2023 Cambia

Cambia WritersintheSchools

2023

CAMBIA

WRITERS IN THE SCHOOLS 2023

CAMBIA

cambium \kam-bē-əm\ noun plural cambia, \-bē-ə\

The live, actively growing, layer of a tree. The cambium is one cell thick. It repeatedly divides itself to form new wood and causes the tree to grow and expand.

Book design by Adie Bartron

Cover artwork by Unsplash Images Printed and

WRITERS IN THE SCHOOLS RESIDENCIES ARE MADE POSSIBLE BY GENEROUS SUPPORT FROM:

Idaho Commission on the Arts

National Endowment for the Arts

Harvest Foundation

Bank of Idaho

Laura Moore Cunningham Foundation

First Interstate Bank & Foundation

J.R. Simplot Company Foundation

Idaho Power

Zions Bank

Idaho Community Foundation

Boise Cascade ArTPack

WE EXTEND SINCERE THANKS TO THE FACULTY AND ADMINISTRATION OF:

Adams Elementary School

Boise High School

Cardinal Academy

Frank Church High School

Jefferson Elementary School

Riverglen

Junior High School

Riverside Elementary School

Rose Hill Montessori School

Sage International School of Boise

Sage International School of Middleton

Southwest Idaho Juvenile Detention Center

Valley View Elementary School

White Pine Elementary School

Whitney Elementary School

SPECIAL THANKS TO:

INTRODUCTION

As WITS teaching-writers, we start every residency with a survey. It’s a way of gauging the students’ attitudes towards writing, of establishing a baseline. Students are presented with a series of statements—“I enjoy reading, “I enjoy writing,” “I enjoy listening to other students read,” etc.— and they circle a response: “yes,” “no,” or “sometimes.” Some kids are already enthusiastic. Others are a harder sell, at least at first. But, always, it’s the survey’s last statement that proves the most puzzling to them. “I am a writer,” the statement reads, four simple words, the briefest sentence on the page. I always know when the students have reached that sentence. Throughout the room are paused pencils, scrunched eyebrows. Some kids laugh and smile a little nervously. Some raise their hands, bewildered. “What do you mean by ‘writer’?” they ask and are unsatisfied when we explain that this is a term for only them to define. Some even seem wary of the statement, as if they suspect that what we are really asking is, “Who here dares to call themselves an artist? Who here truly thinks they qualify?”

I don’t blame them. There are days when I ask myself the same question. What is a writer? Do I have what it takes to be one? As human beings, it’s in our nature to question the validity of our words, the power they hold. But here’s what I know: I am never more confident in that power, in the indescribable magic of stories, than when I am in a WITS classroom.

With only their words, the writers in this anthology have built entire worlds. They’ve brought life to fantastical characters. They’ve infused ordinary moments with wonder. They’ve translated complex emotions into poetry. They’ve time-traveled in their memories, teleported to new universes and invited readers to tag along. In the end, they’ve given voice to stories only they can tell. And their works make up only a small, stellar sample of the writing being done by young WITS artists throughout and beyond Boise. I never cease to be amazed by these young people—their strikingly unique outlooks on the world, their boundless imaginations

and curiosities, their willingness to be vulnerable and to uplift others in moments of vulnerability. In fact, each week, I leave the classroom asking myself how I can be more like them.

“I am a writer.” The statement is not a trick or a taunt. It’s only the truth. And it’s the most rewarding thing about my job, watching students come to this realization. Creative writing is not like many disciplines. There are rarely “right” or easy answers, but this is one of them. Are you a writer? Yes, no, sometimes? The answer is only what we will it to be. The answer is reminded to me every day by these wondrous young artists. The answer is yes.

– Hannah Phillips, Teaching-Writer

ADAMS ELEMENTARY

Teaching-Writers Colleen Brennan and Meg Freitag

FLY, LEVI, FLY!

Zach

Grade 5

A mother of a young caterpillar named Levi grew sick as a rotting flower. When Levi was six years old, his mother died. Levi was scared with his mother gone, and it grew on him like a spreading curtain. Levi decided that he had to move on. So at age thirteen, he went into his cocoon and stayed in it all spring. He was scared going on that train ride, but in a way, he was excited. Then he hatched. He struggled getting out of his cocoon. But Levi didn’t give up and was able to spring from his cocoon. Levi grew older and older. Eventually he died, knowing all the wonderful moments he had with his mother and that all he had to do was fly.

When you lose something you love, you need to grow into a butterfly and stay strong.

THE AFTEREFFECT

Kamari

Grade 5

Sniffle, sniffle, short breaths. Seeing my brother laying there. Dead. I tried everything I could, but it’s never enough. Nothing is ever enough. The sorrow of seeing his soul rise up is, “Ahhh!” But now I am queen, I have to carry on what my brother started, I have to finish. I have to push away feeling so the people don’t fall. I can’t though. The hardships of losing someone you love. Nobody understands and nobody will. Our king, my brother, his soul, is gone. Ups and downs, I hate them. So so much. I don’t deserve this. I try so hard. But do I? Do I deserve this? Am I just a lost soul in a forgotten body? Does anyone even care? I thought I belonged in this world. I wish I lived in another time. My time will never come. I would do anything just to hear his bright voice again. Reuniting. But that will only be in my dreams. My feelings are exploding like bombs in the cold night sky. I wish. That’s all I can do right now. Wish. Dream. Think. Of my lost feelings. Lost in the dark like a forgotten thought. Lost in the field of the mind.

Grade 5

As the rain drizzles off the tarp, I, Peter Henderson, am left alone with my only sister, Lisa. My parents are GONE. Forever. I remember and I will never forget what happened. . . .

I hopped into the back seat of our car as my parents were going to drive us to school. As we got on the highway, a huge cargo truck pulled alongside us and then it smashed into us. The car started flipping in midair. As the car landed with a thud, my sister and I panicked. I couldn’t hear anything from Mom and Dad, which worried me. I scrambled out of the car and got my sister out of the other side of the car. By now, the cops were there and cars had stopped. My parents are DEAD. . .

Four years later.

I am now fourteen years old, and Lisa is ten, and we are living with our grandparents Nana and Poppy. I ask Nana if I can go to my parents’ grave in Switzerland where the crash happened. She says yes. But the weather has been too bad to fly, so we do not go. But I don’t need to visit. I remember all too well.

MY NAME & WHY I WRITE

Charlie

Grade 5

My name, Charlie, means “free man.” The name comes from the Old English word Ceorl and the German Karl, both meaning “free man” or “free peasant.” I think my parents named me Charlie because my dad’s greatgrandpa was named Charles. My name is shamrock green. If I could be a planet, I would be Saturn. Most people think my name is Charles and some call me Charlie.

I write because it helps me express my emotions, because it helps me explain myself and my life. I write because words are powerful. I write because I learn from my mistakes. I write because it gives me something to do. I write because of my imagination.

POSSESSED Lucia

Grade 5

April 20

I was sitting in my bedroom. Thunder cracked, and lightning boomed. With the patter of the rain, I squeezed my stuffie. My eyes filled with fear. I had to get up early and hike up to my aunt’s house through the woods. As that thought raced through my mind, I fell asleep.

April 21

Bright early sun and the sound of birds chirping woke me. I grabbed my stuff, took a look at the house I grew up in and the spot where my mother collapsed, and left. I walked outside following the path through the woods. I was so dazed by the beauty of the forest that I didn’t notice the snake until it leapt up and bit my ankle. I fell, and so did my basket with my food for the day’s walk and my beloved teddy bear. My tears hit the ground like hammers falling from the sky. That’s when a beautiful blue vibrant flower caught my eye. I grabbed it and put it in my hair. I limped but only got halfway to my aunt’s house by the end of the day because of my ankle.

April 22

I woke up and the blue flower in my hair was gone, but there was a ring of new ones around me. I picked them to give to my aunt. When I got to my aunt’s house, it was covered in blue flowers. I walked inside and there was my aunt on the floor, covered in blue flowers . . . dead, her eyes a violent blue and her dark hair covering her face. I turned to run, but my feet were stuck in place. Blue flowers crept up my legs to my head and then filled my head, and I ran.

Dec 10

I was with the police at my aunt’s house when we saw my cousin and aunt on the floor, dead. Blue flowers covered them. After that, all the blue flowers here rooted, but in some tales they grow in the darkest of forests.

ROOM

Max

Grade 5

I look around,

It’s not much but it’s still nice.

I see the floor, I like the patterns on it.

My dog sees a brown squirrel and starts yipping, but not loudly.

I see my closet, black wood, smooth.

It’s cold, turn the heat on. Warmer.

It’s nice having a room.

TRUMPET

Hudson

Grade 5

A trumpet. The color of a gold river. Sounds like a fire alarm or a bright song. Or a goat horn.

Buttons like a keyboard. But the way I use it is as a way to annoy family members.

A FOX

Braden

Grade 5

A fox is as orange as a zinnia flower and as soft as a cloud, as it goes through the forest slickly as silk and quiet like a mouse. But, as you know, it’s just doing what it needs to do, like all animals.

HOSPITAL

Jake

Grade 5

Lying in a nice bed eating spaghetti and Jell-O waiting and thinking of that fire-breathing dragon the one that put you here from the daydream at school. Wanting to go run and play or explore mountains or go on a plane across the ocean. But now, you’re in the hospital.

GRACEFULLY FALLING

Camille

Grade 5

I watched the ivory snow fall onto the green grass from my bedroom window. It fell so gracefully, like a ballerina spinning. I stumbled out of my bed and felt my soft carpet touch my toes. I reached down and carefully touched my sleeping dog’s dark brown hair.

BOISE HIGH SCHOOL

Teaching-Writer Daniel Stewart

Who determines who I am, is it me or is some one else? I am me, but I don’t always do what I want. other people think about me, use me in a way. Is it the external forces which define me, rather than internal forces? Internal is perceived by the external and that is what drives us forward Ourselves being realized by. ourselves makes ourselves. Such an interesting, often degrading cycle.

They like it because it’s simple Stay in the herd, one step, two a thousand more a great migration Elk streaming across the dirt track to my grandfather’s cabin

I am the wolf, it’s not complicated Fierce cold eyes plotting a path

Words panted through sharp white daggers

Up! up! up! around and then let loose

Trapped, gnawing panic of a foot

Tangled in a snare, tripped, jostled, Separated from the pack and safety

Fear! But I am the predator

You are always within reach A forest fire tearing up a cheat grass hill! The north wind nipping your heels! The wolf in chase! Maybe it’s stressful;

Racing is Joy

WILDFLOWERS Logan

I chop the Brussel sprouts as Tom Petty serenades us with “Wildflowers.” My sister Hailey rolls in, her wheelchair

catches on the kitchen door knob as she grooves to the rocking electric guitar.

My dad spins from the fridge to grab the pork, joining Petty in a sing-along as he adds paprika to the rub.

I am floating. The clocks have stopped. I am too high above reality for their jolting ticks to reach me.

I twirl Hails in a mangled do-si-do as her nose crinkles up to her eyebrows, revealing her teeth as

she belts “You belong somewhere close to me” in her pitchy, laughing vocals. I have not heard this line

in years. The melody oh-so familiar yet distant like my little-kid hands stretching to capture a firefly.

The light buzzes out. Never did I believe we would crawl out of the cavern her disease locked us in.

My childhood home resides underground. Sunken to the bottom like a ship. We grew allergic to the sunlight that stains my rosy cheeks today as I drift through the careless array of clouds. The wheelchair is no longer a shackle.

Its crushing weight no longer presses on our shoulders, paralyzing us like before.

Its wheels do not roll away from us snatching our smiles like before.

Today we sing and dance and laugh. Our guilt and grievances buried underneath us. We feel the casket’s heartbeat. It is alive, but it is no longer Our lives. We lay our Wildflowers by the grave as we float upwards.

We are elevated.

LOVELY LONELINESS Charley

She was porcelain, glistening, untouched. she was all silky touches and coveted curls, glossy in the glow of screens. they cut open her skull with a gilded knife, and inside found nothing. so in they went. and soon she was the future, farther than now and later than tomorrow. she was unbreakable.

when she reached me, her fingers landed on my temples.

I said, I don’t hear nothing.

she hummed, and together we fell, and together we alighted, and the future flew

and then porcelain became sky and she broke me into a thousand shards

DONNA Nate

All we are is a mansion of memories

Filled with cluttered detritus of experiences and emotions

Which makes it even more cruel when the rooms of our minds are scoured bare

When the self you’ve built brick by brick is torn down in age

Fading is a fate worse than death

HAUNTED Josephine

Breathe in and out. Relax. You’re fine. What a lie. What a lie. I’m haunted by my own mind. It’s not quite something I know how to escape. I count the minutes, hours, days, months, years, Until I’m done. Done with a haunting That just won’t fade. Won’t leave. Haunted by a will, A work ethic, And a need to be perfect. I just can’t escape this haunting.

