives are so sad that they have to try and torment others. Sad as my story may be, I am glad that I have lived it. Without my journey, I would not be who I am today. So, to my mom I say thanks, it feels good to show my “beautiful face.”

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Sandra Gomez

Wandering

Jasmine Peoples

Blank Canvas Andrea Zuniga

Blank Canvas staring at me, nullified Could paint anything, but nothing, just blank No thoughts come to mind, just empty inside Trying to put in color, it just sank Sinking down to the floor, I try again Put on all the colors, but nothing stays Blank Canvas expressing to me only pain All things seem to be so dull nowadays Now everything is slowly starting to fade Nothing else but darkness and endless grief Suddenly surrounded, I am afraid My mind, going crazy, that’s my belief Blank Canvas devoured the light in my eyes At night all you can hear now are my cries

Plant Life Taylor Yarges It started out as a patch of dirt, We nurtured a blooming garden. You tore up the roots, I cried like a hurricane hitting land. All we left behind was destruction. Someone new will come along to till the land. The cycle begins again.

Starbright

Briana Montanez Go ahead, grab a bite See for yourself, the shimmering stars Gleaming under the silent night You’ll never know its height To be there will take your cars Fair and bright, starry sight You’ll know when the timing’s right Sun-breeze glow, crow’s calling stars Gleaming under the silent night Waving upon us like a kite Look at the sky, claim it as ours Fair and bright, starry sight Dancing, floating, with all its might Leaving us nothing but scars Fair and bright, starry sight Gleaming under the silent night

Broadway Anais Munoz

I’m Blue Too Kayori Greer It’s been a while Since I’ve last seen you Too long, in fact To think that I knew you When you were turning blue I yearn for the days we would smile So why don’t we stay here For quite a while Or at least ‘Til I’m blue too

Untitled Sandra Gomez

Manchas

Diana Hernandez Galvan

My Blue Sky Jordan Orosco Everyone is born with empty blue skies soon to be adorned by a pillowy, white surprise If luck is on their side a rainbow or two may shine alongside warm, radiant beams from a nearby sunshine But why can’t light coexist within my smokey sky? Threatening to spill from the slightest breath or sigh Why can’t arcs of color shine amongst the piercing droplets? For once a glimmer of hope emerges dark, wispy vines stop it My sky used to be blue too, y’know? With pillowy, white surprises Followed by a rainbow or two with countless sunrises Oh, how I wish I could return to that colorful place To cling onto the light’s embrace until my fingertips begin to burn.

He is a Boy Endora Garcia

Two alternating sides Of the same story. Girls and Boys Painted bright colored nails, Sunday floral dress, Silky brown locks. A girl? Not quite. He is a lifetime liar. Masking the light, He performs a play each day. What a tiring role. He carries around a dead corpse, Because it is expected of him. There, on the cliff He contemplates. And then he dives right off. Peeling off his fingernails, Burning his image, Amputating his hair, He cries, “Forgive me!”

That wasn’t very Girly Of him. Though, he isn’t sorry. Too many times Has he pretended to give Life to a lie. A girl? No, he is a boy.

Time Maverick Sandoval The trees show new bloom The leaves wither and darken Frost, Spring, Summer, Fall

Sun Through A Tree Jaron Carvajal

White Walls, Wet Eyes Moriah Sosa No weight had ever been heavier than the feeling of your still hand in mine. Nothing could compare to the dread that filled my stomach as I looked down at you. You who had once been so strong. You who could move mountains, you whose presence made your house full of girls, feel safe. You who now weighed 100 pounds. You whose bones were so sharp they poked through your skin, you who struggled to breathe on your own. You who hadn’t said a word in 10 months. You who we loved immensely. Stuck in this room, with too white walls and a weird smell. Stuck in a bed that had kept you for months on end. This room where you were locked away. This room that we said goodbye to you in, the room where we kissed your cheeks and whispered everything we should’ve said before. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you and that room, even now that you’re no longer in it.

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Sandra Gomez

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Sandra Gomez