Portal 2024

portal

portal a literary and artistic magazine

Issue 20

Spring 2024

San Francisco Waldorf High School

© 2024

Editors

Beecher Moritz-MacAdams

Carmela Saguar

Marlon Kredo

Assistant Editors

Brooke Hesslein

Neilah Kessel-Belko

Generosity Samas

Faculty Advisor

Mary Anne McGill

Front & Back Cover: Crisis Destined - graphite drawing by Evelyn Tran Emery

Acknowledgments

A special thanks to all SFWHS teachers who inspired students to create and share their literary and artistic work for this issue, especially humanities faculty: Joan Caldarera and art faculty: Alex Murray-Clark, Elsa Murray-Lafrenz, and Carla Schaareman. A sincere thanks to Cory Powers for providing vital production support.

Printed by Murphy Printing

Published annually by San Francisco Waldorf High School 470 West Portal Avenue San Francisco, CA 94127

sfwaldorf.org

© 2024

“The sun crests the horizon, casting a warm glow, As the birds sing melodies tranquil and slow. Their dance continues, graceful and swift, A harmony of nature, a true gift.”

from NightTime Flight by Maya Wong

44 Untitled

Mrida Sadhu

45 The Hummingbird

Tristan Kazor

46 Cuties

Evelyn Tran Emery

47 Lost Friend Sam Kite

48 The Meadow Skylar Henderson

49 Massachusetts Estates M Rishel

50 The Crow Jesper Petersen

51 Night Time Flight Maya Wong

52 Untitled CJ Jenkins

53 Little Me Stephanie Santillan Mar

54 The Wolves

Sofia Recinto

55 Death of a Fawn Sam Kite

56 Untitled

Lilianna Roman

57 The River’s Agony

Audrey Hoffsis

58 Untitled Logan Weening

59 The Gaze of a Tree

Riley Freeman

60 The Old Man

Saniyah Mager

61 At Grandpa’s Funeral

Nathan Diep

62 Untitled Cyrus Chambers

63 Winter Day Riley Freeman

64 Untitled

Noam Damir-Honig

Untitled Luca Goldthorpe oil

The

Roses

Hailey Chin watercolorveil painting

Childhood Audrey Hoffsis

Summer used to last forever,

We would sit in the yard, sun shining on our muddy faces, Scavenging for rolly pollies in the weeds, Mint and chives, borage and strawberries

The creak of the trampoline.

We were carefree, always adventuring, Climbing up the slide backward and picking Primroses from the neighbor’s yard.

My first taste of adrenaline

Oh, how sweet it felt on my lips.

Now I sit in a dark room, A screen with a mind of its ownshines a white light onto my submitted face

Nothing satiates me like those summer days once did.

A false reality traps me.

I no longer gain excitement from pulling carrots.

Untitled Skylar Henderson watercolor

Figure of Speech

Phoenix Beshears

In the silence of a deafening roar, A tranquil storm, we cannot ignore.

Large krill dance on the ocean’s floor, A bittersweet symphony we implore.

An open secret, whispers in the dark, A cruel kindness, a fiery spark. Living dead in a timeless arc, Oxymorons weave a paradoxical mark.

Loving hate, a frozen flame, A giant dwarf, a quiet acclaim. Oxymorons play a wordy game, In their contradictions, they find their fame.

The Wobbly Wheels

Evelyn Tran Emery graphite

Running

Anne Van Brakel

With each stride I take, my worries unwind, As I leave all my troubles and stress behind. The rhythm of my breath, the pounding of my feet, In this rhythmic dance, my heart finds its beat.

With every step, my body grows strong, As I push myself, I know I belong. Through rain and wind, I push through the pain, For the love of running, I have much to gain.

The freedom it brings, the peace it bestows, As I conquer each challenge, my confidence grows.

I run through the city streets, bustling with life, Feeling the pulse of the world, in stride. So let the miles stretch out, let the journey unfold, As I chase my dreams, with a heart so bold.

Untitled

Caroline Denmark oil

Clearer Skies

Tristan Kazor

Colors wash together, They bleed into the sky.

The darkened woods, The thickened trees, The light cannot pass by.

Through the reflection of the stream

A distant world awaits.

One where darkness has no scheme And sunlight saturates.

Alas, that is a distant thought

Dispelled by all those twisted knots, Which deep within the green black forest, Dream of clearer skies.