35,000 FEET Alexi

I soar above the clouds, the drone of the engines’ white noise, luring my mom to sleep, but I sit awake staring with awe out the window the buildings, the people, as though they are termites, the world a dollhouse the world, so fragile from above, yet so intimidating from below perspective, my view changes as the seat belt light comes on, suddenly the world doesn’t seem so small, I shrink back into my seat, reality hits like a wall of bricks, what seemed so beautiful from above now reminds me of the busy days, full of stress that I come back to closer and closer, the buildings rise as we fall, descending 35,000 feet to the ground, wheels touch the runway the roar as we brake, wakes my mom as I stare out the window, what seemed so small, towers above me

WHAT NEXT? Noah

The train roars into the station. Brakes screeching The puff of hydraulics. Doors slide open.

A flavor. Sour. Like a lemon washes through my mouth. Dry. Empty. Butterflies tumble through my stomach.

Three lines over, another train to take. This one with a different destination, a different path, a different life, all for the taking.

No path better than any other, no option the clear answer. Opportunity is abundant. Now but not forever.

Standing at the biggest crossroads of my life, I straddle the Lane. Unsure whether to merge or stay to my current trajectory.

Wherever it may lead

A Koi Fish in a pond follows my finger

As I drag it through the water

I watch the way the water shapes around my finger

And I feel the water fill each crack in my hand

As I move my hand through the water I startle the Koi Fish And it leaves me

All that is left is me and the lonely water Years pass until I return

And when I do I look for the Koi Fish who once followed me I reach my hand into the pond

Allowing the water to fill the deeper cracks in my hand

The Koi Fish appears and follows my finger once again I move carefully this time

So as not to frighten it

Now, it’s just me and the curious Koi Fish

IN THE NOW Zayah

Swear to live day by day, allow the gifts of life to come to you with open arms, take the risks now you might not make tomorrow, tomorrow is never guaranteed, like the eggs of a mother that may not hatch, unlike the consequences of your actions, what is the difference between expecting and not expecting tomorrow, meet people and share today with them, experience the storms and the sunsets with the ones you trust, too many people can take this day from you, even the devil can come in the form of your best friend.

For some reason you can’t, You’re unable to do a job, a task that appears so simple. You only have one job. Put the small white ball with red laces into a box.

You train hundreds of hours per year, Standing on a small hill, You throw the ball to the guy some sixty feet away. Simple?. . . Right?

Yet you find a way to miss Your mind knows what to do. Done it tens of thousands of times before. Your body, however, is still unable. The crowd around you gives you feedback, Teammates rely on you so they can do their job. However you stop them.

Unable to lock in it becomes farther and farther from the plate, Dust fills your lungs; your coach talks to the man in the mask. Your time is over.

Maybe you’ll get ‘em next time.

BEING ALIVE James

To live is to struggle but It is also to be alive

Deep breaths of air are intoxicating Your thundering heartbeat screams You are alive

There is always another peak, Always another way to travel. How exhilarating.

Snow sliding beneath your feet as The scenery becomes a blur and a howl of wind Are you not grinning?

Kayak sluicing through the waves, your Paddle beating the water as you are soaked to the bone. There is no feeling better.

Laughing wildly in the face of the storm as Wind steals breath and warmth. Happiness beyond happy. Joy beyond joy.

I exult in being alive.

EUGENE Cory

We are America, the forgotten lodestones. Taped together Ford in the driveway, The Raiders on TV, Coke and cheeseburgers on the table

Booming laughs fight to drown out the Oregon showers pounding the windows

My grandfather rests on the couch, conjuring silly faces and poor accents to make us smile

In between soft aches and groans from his back, weathered by a hundred lifetimes of work

Work making our homes

Cleaning our schools

Chopping our wood

Painting our fences

Cooking our food

Fueling America

Ungrateful, Ungiving, America. What does it give him in return?

A tumor in his lung from the lead-soaked paint, and pennies on the dollar to treat it.

SOMETHING BLUE Freida

An ending that doesn’t feel like one, because when did it truly begin, the glass screen between person and group, its opacity depending on the day, endless blue expanse, feet on a tired path, day in day out, out, out, what is it for, a promise, a chance, that no one knows until it comes, wide expanse of blankness, waiting to be painted by the uncertain artists still looking for brushes, words bouncing around the room, but you’ve found yourself mute, blue has turned to gray, a sickly sky closing in by the day, replacing the blue.

I JUST WANT MY FRIENDS TO BE OK Emilia

I just want my friends to be okay

This phrase plays in my head again and again

As I sit in a House Committee room for the hearing of House Bill 71

The wooden chairs are uncomfortable and the room is full two overflow rooms are needed for people here to discuss trans health care for kids under eighteen

I just want my friends to be okay

I whisper under my breath as I listen to a mother talk about her son’s suicide attempts

I just want my friends to be okay

I think as I hug my friend next to me

While the official representative of the Catholic Church invalidates her existence

I just want my friends to be okay

I sob as I have to step out of the room

These legislators are debating health care for close friends

For friends who would have killed themselves without these treatments

How can they vote yes for this bill

How can they hear these stories, these lives lost, and still vote for this legislation

I just want my friends to be okay

I tell the lady outside the committee room

She rubs my back and says she understands

But how can she and still argue for the other side?

Why am I all alone?

Until they must meet me.

Why do they cry and scream?

I’m only doing what I must. A turbulent symphony all around.

The silence. A permafrost.

That chills to the bone

But I am much too cold for that

My skin pale

My movements swift and corrosive

No matter how much I try to keep up They always fall

Dear Mother, I’m all alone

Do not hate me for what I must do

With a swift act I am in two.

Never alone

Always with a friend

The awakening of a Wolf and a Lamb.

JUST BREATHE Uma

Metal bars, it’s dark

I’m underwater

I’m drowning, desperately clawing

And calling for air in my lungs

Some fish pass me by

They look just fine

Why can’t I breathe

Why can’t I swim

Or just stay afloat

Like the rest of them

The key is in my hand

Oxygen just above

But I can’t move

Won’t move

Every thought I have

Mental sabotage

And so I stay

I weep

As the darkness carries me away

RUNNING AWAY Will

Running. My lungs are giving out. Dust clouds my eyes, The walls of the dark hallway are blurred. The light flickers. Thousands of footsteps behind me, Both my parents’ voices, Yet the normally comforting tone is replaced by utter pressure. My head tells me not that I can do it, But that I must. I fear the consequences, Not seeking the reward. My teachers behind me, My coach, My sister, My grandparents, And they all grapple at my feet, Weighing me down, I’m focused on them, Not the hallway, Not the light at the end.

TOP OF THE WORLD Quintin

Walking through the wet grass, I kept slipping, trying to find the right way to go.

The ocean hissed below, the humid fog blowing through on the road to nowhere

Traveling through trees, streams passing by, the fog became further and further Finally at the top, the fog seemed as small and unimportant as the streams passing by earlier

Occasional clouds drifted by below, like fish swimming through the ocean

Above it all, everything is so miniscule

What would happen if we zoomed out more?

What do we look like from above?

BY THE CANAL Marin

My fingers brush along the soft green tips, of the grass, A fluorescent ball, slimy with traces of saliva.

My dog’s paw at my leg, Traces of mud and claw, decorate my shin, A satisfying *smack* on the ground.

Her tongue lolling as she gives chase, A sound behind me, I turn.

Two JanSport-equipped boys, Polo shirts and khakis, Fresh from junior high.

“Go home, yellow freak,” Hands turn eyes to fox-shaped slits, “Are you going to eat my dog, too?”

Shoes crunch the wet earth as they leave, Jeering words I can’t quite make out, The paw is back at my leg, the ball thuds.

I’m embarrassed, Pink floods my cheeks.

Am I made to fix the world am I Holding up the sky am I Sisyphus fixing an unending problem

Does any of it matter?

My brain

Anchored

Caving in, not near shore

A sailboat

Collects dust in the garage

The anchor

200 feet under

Do I stay

200 feet under?

Drowning, slowly

Better than six feet under

A cyanide pill: a synagogue bombing attempt

Or is it

Another mass shooting? Where?

Restriction of liberties? Who’s next?

Terrorist threats?

People live in the worlds easiest for them

Is this really MY World? No

I AM AN ASSORTMENT OF THINGS Lily

I am a firefly, barely escaping the clink of the glass jar, held in childish hands, beaming and sticky from otter pops mixed with sand.

I am flickering candles, eight nights, seven days, chocolate gelt and dreidels, yelling and laughing. I am shaking hands, grasping doors, and holding children’s mouths to ensure no sound escapes, Hiding from loud fists pounding on locked metal doors. I am sleepovers, sleeping on hard synagogue floors, laughing, and eating leftover candy, from previous holidays. I am unafraid. I am Jewish.

ADAPT Keyton

Break my brain, crack to mold. Be anyone. Be everyone. Be for everyone.

Change is good, I’ll overdose. Inject flavor when I’m flavorless, be vivid when I’m dull.

Snapping sky! Blinding crimson, sickening sweet, and binding crypt.

See how I do it?

BURIED Avery

Stifled, smothered, tense. Like a spring that never unwinds, the fabric of my jacket traps me and comforts me like I imagine the darkness of a coffin might feel, buried underground. I claw at the sides, dig through the wood to the dirt to the surface. Dirt gets under my fingernails and sticks there, stuck, stuck, and then I try to tear it out, to rip and pull and shred but it’s stuck, not moving, and the light of the surface burns my skin anyways, so I die again. And then I’m back under. And I run my fingers over the fabric but they glide over, and it’s not real. So I grip the folds, crossing my arms to give myself a hug, to feel solid and real and ground myself, like lightning could strike, and the earth could shatter, and I wouldn’t see any of it, feel any of it, because all I feel is the pushing, the straining to break free, having too much and not enough and moving too much and too little and tumbling down down down until I’m buried.

SURFACE LEVEL Fran

An echoed scream piercing time, a sewing needle finding itself under the skin, clouds, so close to the earth

I can see only what my mind

tells me

The color blue. Deep under the surface, only creatures favored by god can survive. They seem at peace, any light they provide for themselves No help needed; no help wanted,

Like a bird dragged down to the bottom, I know I’m alien.

I’m prey to those who’ve never struggled to survive.

FUNERAL FOOD Sofia

Light sorrow tones, and hesitant footsteps, interrupt the drone of white noise. Awful beige carpet matches the tethered wood decor. Shiny foreheads, toupees, and raisin colored lipstick seems to be the uniform. Ill-fitting suits, dusty dresses. Awkward handshakes, and unwelcome hugs. Stale bread, and tough salami, hide behind the glare of plastic tablecloth. Cardboard cookies, and wax-like fruit, are choked down by reflux inducing juice. Limp rosaries, hypocritical sermons. Artificial tears, and the tick of clocks. The resemblance of cheese, plastic spoons, forks, and cups. Picked at funeral food, to distract us all from loss.

Heart pounding, Nervous, why?

Scared, no need.

Adrenaline hits “3,2,1,”

Skis point down, brain shuts off, lift off.

Flying through the air, freedom, no worries.

Rocks poking through the snow, greeting my thigh with a bang.

“Snap.”

Spinning down the hill.

Shooting pain everywhere, everything everywhere, skis, poles, helmet.

Cold starts to creep in, won’t let it.

Eyes heavy, want to close, won’t let them.

Screams bursting at my lips, won’t let them.

Leg broken, pelvis fractured, lung punctured.

Eyes close, black consumes.

CRUSHED Rebecca

Like a ladybug

Under unknowing tires

Or knowing boots

Like an empty bottle

Meeting its fate with a trash compactor After being discarded by an apathetic man

I’ve been put in a steel box that keeps shrinking Getting closer to my stretched arms

Praying to no one

Light is long gone

The scraping of metal wakes me in a panic Sparks light fires that I am unable to extinguish

Anything I do

Is just a sip from the ocean

A blade of grass in a vast, unending meadow

A grain of rice.

THE AFTERSUN Fiona

doesn’t stay — in between — blue, sits around my mind, blue haze, soft fog. The calmest expanse, a shapeless blur — we evade night suns. They’re dim. All I need after, all I don’t.

SENSELESS VIOLENCE Evan

When does man transform into beast? Is it when the poison they spit erodes their surroundings? Is it when the claw swipes to tear at others? No, it is when the mind is lost to numbness.

The mind is the entry point; seeping down into the eyes. The cold clouds and the living turn to statues.

From the eyes down to the mouth, Statues never break from sound. Statues don’t listen back to the raging roar, unless.

The illness is terminal now, the vomit from the maw spills to the hands The statues fracture from the weight of the claw.

CLIMBING SHOES & SURF BOARDS Ella

Chalk bag spilled on leather seats, Dusty white Subaru Outback. Jangly keys and yellow crumpled Yerba cans

My mom’s green eyes, my dad’s dark hair. Sun on my face, driving windy roads. Happiness, sadness, and all in between, Spark of happiness whenever I climb. Dreams of Yosemite, Granite walls and camper vans. Sounds of my ski binding clicking in, Wind beating my freckled face. Laughing loud, and loving harder

My ability to always be happy

Mac Miller blasting from my grainy radio Race bibs on the wall, The pain I’ve learned to love while racing. My pink hat and North Face jacket, Sunrises and sunsets, Nights on 8th Street, Warm summer nights, Stubborn and confident, Humor like my mom’s, Her necklace around my neck, Through oceans and rocks, Through Cardiff and Bend, From driving with friends, And climbing shoes and surf boards.

