St. Michael's Catholic Academy Literary Magazine 2010 - 2011

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St. Michael's Catholic Academy Presents:

Erin

The Literary Magazine

2010 - 2011

Editors:

David Vaughan DeVine

Beth Smith

Ben Russell

Leticia Hernandez

Ryan Pelarski

Elizabeth Kelley

Advisor:

Dr. Penny Weibly

Cover: ―Bicycle‖ by Erin Spencer (TAPPS District Champion in Painting)

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Table of Contents

Title Author Page

I AM… Erin Crowley 2

Homecoming for the Guys Michael Cimino 7

The Season that I Love the Most Ryan Jasse Pelarski 8

Autumn Evening Ashley Hancock 9

Homecoming Elizabeth Kelley 10

Untitled Nia Johnson 11

Fallen Hero Iliana Rodriguez 12

Man of Autumn Seth Bernacki 13

The Prius Jennifer Mott 14

Tree Cella Mahoney 15

The Night before Homecoming Ryan Jasse Pelarski 16

A Perilous Journey for the Daughter of Eve Rachelle Caparroso 17

With What Hands Joey Rousseau 18

Untitled Nia Johnson 19

Westlake Dressing Room Emily Zagger 20

An Ordinary Day James Boone 21

On the Feelings Evoked by Chuck Norris Cameron McCarthy 24

Art Nia Johnson 25

Seasons of the Heart Derrick Merkel 26

Influential Person Jennifer Mott 27

Pesky Pets Beth Smith 28

Baba O‘Riley Elizabeth Carls 29

When I Get the Chance Elizabeth Carls 30

Important Issue Jennifer Mott 31

I Am A Poem Julianna Barreiro 32

Poems Kasey Zimmermann 33

True Love Yvette Cannata 34

Loneliness Christie Ross 35

Untitled Marissa Martin 36

Love Lost to Winter Ben Russell 37

Hunger David Vaughan DeVine 38

Snow Amy Breen 40

The Silent Day Michael Cimino 41

Untitled Ashley Hancock 42

Those whom are Seen through the Water Ryan Jasse Pelarski 43

The Christmas Briana Muniz 44

Untitled Leticia Hernandez 48

The Basketball Player Joseph Tybor 49

Lockgnar Joey Rousseau 50

You Were Too Much With Me Kimberly Trimble 51

Winter Months Catlin Whiteley 52

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Title Author Page

I Bleed Love like a Broken Heart Bylthe Storrar 53

How Valentine‘s Day Began Andres Alverez 54

Y.C. Michael Cimino 55

The Dinosaur Kimberly Trimble 56

It‘s a Feeling Nancy Van Gompel 57

Love Tyler Paul 58

Flower Three Leticia Hernandez 59

When In Unfailing Love a Child is Born Iliana Rodriguez 60

Valentine‘s Day Poem Anonymous 61

Untitled Andres Alverez 62

Dance With Me Cella Mahoney 63

Gin Danielle Spagnolla 64

Passing Period Jennifer Mott 65

Flower Two Leticia Hernandez 69

Journey to Paradise Anonymous 70

Tears Maria Salmeron 71

I‘m Just Me Mallory Hill 72

Baseball Tyler Paul 73

No Path in Mind Selena Alonzo 74

Oak Brianna Muniz 75

Flower One Leticia Hernandez 76

On Hearing a Mocking Bird David Vaughan DeVine 77

My Battle with the Sea Channel Beth Smith 78

After the Rain Leticia Hernandez 79

Untitled Danielle Spagnolla 80

Paint the Boy Mallory Hill 81

Crush Derrick Merkel 82

Don‘t Judge a Book by its Cover Anonymous 83

Assorted Haiku Ben Russell 84

The Illusion of American Culture Phillip Flagg 85

The End of the Day Yvette Cannata 86

Swing Cella Mahoney 87

The Medicine Woman Christie Ross 88

Flower Four Leticia Hernandez 92

Untitled Kira Parsons 93

Lament of the Primrose David Vaughan DeVine 94

Toads Elizabeth Carls 95

La Croiox and the Tower of Eternal Josh Rodriguez 96

Darkness

The Lego Man Matt Leibowitz 101

Butterfly Erin Crowley 102

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Homecoming for the Guys

Michael Cimino

Girls have it rough

On this night so dear,

Working on being pretty,

But let's get one thing clear.