Untitled

Amelinda Origunwa watercolor

Intertwined

Zoe Rhoads

I still remember our first day, The first time our hands intertwined, How I was hooked to you like a fish on a line

The sun was shining so bright that day, As time seemed to just burn away. The flowers in May had started to bloom, And I started to wonder how we happened so soon.

Summer flew by, so fast, so quick,

As if it were a swift wrist flick.

As fall came around, we started to fade, And soon our love felt like September haze.

One spring and one summer gone in a flash Still, I’ll always run back to you in a dash.

Now it’s the winter and I’m stuck in December,

But you and I will always remember The first time our hands intertwined.

Untitled Caroline Denmark watercolorveil painting

I’ll See You Soon

William Sue

Sunlight streams through My bedroom window

Onto a carpet, Warmed by the light.

That’s when I remember, That’s where you would always lie. The soft pitter-patter of your paws Racing through the hallway.

Your long yawns

And cheerful tail wags, A sight I haven’t seen Since the day You left me behind.

I can hear your bark Your little whines, Over the horizon, Where I’ll see you In paradise.

The

Woman

Scout Gee

colored pencil and pastel

Eternal Guilt Riley

Freeman

What happens to never-ending guilt?

Does it hurt when you tread, like a cut on your foot?

Or does it bleed down your throat-burning like soot?

Is it tender and raw, exposed to the earth?

Or is it scabbed and hard, layered with girth?

Perhaps it’s just empty; a hole in your heart.

Will it last your whole life, or only part?

Untitled

Sofia Recinto ink

Alex

Phoenix Beshears

In a world of naps, and purrs so fine, Lives my cat, with her moonlike shine. A lynx point beauty, small and sweet, With dainty poise, forever neat.

She prowls with grace, when she wants to be seen, Her presence, that of a queen. Her coat a canvas, soft as silk Every stripe, smooth as milk.

Her soft meow, like a gentle breeze, Truly at heart, her essence Siamese.

A soul so wise, in such small frame Her elegant nature, in catlike frame.

Lola Ritger scratchboard

The Cacti

Street Scene

Leonidas Monterroso

We come back from the street market.

On our way home

My abuela carries the vegetables in a big basket.

My abuela may seem weak. She is actually as strong as a bear. Fear not, she has a lovely heart.

An old man stood by. He appears to contemplate his own life. As we pass by, He says “Hi.”

We greet him back,

And then I asked my grandma why Did the old man look so sad?

She told me that life goes one way. We could look back at the memories we had in the past, But at the end of the day, We can only walk forward.

Decomposing Seaweed

Audrey Hoffsis colored pencil

Harlem

Nicole Zhang

In the Harlem streets, I roam and roll, Where dreams and struggles intertwine my soul, I’ve seen the rivers of sorrow flow, Yet spring’s eternal, in Harlem’s glow.

A city alive with rhythm and rhyme, Where jazz notes dance in the moon’s soft chime, In smoky clubs, the saxophone wails, Tales of hardships and life’s travails.

I hear the voices of those who sing, Of a better tomorrow, that hope can bring. Through the darkest nights, they find their way, In Harlem’s heart, they seize the day.

The Harlem Renaissance, a glorious bloom, Poets, artists, thinkers in the room, Their words and visions a radiant fire, Burning with passion, they never tire.

One Building Within Another

Evelyn Tran Emery graphite

All That Glitters Is Not Always Gold

Asher Goodman

What we see is not always true.

We miss the layers of false advertisement. At surface level everything shines.

The inner child reaches to grab the bright shiny toy, Only to cry in a puddle of disappointment When it falls off the table and shatters into a thousand pieces.

It is easy to see people for how they present themselves, Not bothering to look deeper, Neglect or maybe fear. What will we find?

I say dig deeper!

Explore and learn and laugh and love, Make mistakes, be human. Only in this way, will we find What we are looking for.

Untitled Mrida Sadhu torn paper

Lost Authenticity

Bea Larkin

She thinks I’m lost

But I feel as found as I’ve ever been. Life does that to you, throws you around, Trying to teach you to be a better person.

She feels lost inside. But who never feels lost?

She lies on a bed of flowers Floating, a tiny boat On the raging river of life.

Lost in decision, Stress from every angle, She found a grey hair on my head. How do I spend time doing What I love In the midst of mapping a wild forest?

She is me and I am her, Lost in our own identity, Authenticity,

Open around our favorite people, Navigating the mossy trails of my brain.

We worry if we are the same Tied by something called a name.