STAY, MAYBE? Lauren

I hope you will be pleased to know The knife wound that my heart sustained (and which you do not acknowledge) has scarred, a pale rope of twisted flesh A memory now: it stays. But it does not spread.

I see you everywhere I bother to look: Whirling autumn leaves (your October birth) Howling winter wind (we skied), the mud of spring (we biked) Summers where we swam and sank and resurfaced–everything when I see your face It hasn’t changed, you have.

You cling to me through cobwebs of laughter sounding like a ghost; I will never forgive you; I love you. So I will question until the seasons all end: Do you miss who you were? Do you even remember?

THE WOMAN IN THE MIRROR Finn

He stands in front of the mirror. Staring. But he doesn’t see himself. He sees the woman that haunts him.

Daily.

This woman he sees in the mirror is not him. Not really.

And yet he can’t escape her. She is with him everywhere he goes.

Her feminine figure. Her high-pitched voice.

She is as much a part of him as he is a part of himself.

He can’t get rid of her.

WITH TIME Atlas

The field shines with golden light. Its dead trees gleam

The apples rot beautifully. The dry grasses look alive and through these eyes

The broken leaves look whole. As the day runs on, that light, it fades and goes away, that beautiful day

I have grown to know your hands and the freckle on your thumb

I have become accustomed to your laugh and the way it carries you away

I have learned all the songs you love and I have listened to why the lyrics speak to you

I have seen you cry with strength and I have comforted you until your breathing relaxed

I have seen you in every dark, every light, every way and I have considered it a privilege

I am you and you are me and I have grown to love you

THE ANTS Siena

Feet pound, pebbles scatter, quaking earth. The ants stampede to their unknown death. Unsuspecting they come, spec in the dust. Go, go, go. For the queen they run, so loud yet no sound is made. Snip, snip, snip, they collect the demise of their families. Hidden civilization, the ants.

STEENS MOUNTAIN HIGH-ALTITUDE RUNNING CAMP

Taelyn

There is a road in Oregon

That winds uphill like a lazy tan snake

Baking in the cutting glare of the sun

The path only goes up

One way – That way

Never down.

We’re going on an adventure

Rolling hills draped in sagebrush cloaks

Field of flowers twinkling

You want to pause

Breathe mountain air

Rest.

But no.

The road only goes up. Never down

Twenty-eight miles

Marching in a line of ants

Silence stretched taut at first Slowly relaxing

Into itself as the exhaustion does its work

It’s all mental

They say

You can achieve anything

They say

When does the harsh reality set back in Aching Breaking Tearing Slashing Piercing

Rocks, Sand, Thorns, Trees

Wrestle your will and pin it to the trail

The match is won

Retreat limping The blisters ache like your battered spirit

wounded but not forgotten

Like waves receding to crash down again

Somewhere on up the road

Never down.

CARDINAL ACADEMY

Teaching-Writer Guisela Penados-Baldizón

Amy

Grade 12

Trembling, Tension, Spasms, Anger flood your mind, with thoughts that die, Tries and cries, In time we Die, With love Without… Pulling, Scratching, Fighting, Biting, Finish your war before you slam

Doors.

TANZANIA

Therese

Grade 10

Nyama choma & mandazi at the table, Friends and family at the blue lakes, Yellow-straw houses full of smiles, Men walking to the pink sky, My country, Tanzania

Nyama choma & mandazi katika meza

Marafiki na familia katika maziwa ya bluu

Nyumba za majani ya manjano iliyojaa tabasamu

Wanaume kutembea kwa anga ya waridi

Nchi yangu

Tanzania

FEAR

Akassja

Grade 12

Fear of dying. Fear of trying. Fear of crying.

Fear of lying.

Fear of living.

Fear of not living.

Fear of nothing.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear is not the problem. Fear can’t take you very far. Fear can lead you in the wrong direction. What is fear?

SOMETIMES

Brook-Lynne

Grade 10

Sometimes we all just want nothing, Nothing to do, Nothing to worry about, Think about.

Though even during those times we still want something, To hear something, To feel something.

We think of nothing as emptiness, As a blackhole.

Nothing can be something if we so wish it to be. We are always doing something. Or there’s always something around us. Even though we all might not know it. But there’s no such thing as nothing.

Though we might have different points of views, There really is no such thing as nothing.

FORGED BY PAIN

Christian

Grade 12

A lot is forged by pain, Pain is a gift not a curse. Pain is forged by stuff in your life. Only special people know about, Pain is a gift it’s what makes us strong, Pain makes us special, Pain makes us, us, Pain makes us whole, Pain makes us worth healing.

FRANK CHURCH HIGH SCHOOL

Teaching-Writers Daniel Stewart and Carter Jones

MONOLOGUE FOR THIS KNIFE

Kaedence

You use me, you use me for Slicing through meat, fruits, Vegetables, breads, even Your own skin; your flesh. Of how you’ve hurt yourself, How you made blood slide

Through the open gates

You had me make

Unwillingly.

It’s been a while

Since you’ve done that though

Now it’s back to the line Of foods.

You speak about it

Possibly starting your hurt

Once more.

You don’t for your fear

Of your mother getting angry; Again…

So through the mangos, Zucchini, and the avocados. You go till I’m down And dull.

SEVERIN Severin

A forest of sticks, on a bright frigid day. An icy wind animates the branches. Although the shade sits still and the wood is bare, Looks are deceiving. There is life, there is beauty. Calm gray on cold blue. Cold, but so alive.

WHERE DO THEY GO? Kenlee

Dancers—three, no, four dancers appear on a dimly lit stage. No music, just the sliding of their slippers across the old wooden stage. The immorally green sky emerges as the dancers fall, the stage melts down, and suddenly I’m alone. In a field. Nothing around me but crickets. The zipper unzips and the cows are vacuumed, leaving me in a palm desert surrounded by water.

THE WAIT FOR SHINE

Tatyana

Your Smell is the venom

To my heart

The torment in my soul

Days shine

Days rain

Your company is way

Overdue now

Nonstop Rain

I hope for shine

I await the arrival

Of your soft skin

Of the beautiful pigment

That laid within you

Soon I know

Now I hope For shine

SITTING ON THE STOVETOP Jada

Her heart aches for someone, she’s stuck in disbelief, from the inside out

His voice, his touch, she misses them, she feels like a kettle, screaming to be taken off the burning pit from hell.

Being alone is like a dog stuck in the cage until their owner comes home, but she was never let out.

Don’t tease her with forgiveness, she’s ignorant and tired. She’s been sitting on the stovetop far too long.

Soon enough, the rest of her water will evaporate, she will slowly burn to a crisp

She is alone, dead.

I CAN FEEL YOUR PRESENCE Bubba

I can feel Your presence

It gives a feeling of warmth and dread

The warmth is comforting like a childhood blanket

The dread is agonizing dreading every false step and mistake I’ve ever made

The sleepless nights the thoughts racing through my mind as if they are running for their life

The wait has filled me with hate

But when I get the chance to speak with you

I feel comfortable once more

A double-edged blade slides to sever ties

In a world full of false laws and white lies

You are my dark days and bright nights

I’m torn between loving to love you and hating to love you

A fork in the road

A flipping coin

I crave closure

Yet never will receive

THEY ARE MY GRANDPARENTS Alejandro

They are my grandparents

They always make sure that we eat

He is always working hard

She is always making sure everything in the house is in order

They treat everyone equally

They always tell or hear stories

He gets mad when we do bad stuff

She gets excited when we accomplish something

They are Beto and Mayola

We love them

They love us.

JEFFERSON ELEMENTARY

Teaching-Writer Chris Mathers Jackson

THE MAGICAL PLUMS

Masen

Grade 5

Ocean was a very sweet girl. She always helped out with charity work. One day she was walking home from work and saw an old lady who had dropped her bag on the sidewalk. The old lady bent her back in pain. Ocean ran over and picked the bag up for her. The old lady thanked her and asked if she could do anything to repay her. Ocean had no idea how, so she just told the old lady it was fine. The old lady denied that request. See, Ocean lived in London, so there wasn’t a lot the old lady could do for her. The sweet old lady gave her some plums.

“What are these for?” Ocean asked in curiosity.

In a sweet old voice, the lady said, “They are magical plums.” Ocean was confused and thought the old lady was being silly. Yet she still took the plums and thanked the sweet old lady. She continued walking home.

Once she got home, she was hungry and too lazy to make anything. So she took one of the plums out of the plastic bag. She washed it and took a small bite out of it. She loved the taste and ate more. She finished in seconds. After a minute or two, her stomach started to ache. She groaned and lay down on the couch. She thought the plums that the old lady gave her were bad.

She thought taking a nap would help. She closed her eyes slowly and started to doze off. She woke up around 2 a.m. She felt weak and didn’t think she could move. She slowly sat up and looked at the ceiling. She started seeing colors, mostly pink dots. She slowly got up and grabbed the cup of water next to the couch. She took a sip and coughed. She realized she needed to take a shower and get ready because her next shift was at 4 a.m. She quickly got up off the couch, setting the water down on the desk.

TO BE CONTINUED.

BAGELS JR. THE THIRD

Isaac

Grade 5

This is Bagel Junior, the Third. Bagel is a gamer. He loves playing Fortnite. People love his really dark black eyes and his curly brown hair. He loves staying in his room to game. He’s a sports person too. He loves playing soccer, basketball, and football. Bagels lives in New York. He loves playing Fortnite tourney. He played a Cash Cup today and won. His mom, Sarah, hates when he always plays games on the PC every day. But his dad, Travis, likes him playing the games. He knows his son is making a ton of cash, and from Twitch.

He’s really popular at school because he is really good at Fortnite

and hilarious. And he helps with charity with the money he earns.

One day his parents went on a vacation. When he was about to go to sleep he heard glass break. Then Bagel heard, “This house is nice to rob right, Bob?”

“Yeah. You hear that? Something is upstairs, let me go check,” Bob said.

Bagel got his phone and hid under the bed. He went on YouTube to see how to solve robbers. Then his door opened. He saw a gigantic foot like a mountain enter his room. He heard, “Billy, you should see this room. It’s epic!” Bagel came out from underneath his bed like a snake moving. He did his fighting moves and knocked Bob out. Bagel dropped him, and Bob fell like he was skydiving, but backwards. Then Bagel heard footsteps coming so he hid.

“Bob, what happened?” Billy yelled.

“Some kid head-shot me,” Bob cried. Then Bagel closed the door and knocked out Billy with a little push. Billy fell like someone slipping on a banana peel. Bagel ran downstairs fast like a flash and opened the door. Then he saw his parents had come back.

“What’s wrong, Bagel?” Sarah wondered.

“There are robbers in our house. Call the cops!” Bagel yelled. The robbers came out and fell.

To be continued.

INSTRUCTIONS TO THE PORTRAIT ARTIST

Porter Grade 5

I hope to appear wearing a football jersey with the exception of my head wearing a helmet. Draw short hair sticking out also add curls.

Add a blonde yet dulled coloring. My face holds wisdom in my sky-blue eyes yet the freckles control my face. My background can be blaring light from the spotlights on the football field, and me holding a football in my gloved hands.

I can wear spiked cleats that burrow into the ground. Make the jersey a Chief’s jersey of Tyreek Hill’s number 15.

NASA IMAGES

Holland

Grade 5

New stars are like fire and water phoenixes that have collided into one fiery mountain of stars in the pitch-black sky sprinkled with stars.

Millions of stars create animals, and hands reaching as far into the night sky like a snake slithering into space.

Rainbow water falls In the colorful star-sprinkled sky.

Geodes cut open make creations like starry-night galaxies in the frozen wintery cold.

ODE TO CAMPING

Jayden

Grade 6

Oh, camping, For you are the best And you can do many Cool things like the wilderness, Take me many places, Any day, any time,

For the mountains are Not the only place I have done a little rhyme

Some people do not like it

And that is ok

But it is fun when you Go outdoors and smell

The fresh air and see

The birds flying like a plane

For camping is amazing and fun

Oh, camping, How I love it a ton.

INSTRUCTIONS TO THE ARTIST

Kellen

Grade 5

Make my head as round as your fingers can make.

Draw my hair as brown as a bear’s and medium shaggy, like a rocky surface.

For my body keep it simple,

Please make my hands circles to show my little grip on reality.

Try to make me skinny but not just lines.

Any clothes, as long as the shirt has my favorite color, purple.

Draw my eyes closed to show the forever slumber of my happiness. Give me tears and a small smile showing my mixed feelings in life.

Tan almost pale skin.

If there were to be trees in the background, make the leaves pink to symbolize peace and kindness

Draw me somewhere in nature, I love nature.

Make any animals you want, just add some because I’m an animal lover. So please draw me... as WHO I TRULY AM!

ODE TO MY HOOD

Julz

Grade 6

My hood

My hood

My deep maroon hood.

The strings taste like magic, sour and sweet. Looks of pure beauty, Yet stale and old

My hood

My hood

My favorite hood

Feels as if it was just too soft

Looks like red poppies

Yet like a lamb’s coat also

My hood

My hood

Feels as if threaded by hand

My hood

My hood

My sad bleached hood

Put in the washer and the bottom now orange

My hood

My hood

My beautiful hood

I’ll love it forever Until we grow old My hood.

