Eleven Rivers Review Volume 1, Issue 2 Fall 2015
Eleven Rivers Review Palo Alto College Student Arts and Literature Volume 1, Issue 2 Fall 2015
Cover Art “I’m Just Like You” Watercolor, acrylic, and marker on canvas Diana Luevano Gomez
Eleven Rivers Review is a biannual student-sourced publication that provides a creative outlet for Palo Alto College’s diverse student community. Our name is an homage to the Texas rivers from which our campus buildings take their names.
The works selected for Eleven Rivers Review may not reflect the attitudes or opinions 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. © 2015 Palo Alto College
Acknowledgements The ERR staff would like to thank everyone who helped make our second issue possible
Thomas Murguia, Tutoring Services Coordinator Dr. Mary-Ellen Jacobs, Dean of Arts and Sciences Matilda Staudt, INRW Lead Instructor Alba De Leon, Professor of Art Mark Hogensen, Lead Professor of Art Karen Mahaffey, Assistant Professor of Art Lloyd Walsh, Associate Professor of Art Juan Tejeda, Mexican-American Studies Instructor Vicente Guillot, English Department Chair Sabra Booth, Adjunct Professor of Art Lee Ann Epstein, Tiger PAWS Director Jamie Browning, Photoshop wizard and many others
Editorial Staff Student Editors
Staff Editors
John Canavacholo-Gonzales
Hunter Bates
Deidre Carrillo
Larissa Hernandez
Elijah Reyes Abraham Rodriguez Joseph Trevino
Table of Contents I’m Just Like You–Diana Gomez…………………….………………………...Cover Untitled Shape–Roman ……………………………………………………………..5 Shadow–Andrew Silvas……………………………………………………………...6 Skull Kid–Nathan Cantu……………………………………………………………...7 Silence–Abigail Barrientez………………………………………………………...8-9 The Coming Storm–Melissa Tarin Croom………………………………………...10 Clouds–Raquel Rodriguez………………………………………………………….11 Guitarra de mi Amy–Roman Sanchez…………………...………………………..12 Eleven Horses–Abraham Rodriguez………………………………………………13 Change My Language Overnight–Imelda Cruz…………………………………..14 Border On Our Backs–Elijah Reyes……………………………………………….15 Portal–Wisper Nuyttens…………………………………………………………16-17 Revoluciόnaria–Samantha Gonzales…………………………...………………...18 La Muerte–Cecilia Mendoza……………………...………………………………..19 True–Abraham Rodriguez…………………………………...……………………..20 Another World–Heather Lara………………...…………………………………….21 When The Smoke Finally Clears–Melissa Tarin Croom………………………...22 Haze–Abigail Barrientez………………………………………...………………….23 Not Good Enough–Ivone Ortega………………...…………………………….24-26 Enamored–Ivone Ortega………………………………...…………………………27 Medusa–Samantha Gonzales……………………………………………………...28 Serpent’s Eye–Samantha Gonzales………………………………….…………...29 Red’s Dream–Samantha Gonzales………………………………………………..30 An Elegy for a Friend–Joseph Trevino…………………...…………………...31-32 Cityscape–Alexander Ybarra Jr……………………...…………………………….33 The Sisters–Elijah Reyes……………………...…………………………………...34 The Buzzards–Carlos Decker III………………………………………...………...35 Imagine–Brandon Mojica………………………………...…………………………36 I’m Not Crazy–Elijah Reyes……………………………………...………………...37 Azteca Jaguar Warrior– Ashley Rodriguez………………………………………..38 Sun and Moon–Sean Campos………………………………………………....39-42 Nightfall–Alexander Ybarra Jr……………………………………………………...41 Pikes Peak–Raquel Rodriguez…………………………………………………….43 Leo– Kimberly Zertuche……………………………………………………………..44 Create–Brandon Mojica…………………………………………………………….45 Poema a mi Niña–Cecilia Mendoza……………………………………………….46
Untitled Shape Wooden sculpture and mixed media Roman Sanchez 5
Shadow Andrew Silvas Footsteps echoing down an empty hall. “There you are.” As I raise my head, she stands before happy as always. “Hey Chelsey.” I reply in disappointment. She stares at me with a serious look, then asks. “Why are you always alone, Krito?” “Huh?” “Every time I see you, you’re always alone, and you look sad.” “It’s just how I am.” Hoping that will end the conversation. “Well…” She pauses for a quick second, then shouts. “It’s just not right!” As her words echo through the hall, I glance up to see her face turn from pale white to a bright red as a tear rolls down the side of her cheek. “Remember I’m nothing but a shadow, always seen but easily forgotten, never heard, and never missed.”