For guys it is harder,

This should be plain to see,

To make this night perfect

To ensure their girls glee.

Asking is the worst,

Oh, but girls wouldn't know

The challenge of creativity

To ensure our caring shows.

Then there're the tickets,

This is no simple deed,

Working hours for money

By picking up weeds.

We need to get a ‗mum,

Or make it if one dares,

Then carry it down the hall

Feeling other's judgmental stares.

But there is a bright side,

An end to the means.

They have the time of their lives

A night of their dreams.

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The Season that I Love the Most

Ryan Jasse Pelarski

Every season I do love but none so much as Fall.

Many mind the cold but I only see the leaves changing.

Autumn I simply thrive in; I will pick any day over winter.

Who doesn‘t like warm fire? The warmth they give from their brick house?

Every season I do love but none so much as Fall.

So many love the other seasons but Autumn is the only one for me.

I love the cool mornings, they are much better than sweaty nights of summer.

This season I claim has great weather for flying kites in many of its days.

Every season I do love but none so much as Fall.

Cold drinks for me no more; I only have hot tea, chocolate or cider.

I do blatantly exclaim, ―rejoice all, for Autumn has fallen on us!‖

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Autumn Evening

Ashley Hancock

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

~Albert Camus

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Homecoming Elizabeth Kelley

Within the first few hours of Saturday, an excited hum started in the air. The sky

gradually turned a lighter and lighter blue, until the sun finally rose. Colors painted the sky as if

the sky itself was excited as well; bright yellow, an almost neon pink, an indescribable red, and a

vivid shade of orange scattered on the horizon for just a moments. It all faded away and the sun

fully revealed itself in its unnatural glory.

A breeze fell on the waking city, the animals awoke, and the world became alive. Many

humans slept in on Saturdays, although some had gotten up early for unenthusiastic work. The

peaceful silence of sleep was broken by the realization that slapped some late-sleepers wide

awake. The now charged atmosphere has hints of excitement and nervousness for the oncoming

event. Teenage girls dragged their mothers or friends to the mall to get last-minute things. The

few hours before the school event were spent by busily fretting over clothes and hair and such.

The sky turned the same colors when it had rose. It was eight o‘clock.

Few drove there, some went by their mothers or fathers or both, and many went together

in swarms packed into cars like sardines in a can. Inside, lights of every color flashed and

blinked crazily. The strings of silver fell from the ceiling onto the floor. No one danced in the

beginning. Then, a group started the dance and others joined in. An hour later, everyone was

dancing and sweating waterfalls. It all swirled together; the dancing, the dizzy lights, the sodas,

the music became a blur and seemed like a dream. It finally ended after four, long hours. People

bid their friends good night and good bye. They all parted ways with friends or parents. The

Homecoming came to an end.

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Untitled

Nia Johnson

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Fallen Hero

Iliana Rodriguez

Gazing at the blue September sky

Remembering the feeling of our summer‘s breeze

Numbing my pain, praying it‘s a lie

I slowly, slowly, fall to my knees

With eyes closed there is pure freedom

Safety in your warm embrace

Wistful winds, I graciously greet them

Your hands caressing my darkened face

Lingering thoughts, lingering scents

Thoughts of you come with every breath

Hearing your voice, it all makes sense

God Our Father, putting me to the test

Drowning in a sea of emotion

Lost in a moment when you were mine

Until death do us part you have my devotion

For all of eternity, until the end of time

Selflessly courageous and forever brave

The discharge of the guns bring me back to reality

Faithful husband, father, and son is engraved

Families mourning the loss of each fatality

Deafening silence fills the air

My strength now lies beneath the ground

As tears fall, I whisper a prayer

With God, peace in my heart is found

Handed the magnificent stars and stripes

Holding a box of unopened letters

God heal this hurt, give me back my life

For my children, my family, moments we will treasure

Right here in this moment, I choose to move forward

Holding onto you as my guardian angel

Although my heart and life are forever altered

To God I will forever be grateful.