I AM Layth Grade 6

I am the reflection that a water droplet sees the moment before it falls into the glistening ocean.

I am the colorful stripes that a family paints on the Easter eggs before hiding them away to be found and opened.

I am the feeling you touch when you sense danger coming and feel realization.

I am the excited jumping sensation when you put a Taki in your mouth, having a disco party.

I am the relieved feeling of the teeth inside someone’s mouth when the doctor places braces on them, straightening them.

ODE TO BASKETBALL

Phin

Grade 6

When you dribble a basketball

Its sound echoes

Like you’re in a long hallway

When you make a shot

It’s sweet like candy.

It’s handy when someone is open.

Then you pass,

Heart beating

Going fast

Lights flash

It looks like it’s going to miss

But . . . a clean SWISH

It’s like a wish

Because I’m serving you a five-star dish

With fish.

ANTI-ODE TO MECHANICAL PENCILS

Abby Grade 6

I hate mechanical pencils. Mechanical pencils are plastic like the single barbie doll leg I found in my sister’s room. They run out of lead just like how I run out of self esteem. I can hear the lead shaking and rattling inside like a really annoying maraca. They make my hand hurt too. There’s nothing good about mechanical pencils, and yes, I did write this with a mechanical pencil

RIVERGLEN JUNIOR HIGH

Teaching-Writers Meg Freitag and Daniel Stewart

HOW LIFE SHOULD BE Gage

life should be about being happy, it should be about fun and teamwork instead of competition and violence and segregation

an ideal life should be about helping others, being kind, having cookies and milk at about 3:00 PM, and taking a nap.

Governments should help with insurance and food, water, health, and cleaning up after themselves.

Life should be about being happy, having fun, and teamwork. And whatever type of life you live, every second of it is a gift.

Light at the end of a tunnel sweet after a bitter struggle flat at the end of an uphill battle breeze after a violent storm

music at the end of a droning silence

life after a wildfire friends in a world of strangers

Hope what drives us on MY TIME

Ashlee

days go by shou ga nai moments pass shattered glass hands of time where’s the chime? In my head

I’ll just...

Hands of time will ring my neck every little moment spells regret but I don’t have to feel this way as the voice inside my head.

EQUALITY Macauley

when nobody is left out like a solitary bird in a forest full of deer when people aren’t discriminated against for things out of their control when everyone is treated fairly and equally these things appearing in a peaceful world we will sadly never see

equality is a world where everyone is happy.

EQUALITY

Hannah

so perfect on paper drifting farther and farther away started with death and labor a time in need of change

A perfect world of communism

A beautiful dystopia

But we couldn’t get past our hunger for them

“Communism,” a brand-new phobia

No need for money

No need for war

In an ocean we are drowning

Of hate between the rich and the poor

Equality, so perfect on paper but so far out of reach.

SPARK Layla

what are you without hope? With no dreams, aspirations, what do you have?

In the darkest of caves with no light there is no chance of escape. You wouldn’t even attempt.

Drowning in a dark pit of an uncertain future. There is no ladder for you to climb.

A little flame of a candlewick sparks. What was once endless darkness opens a colorful work. All started by a little spark.

FLICKERING LIGHTS Evynn

What is hope?

A light bulb that flickers inside your head. Are you going to make it? The light bulb flickers.

Dreaming, wishing, hoping. Giving up. Trying to work harder. The light bulb flickers.

You fail, give up. The light bulb goes out. You hope. The light bulb shines.

THE WAR THAT ALMOST ENDED ALL WARS Josh

The war of good and evil? No.

The war of freedom and control? Mostly.

The war of unfairness and equality? Pretty much.

The war of poverty and content? Kind of.

So what was this?

It was the war of the devil and Satan. It was the stupid struggle between Eagle and Bear that ruined everything in between.

With every second that went by was a chance for the military to impoverish you, was a chance for the revolution to constrain you.

And a chance for one, just one, idiot to snap their fingers and everything goes white.

This is what they called the Cold War.

UNIVERSALLY, HOPE Grace

Feeling cold glass over the tracks. Telling the first star your wishes.

Knees purple and blue from the wooden floor. Thinking of what could fix this life. Fingers crossed over each other at a constant.

HOPE/REASON

Colton

Reason over promise solid rays of the glorious sunshine letting such a blood red light. Now the animals slowly retreat to the shadows out of sight. Arid winds blow across the mountains giving flight to the birds of prey watching, come to transform Eden day by day. Only love is with us now something warm and pure.

JIPPY Oliver

at the fair the bustling sounds of screaming children walking around the decaying grass smelling the sweet and savory mess that is the giant pretzel then I see it an alluring sight a majestic graceful fish I play the game to attempt to win it he is mine

I named him Jippy I take him home give him a tank I go tell my parents when I come back it’s an aberrant site Jippy on the ground

Longer a fight my cat got rid of him I’ll miss you forever.

EQUALITY? HOPE? ANYTHING?

Rowan

What is hope?

A bright dawn on the horizon.

A speck of light through a tunnel or so they say, but what is it?

A feeling of reassurance?

No, not quite.

A desire for success?

Still, it’s off.

Hope is an elusive phoenix

A graceful doe, A furious lion.

Hope can destroy all or build up from nothing.

For good?

We can only hope.

YOUR BROKEN WINGS Henry

Wings of fire heart of gold more strength less time eventually one can have true power.

More and more time goes by. New lives new times as a snake sheds its scales, you shed your corrupted wings and heart more you grow more you evolve. You grow a heart and wings of hope.

WE’LL CONTINUE ON Leyla

inside of our room of brass and silver, You’ll find silence in the early hours of the morning, dark, the room covered with tubing, Time passes, and silence is now fleeting, bright lights shining from above, and chairs surrounding the podium, the tubing speaks with harsh tones, squeaking and squawking, controlled by children barely ten.

Days passed, and the tubing speaks without squeals, and rings out through the air, the sweet sound of summer, the harsh tones of a bleak winter, the children, now fourteen, can control with ease, some children left for careers unknown, most stayed, but passionately were few.

The band continues on, when in shambles and imbalanced, but the remaining passionate continue, in search of healing the band, but the passionate children have left, for a larger band further along.

The band continues on.

WHAT YOU ARE

Argelia

Grade 8

after Billy Collins’ LITANY

You are the flowers and the wind, the splashing waterfall and perfume. You are the intense race on the track and the falling leaves of the tree. You are the blue lens of the photographer, and the black birds suddenly singing.

However, you are not the goal in the soccer field, the flag on the pole, or the metal mailbox. And you are certainly not the squeaky megaphone. There is just no way that you are the squeaky megaphone.

It is possible that you are the tape under the worn-down posters, maybe even the safety glasses on the chemist’s head, but you are not even close to being the aisles of the grocery store at 5pm.

And a quick glance in the mirror will show that you are neither the dress in the closet, nor the beautiful bird asleep in its cage.

It might interest you to know, speaking of the fascinating imagery of the world, that I am the sound of loud sizzling on the stove.

I also happen to be the frantic wasp in hiding, the starving rat escaping down an alley and the bag of chocolate chips on the pantry shelf.

But don’t worry, I’m not the flowers and the wind. You are still the flowers and the wind. You will always be the flowers and the wind, not to mention the splashing waterfall and—somehow—the perfume.

FAIRYTALE

Sydney N

Grade 8

after Billy Collins’ LITANY

You are the fox and the hound, The beautiful girl and the beast. You are the shirt on the stuffed bear, And the singing voice of the mice. You are the blue dress of the maid, and the clock towers suddenly ringing.

However, you are not the girl in the tower, The petals on the rose, or the floor. And you are certainly not the evil witch. There is just no way that you are the evil witch.

It is possible that you are the pea under the mattress, Maybe even the parrot on the pirate’s arm, But you are not even close To being the woods of the trees at night.

And a long look in the reflective lake will show, That you are neither the girl in the shadows, Nor the warrior asleep in its tents at night.

It might interest you to know, Speaking of the beautiful imagery of the world, That I am the sound of music on the hills.

I also happen to be the feasting bear, The quiet voice whispering down an alley And the tube of poisons on the shelf.

I am also the giant in the clouds And the lying woman’s spinning wheel. But don’t worry, I’m not the fox and the hound. You are still the fox and the hound. You will always be the fox and the hound, Not to mention the beautiful girl And— somehow— the beast.

Grade 8

I hate the way they look at me

I hate the way they talk to me

They make me feel like a storm

I feel like I’m claustrophobic

I hate their hugs

I hate their eyes

I hate them

But u

U are the person I love

I smile when you talk

I smile when you don’t

I smile even if you’re not in the room

But just the thought about u I love

And when we hug

It’s like all my other emotions just get released

It’s LOVE

But other men.

They make me feel like I’m the ocean when there’s a storm

When the waves are loud and nasty and everyone is gossiping about how bad the waves are.

Other men are like sour candy

You think they’re not going to be sour but in the end they are.

I love the way u stare at me

U make me laugh

When you send pictures to me

I smile like when you get home to see your dog after a long day at work

I hate men but u.

FAMILY REUNION

Sydney P

Grade 8

Some days were peaceful, waiting for the fun to start. Other days were tiresome and boring with all the ideas thrown away. But most days, favored by the twenty-one, were exciting and filled with colorful sounds.

We sang, we danced, we cooked, we swam, we cleaned, but most of all we talked.

Talking went on from morning to night, and some nights amongst the kids it didn’t stop.

Stories told were new and old, but it was endless fun between cousins and siblings.

Sitting under the casita canopy, playing Jenga at night, Fairy lights strung all across the ceiling, Slightly itchy couch cushions and embroidered pillows, The tower of Jenga blocks on the mosaic decorated coffee table my aunt made,

And of course the beloved vanilla wafers being passed along, The fragile thin crumbs scattered across the table top and over the cushions.

I miss waking up the one morning to a sunrise and freezing air blowing through me,

Up on my cot on the roof of the warehouse with my cousin and brother sleeping near me.

THE WORD “DUMB”

Dorotea

Grade 8

“You’re so dumb”

“You’re dumb bro”

“You’re literally so dumb”

The word dumb doesn’t say who you are

The word dumb doesn’t express you

Not everyone has the same brain

Not everyone’s brain works the same

Not everyone thinks, feels, acts the same way

Before you call anyone dumb, just know that you and that person are not the same, you and that person do not function the same

The word dumb is not who someone is

The word dumb is not how someone functions

MY KNOWLEDGE Serenity

Grade 8

Most books I read make me feel uninterested, Bored, And annoyed that they did not entertain me.

They make me crave being a child, Being able to read piles and piles and piles of endless books.

They make me want to be speechless, While sitting in my bed, Waiting for a story that makes me need to reread it over and over again.

I want a book that makes me so speechless that I have so many thoughts I can not speak.

A book that makes me close it so fast that it turns into a flash of lightning, Because I already know what will happen.

Most of all I want a book that takes me to Africa, Canada, The Bahamas, The forests in Washington, While running from train robbers or pirates.

I want a book that can help me escape the ruthless murders, The fights, The forest fires, The normalization of suicide.

I want books that make me forget my trauma, And make me only think about the characters in my stories.

So while I’m on my deathbed, I will be reading.

I will be thinking about the countless books I’ve read.

The books that make me cry or laugh, Or make me annoyed, Or make me want to be any character in any book, Just for the thrill.

So while you are thinking about how you hate reading, I will be reading For you.

Because what you don’t realize is You will die thinking about how you wish you were running on the beach Or asleep in a cabin in the forest with your lover.

It makes you regret not having a vivid imagination.

So while you regret not listening to my advice, I will be away.

I will be away in Venice, Florida, Or maybe even Hollywood.

I will be happy, For I will have explored the world.

NATURE IN ITS FINEST FORM

Fiona

Grade 8

Raindrops stick on the leaves like glue. The breeze is so cool you need a jacket or a coat. The sun is so bright you can barely see what’s right in front of you. The waves, so wild it’s hard to swim. The path, so rocky that you might trip. Clouds so big you think they might burst. The world is so big, it would take a long time to see all of it. The trees are so high, you can’t find the top of them. Leaves in so many colors. The stream, so slow that a turtle could walk faster than it.

AN ODE TO KANSAS

Mehkai

Grade 8

Kansas is where I was born on a chilly winter morning during a wild winter icestorm. Kansas is a wide flat expanse, as flat as a pancake. Kansas is a pancake of nothingness. Windy, warm, and slow. In Kansas there is nothing to do except play soccer with your friends or football with your brother in the ditch behind your house. Kansas.

AN ODE TO MY DOGS

Gavin

Grade 8

My dogs are as soft as clouds

And make a great pillow

They sleep and play all day

They like bananas and strawberries

But they smell like a pile of moist trash

Baking in the midday sun

Baths are an adventure filled with

Splashing water and bubbles

And the hair

The hair is endless

Every time we clean

We could make three more dogs

Our clothes are covered with it

Like a fur coat

But I will love my dogs anyway

HATE N LOVE

Amira

Grade 8

I hate it

I hate the way my body looks

I hate the way my stomach bulges out when I sit

I hate how big my forehead is

I hate how damaged my hair is

I hate waking up wanting to be someone else

I hate my gapped teeth

But if anything

I love how loud I talk

I love how I’m the most funniest person

I love how I think about other people before myself

I love how I never hold grudges

I love my friends

And my family

THE LIGHT IN MY HEART Olli

Grade 8

after Billy Collins’ LITANY

You are the rainbow and the rain, the bright sky and the clouds. You are the sun on the horizon and the glowing darkness of the night. You are the black cloak of the wizard, and the teacup suddenly spilling.