Untitled Saniyah Mager colored pencil

Vallejo, California

Liana Soria

The Zodiac was here. He was never caught, but he was here. Blue Rock Springs Park, Vallejo. It’s always quiet; the shadow of death looms over anyone who passes by. Outsiders are surprised that one of the most infamous serial killers got his start here, but this is Vallejo. A city of crime, drugs, and unbearable heat. The summer is hot from day to night. Even as the orange sky welcomes the darkness, the air is still warm and sticky. After the moon graces the town with its brilliance, all you can hear is the faint sound of motorcycle races and old sports cars speeding to beat the red light. The smell of weed, nicotine, and burnt rubber are carried by the wind and through every building. If you’ve lived here for long, you’d know this is normal. This is home.

Crime does not wait for the daylight to fade. What you see on the headlines is different from witnessing it ten feet away from you. The area has been swarming with pickpockets and muggers recently, but there’s no reason to feel any less secure. This is a regular routine. Cars circle the massive parking lot, desperately searching for a space as close to the door as possible. This could be you. You’re driving behind a brand-new, white Lexus; it looks fresh out of the factory. It’s going unusually slow, but you brush it off as the speed of the traffic. It stops. You wait patiently as the passenger climbs out and starts sprinting to the front entrance. The car stays in place, the roar of the engine shaking the ground. As quickly as the passenger goes in, he’s running out, clutching a leather purse that he wasn’t carrying earlier. He jumps through the conveniently open window behind the driver, and the car speeds off, leaving permanent tire tracks on the concrete. These are the stories you see in the

news. Or, at least, what you used to see in the news. Such things occur too frequently for the city to deal with every time it happens. The cycle repeats itself: you’re vigilant until the event is pushed to the back of your mind. You stop when the story has faded into obscurity. Only then are you happy.

It is now winter. Houses are adorned with colorful lights hanging lazily across dirty gutters. Inflatable reindeer with bright red noses sit atop dead grass, waiting to spread with warm spirit. The season is unendingly blissful. Night is now darker than ever before, a cover for those who are looking to cause trouble. People are starting to wind down, ready to leave the day in the past. Just as you think the celebrations are over, a loud, bone-chilling sound spills into the city. It shocks everyone awake. Curtains crack open and silhouettes appear against a faint background. They can’t see anything; the sky is as blue as they left it. They wait for another. When it happens again, they notice the sparks. Fireworks. It’s difficult to tell gunshots from the popping of a mini rocket piercing our atmosphere; both are equally terrifying and deafening. The sound rips through the bitter air, echoing throughout the night into the early hours of the morning. Red and blue sparks blaze against the breathtaking navy blue sky, melting into the flashing sirens below. It finally stops after a while. They’ve been caught. Nothing will change. The next holiday will be the same as the last. For now, you can relax. In a month you know, this will happen again.

People ask where I live. The name escapes my mouth, and their face becomes blank. They don’t know what to say. When someone hears “Vallejo,” they think of garbage piles, constant police sirens, bad schools–many reasons not to live here. Outsiders don’t realize that the city they see is more than just danger and filth. What makes us unique is

not the lack of structure, but it’s really the community. It’s hard to make friends in a place that doesn’t have very many places to hang around, but one of my favorites has been the park next to the ferry building. Saturday mornings were spent playing on the wet grass and chasing after seagulls and low-flying kites. The elderly who loved to jog in the early mist circled around a few times before stopping to buy a fresh pastry.

As I grew much older, my family has had less time to hang around on a weekend, but when we drive there and the immediate smell of sweet coffee hits my nose, I feel in touch with who I was before. Nowadays, when I’m with my friends, we walk to the library and sit on bean bags, reading a few children’s books before the sun sets.

Vallejo’s negative reputation has made people overlook how wonderful most of the community is. They even judge quickly and ask why I’d put myself in this situation in the first place. If I left, who would greet my grandparents good morning? Who would take my place as Lee’s Garden’s favorite customer? Who would I be if I grew up in a different environment? Its faults are what makes it special. At the end of the day, it’s not just garbage and crime seemingly appearing out of nowhere. It’s a community of people who love and cherish the lives they live. It’s a shelter for anyone who can’t afford to go anywhere else. And it’s my home.

Untitled Serenity Samas charcoal

The Woman’s Should

Billie Staller

There are too many standards

On what a woman should be

That we should be pretty, A centerpiece for free.