“You’re the shadow?” “Don’t bother.” I interrupt her with fire in my eyes. “Of all people you should know I have trust issues.” As I slowly rise and turn my back to her. “After all it’s because of me…”“STOP!” She shouts again. “What happened to me wasn’t your fault.” As her ghost fades away I begin to cry and think to myself.
“If only you could see me now. I’ve become the world’s biggest cry baby.”
Skull Kid Digital art Nathan Cantu 7
Silence Acrylic on canvas Abigail Barrientez
Silence Abigail Barrientez
Sometimes you have to burn in silence, so as not to seem weak and shatter, but to appear strong and elegant as you fall into grace.
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The Coming Storm Melissa Tarin Croom Darkness tapped on my window; her long gauzy gown flowed in the gentle June breeze. Glittering threads randomly woven into her wardrobe twinkled against the glass. And I was weak to ignore her graceful beckoning. When I crossed the hall and opened the door, her anger surged over me, nearly knocking me down. The alluring peace she so generously offered me at the window was ripped apart. Her peacefulness turned to peals of thunder. The tiny glimmers of her gown thrust electric swords. Her opaque calm turned into quickly clouded judgment, and towered thickly overhead. And in her anger, she wept.
Clouds Digital art Raquel Rodriguez 11
Guitarra de mi Amy Wooden sculpture Roman Sanchez
Eleven Horses Mixed-media drawing Abraham Rodriguez 13
Change My Language Overnight Imelda Cruz
The most unforgettable moment to me was when my language changed from Spanish to English. This happened when I started the eleventh grade at Somerset High
School. I just came from Mexico to start a new life in the United States with my parents and my seven siblings. We moved to a bodega in San Antonio, Texas. It was an ugly place to live, but the real problem was when my parents went to enroll me to finish high school. I never forgot my first class because I entered and just sat in the front because I did not know anybody. When the maestra entered she introduced herself, saw me, and then asked me, “What is your name?” I just looked at her like “What did you say?” but I was thinking it in Spanish. Then she started asking the class if somebody spoke Spanish
to help me answer what my name was and why I was not talking to her. A girl in the class came and sat beside me, and she asked me “No hablas Ingles?” and I said “NO.” The maestra told me to not worry because she was going to keep the girl beside me in case I needed something. I was terrified of not knowing anything and even asking to use the bathroom. My maestra started the class, passed out the books, gave us the worksheets, and started to explain what we needed to do. When I asked the girl what we needed to do, she looked at me as if saying “yo no se.” She knew how to speak in Spanish, but she didn’t know how to translate it to explain to me. My life changed because I was not sure of myself being able to learn something in the class, and not only in the first class but in all my classes. I just had one class that was called ESL where another maestra taught me some English and how to start writing the basics like “The car is red” and little things that made a big change in my life.
Border On Our Backs Photography Elijah Reyes 15
Portal Poem and acrylic painting on paper Wisper Nuyttens
The sky and ground are white. A table sits In the middle of the compacted room of nothing Covered in glass, every piece tells a different Story
Each piece tells you a part, a section, Of what could have been Of a life.