However, you are not the sun in the sky, the glimmering of the sidewalk, or the glass window panes. And you are certainly not the chirping birds. There is just no way that you are the chirping birds.

It is possible that you are the darkness under the bridge, maybe even the hat on the wizard’s head, but you are not even close to being the meadow full of flowers at dusk.

And a small glance in a mirror will show that you are neither the lamp in the corner nor the cat asleep in its sunny window.

It might interest you to know, speaking of the wild imagery of the world, that I am the sound of the birds in the maple tree on a saturday morning. I also happen to be the sun shining on the sidewalk brightening everyone’s day and the bucket of water balloons on the front lawn.

I am also the glowing orange in the sky and the rich woman’s purse. But don’t worry, I’m not the rainbow and the rain. You are still the rainbow and the rain. You will always be the rainbow and the rain, not to mention the bright sky and—somehow—the clouds.

ODE TO READING

Tyson

Grade 8

Books with castles and dragons, With mountains and oceans.

These are the books that I find in the old book store, With their musty covers and stiff pages.

Open books spill out the pictures and words

Of foreign places.

A book is like a doorway, Into the world of creativity.

ODE TO PIANO

Lily

Grade 8

The sound of the piano

So sweet, so smooth

Almost like it were made of honey

The keys are smooth under my fingers, cool to the touch

The beautiful handicraft of the intertwining wood grains

The sound it produces, soft to loud

The sound never dying

It’s like a field of flowers

Sweet and gentle

But can be lethal

The notes being played are butterflies

Fluttering into the distance

Sharing their melody with the world

FORKS

London

Grade 8

Everyone has used a fork before. You have used it to eat food

And maybe used it for other things. When I was five I swallowed A fork. It was my favorite fork. A clear white fork that Could bend like a professional gymnast. It didn’t taste very Good. I have a lot of forks. They are all in a drawer

With their brothers knife and sisters spoon. I like forks.

MY BLACK INK

Bryonna

Grade 8

My black ink sinks into the page moving to cover the words

My black ink also creates those words, on those pages

After a storm, my black ink is the puddle filling the dip in the road

My black ink is like the dark script of a horror movie

My black ink is the pupil in the center of someone’s eye

My black ink is the faded dyed black hair I had when I was ten

My black ink is the past life I used to have

My black ink is the hatred a brother has for his sister

My black ink is the walk home after school

My black ink is a new book at a library

My black ink is the time you have around friends

My black ink is the painting I made last night

My black ink is my collection of clay creatures

My black ink is the drawings I draw on my wall

My black ink is the colorful pages in my sketchbook

My black ink is the notes I have to take

My black ink is like a bell ringing at noon

My black ink is my favorite song

My black ink is like the night sky and the stars in the sky

Are the missing spots the ink did not cover

My black ink is mine

Yours might be a different color like pink, orange, purple

Any color will do, your ink could be anything

The sky, the night, the forest, the desert

RIVERSIDE ELEMENTARY

Teaching-Writer Hannah Rodabaugh

BY THE OCEAN

Tessa

Grade 3

A bright blue ocean. It crashes on the shoreline. I see moon jellies.

MARS

Thomas

Grade 3

I am Mars. My only companion is Earth, but sometimes its moon gets a little too close. Sometimes, I feel a little different from Mercury and it’s full-day heat as I only have it in the day. Sometimes I wish I could leave my orbit and go far away, outside the known universe, and find new friends. I’ve tried and tried, yet I still can’t leave. Now I feel quite queer, and I’m furious that I can’t leave this boring place. I still wish I could at least get to my farthest friend, Pluto.

HOW THE ELEPHANT GOT ITS TRUNK

Macy

Grade 3

Elephant and cat went to the village to get some food, but a human scared the elephant and cat off to the edge of the world. Elephant and cat almost ran off a cliff! The next day, elephant and cat went back to the village. When they got there, they found out that elephant couldn’t eat! So the cat had to do something. The cat cut off its tail, and made it hollow. The cat dyed it gray and glued it on the elephant. It became the elephant’s trunk. Now the elephant can eat!

ODE TO MY SISTER

Sophia

Grade 3

My sister is the best. She is as sweet as candy, as loving as a dog, gentle like a lamb, fast as a bunny, curious as a cat, and as beautiful as gorgeous flowers and buzzing bees. She is a huge sun setting over a vast glittering sea. She is a pretty butterfly landing silently on a flower.

FUR OF WATER [EXCERPT]

Finley

Grade 3

Chapter One: The Beginning

One day a water fox named Tsunami was relaxing in a patch of seaweed in the Caribbean Sea. She looked like the deep abyss. She had light-up fur. She also had good hearing.

A whole mile away, she heard a big boom. So, like every other water fox, she was eager to go see what the boom was. When she got there, she found an ice fox, but the weird thing was the ice fox had gills, and he could talk underwater, just like Tsunami!

The ice fox said, “My name is Glacier.”

Tsunami was surprised and said, “My name is Tsunami.”

“I heard the bushes rustling up out of the water,” said Glacier. So, both of them leapt out of the water. Tsunami looked behind the bushes and found a water fox lying down in the shadow of a tree.

Chapter Two: The Arriving of Adventure

As the mysterious water fox woke up, he said, “My name is Explorer. What is your name?”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, why are you out of the water?” said Tsunami.

“Well the globe is heating up, and I am half-water fox and half-ice fox,” said Explorer.

“So, that’s why I like going down to the abyss and cooling down,” said Tsunami.

“Well, whenever I lie down on glaciers, they crash down, and when I go in the ocean I feel sick, because the water is warming,” said Glacier.

“Well, I know a way to go to a cold place on Pluto, but in the first part there is a mysterious mountain that we have to hike up,” said Explorer.

“What are you even planning? We have no idea what you are doing!” exclaimed Glacier and Tsunami.

ROSE HILL MONTESSORI

Teaching-Writer Elizabeth Barnes

THE TRACK OF LIFE

Lev

Grade 6

Red, giant, or small, They beat with the track of life, all hearts do.

A cool fall day

A coral reef glistening and glimmering a cup of tea.

Red, giant, or small, They beat with the track of life, all hearts do.

After it rains, Red, giant, or small, cold and dark, They beat with the track of life, the crisp smell all hearts live on.

THE THING (A TRUE STORY)

Koji

Grade 5

I was walking out of the bathroom when I felt a sudden, cold wetness on my neck. Something brushed against my arm. It was telling me a story, a story about myself. I knew what it was. I spun around to look at it. But it had disappeared.

WHERE LOVE DISAPPEARS

Ben

Grade 5

That broken wing, that falling bird

That abandoned doe, that lonely deer.

That dead flower, That broken shed,

That initial-carved tree, Where love disappears

Why have you gone?

My old friends,

Why have you gone, and left me behind.

THE EVERLASTING FLIGHT

Alaire

Grade 6

The bird takes flight, Over the evergreen trees

Wings beating in sync with its wild heartbeat

It is free.

THE TIGER Elise

Grade 5

The rose-gold sunset

The flutter of a butterfly

The soft whisper of the ocean

The pitter-patter of rain

The flow of snow

The rough of a rock

The purr of the cat

the crunch of ice

as graceful as a tiger

dances across the water

back and forth under and over again and again

Shimmering in the moon light

Nature’s beauty of a Tiger on this hunting night

SAGE INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL OF BOISE

Teaching-Writers Desmond Fuller, Chris Mathers Jackson, Daisy Clar Rosenstock

LISTEN, LOOK, FEEL, SMELL, LIVE

Remy

Grade 5

Stones sit quiet

Songs of dolphins drift on the tide

Wolven cries carry on the wind

Wind chimes echo in valleys

Elk calls propel through the air

Squirrels chitter

Birds sing

Can you hear their song

Can you hear their wild song

Foxes cry

Thunder roars

Rain falls softly to the ground

Thorn bushes prick my skin

The clouds depart

A spider’s web covered in dew

Can you feel your scars

Your journey’s end is far

Richer than chocolate

Rainy smells linger in the air

A fresh breeze carries on the moist air

Droplets glisten and fall from leaves

Pine smells are brisk and quiet in the mountains

Sun fades like every day

Now you look to the stars

The quiet chirps of crickets are your choir

THE AUTHOR

Max

Grade 5

The author traveled Around the world and to Many places

She went to Alaska

Where she climbed a mountain

With troublesome cliffs and rusty winds

She boldly rose to the top

Like a star in the sky

Or a bird flying up

Then back to home with her next book

And with her inspiration

She started to write

BACK EAST

Finn Grade 5

I’m from a place where the trees sway Rivers flow and the thunder roars

The people run and the kids play

All weekend long

And when you go back inside

All your clothes have

A heavy smell of sap

Where the waves crash

A place people shouldn’t be able

To live without

Where the forests are heavy

And everyone is family

So tell me

Where are you from

FORESEEABLE

Mayan Grade 5

When the sun is tired Everyone is exhausted. But it is foreseeable.

Stars being lighter aren’t miracles. But it is foreseeable.

Ultimate fantasy is not real. But it is foreseeable.

Happily being a celebrity is very rare But it is foreseeable.

Having phone coverage at a place in a mountain when it warms Up seems impossible.

But it is foreseeable.

If everything was simple, I would Suggest impossible. But it is foreseeable.

Decent mornings seem impossible. But it is foreseeable.

Having a cartoon be Scary for an adult is not Common.

But it is foreseeable.

NATURAL BEAUTY OF THE SEA

Cora

Grade 5

The sea. Lapis blue waves lapping the shore Sand sweeping out into the vast ocean depths

Perfect paradise perspective. The long sandbar bordered by natural beauty Of the trees of eternity.

Tropical riverbanks down to the azure Atlantic Jungle plants, humid hotness, Never-ending water.

Beautiful, dangerous, natural.

Sea.

THE SONG OF THE SEASONS

Anvitha

Grade 5

White sheep, graze around the soft, green grass. The calm wind pushes the flowers and grass. It is spring.

The hot sun glares down at the earth, the smell of salt and sunscreen lingers in the air. The beach is filled with people, trying to cool off. It is summer.

The wolf, looks for food in the snow, white snow is everywhere, nothing can be seen. The wolf retreats to a cave. It is too cold. It is winter.

The sunset colored trees. The smell of maple syrup and pumpkins fill the air. Children lay on the grassy hill, spending the last moments outside. It is fall.

FLOWERS Mia

Grade 5

I peek over the fence, I see two owners starting a big renovation on their garden, it’s a beautiful day!

Bright sun mixed with a colorful rainbow, creating such beautiful apricity. I hear their dogs bark loudly, after they take a break to tidy up a little, the people who live in this house next to ours, but when they finish they start to plant seeds! The seeds look like orchids, that’s my favorite flower!

But it turns out that it has been a gift all along! When we got the flowers, we found a vase in the cabinet, we slowly filled it with water, placed the flower food in and then the flowers. The next day we walked to their house and thanked them.

Grade 5

Spring is awakening and all around, the fruitful, breeze is bristling about.

An eagle flies above, amazingly at the top of some peaks so high you can touch the clouds. A small stream is running next to a vast waterfall.

There is no exception for the horridness in this world. We all want to know the vast, vast collection of languages and delve into the understanding of the world.

But we cannot.

We cannot know all the secrets and languages of everything to exist. But we can say thank you to life, for letting us live. We can say thank you to life, for all the amazing wonders that are laid out and created.

We can say thank you.

THIN, THIN, THIN

Jake

Grade 5

Thin, beautiful life sits in a balance.

Life is breathtakingly fast

And also an adventure.

We look in the future but not in the Present.

Life is so short, think you people say,

We should live, before you decay.

Thin, Thin, Thin,

Life is thin.

YARD SALE

Hadley Grade 5

I own several baseball caps, though there’s evidence I don’t wear them.

I have a bottle of bubbles but I never use them, even though they’re the fun kind that turn turquoise when they pop.

I have clay models of Russia and Asia, but I never get the chance to make a map.

I decide to have a yard sale, selling my useless junk. I end up selling a broken chalice, a journal, and a couple of books.

I go to the dollar store and buy some objects that look especially for my use, but end up having a yard sale after about a year, and cycle through once more.

UNTITLED Luke

Grade 5

A warm cozy night with shining rays of freedom

break free from the rough winter. Fresh beautiful fireworks roaming the city.

Cut loose from the dry night feel the fire in your hand

A parade of skill

A parade that marvels

A parade of beauty.

ARRIVAL

Jett

Grade 5

ships arriving at the shore of land

no one there to meet or greet them unexpected for them to come ship after ship after ship . . . thundering sounds and lightning

may the ships be blinded by the mist and fog . . .

BEAUTY & WONDER

Charlotte

Grade 5

Wisp of Blossom everywhere floating and drifting through the sweet air the creamwhite flowers are oranges ah the Beauty of life.