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Man of Autumn

Seth Bernacki

Oh merciless change, you've struck me again.

The root of all that is evil, all that's good.

Your pressures weigh down, too much for a man.

You feed off the weak, my calmed nerves your food.

Silent as an illness, you've taken me.

Left behind in shambles, I am your wake.

A casualty to your cruel, sick mercy.

Doting on lost thoughts, icing on the cake.

No discrimination in your actions,

Even motionless veins of wood fall prey.

Despite the use of modern contraptions,

All that is left now is for us to play.

Change is not something to run and hide from.

I'll be a man, the calm and contrived one.

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The Prius

Jennifer Mott

I press down on the break pedal – that black rectangle below my toes with those lines,

running from left to right, that imprint themselves on the bottoms of my feet – and slide my hand

down the steering wheel to the power button, which I push as I watch the light under my fingers

dim and then go out. My left hand roams down from the wheel to the silver handle on the door.

I tug the metal, cooled from the air conditioner, and the door yields, opening with a crump. My

feet lift from the carpet, matted with mud, and alight on the asphalt, which had been warmed

from the sun – the pebbles embedding in my soles. I retrieve my bubble sword from the pocket

inside the door before easing it shut. Walking around to the trunk, my fingers trail the side,

leaving red paths in the grey dust. I fumble along the underside of the overhang above my

license plate, searching for the trunk-opener. I press up with two fingers and the trunk unlatches

with a click. I lead the lid upwards, guiding it through to the ends of its reach because, after so

many years, it‘s begun to stick around the midpoint. I climb into the trunk, right knee on the

bumper as the car creaks under my weight. Crawling on all fours, I rest my back against one

side and nestle into the tan carpet. I twist the cap of my bubble sword and unsheathe it, allowing

the excess to drip back into the yellow scabbard. The bubble juice clings to the inside of the

sword, bending the light so that shapes are distorted and the world is striped with purple and

blue. I blow my first round of bubbles and they sail away, out of my trunk, bouncing and dancing

as they soar towards the sun.

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Tree Cella Mahoney

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The Night before Homecoming

Ryan Jasse Pelarski

It was the 16th

of September, a Thursday, the day before the Homecoming game. The ride

to San Antonio Christian had been a long one. We were up against the Lions, our game started

around 7:30. We got called on a lot of holding the first quarter. When the second through fourth

quarters came we kicked it up, put it into high gear, and won the game. We all gathered to Coach

Morelan and he gave us our after game speech. I was so happy I hugged Coach Grief. I tried to

hug Coach Clanton, but he ran.

We started to head back to the bus carrying our football gear and water jugs. I picked up

a red Gatorade on the way back. I took a sip and closed it up. As I was walking with the others to

the locker room that SAC let us use to change, I realized the Gatorade wasn‘t all the way closed,

it had leaked all over my white jersey. I told Coach Morelan, He told me I need to take better

care of my equipment. As I put my jersey in the pile the team was making, I hoped that when

they were washed they wouldn‘t all turn pink.

As I got all my stuff, I headed to my mother who had been waiting in our car near the bus

ready to pick me up. My sister was there too; in another car were old family friends. We headed

to Applebee‘s to celebrate my team‘s victory. The family friends drove in front. We lost them

several times and broke several traffic laws because of their erratic driving. After dinner we said

our goodbyes and headed home. Once I crawled into bed I wondered if the Homecoming game

would be as good. I had no need to fear though for it was better.

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A Perilous Journey for the Daughter of Eve

Rachelle Caparroso

Her heavy heart thunders and thumps

as the daughter of Eve steadily sits as she studies.

She impatiently waits

for the day-ender to release its reverberation

throughout the dark deep depths

of the clamored corridors.

The time-giver strikes its not powerless sword at twenty to four,

and the drowsy drones are electrified

as they burst through the doors with a synchronous roar.

Rays of light illuminated and dominated

the darkness that devoured the souls of students.

The daughter of Eve and her sisters struggled to conquer

the hectic waves of hustlers.

The minds of juveniles cease to operate

as their chaotic figures cease to cooperate with control and order.

The daughter of Eve stumbles as these not-so-drowsy drones

trampled over her knowledge-givers held together as bounded stacks of papers.