The broken stages Of good times and bad. All the pieces lay before the eyes of a young girl Asking God why, Why did it all have to end? She begins to cry over and over Telling her what could have been or would have… So collecting all the shattered pieces upon the table she tries to put them back together, But they won’t seem to fit. Then suddenly I feel a brush of wind touch my shoulder Telling me to try again. As I put each piece together, they seem to fall together into place. But how? Then I feel it. All the warmth and joy, the laughter, the love That the world holds as it surrounds me. As I turn to face the direction that it’s coming from, I hear a soft breeze calling out. “You my child are not broken, or alone.” Then Suddenly I am falling Surrounded by colors of blues and blacks. And I hear someone whispering my name. I open my eyes, For I am alive... I gasp…
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RevoluciĎŒnaria Acrylic on canvas Samantha Gonzales
La Muerte Cecelia Mendoza
Y que es la muerte? La muerte es como un sueño, del cual nunca despertaras
Nunca sabras en vida, lo que en la muerte sentiras o no sentiras Si cuando estuvieses en trance de muerte Pudieses decir lo que tu sientes Nos darias una pista por donde vamos a pasar Pero, porque tenerle miedo a la muerte? Si no nos vamos a poder—escapar Solo nos queda realizar nuestros sueños en vida
Porque cuando llegue la hora de nuestra muerte —Nunca lo podremos lograr
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True Abraham Rodriguez
You cannot be like me and I cannot be like you. But there are people Just like me and you.
Another World Digital art Heather Lara 21
When The Smoke Finally Clears Melissa Tarin Croom
Frantically pacing the hallway
And the sirens will stop calling
Looking for an entryway
And the ashes will stop falling
Nearly impossible to find
And nothing is wrong
But it’s not mine
But not for long
Not now
Until now
Anyhow
Anyhow
Tapping the walls
I’ll wait until the smoke is gone
As the alarm calls
I’ll tell you later what went wrong
Unable to see
And why I flicked a single match
Ahead of me
And waited for the drapes to catch
Not now
When the smoke finally clears you’ll see
Anyhow
How much you didn’t really need me Not now
Stumbling over words and shoes When there is so much to lose You already know I can’t let go Not now Anyhow When the smoke finally clears I’ll look back on the years You made it through And I did too
Up ‘till now Anyhow
Anyhow
Haze Acrylic on canvas Abigail Barrientez 23
Not Good Enough Ivone Ortega It was raining outside and many had taken shelter inside their homes. Mrs. White was leaning against the window pane staring outside. She didn’t speak to the man sitting by the fireplace until a strike of lightning lighted the sky for a few seconds. “You love her, don’t you?” The man turned his eyes away from the blazing fire and stared at the pale exposed back of the woman. He took off his reading glasses and placed them down on the lamp table. “I don’t.” She didn’t turn to look at him and instead placed her hand on the cold glass of the window. She watched the drops slide down on the other side as it continued to rain heavily. “Then why did you go see her today?” “She’s my old college friend and I was just visiting.”
Her shoulders hunched placing more weight against the glass window and her brown eyes seemed to glisten with the thunder clapping outside again. A small smile appeared on her full rosy lips. “I saw her son, today. I actually ran across her today in the morning and I saw her son.” “Was it when you went shopping?” “Yes.” The man still staring at her pale back ran a hand through his thick mahogany hair. “Well, what is bothering you then? You saw that she’s a good person.” “That’s just it.” “What?” “She’s so selfless and very beautiful. Smart, too, I bet.” Mr. White stood up out of his seat and took a step towards her, “Dear, don’t get jealous. You’re beautiful and selfless as well.” Her smile disappeared and she glanced back at him but instantly turned away once she saw him on his feet. Silence filled the room for a few seconds. “I’m only selfless with my friends and no one else. I’m beautiful and I say it every chance I get.”
Her eyes closed and the hand that was touching the window became a fist, “No one thinks I’m smart. I could be if you gave me the chance.” “Flora, dear, don’t start.” His brow furrowed and she glared at his reflection on the window pane. “Start what? Her son is yours isn’t it?” “What?” “He looks like you. She said that her boy was growing to miss you more and more.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Her voice grew cold and demeaning, “What doesn’t? What she said or the fact that I can’t ever give you what she can?” He took in a sharp breath and grabbed her forearm but he didn’t say anything. Mrs. White didn’t pull away from his touch and continued to watch the rain fall. The room was warm due to the fire and the outside was cold as the rain came down even harder onto the earth. “You haven’t told me that you love me.”