The stars and planets aligning for the perfect Midnight eclipse with the moon & sun waiting waiting above–ah the wonder of life

For this planet to exist for eons we destroy it here even though there is great Beauty under the crust An unfamed world of Beauty and wonder

NIGHTMARISH REACTIONS TO…

Sunny

Grade 5

We hear the triggers of little girls as they watch the tsunami tide pull in their screeches in horror

Families still in the shallow water stop in shock as they and I watch children being pulled under the tide of this disaster

People’s lives being taken without consent, a gluey saliva chokes them the tap tap of their wet swim suits dripping the water

A slight taste of salt fills the air memories of family as they regret taking a trip by themselves

Babies scream and cry the loud crash of the waves on the rocks filling their ears the smell of everything runs through their bodies once their lives are drowned out

“Is this for real?” I ask myself

UNTITLED

Escher Grade 5

If you would be so kind to make myself a portrait, I’ll share your kindness and tell you how.

I wish to be atop a throne, a wooden stool to call my own. It should be lined, all around with Christmas presents, dark and brown.

Make my shirt go over my hands. Make it black, light pink or gray.

I’d like to not center the frame, for I should be quietly subtle.

I’d like to be shattered like cathedral art. Make the pieces blue, red, purple, and black.

Thank you, Miss or Mister.

SAGE INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL OF MIDDLETON

Teaching-Writer Kerri Webster

My mom makes the most lovely crepes. Oh just to have one, I will do whatever it takes. Although I love them all so much, if you are not careful they fall apart in one touch. Oh and yet they are so good! She puts bananas, nutella, which make them so fine. I could never describe just how divine. So wow, I think how keen they are, how they are fit for a king, which makes them perfect just the way they are.

ANTI-ODE TO BEES AND WASPS

Liam

Wasps are so cute

Wasps are so nice

They make me think of my enemy’s eyes.

I like being stung as much as I like

homework

GUMMY BEARS Kendall

How you bounce when I drop you on the counter, how you have all the colors and flavors. I love the way you are shaped as a bear. I opened the bag, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. My taste buds felt like they just took a lick of heaven. The way I chew is like I’m at war with your cousins, gummy worms. It’s okay, you are ten times better. Oh I love you, gummy bears. The first time I saw and ate you, I felt a soft sweet feeling in my stomach.

ANTI-ODE TO THE DARK

Adelynn

Dear Dark, you are the very start of my day, I would sit in you for hours.

Oh how I love you like the feeling of hay.

Dear Dark,

I love you like I love stabbing my toe.

So lonely, what lies inside?

You overwhelm me, like the ocean or tide.

Dear Dark, is there much more to say?

We are only separated by a nite-lite.

Black like space

lit only by a light that shines bright.

Dear Dark,

I love you.

ANTI-ODE TO CLOWNS Sara

Your big red nose scares me

Not to mention the unicycle you ride

Tapping on my window

in the middle of the night

Honking your squeaky horn

When the clock strikes 12

When all your friends come out

Of the small car you ride

The high-pitched laugh

The bone crushing hugs

The red on your lips

The deflating balloon

Killer or dead

Killer clowns

Dead clowns

Nice clowns

I don’t care

What kind you are

Killer, dead, nice, or scary

I hate you

Clowns

Deathly afraid of you

MICROWAVE MAC & CHEESE Rachel

Oh how I love sitting on that stool in my Grandma’s kitchen.

I love hearing the microwave ding.

I was going to eat like a king with my mac & cheese.

Oh how grandma waited to cook.

As soon as the spoon hit my mouth

I was fueled with delight.

How I love mac & cheese at my grandma’s house!

EATING MISO SOUP WITH MOM Berkeley

As I walk downstairs, a wonderful aroma fills the air. It’s the smell of miso soup. My mom serves it in a bowl and sets it right in front of me. I take a sip. The smoothness of a velvet rug. Its warmth fills my throat. The tofu enters my mouth next. The squishiness is like a wet sponge. It feels like sitting next to a fireplace, all cozy and warm, drinking that soup. I finish my bowl, and my mom goes to refill it.

MY QUEST FOR SOUP Elijah

I can still smell that, that delicious, mouthwatering scent seeming as if it was beckoning to me, that almost golden glow I saw that night. It, almost annoyed by how slow I was noticing, seemed to reach out and pull me closer.

I still remember the fiery red wood of the table, the cheery laughs and jibes all ignored in my quest to drive out the beast that had settled in my stomach.

My slow lumbering steps that I took looked almost like a predatory beast hunting for food. And there it was, I was finished–

I had reached the heavenly homemade chicken noodle Soup.

My last memory was an empty soup pot and my eyes closing.

THE MYSTERIOUS BLACKBERRIES Blake

A long time ago when I was as tall as a chair

I had a big garden, and in that garden there was asparagus, raspberries, strawberries, peppers, and the best thing, blackberries, and when my mom would pick them and set them in buckets, they would almost be gone by the time she got in the house, and who would have the red juice all over their faces? Me and my brother, smiling with joy!

SOUTHWEST IDAHO JUVENILE DETENTION CENTER

Teaching-Writer Aurora Mehlman

The bad me dark as coal bad as an F-minus grade early in the morning the idea of doing good for the real me to be smooth as wood as this desk to find a rare me like finding a white tiger to be outside and smell a flower and take the sun in might make me light brown as these walls

LETTING GO

Erick

You can kiss your family and friends goodbye and put thousands of miles between you but at the same time carry them with you in your heart, your mind, and your stomach, because you do not just live in the world but a world lives in you.

MINI SCENES

Brian

Rushing rapids running downstream

Half dog half hippo but fully rideable and great at fetch Agony not only on the faces but filling the air. Color faded as much as the clothes these soldiers are dressed in It started with a simple act of kindness but even kindness can be found to be treason

Liberty fills you, you are free not from others, but the ground and everything on it Sweet dreams do not come from within, but what we can’t go to bed without

The first thing I would do would be to embrace my loved ones, to feel their warmth after being cold for so long

Sweet juices overflow my mouth as the sun warms the meadow, to eat not for hunger…but joy

UNTITLED Jaxon

When I hear the word monster

I don’t shiver or shudder

Nor do I fly or cower

Because when I hear monster

I think not of shadows

I think not of creatures of the dark

But only memories of time long that has been

My monsters have not claws

Have not jaws

but they sting, dig in, and whisper

WHY I Mossey

Why I sleep, I sleep because I don’t want to be here, maybe I sleep because I am sad, maybe I sleep because I am tired, maybe I sleep because I want the time to go faster.

Why I love, I love because I know they do too, I’m not gonna fake, I love because they prove it, I love because I know they can help, I love because maybe they need it, I love because nobody else does.

Why I’m here, I’m here because I was “bored,” I’m here because my friend wanted to hang out, I’m here because we went the wrong way, I’m here because I said the wrong name, I’m here because my “friend” thought it was funny.

Why I mumble, I mumble because some words are hard, I mumble because I like the way I talk, I mumble, but I like the way I talk, I mumble because my lips are messed up.

Why I rodeo, I rodeo because it gets my bad thoughts away, I rodeo to get away, I rodeo because I think it’s fun, I rodeo because I think it’s cool.

Why I continue, I continue because of my dad, I continue because I know I’m going to be someone, I continue because my family did, I continue because my dad continued.

Why I love: because I don’t want to be lonely, I want to be loved, feel love, give love, show love to the ones who don’t feel loved, they are loved, it’s two different types of love, there is soft love, which means you can feel it and see it by the way they are treating you, as an example, they are showing you kindness and being very nice to you, but don’t take their kindness for weakness, hard love is where they are hard on you but you still feel their love because they haven’t stopped supporting you.

PICTURES Alyssa

I am twelve in this photograph. I look a little older due to my makeup and demeanor. I wear a white jumpsuit and sit up straight in a black rolling chair. It was nothing important, but it was before I realized, before I saw myself for who I really was. I was taking that photograph for someone else. No one in particular, but for the eyes of someone else to see, to judge, for the humans wanting to pick and choose what they liked. I wasn’t myself in that photo and I will never be something else for another again.

In this photograph I will be twenty-one, with a big beautiful smile on my face, no, not a plastered smile, as if it were being faked, but a glorious smile. I am alone but happy. What surrounds me is streamers, party streamers, to be exact. I appear a little caught off guard but ever flattered by the generous gesture. It says Happy Birthday above me, and my clothes appear lazily chosen. But the smile on my face shows a sparkle of sincerity. I can tell in the picture itself how much I have grown, not only physically, but also mentally. The smile shows that I am me. I am Alyssa, and there is nothing and no one that walks upon this earth that is going to take that.

WHERE I AM FROM Francisco

I am from the console in my living room from the pair of red and white Jordan 1’s on my feet

I am from the two bedroom gray house down 4th Street I am from the garden Stepdad told me to plant when I was Fourteen.

From the lakeview park down the street from the Corner Store.

I’m from a family that loves Thanksgiving. From a family that’s trying to make it one day.

I’m from sit on the couch and don’t get up Until I tell you. From doing the dishes and cleaning the bathroom at seven years old

and from stand in the corner for hours when I got in trouble.

I’m from shut up and don’t say another word. From the music of rap and the artist Woodie. I’m from going to free lunches at the park cuz it helped our family a lot.

I’m from Nampa, Idaho, Canyon County. And from the taco truck down the street from my house. Now from my dad doing ten years in the feds, and Tio committing suicide in my bathroom.

From a family of eleven kids but not all biological. From the little brothers I wake up and see every day and am thankful for.

From my mom who does everything for her kids

I’m from my mother who cares for the choices I make.

One time, I was hanging out with my mom, brother, sister, girlfriend, and of course myself. We were at the lake. I remember my mom asking me what I want to do with my life. The moment she asked me that, I felt confused, and I felt loved in a certain type of way. Maybe, because it was a warm summer day, the clouds were hanging low, or just looking at the water move in such a beautiful way, each little wave was like all my bad choices and mistakes were just washed away. The look in my mom’s eyes was generous, beautiful, yet still kind of sad. The taste in my mouth was bitter. I was stuck.

PERFECT PLACE Jaydee

My “perfect place” is when I am in the driver’s seat of a car, specifically a 2023 Subaru WRX STI, turbo, six-speed manual, with a black and red carbon fiber interior, twelve-inch subs in the trunk bumpin’ some of the homies’ songs. Turning the key and hearing the low rumble from the dual exhausts. Putting the car in first gear and watching the RPMs and the PSI from the turbo skyrocket. The sound of the turbo kicking in, like it’s a far away taking off. Mobbin’ on the freeway going 90 mph, with no care in the world but the now, and then looking out the window to see the sunset and the endless land leading to the mountains, hearing a whoosh and watching a car pass you like it wants to race. Now it’s time to drop down a gear and let the car work its magic. In that moment, there’s nothing in the world but me, the opponent, my car.

BROKEN HEART Lukas

Author’s Note:

“There is war going on in my life and it all crashes together in one moving thing.”

In the night when it’s dark, Don’t you fright.

But know that someone dies every time.

For there is a broken heart

In need of tender love and care

One that’s lost.

One that fights. For what they think is right. So I write today of a time I fell apart for the true love of my life I have lost.

No! Not like death but worse

Like a rose that each petal falls

Until there’s nothing left for you

No life, no light, no fight (no Love!)

Nothing remains in my head

That is split and shattered to pieces

Thrown all around

Spread all around

Nowhere to be found

In the bottomless well of heart breaks.

Good bye, good night, good riddance for I am done

And I am undone.

LEARNING ENGLISH Darius

Life, To understand me you have to know Spanish feel it in the blood of your soul

If I speak another language and use different words for feelings that will always stay the same I don’t know if I’ll continue being the same person. Life, to understand me you have to know my accent embrace it with every fiber of your being if I use another accent, and talk differently for thoughts that will always be the same I’m not sure if I would be the same person Why?

An accent represents, it tells people where you’re from, an accent is one’s element that shouldn’t be forgotten

A WOLF Raven Grade x

A wolf, deep in the night asleep with its companions, dreaming of smells of its prey, dreaming of hunting and the slow process of stalking their prey, dreaming of the breeze on their soft fur as they run through the trees, and how their paws feel trotting on the wet earth, dreaming of how their sharp claws sink in the soil, as they stand their ground from the enemy, dreaming of how they feel when they are with their fellow companions, working together to fulfill their everyday needs.

VALLEY VIEW ELEMENTARY

Teaching-Writers Hannah Philips and Ayotola Tehingbola

Once upon a time, there lived a half-mortal-half-dragon named Song Li, (Song for short). She was not supposed to be in the world of Arcadia, which was the peace, freedom, and love planet. She could go as fast as a race car moving around the track when she flew high in the dark skies. As a child, she was always afraid to go higher than usual. Once, she decided to face her fears and go into light space. From that moment on, Song admired the stars with deep care and love. She went up there only when there was a full moon, so she may drink in the magic of the moon and continue to fly. In her dragon form, she was jade-blue and a very beautiful gold, her eyes the color of flame bursting rapidly in the moonlight. She was beautiful and amazing, and she was awesome as any creature in the entire galaxy. Her mother was a dragon, her father just a mere mortal. Her best friend was nothing but a toad named Mortimer Junior. They both enjoyed long nature hikes and flying, (Mortimer Junior always rode on her back, just for safety).