She trudges through the length of an endless pit

where she watches the naïve newcomers,

and is reminded of those carefree days.

The daughter of Eve glances through a clear glass window

only to realize that the college-helper is not there but she left a shadow.

With every step Heaven‘s gates are at reach

with the Dean of Students who‘s there to greet.

As the daughter of Eve approaches the door,

she realizes that there is no ending to this academic war.

With longing breath and one last heave,

her eyes brighten and widen to the chirping of birds and the summer air,

at last she‘s relieved.

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With What Hands

Joey Rousseau

If they don‘t believe that he came to be,

More tired than the man who walks all the day,

With weary eyes, alas, he not to see,

For his soul be cast in darkness away.

Dragged down by hands of wretched demons,

They are just the fingernails on his hand.

Covered by the Earth left without reason,

Their heads lay low, and wander the dark land.

These souls will wallow, the thieves of the swell,

You are a thief, a fiend, and a liar.

To be cast ever more into deep hell,

He will summon the hands of a fighter.

But I have seen his grace save us before,

The thief is saved, by the Lord ever more.

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Untitled

Nia Johnson

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Westlake Dressing Room

Emily Zagger

The ballet dancers crowd into the room carrying baskets full of costumes. As they enter,

the grey door, loose on its hinges, swings back and forth. A breeze settles into the area. The

mirrors, covering every wall, are lined by shelves that gather costumes, make up bags, and cans

of Aqua Net hairspray. The yellow light bulbs overheat, bringing humidity into the space. As I

come into the room, sweat gathers above my brow and a droplet of foundation rolls down my

cheek. I take out my Wet n Wild red lipstick, and it melts and stains the crème counter. The

stools are arranged in front of the mirror stations. The other teenagers place their personals in

front of a mirror and hang their costumes from the shelf. The sign on the door lists the order of

the dances and the attire for each piece. My iPod blasts, playing ―Big Girl You Are Beautiful‖

by Mika. We bounce and dance around the room to loosen up before the show begins. Our

nerves bounce off the tiled floor and vibrate in the sounds waves of my iPod‘s music. The beat

fills the room with rhythmic vibrations, settling nerves. The smell of cupcakes, available for

anyone, combines with the stench of hairspray creating a confusing, yet exciting show day

aroma.

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An Ordinary Day James Boone

John is in a transport on his way to the private barracks of Tiberius Croncade. Generally,

the researchers at the Stanly Milovsky Center for Scientific Advancement lived in on site

housing. But Tiberius always did like to keep to himself.

It was very troubling, that was certain. That was perhaps the only thing that was certain.

John had never had a case like this. In fact there had never been a case like this at SMCSA and

even if something like this could have been anticipated, who would have suspected Tiberius; He

was the most patriotic scientist John had ever met. He had seen Tiberius stop mid-sentence just

to salute the Federation flag.

Once, he had given John a ride to work because John‘s hover car had broken down.

Tiberius accidentally hit a small woodland creature on his way to work. He had been heart

broken. The poor thing was lying on the ground squirming, trying to escape, in so much pain.

Tiberius had gotten out of his hover car with tears in his eyes; he was so distraught that he had

struggled to unlock the truck. He pulled out a high powered tranquilizer gun and his hands were

shaking when he first loaded the gun. Then he shouldered the weapon and became as

emotionless as a machine, as he shot the wounded creature. It was out cold. Tiberius got a large

plastic bag out of his trunk and wrapped the creature in it.

―To think that Tiberius was going on trial for treason,‖ John thought to himself. He was

currently whizzing along the country side on his way from Tiberius‘s home with the suspect‘s

personal journal. All employees were granted an SMCSA electronic journal log that would be

backed up on the mainframe. They were encouraged to write in it regularly about their day-to-

day activities. Once for a week or so, John had stopped writing in his and a representative from

the Department of Control had stopped by his room to see that he was all right. This had been the

moment when John had realized that in addition to the physicists making sure that the level of

radiation was livable and the biochemists taking electronic readings of the level of artificially

created bacteria in the air, there were psychologists monitoring their behavior. He was a little

shocked, at first, that he had no real privacy. But then he questioned why he had expected not to

be a lab rat, especially since SMCSA was devoted to advancing every field of science, even the

social sciences.