“If I told you… you don’t want me to.” “I want you to.” “I don’t want to say it.” “Then it’s true.” Her head hung and she lets him turn her around. No tears were found in her eyes. They were void and empty of emotion. He pressed his forehead against hers’. “Yes, I do love her and I won’t say I love you. Not when you want me to say horrible things to you.”
“I was right: you don’t love me.” He glared and shook her by the shoulders, “Yes, you’re not a brilliant woman, nor are you selfless with everyone like her. You can’t ever give me a family to be happy with when we’re older. There is nothing you can give me to stay by your side.” She stared at him, unfazed by his words, but closed them when his breath fell on her face. He was out of breath from his little speech. “Are you happy now?” He stared at her. “Then, why don’t you just divorce me.” “Because you love me.”
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“Don’t let that stop you.” “Damn it, Flora, don’t you get it?! I can’t live a day without you. Even though you have so many flaws, I want to stay with you because you are my life. I love you so much that it hurts me when you fail to believe it.” No one said anything for a long time. He pulled her into an embrace and stroked her soft thick hair. The rain continued to pour outside their home. “Don’t ever say you’re not good enough.” Tears came then and just like the thunder, she let out a painful cry.
Enamored Digital art Ivone Ortega 27
Medusa Samantha Gonzales
What once was a heart filled with love and gold Has since been cursed by a goddess of old. Her heart intertwined with the man of the sea Only to cause her eternal grief. What once was fair has now turned green
With hair made of serpents never to be seen. To gaze upon her means certain death For forever you will stand in the midst of her depth. Cold as stone no longer alive A twisted face ever paralyzed. Forever to live her life deprived To be alone till the day she dies. In the hands of Zeus’s son is her fate Until the day they meet she will wait.
Serpent’s Eye Acrylic on canvas Samantha Gonzales 29
Red’s Dream Acrylic on canvas Samantha Gonzales
An Elegy for a Friend Joseph Trevino
You’re the start of the song. The song that lives in my heart. The song that plays without end. The song of a broken music box that plays over and over and over again. You’re the thought that enters the middle of my day. The day otherwise filled with real thoughts. The day with a focus on reality. The day now infiltrated with hope and wonder that haunts my mentality. You’re the calm at the end of the storm. The storm that fires my anger. The storm that feeds my stress. The storm of hate, envy, and greed that sparks my need to obsess. You’re the overture to my symphony. A symphony bursting with passion. A symphony composed with the purest of love. A symphony infused with a longing that I cannot get rid of. You’re the one that fills the center of the space. The space of cold loneliness. The space that tears me apart. The space you have filled that continues to break my heart.
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You’re my last bit of momentum. The momentum that fuels me to keep going. The momentum that inspires me to cope. The momentum to lament that reveals the illusion of hope. You’re that first moment of sunshine. The sunshine that brightens my spirits. The sunshine that quells the horrors of night. The sunshine who convinces me that things will never be alright.
You’re the core of my death. The death that takes my joy. The death that kills all feeling. The death who whispers that there will be no healing. You’re the finale to my requiem. The requiem that remembers my sad devotion. The requiem that sings of my pathetic demise. The requiem that chants all of your twisted lies.
Cityscape Photography Alexander Ybarra 33
The Sisters Crayon drawing Elijah Reyes
The Buzzards Carlos A. Decker III
With the heavy scent of death in the air, The buzzards, watch, plot and scheme. The buzzards gather around our uncle’s death bed, Ready to reap their spoils, The buzzards wait eagerly for our uncle to take his last breath, For death is near and ready to be seen. The buzzards are cackling and screeching, Waiting to pick our uncle clean. The buzzards grieve but a moment at our uncle’s death, As he expels his final breath.
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Imagine Digital art Brandon Mojica
I’m Not Crazy Drawing Elijah Reyes 37
Azteca Jaguar Warrior Oil pastel drawing on black board Ashley Rodriguez
Sun and Moon Sean Campos
It was so long ago—even before night and day. The world was there, the animals and people too, though not as we know them today. In the time before sun and moon, men had longer ears like the rabbit, which helped them to hear. While hunting, they could not rely on sight, as the world was black. With their long ears, they listened for the clatter of deer hooves and threw spears from their atlatls by the sound. They could not see through the darkness except for their fires, and all the world beyond that was dangerous and unknown. Love was stronger in that time. Lovers could not see the wrinkles of age or the organs of sex or the fitness of the body. Love was made in the darkness through words and ideas and a promise. Of course, this is no longer true today.