“Come, Mortimer Junior,” said Song while skipping along a path to the colorful mountains. As she skipped along the path higher and higher into the mountain tops, she decided she wanted to fly. She ran very fast and then jumped and started to turn into her beautiful dragon self. A few moments later, she was flying, whooping and laughing all the way to the mountaintop.

On the top, there was a great surprise. An amazing red and gold dragon boy was standing there looking out at the sunset. He did not notice her until she tapped on his shoulder. He turned around and accidentally breathed a little fire at her. “By God!” said the golden red dragon. “I did not notice you. I am so very sorry.”

“It is okay,” said Song.

“Oh, I heard about you. You are Song: half dragon, half mortal. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Like to come fly around with me?”

“Of course I would love to!!!” said Song. So, they flew around til dark, laughing and playing several children’s games. Song flew back home at 8:00 at night, and her mother was not very pleased that she was back that late.

“Where have you been? I was worried about you!” screamed Song’s mother. “Go to your room right now!!!”

Song walked slowly up the stairs sadly and full of great sorrow. “Oh, how I wish I could go to the human world, but also be able to turn into a dragon when I need to.”

Song made a plan to go to her friend’s house and ask if he wanted to come with her. If he agreed, they would travel to the mortal portal and jump through, being transported to the human realm instantly.

The next day, right at dawn, she snuck out of the castle to go to her friend’s den. Her friend agreed, and then they jumped through the portal and ended up in New York City. It was dull and gray and sad. They

both thought it really needed some magic. They had enough money to afford an apartment in Chinatown.

One day, it snowed, and they had never seen snow before, since it was always spring in Arcadia. They were surprised and scared of the white drops falling from the sky.

One day, they decided they should add a little magic to the world by what they like to call “paying it forward.” Paying it forward is when you do a kindness to someone and then ask them to do it to the next three people. Hopefully, they will pay it forward. They would both do a good deed for three people then ask them to pay it forward. If you do the math, soon the whole population will have paid it forward.

The plan began. Song paid it forward to three people, then Hon, her friend, did too. Soon, crime rates dropped 56 percent!

When the clock struck midnight, the god Hairijujubee came to Song’s apartment and sprinkled magic cookie crumbs all over her face, causing her to fly into the gods’ world and meet Li Chong, who told her to bring Chinese New Year to New York to bring back magic and love.

Song was thinking about Chinese New Year and woke up at 1:00 a.m. Her eyes turned red as blood. She instantly jumped out the window. Of course, she turned into a dragon and flew to the heavens to meet with the god of China, Min Chong, to ask for help and support.

Hijo, the god of the Underworld, learned about all the magic coming back to NYC. He forged a dragon soul that was evil and impure to go into Song’s friend’s body and try to kill Song from the inside. When morning came, the evil dragon had ventured into his body and turned him dark.

“Oh Song, I would like to take you somewhere…” said Song’s friend. So they flew to the tallest building in NYC. Song sensed something was wrong because she backed away from him. He sharpened his claws and flew at great speeds toward Song. Song thought, I don’t want to hurt my friend. But she had to, so she scratched his stomach, and he roared in pain then fell to the ground.

Song wept and cried and fell on to her knees. That night, it was Chinese New Year. Song flew overhead and watched the colorful parade as it marched down the long streets. She thought and knew that in the end, NYC will always have a spark of kindness left within.

There was once a goddess named Aqua. Aqua was the goddess of the sea. She loved to sit by the seashore and listen to the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach. She had a pet sea turtle named Tootsie. She was very gentle and mostly kept to herself. Aqua had two sisters, Amy and Saqua. She loved books and all the sea creatures, good and bad. She sometimes danced around in the fields. That was what she liked to do with Saqua, the goddess of the fields and hay. Aqua had a beautiful frilly dress that went down to her feet.

The world of the goddesses was called Alyantis (Alie-antis). Alyantis was divided into four parts. Aqua lived in the ocean realm. She slept in a hammock above a pond. Her pet turtle slept in the water underneath her. She lived underneath the water. She ate the seaweed, the clam shells, etc. She played in the waves in Alyantis with all the other water goddesses.

But one day, she was swimming in the lake, and she found a clam. She loved clams. She ate it, and then she felt this feeling. Next thing she knew, she was marching to the ruler of the goddesses, Lantyin! This was trouble. Aqua couldn’t go up against Lantyin.

Amy saw Aqua walking to her majesty’s (Lantyin’s) palace in the clouds. Amy knew this wasn’t a good thing, so she followed Aqua to see what was happening. When she was following Aqua, she realized the red in Aqua’s eyes, and whenever someone’s eyes were red, that meant they had turned EVIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Aqua had turned evil and was going up against her majesty. The queen can get really mad, especially when it comes to this, but things took a turn. The queen was the complete opposite. She saw the gleam in Aqua’s eyes and said, “WELCOME! I’ve been expecting you.”

Aqua looked at the queen and smiled.

THE ADVENTURES OF THE UNKNOWN EARTH

Leo

Grade 4

Once upon a time, there was a dragon that lived alone in the forest. The only one who knew about him was a woman named Anthaly. Anthaly was the dragon’s true love. When they met, Anthaly named him Giunnie. Later, they got married and had a son named Cerpent. He was half human and half dragon, almost like a centaur, but with a dragon’s body.

Cerpent grew to be a great hunter. He got food for his father who could not leave his cave. Eventually, the nearby villagers found out that there was a dragon living in a cave in the forest. At that time, Giunnie was ill. Anthaly and Cerpent had to leave because the villagers were going to

attack, but Cerpent refused. He did not want to leave his father behind.

Cerpent challenged the villagers to a duel right there and then. Of course, the villagers accepted this challenge, for they knew that they could win. They had hundreds of soldiers to fight this battle, and they were only supposed to fight one person, not even a person at all. Anthaly tried to tell Cerpent to forfeit or back down from the challenge, but he would not. The only thing Anthaly could do was fight alongside her son. Cerpent went to ask the villagers if this was okay, but as soon as he saw the Chief, all the villagers attacked thinking he was attacking them. Cerpent ran back towards his mother to warn her that the villagers were attacking. Anthaly sprang into action, got her sword, and started attacking. Cerpent did the same.

This war was to happen for another nine months. Cerpent and Anthaly fought and fought until every villager was dead. Cerpent and Anthaly had many scars, but at least they were not dead. The only one that died that they cared about was Giunnie. He had gotten too ill, and one of the villagers stabbed him in the heart.

One day, there was a big rush in the forest. All the animals were fleeing the forest. Cerpent asked a young squirrel what was going on. He said that there was a black patch overgrowing in the forest! The powerful guardian that was stopping the spread had died. The guardian was a very fierce badger who had bought tons of weed killer to stop the spread when he first heard about it fifty-three years ago. This plant was deadly and could swallow anything it could fight in its mouth. This plant was called the black garden. The badger had hidden all of the weed killer so the black garden could not find it.

Cerpent told his mother to stay, but Anthaly refused to put her son in danger again. So they both went to investigate this inconvenience. There they found a secret-agent platypus already there with his team. Cerpent told the platypus to leave so that he could take care of it, but the platypus said that it was too big of a case.

Just then, one of the platypus’s team members got swallowed. Cerpent ran back a few hundred feet only to watch all the secret-agent platypuses get swallowed by the black garden.

Cerpent and Anthaly went to get some strong animals to battle the black garden. The ones that they found were a mountain lion, a bear, a wolverine, and a wolf pack. Also, they got some birds to swoop in and grab animals if they were about to get eaten. These birds included an eagle, hawk, osprey, and the only creature the black garden feared, vultures. All at once, they charged and started attacking the black garden.

After six weeks of hard, desperate battling, the animals beat the black garden for good. There was no longer even a speck of blackness in that garden. After Cerpent and the animals won the war, Cerpent became a god. He lived in a giant castle deep inside the dark cave he grew up in. This castle was called Hahneff. It smelled of dust and the relief of the dragons. There he keeps all the dragons safe. They all sleep in a heap in the sleeping caves. If any human comes near his cave, he doesn’t have his army seize them; he attacks them himself. He guards his mother and every dragon

he can, for he doesn’t want to eliminate another one from the world if he can control it. He tries to give these dragons a happily ever after, without humans.

THE SNOW QUEEN: A TRAGIC RETELLING OF THE DANISH MYTH

Atalie

Grade 3

Once upon a time, there were two children, Greta and Kai, who were the very best of friends. They grew up next to each other and grew roses and vegetables in the window boxes between their houses. One day, the Devil’s mirror shattered, and tiny pieces flew across the earth. One piece landed in Kai’s eye, and everything he saw became vile.

One day, he went to the mountains and saw a gigantic castle. He decided to walk in. He saw a big throne. Then a very big woman walked down some fancy stairs. She yelled, “What are you doing in my castle, young man?!”

“I-I-I didn’t know that you were here,” Kai said. “Could you possibly help me? I got a piece of the Devil’s mirror stuck in my eye. It broke.”

Then the queen said, “I might be able to help you. If you get me my golden crown. It is on another planet, Jupiter. It will cost you $1000,000,000,000,000 to get there. Plus taxes.”

“NO WAY! Not even my parents can afford that much!”

Kai ran home and came across a big giant. The giant turned him even more evil. When he got home, Greta gave him a flower, but he got mad at her.

Greta asked, “What happened?” in a sweet voice.

“You know we are enemies, right?!” Kai said.

“No, we are not!” Greta said.

But that’s how Greta and Kai split up. When Kai died of old age, he still was evil. He never got saved.

THE END.

GHOST PEPPER Charlotte

Grade 3

Voilnz is an elegant, short, hot-tempered goddess. She once came across bell peppers, tasted one, and instantly spat it out after gagging. She grabbed another in her hand then squished it and tore out the seeds. Voilnz took the plant into a sunny area that got a decent amount of rain. She dug her hands into the ground, and the seeds grew almost instantly. She took out the plant and bit into it. It made her tongue burn; it tasted spicy. Voilnz left the plants that she renamed “Ghost Pepper’’—to trick mortals into a painful, tongue-tearing trap!

WHITE PINE ELEMENTARY

Teaching-Writer Sharon Hanson

THE CARING BUTTERFLY

Naomi

Grade 3

Whoosh! Now I am a beautiful fluttering butterfly! I look purple and feel velvety I hop and skip to look for pollen

I would spend my time making people happy by giving them sunlight

I would try to give the bees some of my pollen

When you’re a flying creature it feels like when you fly you can just get rid of all bad feelings or memories.

Would people depend on me to be the most beautiful flying creature on earth?

Sorry that I’m camouflaged in my habitat, because I know people like to look at me

But maybe you should turn into a butterfly and see how it feels What would you do if you were a butterfly?

WOULD A BEE FEEL A STING?

Julian

Grade 3

What would a bee feel if it got a bee sting?

What would it feel like to be in a stomach?

Can a flower feel empathy for a rainy cloud?

Why do gorillas pound their chests?

Why does a bomb countdown to zero, why not fifty?

Why does Godzilla destroy, why not rebuild?

Why doesn’t everyone speak sign language?

KITCHEN CONVERSATION

Nandita

Grade 3

Toaster: Open up! I need the eggs.

Fridge: I’m a little chilly… here are the eggs.

Toaster: On the stove you go…

Egg: I love getting a tan.

Toaster: Need a jacket? Or are you gonna give me the bread?

Bread: Don’t tease him, get me yourself!

Toaster: Get in.

Egg: You are grumpy today!

Toaster: Yeah, yeah. *Ding!* Get on the plate, Toast.

Fridge: (Teeth chattering) W-wanna t-talk a-about it?

Toaster: One of my best friends moved away.

Fridge: Well, you s-still have us-s, r-r-right?

Toaster: You’re right. Thanks.

Egg: You know guys, I love this. But…I AM BURNING!!!!!

Toaster: Sorry!

Egg: Phew. Can’t let the people be disappointed!

Toast: Butter time!

ODE TO STRAWBERRY

Graham

Grade 3

Oh, bright, blooded strawberry

A splat of colorful savor in my mouth

From my hand, down to my tongue, down to my stomach

There is an endless amount of you, A whole new generation of beautiful, bright, red The great, green palms shelter your head

You are with a vast group of your friends

You are perfect just the way you are. Beautiful.

THE HARP Helen Grade 3

There was harp in a mysterious garden. No one would dare touch it. Rumor is, a young girl was playing on the riverbank. She suddenly caught sight of the golden harp and began to play it. As soon as her finger touched a string, she shrank to the size of sand and vanished into the harp. People now looked at the object, but stayed at least fifteen feet away.

One day, a new girl was born. The baby saw the harp and touched it. However, nothing happened. Or so they thought. Mud began to find a way into every house in the neighborhood, gluing the doors shut. But the people didn’t notice. They thought they were already in their houses.

Then, without any teaching, the baby began to talk. And write. And read, and sing and dance. She did everything a baby didn’t know how to do. But still, no one noticed. They thought the harp was now harmless. So people started to play the harp, then even weirder things happened. People lost their memory. Jaguars from a nearby forest began to fly. Objects fell up.