We are told to wear makeup, Because we look “ugly” without. We are told to wear none. They want natural, no doubt. We should also be loving, A strong motherly figure.

One who can cook and bake With utmost rigor.

We can’t be too angry, they say We can’t disagree, they say We can’t show too much, they say These are the woman’s should.

Your skin and hair look oily And I see some acne as well

And if I see your pores, You might as well go to hell.

Try whitening your teeth, style your hair a bit more Use different skin care products Because that’s all you’re made for. These grueling standards

That gnaw at me all-day I wish this self-deprecation Would one day go away. Why must we be beautiful? Why must we be polite?

Why can’t we just be Whatever it is we desire?

Untitled Sofia Recinto white charcoal

Gifted From Earth

Abiene Larkin

When we speak our name such as we tell the story of Mother Earth, And how she was created from a bang.

We speak of our name,

The way I speak of the one who is Black on every side,

The one whose blackness is strength, Strength to help push her fear aside,

I speak of the one whose black is beauty,

Who is loyal and faithful to her every duty.

Who is flawless in plenty, who is faultless never guilty, I speak of the one who is splendor like the sweet wine of the earth.

I speak of you,

I speak of me,

I speak of us.

I speak of the African.

My name is of Somali descent

The words are rooted in the horn of Africa, where pride bursts from our chest.

My name is Abiene

Hear how it pushes off the tongue.

Abiene means completion

Like each season to come, with either rain or sun. I am done.

My middle name is Saada

She is rare with nothing similar to compare,

She smiles each day with the true meaning of her Arabic name, She is made of happiness.

And never less.

I am blessed with a big heart, And sometimes I hate it, I overthink, And apologize too much, Forgive too easily, and worry too much

About people who don’t care about me. I feel guilty

For things I have no control over, I feel lonely, Because I am afraid I won’t find anyone who loves me

As deeply as I love.

My roots have been entrenched before the birth of time, Before the blooming of eras, And the growth of pines. My roots have been stretched Way before when.

Where my ancestors were shackled and beaten to red. My last name is Irish, The name is rough and fierce

Fits well with my name, and my history

Because of how we hold our spirit. We have lived through our pain, And know it will pass, Strength is what we gain, Because we end with a Larkin in our name.

Row of Hearts

Beecher Moritz-MacAdams Grandma, Mother, Daughter, Traditional and

in fashion.

One irreplaceable spring, a Lieutenant’s Heart in Brooklyn, So beauty is a blessing?

What did you learn

When you watched three childhoods? Why do some things stay while others go? I imagine you imagining three soft fists around the stem.

Untitled

Mrida Sadhu scratchboard

What Brought Them Together?

Yuumi Kakinuma and Audrey Hoffsis

What brought them together?

Was it his grounded spontaneity?

His love of nature?

Small gifts of crystals to remember him by?

His red Corvette with velvet cushions, so soft and comfortable. His woven brown hat lay on her couch and a peeled orange half-eaten. Left there for her –a hint of what’s to come in summer.

What brought them together?

Was it her faded blue heels?

The half-empty bottle of perfume?

Sandalwood and geranium seeping into his jacket, Red wax dripping onto the velvet cushions photographs on her bedside of gaunt women in sheer black dresses, She leans over the balcony, picks a flower, places it by his door –A memory of spring in the hot desert.

Were they meant for each other?

For some time yes, but they grew apart like summer nights slowly turning cold –Spring has passed, summer’s gone, Autumn has arrived, and the trees are bare.

Will spring return again?

Untitled

Liana Soria oil

Clouds

Anne Van Brakel

In the vast sky, a cloud did appear, With a silver lining, so soft and sheer.

Behind the cloud, a sun chose to hide, Its brilliance obscured, its warmth denied. But fear not, for the cloud couldn’t last, The sun’s determination was unsurpassed.

The cloud danced and twirled, as if in glee, But the sun’s rays were too strong, you see. The cloud, defeated, began to fade, As the sun’s brilliance could not be swayed.

It emerged victorious, shining bright, Chasing away darkness, bringing forth light. So remember, when clouds appear, The sun’s hidden beauty will soon be near.