The Stanly Milovsky Center for Scientific Advancement was shaped like a hexagon

SMCSA was divided into six departments: Biology, Computer Programing, Engineering,

Physics, Psychology, and Control.

All in all it was a pretty amazing place to work and live. One could find physicists running

experiments with a particle accelerator and the biochemists trying to grow plants that could open

doors for people. It was the kind of place that science geeks dream about when they are young.

But John wasn‘t a scientist. He worked on the security force which was a much less exciting job

that one might expect. Today was a little bit different though. It was exciting, but it was also

troubling. He was to transport the private electronic journal of Tiberius S. Croncade to the main

security center where it would be entered as evidence in the trial of Tiberius who was accused of

treason. John could not say what caused him to look in Tiberius‘s journal. He guessed it was

probably curiosity and he was probably right. He wirelessly connected the journal to his cars

computer and put the car on auto pilot. He loved a good story.

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The life of Tiberius S. Croncade:

Star date 21-47-9-03

From the moment I wake up until the moment I lay down to rest my day is scheduled for

me by efficiency experts. I moved out of the SMCSA compound to get away from all the micro

management but space cannot keep them away from me. They managed to sync my home with

the central computer so that they can still set my alarm and decide what I eat for breakfast. Sure I

have some say in the matter and they generally let me eat what I want, but it should be entirely

my decision what I eat and when I eat it not theirs.

The other day I was pulling my hover car into the docking bay and I saw a spot closer to

the airlock entrance than I usually get, but when I went to take it they overrode the controls to

my car and parked me in my usual spot. It‘s not that I don‘t like walking it‘s just that they are

trying to take away my right to control anything and they are succeeding. I‘m here under

contract. The living conditions are good. The company I keep is sociable and intellectual. I am

doing what I love. but I do everything according to their schedule.

Yesterday, when I was parking I bumped the hover car in front of my. Today, when I

went to park they had the computer park for me, but I don‘t care. I hit that car on purpose, and

they can deal with that. They might dock my pay, but why should I care; my next payday is

thirty three days away.

Everyday, I go through two security check points where I walk through a scanner. Seems

like a waste of sacred energy to scan everyone twice.

I spend less than an hour on everything I do. The inertia alone is enough to drive anyone

crazy.

Star date 21-48-9-03

At lunch I sit in the cafeteria with my friends. They are more like associates. They all

joke and have a good time, but the jokes have nothing to do with their lives and this momentary

break from the mundane day means nothing. It means nothing at all.

The research center exists as a side project to the power plant there. Sometimes at lunch

some of my ―friends‖ will talk cynically about that, but I like the power plant. It is so

dependable, so constant. It‘s like the sun.

Star date 21-49-9-03

At lunch I see couples sitting together. It reminds me about how things where back on

Earth. When I was with Lucy, but, as you know, she said she would not be able to stand dating

someone who was not on the same planet as she was, that the odds of them working out were

astronomical. I wanted to at least try a long distance relationship but she wouldn‘t have it. I had

loved her. Today I heard that She is going to get married.

Star date 21-50-9-03

There is an hour of recreation time everyday and I never seem to do the same thing twice.

Star date 21-51-9-03

There was an award ceremony today. Before I went to the ceremony I visited the core. I

love the core. I brings life to everything here. It seemed to be calling to me. I reached up to touch

the glowing orange heart of the core but it was one hundred meters above the floor. It wants me

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to set it free. I know it will destroy everything that I have done here. And that it will kill me but I

have to try to free they poor soul trapped in a steal cage.

I realize that if your reading this I have failed and that they will lock me away somewhere

or execute me, but I don‘t care about that. If I have failed then there is still a gentle beast trapped

by bolts and beams of cold cruel metal and I urge you to take up my quest and bring freedom to

the beast.

John stopped reading. It was weird. When he first read that Tiberius had actually intended

to breach the core, he had been surprised, but now he understood it. He didn‘t know what had

brought about this sudden revelation but what he did know was clear:

First, Tiberius was not crazy.

Second, he had a purpose in life.

And nothing mattered but freedom for that beautiful bringer of life.