One day, a maiden wandered beyond the fire and was engulfed by Darkness himself. He took her and left her with twins: Sun and Moon. Today we see her swelling belly in the waxing of the moon. Ashamed of the attack, she hid herself on a hill in a grotto no one knew, except for Vulture, a friend of Darkness. She lived out her last days eating embers and stones. Darkness learned of her from Vulture, and fearing that his children would surpass him, asked Vulture to murder her and the children. But Vulture, drunk on the gore of the mother, failed to kill Sun and Moon. We do not know the woman’s name, nor the name of the vulture who ripped apart the unwed mother. We know only that she was dead and that Vulture ascended to his place in heaven.
There was another casualty. The woman had been with a third child, the sister of Sun and Moon. As Vulture flew to heaven, in higher and ever-expanding rings, he vomited the sister of Sun and Moon across the black sky, creating the Milky Way from the embers the mother had eaten. Darkness saw this and knew that his children were not killed by Vulture. Daughter Milky Way contained stars and light he had hoped to suppress, and vain Darkness was enraged. His eyes flashed as he set out to find his offspring and annihilate them. Sun and Moon did not know their father, but they understood the meaning of the flash. They fled from town to town, woods to woods, barely escaping Darkness nipping at their heels like a wolf. They prayed for their father to transform them into trees or cactuses, but their prayers were wasted, for the father they prayed to was the very thing chasing them.
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The brothers were finally cornered at a river and hid beneath its waters, fashioning reeds into breathing tubes. But the river was an estuary, and as the tide fell their refuge disappeared. Darkness was almost in arm’s reach. But Old Woman came just then to the river to fill her pails. She saw the two boys cowering in the empty river bed and she asked them what was wrong. They told her Darkness was chasing them, and lurked just beyond the reeds. “Never mind him,” she said, and scooped the brothers up into her mouth, one in each cheek. Seconds later, Darkness descended upon her asking if she had she seen the two boys. They are my lost children, he said. The old woman, knowing his intentions, answered that she had not seen them. He asked her why her head was so swollen, like a radish on each side. “I have a toothache,” she replied, then stole away into the infinite night, back to her cottage. Old Woman raised Sun and Moon as her own. Even Sun and Moon forgot she was not their true mother. Years went by, and the old woman cooked for them and provided everything a child might need. She supported the twins by her work at the loom. But this work was never easy. Many times, as she was about to finish a work, the mischievous twins would undo her work or tangle her threads. To lessen her losses, she gave the twins their own spool of thread. As with all spools, this one unraveled from only one end, making it impossible for the twins to share it equally. “We should have a contest to decide who gets the spool,” said Sun. “Then we will,” said Moon. They decided they would each get four thousand yards of thread. Whoever created the best work would win the spool, and so the two brothers got to work. For weeks, Sun created images of flowers, humans, and sparrows. But Moon created images of owls, wolves, and other forms that today travel by night. Sun drew butterflies while Moon painted moths. Sun had finished his tapestry, but Moon, concerned with tigers, bats, and ravens, had spent his thread but was not yet finished. Moon, seeing a deer in the forest, ripped it to pieces and formed thread from the hide. He sewed up the rest of the skin of the deer, placing wasps inside it’s cavities, so that Sun would not notice the death of the animal—he would instead see the movement of the wasps beneath the skin. In this manner, Moon completed his work.
When the brothers were finished, Rabbit judged their work. He noted the beauty of the butterfly, the blossoms of the flowers, and the sparrows Sun had wrought so expertly. He looked upon the work of Moon and delighted in the wolves, the nightshade, the owl, and the moth. Sun, with an eye for detail, noted where Moon had cheated with deer hide. He protested to Rabbit, but Rabbit would not hear it. Rabbit proclaimed Moon the winner. “I will always outshine you, Brother,” said Moon. Enraged, Sun picked up Rabbit and smashed his head against Moon. To this day, Moon’s face bares the imprint of Rabbit.