The Cat

Yuumi Kakinuma colored pencil

My First True Friend

Yuumi Kakinuma

we chose you because you were telling us you needed to be chosen. your calm energy drawing us in, making you irresistible

you came up to me and untied my shoelace i fell in love with (your beautiful face) patterns of brown black and some gray too your tongue out and tail awag from that day on you were ours and as you grew my fear grew too. you jumped and whined and knocked me down but my love for you stayed true. who would guess our time would be up so soon?

you were always there for me, never left my side our relationship (stood the test of time) but soon you were done with fetch and toys, your soul changed and you didn’t enjoy.

you were more ready than anyone else to end your painful suffering.

the loss of your presence the way you chased your toy ball, our time together flew past – so fast. we chose right the brightest of all, we will always love you, Ellie our sweet girl.

The Ram

Jesper Petersen ink

Sheep By The Sea

Yuumi Kakinuma

On the ground the sheep lay, after a long day of play. They rest on the coast, the ocean crashing, mist rising in the distance.

On the wet grass the sheep lay, After grazing the whole day. They look off to the horizon, gaze at the empty sky.

I wonder what goes through the mind of a being; not human-kind, As they lay on the coast. I wonder what matters to them most.

Untitled Mrida Sadhu ink

The Hummingbird

Tristan Kazor

I see a hummingbird, But not the same way as you. I have been close with so much loss. It’s changed me to the person You do not understand, who Has known the emptiness so young.

I see a hummingbird. I feel my mother’s presence. The hummingbird is colorful and bright. She was the same.

I tend to dwell on negatives

To quell my loss and quiet my pain, But despite your shortcomings Mommy I miss you when I see a hummingbird.

I sometimes wonder how life would be If you were still here.

I told myself that I was fine, But repression is not progression.

Cuties

Evelyn Tran Emery graphite

Lost Friend

Sam Kite

In the morning when I rise, I long to look into his eyes, His pretty paws upon my bed, And his kisses on my head.

You are free, no longer caught, In daily loops that you were taught. Free now to roam the endless skies, For we have said our last goodbyes.

The world spins on, the sun still sets, The stars go ‘round without a rest. But you are not here by my side, To be my friend or be my guide.

The Meadow

Skylar Henderson watercolor

Massachusetts Estates

M Rishel

I do not know what I am to do. I know where I am to go, though.

There will come a day, after I walked myself home, after I built myself that home, after I built myself a life of my own, that I will look out my office window at the top of my estate, and I’ll see the snow fluttering in a hurry, and I’ll see the flowers blooming, and I’ll see the small rain clouds passing by, minding themselves, and I’ll see the fall foliage, golden in the narrow sunlight.

And I’ll walk ‘round my estate, feeling the crisp winter morning, feeling the bright spring day, feeling the humid summer afternoon, feeling the colorful fall evening.

And I will be grateful for the roads I took to get there, and I will feel in myself a sense of completion.

The Crow

Jesper Petersen scratchboard

Night Time Flight

Maya Wong

In realms where dreams alight, A tale unfolds both dark and bright, Birds take flight, on wings so grand, Embracing the sky with grace they command, Their feathers are adorned with vibrant hues, They cross the grass and meet their muse.

The sun crests the horizon, casting a warm glow, As the birds sing melodies tranquil and slow. Their dance continues, graceful and swift A harmony of nature, a true gift.

Untitled

CJ Jenkins colored pencil

Little Me

Stephanie Santillan Mar

I pass the wall.

Down my home’s hallway

I see the same photograph of me staring back at me.

What does she think of me?

Is she mad, sad, or scared?

Have I let her down? Have I made her frown?

The aspiration she once had, has now come down. The dreams you once had, the ones with no bounds, walls, or fears. Oh little me, stare back at me,

Remind me of those dreams I had once before Little me, with your unwavering glee, You are the essence of who I still long to be.

The Wolves

Sofia Recinto ink

Death of a Fawn

Sam Kite

One day I sauntered under a bright blue sky, And heard in the distance a piercing cry. It sounded inhuman, like the scream of a deer, And without thinking I ran to see clear. I ran all the way till I got to the sound, And to my dismay, I saw on the ground, A beautiful fawn lying still on a mound. I wondered what creature would do such a thing, So I knelt on the ground and began to sing. The song was an ode to the death of this fawn, Who was taken away and is now far and gone.

Untitled Lilianna Roman watercolor

The River’s Agony

Audrey Hoffsis

It was gloomy and towering

A stack of fallen forests, I sank down in the windowAnd the river carried me away

Bones and hair, a pile on the wood.

I whirled and crashed

Against twigs and rubble, rags drenched

The force obliterated me, its elegance

Hands laced in the mussy water

Sunken in innocence.