But what caused this remains a mystery.

WHITNEY ELEMENTARY

Teaching-Writer Chris Mathers Jackson

COLOR POEM Omba

Grade 3

Hard red like a red panda In the forest. Hard red like my heart that beats in me.

Light green like a green smoothie In a cafe that tastes cool.

Light green like my water bottle in the kitchen.

Dark purple like a juicy, nice, beautiful grape that pops in my teeth. Dark purple like my phone case that has lightning.

I AM Maika

Grade 3

I am weird like a cat hitting a wall every time it runs. I am tired like a bear in the winter. I am hungry like a nonstop black hole. I am reckless like a weak man trying to win against a world champion arm wrestler.

I AM Amity

Grade 3

I am soft like a calm cloud.

I am smart like a cat.

I am nice like my teacher. I am.

I am happy like the bright, happy sun.

I am funny like a creaking door.

Crazy like a car.

Big like a hot air balloon.

Grade 3

I am the alien on the moon. I am a brother.

I am odd like a walking pumpkin. I am weird like a talking monkey. I am the warmth of your home. I am the comfort of your bed.

I AM Amari

Grade 3

I am nice, fast, and happy all the time. I love my family and all my friends. Some people think I am too much, but I’m more.

I am brave like a snake. I am fun like playing with a dog, I am kind like a summer day. I am fast like a cheetah.

I am happy like a good day.

I am funny like a joke that is so funny. I am crazy like a frog that thinks he can run through a wall.

I am a person that will make mistakes and be ok with it. I am odd.

I laugh all the time.

I am always excited to try new things.

TEACHING-WRITER BIOGRAPHIES

Being charged by a grizzly in Denali National Park, to being bitten by piranhas in the Amazon, Elizabeth Barnes is an avid adventurer and outdoor enthusiast. She loves reading, writing, cooking, and parenting. Elizabeth has an MFA. She teaches writing by day and battles dragons by night.

Colleen Brennan is a freelance writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher with an MA in linguistics. Her stories appear in Writers in the Attic and A Year in Ink. A native Minnesotan, she has lived and worked in San Diego, Boulder, Paris, Bordeaux, and Boise. She is the recipient of a 2018 literary arts grant from the Alexa Rose Foundation.

Meg Freitag was born in Maine. She earned her BA from Sarah Lawrence College, and has an MFA in Poetry from UT Austin’s Michener Center for Writers, and an MFA in Fiction from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Her first poetry collection, EDITH, was published by BOAAT Press in 2017. Individual poems have appeared in Tin House, Boston Review, and Black Warrior Review, among other journals. She’s currently at work on a second poetry collection, a short story collection, and a novel. She lives and works in Boise, Idaho.

Desmond Everest Fuller is an MFA candidate in fiction at Boise State University and the associate editor of The Idaho Review for the 2023 issue. His works appear in or are forthcoming from Aquifer: The Florida Review Online, Hawaii Pacific Review, Indiana Review, West Trade Review, The Gravity Of The Thing, and elsewhere.

Sharon Hanson has been a high school language arts and creative writing teacher for over thirty years, most recently retired from Boise High School. The core of her teaching has always been the power of narrative. Writing is her parallel passion; she cobbles words together to make sense of the world. Sharon has worked as a freelance writer in the past and continues to write with her students. Her daily writing has taken shape as a book for Scholastic and a Fiction 101 First Place. Currently she works as a trainer for Narrative 4, furthering her belief that by sharing our stories we grow community.

Chris Mathers Jackson is a freelance writer and editor, an aspiring novelist, a teacher, a mom, an artist, and a lover of the natural world. Chris received her MA in English Literature from University of Montana in 2005. She taught English Composition at UM from 2003-2006, both during and following completion of her master’s (as a TA and then an adjunct instructor). She worked in the administration of Missoula International School from 2006-2010 before becoming a full-time freelance writer, editor, and graphic designer. After several years, she stopped doing design work professionally to focus on her growing family and her passion for the written word. In 2019 she established a book review website (LitReaderNotes). In addition to teaching, writing, and editing, Chris enjoys spending as much time outside as possible, adventuring both near and far, with her husband and two daughters.

Carter Jones is a poet, educator, barista and prospective qualitative sociologist. Born and raised in Boise, Carter is dedicated to untangling our valley’s complex social realities/histories. Braiding academic and artistic techniques, they work to impart critical creativity in their poetry, research, and teaching methods.

Aurora Mehlman is an emerging fiction writer who works with The Cabin, College of Western Idaho, and Boise State University teaching classes in Creative Writing, English, and Digital Arts. She is also active in her local community. Mehlman is staff at Treefort’s Storyfort, where she organizes and facilitates great programming from both local acts and visiting authors, and she is the co-director of the Bishop’s House Writing Collective. Recently, she has been published in 45th Parallel and Boise Weekly, and she shared her stories at the Idaho Botanical Garden, Scaryfort, and Story Story Night’s Grand Slam. Mehlman is currently at work on a novel.

Guisela Penados-Baldizón is a writer of fiction, poetry, and prose. She has been working with young writers for more than fifteen years. A native of Guatemala, Guisela has lived in Boise for 35 years where she was a Top Ten Scholar at Boise State University and earned her M.A. in Literacy. She has been teaching since 1977. She has provided literacy and whole language Spanish workshops throughout the Northwest. One of her favorite projects has been to work with street children in Guatemala, showing them how to use literacy to find their voices.

Hannah Phillips is a writer originally from the Endless Mountains region of Pennsylvania. She has BAs in creative writing and English education, and she is an MFA candidate in fiction writing at BSU where she teaches undergraduate creative writing courses. Currently at work on her first novel, Hannah is also the show creator of the TV pilot, OUT, which is being produced through BSU’s Narrative TV Initiative and will premiere in the spring of 2024.

Hannah Rodabaugh is the author of With Words: Verse in Concordance, We Don’t Bury Our Dead When Our Dead Are Animals, and We Traced The Shape Of Our Loss To See Your Face. She’s been published in Anti-Narrative Journal, Berkeley Poetry Review, ROAR Magazine, Horse Less Review, K’in Literary Journal, and Written River, among others. She’s received grants from the Idaho Commission on the Arts, the Alexa Rose Foundation, and the COVID Cultural Commissioning Fund. She’s been an artist-in-residence for the National Park Service, the Bureau of Land Management, and Surel’s Place. She is a teaching writer for The Cabin.

Daisy Clar Rosenstock is a second year poetry MFA student at Boise State University. When not writing or reading, she can be found daydreaming about abandoned houses or chatting with the local dying pine tree.

Daniel Stewart, a poet, is the author of the collection The Imaginary World, and a teaching-writer for The Cabin’s Writers in the Schools. A Pushcart Prize nominee, he won the Erskine J. Poetry Prize from Smartish Pace, and has published in BOAAT, Graviton Lit, NightBlock, Prairie Schooner, Puerto Del Sol, RATTLE, Sixfold, Skidrow Penthouse, Thrush Poetry Journal, Yes Poetry, and elsewhere.

Ayotola Tehingbola is earning her MFA in Creative Writing at Boise State University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Quarterly West, Passages North, Hawaii Pacific Review, Pidgeonholes, You Need To Hear This, Kalahari Review, etc., and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best Small Fictions. She is the recipient of the Winter 2022 Karen Finley Scholarship for Women and Nonbinary Writers at Hudson Valley Writers Center. She is also the recipient of a 2022 Glenn Bach Award for Fiction and an Alexa Rose Grant for her photography.

Kerri Webster is the author of four books of poetry: Lapis (Wesleyan University Press, 2022), The Trailhead (Wesleyan, 2018), Grand & Arsenal (University of Iowa, 2012), and We Do Not Eat Our Hearts Alone (University of Georgia, 2005). She has taught at Washington University in St. Louis, at Boise State, and as a Writer in the Schools for the Cabin. The recipient of honors including the Whiting Award, the Lucille Medwick Award, the Iowa Prize, the Lynda Hull Memorial Prize, an Alexa Rose Foundation grant, and three Literature Fellowships from the Idaho Commission on the Arts, Webster’s poems have appeared in journals including Poetry, The Boston Review, Denver Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, Guernica, The Washington Square Review, The Kenyon Review, The Antioch Review, Poetry Northwest, and the Beloit Poetry Journal.

THE CABIN is a Boise, Idaho literary arts organization. We’ve been creating human connections through words since 1996.

You can read, write, and learn with us at:

READINGS & CONVERSATIONS

An annual lecture series that brings internationally-acclaimed, provocative, and inspiring writers to Boise.

WRITERS IN THE SCHOOLS (WITS)

A program that places professional writers in classrooms with 3rd-12th grade students.

SUMMER WRITING CAMPS

Week-long literary adventures for young writers.

WRITING WORKSHOPS

Creative small-group classes led by published authors.

GHOSTS & PROJECTORS

A reading series that pairs emerging, innovative, and experimental writers with writers from our community.

WRITERS IN THE ATTIC (WITA)

An annual publication contest and event for local writers.

LITERARY ACTIVITIES

Book club meetings, readings by local authors, and other events that create conversation and community around literature.

The Cabin’s administrative offices are housed in a restored log cabin, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, on the banks of the Boise River in downtown Boise.

INDEX

A

Abby 57 (Jefferson)

Abby 125 (Valley View)

Adelynn 107

Akassja 41

Alaire 86

Alejandro 48

Alex 31

Alexi 17

Alyssa 117

Amari 140

Amira 75

Amity 139

Amy 40

Anvitha 94

Argelia 69

Ashlee 62

Atalie 129

Atlas 36

Avery 29

B

Beck 6

Ben 86

Berkeley 109

Blake 111

Braden 8

Brian 115

Brook-Lynne 41

Bryonna 78

Bubba 48

C

Camille 9

Charley 15

Charlie 6

Charlotte 99 (Sage Boise)

Charlotte 130 (Valley View)

Chloe 37

Christian 42

Colton 66

Cora 94

Cory 21

Coryn 96

D

David 115

Darius 121

Dorotea 72

E

Elise 87

Elijah 110

Ella 34

Emilia 22

Emily 23

Erick 115

Escher 101

Evan 33 (Boise High)

Evan 140 (Whitney)

Evynn 64

F

Finley 82

Finn 36 (Boise High)

Finn 92 (Sage Boise)

Fiona 32 (Boise High)

Fiona 74 (Riverglen)

Fran 29

Francisco 118

Freida 21

G

Gage 61

Gavin 75

Grace 65

Graham 134

H

Hadley 97

Hannah 63

Helen 135

Henry 68

Holland 53

Hudson 8

I Isaac 51

Izzy 18

J Jackson 116

Jada 47

Jaiden 119

Jake 9 (Adams)

Jake 96 (Sage Boise)

James 20

Jaydee 119

Jayden 53

Jett 98

Jose 117

Josephine 16

Josh 65

Julian 133

Julz 54

K

Kaedence 45

Kamari 5

Kellen 54

Kendall 106

Kenlee 46

Keyton 28

Koji 85

L

Lauren 35

Layla 64

Layth 55

Leo 127

Lev 85

Leyla 68

Liam 105

Lily 28 (Boise High)

Lily 77 (Riverglen)

Logan 14

London 77

Lucia 7

Lukas 120

Luke 98

M

Macauley 63

Macy 81

Maika 139

Marin 26

Masen 51

Max 8 (Adams)

Max 92 (Sage Boise)

Mayan 93

Mia 95

Mehkai 74

Mossey 116

N

Nandita 134

Naomi 133

Nate 15

Noah 17

Noe 13

O

Oliver 67

Olli 76

Omba 139

Owen 13

Phin 56

Porter 52

Quintin 25

R

Rachel 109

Raven 122

Rebecca 27 (Boise High)

Rebecca 32 (Boise High)

Remy 91

Rowan 67

S

Sara 108

Sawyer 62

Serenity 73

Severin 45

Siena 37

Sophia 30

Sophia 81 (Riverside)

Sunny 100

Sydney G. 71

Sydney N. 70

Sydney P. 72

T

Taelyn 38

Tatyana 46

Taylor 105

Tessa 81

Therese 40

Thomas 81

Tyson 19 (Boise High)

Tyson 77 (Riverglen)

U Uma 24

W Will 25

Z

Zach 5

Zayah 18

Zoey 127

2023

Cambia WritersintheSchools

TheCabinisaBoise,Idaholiteraryartsorganization.Weforgecommunity throughthevoicesofallreaders,writers,andlearners.TheWritersin the Schools(WITS)programbringsprofessionalteaching-writersintoTreasure Valleyschoolsandjuveniledetentioncenterstoprovidein-depthwriting instructionandconfidence-buildingfeedbacktolocalstudents.

WOULDABEEFEELASTING?

Whatwouldabeefeelifitgotabeesting? Whatwoulditfeelliketobe inastomach? Canaflowerfeelempathyforarainycloud? Whydogorillaspoundtheirchests?

Whydoesabombcountdowntozero,whynotfifty? WhydoesGodzilladestroy,whynotrebuild? Whydoesn’teveryonespeaksignlanguage?

Julian, WhitePineElementarySchool