Moon won the spool. But Moon did not know the deer he had killed was the lover of Old Woman, who had raised him and his brother. Sun, who sees so much,
knew, but never told his brother. One day, Old Woman went to the woods with freshly cut grass for her lover. She asked Deer why he was so silent, but he did not respond. Then she asked why he would not approach and take the grass she had brought. He hardly moved. She asked then why Deer would not speak. He let out a buzzing sound— the sound of the wasps. “Then you are nothing to me,” she said as she charged him in a fit. As she pulled at the flesh, the seams Moon had sewn in the hide came undone. The wasps escaped and stung her until she resembled a radish—as when Darkness first interrogated her with the twins hidden in her cheeks.
Nightfall Acrylic on wood Alexander Ybarra
She ran home, near death, and begged her sons to help her. Sun said they should place her in the sweat house. Moon said they should give her his herb, nightshade. They tried both. Days went by and the woman felt better. “Let me out,” she said. 41
But Sun would not let her out, claiming Moon’s herbs needed more time. The flame in the sweathouse consumed Old Woman, reducing her to ash and bones that looked like rocks. “She is gone,” said Moon. “You killed her,” replied Sun. From that day until now, nightshade has been a deadly poison. Sun and Moon parted ways. For years, they each traveled the earth alone. Darkness knew this and decided this was his chance to destroy the two. Sun and Moon chanced to meet each other in the same estuary where they had hidden many years before. Once again, Darkness cornered them. Neither brother was scared, for they knew that Darkness could no longer destroy them at their age. But neither alone had the strength to destroy Darkness. He descended upon them, eager finally to kill his two sons. But the brothers merely stood before him, Moon gripping the thread he had won so many years before. “I am your father and enemy,” spoke Darkness. “As it is my nature, I must consume the two of you.” “Let us play a game,” said Sun. “The first to kick a ball through the goal will win.’ Darkness went first, and his kick went straight into the goal. “Excellent,” said Moon. Sun took the second kick for both of them. The ball just missed, glancing off the post behind them. “It is settled,’ said Darkness. “I will destroy you both.” Moon pretended to fetch the ball, and came up behind Darkness. Unspooling his thread, he strangled Darkness where he stood. The two brothers looked down at their father. His eyes glared, one brighter than the other. “I will cut his eyes out,” said Sun. ‘But I will get first choice, Brother,” said Moon, “since you have the pleasure of tearing them from his skull.” So Moon took the brighter eye of Darkness, and Sun was left with the duller. Reunited, the brothers traveled the world together. They passed a hill of ants pulling corn from the mountain. Moon took some of the corn and cooked it. Sun watched. The more Moon ate, the thirstier he became. Finally, Moon was so parched, he left in search of water. He searched across the globe and into the stars. He never found water. He was just a mile from what is now Tenochtitlan when he turned back. He returned to where he had left Sun. Sun declared that Moon could have all the water he wanted, if only Moon would give up the brighter eye in exchange for the duller. Moon agreed. Sun struck the ground with his cane, and out sprang a stream of water. Moon drank from it deeply. “We should ascend to heaven,” said Sun. Moon agreed. He threw the spool up to the sky and formed a rope to heaven. “I will go first,” said Moon. “No, Brother,” said Sun, “I will go first.” I have the brighter eye to lead our way into the darkness. Moon reluctantly agreed. Sun climbed first into the sky, and Moon followed the light of Sun’s bright eye. They glorified Old Woman who had helped them. And Moon has followed Sun through the sky ever since that day.
Pikes Peak Acrylic on canvas Raquel Rodriguez 43
Leo Oil pastel on paper Kimberly Zertuche
Create Digital art Brandon Mojica 45
Poema a mi Ni単a Cecelia Mendoza
La lluvia trajo a mi Como envuelta en un Jazmin Tierna y dulce melodia
De interminables alegrias Corazon de mi vivir