Eyes closed, dying coals and the dark is orange -

Leave me here!

Spoiled cherries seep

They magnify the bruises in the murky light.

Where could I run but down to the fence?

Weathered bulbous roots and I saw -

Shredded mushroom bodies

Flattened, under my toes.

And the river waited in agony.

Untitled Logan Weening oil

The Gaze of a Tree

Riley Freeman

The gaze of a tree Falls upon me. A dark brown tree, with white spots, Long eyelashes, And a purple tongue. The suffering creature takes One, Two steps, Before the long neck and head Thud onto the grass. I remember the time When I felt that awful pain, A bullet in my chest, Lungs contracted, The inability to breathe. I treat the giraffe, And return home.

The Old Man

Saniyah Mager pastel

At Grandpa’s Funeral

Nathan Diep

The old die

To make way

For the young, It’s no easy transition.

The mourners mourn The children, innocent, And very much unaware

See their role models give in, All cry sad tears.

A father

Who hides his pain

For his children and wife

To stay strong, Finally gives in And lets it all out.

Untitled Cyrus Chambers watercolorveil painting

Winter Day

Riley Freeman

The snow was a coating of crystals

Blanketing, hiding powdery layers

Beneath the sharp, thin crust.

Ice,

Cut like diamonds

24 carats hang off the roof’s edge.

An orange sky glares wistfully above.

Dense brittle air

Bears down

On these lands.

Untitled

Noam Damir-Honig charcoal

Echoes of Glass: A Mad Rush

Lorenzo von Rombs

In Philip Glass’s realm, I find a song, A Mad Rush through the currents of the keys, A cascade of emotions, deep and strong, A tapestry of feelings that it frees.

The piano’s notes, like falling raindrops, play, A gentle patter on my waiting soul, As if a storm’s approach on a calm day, Its power hidden in each note’s control.

The melody, a ceaseless, frantic tide, Tugs at my heart with urgency and grace, As if in each crescendo and each slide, I find a mirror to my inner space.

Yet in this rush, a calmness seems to bloom, A paradox of peace within the storm, Like standing in a quiet, secret room, While thunder crashes and the skies transform.

Mad Rush, a name that captures the divide, Between the chaos and serenity, A testament to how we all reside, In worlds of both unrest and purity.

And when the final chords begin to fade, I’m left with echoes of the song’s embrace, A feeling that won’t easily evade, A mark upon my heart, a sacred place.

For Mad Rush’s music lingers in my soul, A blend of passion, peace, and sweet release, A masterpiece that makes me feel whole, A melody that grants my heart its peace.

Flowers in Jar

Colette Coleman watercolor

Innocence

Pearl Decker

Sunlight, then shadows appear. Brilliance, vibrant as those shoes-red. Contrasting the off-shoulder, Lace-lined dress.

The brown hair, matching eyes, You look as if you belong there.

Thereupon the grass, Beneath the canopy of the trees. What lovely flowers you’ve arranged. That single rose, I wonder why You chose it?

Innocence captured

In its natural habitat. She looks so young.

Untitled

Lilianna Roman watercolor

One Fine Morning

Audrey Hoffsis

I clamber down the stairs, Without a single thought, My bones ache as I sit, And grasp the coffee pot.

The sun peeks through my blinds, My feet propped on a chair, A fly lands on my ear, But little do I care.

At nine I fry some eggs And bacon in the pan. I leave the dishes out Just because I can.

I turn the music loud And all the way I whirl, My hair flies right and left, Its lost the morning curl.

I stop and take a breath, I’ve nothing more to say, For this lovely morning… Is nearly, now, midday!

The Horse

Lana Wong colored pencil

The Man in the Straw Hat

Saniyah Mager

The sun had not yet shown.

I asked him in my voice full of sorrow, Why are you so happy?

Why do you sing?

Because I’m alive, he said, Talking to you and whistling.

This is my memory, I love to share, Of the man in the straw hat And brand new shoes, With his two daughters waiting at home And a smile as bright as the moon.

The Sailing Ship

Tristan Kazor scratchboard

A Tricycle

Saniyah Mager

A tricycle parked alone, Old and scratches.

Like the yellow pavement below it. There is rust but it’s painted over Two handle bars, chipped but not yet bent rest waiting.

Signs that it has been loved are there, And yet it looks forgotten. Left there to remember, All the adventures. The hard climb up the hills And the smooth ride on the road. Now it’s waiting, Hoping for one last ride home.