He took the car off autopilot and stepped on the gas. He only had one shot at this and if he

worked quickly he wouldn‘t have to kill that many people. Not that killing people was a

problem, there were no more problems. But if he had to kill people to free the core, then they

would slow him down; if he took too long to unlock that steel cage, his mother, trapped, would

be disappointed.

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On the Feelings Evoked by Chuck Norris

Cameron McCarthy

His fists like flaming balls of fury,

His eyes as dark as the deepest forest,

He answers to no judge or jury,

I speak, of course, of the one called Norris.

He watches you when you go to work,

He hears everything that you‘ve said.

You never know where he will lurk,

He‘s probably crouched behind your bed.

He was the Walker Texas Ranger,

The god of the roundhouse kick,

Our lives are constantly in danger,

His ass kicking moves are seriously sick.

In truth we should all count our luck;

We exist only at the whims of Chuck.

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Art

Nia Johnson

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Seasons of the Heart

Derrick Merkel

When people ask me about what I think of love,

They expect answers of candy, romance, Romeo and Juliet,

Although these things do symbolize the subject of love, I like to compare it to seasons,

The seasons that affect our physical world.

As we grow, we experience different feelings from the heart,

From the heart, we feel pain,

From the heart, we feel joy,

We feel sadness,

We feel life.

Life, sadness, pain, and joy. If you think about it,

They are feelings that can be represented by seasons,

Pain with winter,

Life with spring,

Joy with summer,

Sadness with fall.

Perhaps we are more connected with the world then we thought.

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Influential Person

Jennifer Mott

The prevailing goal in my life has been to become, as I call it, a ―super-kick-ass

adventurer‖ – excepting a brief period in the first grade when I wanted to illustrate children‘s

books and another when I was eleven and wanted to take over the world by harnessing the power

of extraterrestrial visitors. This desire can be most easily traced to an early encounter with one

of the world‘s leading experts in super-kick-assery.

At age four, my father first introduced me to Henry Jones Jr. when he decided that he

could stand the Thundercats no longer, and switched off the cartoons against the ardent pleas of

my older brother and myself. He then, with great reverence, inserted the VHS tape while

muttering something about awesome hats and quality entertainment.

I watched in amazement as Indy deftly avoided poison darts and fled that gigantic

boulder (which, upon dragging my parents to the Indiana Jones show at Disney World, I learned

was made of papier-mâché) all while managing to safely remove the golden idol from the

temple. My heart raced at the thought of how Indy was possibly going to defeat that

unbelievably intimidating guy with the mad sword skillz, and I squealed in delight at his simple

solution. My young mind marveled at what terrible aim Nazis have because Indy only got shot

once, a mere graze of the arm, even though the assailant was only two feet away. And I have, to

this day, never witnessed the havoc wrought by the opening of the Ark upon those nasty Nazis

because Indy said not to look.

It seemed incredible to me that someone could possibly get paid to look at books instead

of computer screens, to travel to ancient cities instead of cold office buildings. But here, Indy

had studied (most likely in books) and he had explored and he held in his hands one of the most

widely sought treasures mankind has ever known. In seeking it, in holding it, in rescuing it, he

became a part of its history – a history which began so long ago and was so much more than him.

He was just one person, but he was able to experience something that no one had experienced in

thousands of years, and save the world to boot.

The effect was not so great on my brother as it was on myself – he was still bent on

becoming a Power Ranger – but I had found my calling. From the moment the end credits began

to roll, I felt within me, not only a healthy fear of snakes, but a yearning – which was somehow

powerful enough to remain strong to this day – to hold in my hands anything (though the Ark of

the Covenant would be preferable) that had survived through the ages. Naturally, this yearning

has led to an interest in the pursuit of archaeological studies and a well-maintained sense of awe

and gratitude towards Indiana Jones.

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Pesky Pets

Beth Smith

I‘ve always loved animals, especially dogs. One of my childhood rooms was covered

with every ―101 Dalmatians‖ product ever produced. Unfortunately, I haven‘t always been lucky

in love. After years of incessant begging, my parents reluctantly agreed to go from the stuffed

version to a real dog. I envisioned something on the scale of Clifford, the Big Red Dog, but my

parents were thinking much smaller, so we ended up with Buddy, a seven pound Yorkshire

terrier. It didn‘t take long to discover Buddy was a tiny, cute… curmudgeon. He loved us, but

snarled and barked at anyone who came to the door and chased my friends around the house,

biting their heels. So after less than a year with the little beast, he had to go ―visit‖ my aunt;

fourteen years later, snapping at people he can barely see now, he is still enjoying his visit.

By the time my parents agreed to another dog I had memorized almost every breed and

was well known at the pound. Lucy came to us from a rescue foundation. She was a dream come

true; calm, sweet and affectionate… until the first storm. At the sound of thunder, Lucy

panicked, racing through the house, frantically chewing and tearing things apart trying to find a

safe place. The mystery of teeth broken at the gum line was certainly solved. With no one home

during the day to comfort Lucy during the storms, we had to give her up to the foundation.

Fortunately, they found a patient, retired couple capable of managing her thunder phobia.

Afraid to risk another heartbreak, I decided to get a fish. How badly could that turn out?

The beta fish, which I creatively named Beta, was awful. He smelled, he splashed water out of

his tank, and honestly, he wasn‘t very interactive. But that fish, that smelly fish, lived for four

years, the longest I have ever had a pet. By then, I was ready for another dog. Riley, a beautiful

Golden Retriever, was everything a girl could want in a dog. She could have ben cast as Lassie.

She was playful, friendly and smart… but, one big hairy allergen to my father. After sinus

surgery, his doctor recommended a pet free home. It was my Dad or the do, and after several

days of weighing my options, I finally agreed we‘d keep Dad. So Riley went to live with friends.

I haven‘t lost hope; I‘m sure my best dog years are yet to come. In the meantime, I have

adopted a hermit crab. I thought it was a pretty safe choice. It‘s not the most thrilling pet. In fact,

I‘m not even sure he‘s even alive right now; he hasn‘t moved in a couple weeks. I guess it

wouldn‘t be the worst thing in the world if little Willie passed away. My plan of moving into a

college dorm doesn‘t really include finding a place to put my crab cage.

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Baba O’Riley

Elizabeth Carls

Last summer, our neighbors and family friends, the Weisers, invited us to climb the

Grand Teton with them. Their family, Mr. David, Mrs. Mary, my best friend Leah, and her little

brother Nathan, live on the adventurous side of Glenview Avenue. My parents don‘t own a bike

between them, let alone camp or even hike. However, because I spent roughly equal parts of my

childhood on the calm and adventurous sides of our street, I readily agreed to the climb, and on a

whim, my dad agreed to come, too.

The soundtrack for our drive to the Grand Teton National Park was The Who, but when

we finally saw the snow capped giant in front of us, not even the hard rock could ward off the

inkling that we might have taken on more than we could handle. None of us had any technical

climbing experience, and we hadn‘t trained. Fortunately, we hired two guides who shaped us into

amateur mountaineers during two days of intensive climbing school, after which we successfully

summited the mountain.

After the adventure, our exhausted crew piled back into our tiny rental car, dirty and glad

to sit down. As the engine roared to life, the CD picked up where it had left off when we began

our expedition. We all recognized the first few notes of ―Baba O‘Riley.‖ It was the song we had

been listening to when the mountain first came into view. As we sailed down the park‘s main

road, the kids in the backseat played a vigorous air guitar while the dads held down the

percussion on the dashboard and steering wheel. While both head-banging and fist-pumping, we

sang five different versions of the words in five different pitches, only uniting for the chorus:

―Teenage wasteland/ oh, yeah/ teenage wasteland!‖ For the dads, the song was the rebellious

music of their teens; for us, it possessed the warm familiarity of childhood.

Our nondescript silver Camry zipping peacefully along under the full moon would mean

nothing to the buffalo in the fields or the other travelers on the highway. But for us, for our tiny,

victorious family, we had just performed the most beautiful rendition of ―Baba O‘Riley‖ known

to man.