Untitled Lana Wong colored pencil

Bring Me All Of Your Dreams

Shaila White Ensuncho

Bring me all of your dreams, Your hopes, Your thoughts, Your desires, Your fantasies, Your strengths, Your weaknesses, Your fears,

Anything to let me see the real you.

The one you’ve been hiding from time to time,

The one who seems to never leave my mind,

The one who has a special place in my heart,

The one who is still being kept in the dark.

Untitled Colette Coleman watercolor

When the World Ends

Billie Staller

When the world ends

What do I get?

A mere, skimpy achievement?

Who would I show it to?

The spirits ascending?

The broken earth beside me?

All will become insignificant For no one will be alive

To retell the whole incident.

It will just be a fact, Unwritten, unremembered, Even if we were all there.

Untitled

Maisy Ballantyne

watercolorveil painting

A Mesmerizing Canvas

Stephanie Santillan Mar

Dreamy clouds dance across the sky, Like cotton candy floating up high. Their shapes ever-changing, so soft and light, A mesmerizing canvas of pure delight.

A symphony of colors fills the sky, Gold, pink, and baby blue, A heavenly sight.

Index

Maisy Ballantyne (11th)

Untitled 78

Phoenix Beshears (10th)

Alex 17

Figure of Speech 5

Cyrus Chambers (11th)

Untitled 62

Hailey Chin (11th)

The Roses 2

Colette Coleman (11th)

Flowers in Jar 66

Untitled 76

Noam Damir-Honig (9th)

Untitled 64

Pearl Decker (10th)

Innocence 67

Caroline Denmark (11th)

Untitled 8, 12

Nathan Diep (10th)

At Grandpa’s Funeral 61

Riley Freeman (10th)

Eternal Guilt 15

The Gaze of a Tree 59

Winter Day 63

Scout Gee (10th)

The Woman 14

Luca Goldthorpe (11th)

Untitled 1

Asher Goodman (10th)

All That Glitters Is Not Always Gold 23

Skylar Henderson (11th)

The Meadow 48

Untitled 4

Audrey Hoffsis (10th)

Childhood 3

Decomposing Seaweed 20

One Fine Morning 69

The River’s Agony 57

What Brought Them Together? 37

CJ Jenkins (10th)

Untitled 52

Yuumi Kakinuma (10th)

My First True Friend 41

Sheep By The Sea 43

The Cat 40

What Brought Them Together? 37

Tristan Kazor (10th)

Clearer Skies 9

The Hummingbird 45

The Sailing Ship 72

Sam Kite (10th)

Death of a Fawn 55

Lost Friend 47

Abiene Larkin (12th)

Gifted From Earth 33

Bea Larkin (10th)

Lost Authenticity 25

Saniyah Mager (10th)

A Tricycle 73

The Man in the Straw Hat 71

The Old Man 60

Untitled 26

Leonidas Monterroso (10th)

Street Scene 19

Beecher Moritz-MacAdams (11th)

Row of Hearts 35

Amelinda Origunwa (12th)

Untitled 10

Jesper Petersen (9th)

The Crow 50

The Ram 42

Sofia Recinto (9th)

The Wolves 54

Untitled 16, 32

Zoe Rhoads (10th)

Intertwined 11

M Rishel (10th)

Massachusetts Estates 49

Lola Ritger (9th)

The Cacti 18

Lilianna Roman (12th)

Untitled 56, 68

Mrida Sadhu (9th)

Untitled 24, 36, 44

Serenity Samas (9th)

Untitled 30

Stephanie Santillan Mar (10th)

A Mesmerizing Canvas 79

Little Me 53

Liana Soria (12th)

Untitled 38

Vallejo, California 27

Billie Staller (10th)

The Woman’s Should 31

When the World Ends 77

William Sue (10th)

I’ll See You Soon 13

Evelyn Tran Emery (12th)

Crisis Destined cover

Cuties 46

One Building Within Another 22

The Wobbly Wheels 6

Anne Van Brakel (10th)

Clouds 39

Running 7

Lorenzo von Rombs (11th)

Echoes of Glass: A Mad Rush 65

Logan Weening (12th)

Untitled 58

Shaila White Ensuncho (10th)

Bring Me All Of Your Dreams 75

Lana Wong (10th)

The Horse 70

Untitled 74

Maya Wong (10th)

Night Time Flight 51

Nicole Zhang (10th)

Harlem 21