30

When I get the Chance

By Elizabeth Carls

I haul myself along a steep ridge in Alaska‘s vast backcountry. Laís, the National

Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) instructor accompanying me and two other students on our

peak ascent, calls a stop so that we can put on our heavy fleeces, gloves and hats to protect

ourselves from the peak‘s relentless wind. Over the past two hours, we have followed a game

trail, a faint ribbon etched into the rock, up the side of a mountain.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot…up and up until finally the world opens below

us. From up here, the delicate tundra nestled in the valleys looks deceptively green and fertile,

especially in contrast to the Mordor-esque mountains. At the foot of our mountain is a large lake,

almost black in the center, fading out to blue, then green, the shallows tinged with red. On its

banks are the dark outlines of our tents and the tiny specks of our friends who didn‘t join the

ascent. I can also barely make out last night‘s campsite near another alpine lake and the route of

today‘s hike.

Other than those two lakes and the six miles in between them, everything is unknown, a

wilderness we will only ever know as contour lines on our topo maps. The endless pattern of

mountains and valleys disappears into the hazy distance sheltering who knows how many

rainbow lakes, grazing caribou, and nameless peaks climbed by forgotten expeditions.

Emmy, Alexa and I squeeze each other‘s gloved hands and grin. We take pictures of each

other seated on the summit as evidence of our exploits for our families back home. When the

cold finally exhausts us, we begin tracing the game trail back down the mountain. It is past

midnight, but the summer is just beginning to set, silhouetting the wise old peaks against a

burning backdrop of pink and red.

As the world finally whispers goodnight, I am quiet. I realize that it isn‘t enough to see

the beauty of the wilderness on a PBS special, or to read about survival in Hachet. I have to be

part of it. I have to feel the freezing North wind on my face, press my hand to the spiny lichen of

the tundra, eat macaroni and cheese with salsa and miss the greasy calories in a hamburger. I

have to explore beyond my tiny piece of the world, and launch myself into a place where humans

aren‘t always at the top of the food chain. I have to be alive, really alive, and I have to climb a

mountain when I get the chance.

31

Important Issue

Jennifer Mott

I have often heard it argued: ―Some people believe that marriage should only be between

a man and a woman.‖ To them I reply: ―Some people believe that chocolate-chip cookies taste

good.‖ Bear with me on this one. Sure, chocolate-chip cookies do taste good, as most can agree,

but they don‘t taste good all the time. Sometimes, you get a batch that‘s burnt, or your brother

decides to put off his homework to ―help‖ you make cookies then he spills the entire container of

vanilla extract and you‘re left with a runny, vanilla-y mess that doesn‘t make cookies the right

shape or consistency. Sometimes, spouses are unfaithful, or the whole process was a drunken

mistake made at a drive-through window in Las Vegas after a shot too many of Jagermeister, and

you‘re left with a sloppy, impulsive blunder that doesn‘t make for a sincere relationship or a

proper child-rearing environment. That‘s not every instance, to be sure, but there‘s a reason 41%

of all marriages end in divorce nowadays. Yet, this sloppy, impulsive blunder has legal validity

over the earnest desires of two people in love, who happen to be of the same gender.

Personally, I see nothing wrong with a good, white-chocolate, macadamia nut cookie.

Granted, the chances of them burning or being ruined by my sous chef are about the same as

with chocolate-chip cookies, but I make them less often, so I try to savor them a little more. Just

as the majority of citizens applying for marriage licenses are opposite-sex couples, most of the

cookies I bake are chocolate-chip. However, white-chocolate, macadamia nut cookies have just

as much of a right to be baked as chocolate-chip cookies. And, as same-sex couples are

recognized as valid so rarely, the opportunity to legitimize their relationship is often taken with

more reverence than allotted by the average opposite-sex couple.

Same-sex couples, being composed of citizens of the United States, are entitled to all the

liberty and justice for which America stands. And while chocolate-chip cookies may be your

favorite, you have no right to say that a macadamia-lover is not allowed to have his or her cookie

just because it doesn‘t match your standards of what a cookie should be. A cookie is a cookie,

and a person is a person – they‘re all made up of the same stuff, mostly, and they all deserve

equal treatment and respect.

32

I AM A POEM Julianna Barreiro

I AM

A senior

Tired

Worried about college

In need of inspiration.

I WONDER

What will become of my life?

Who are my real friends?

Is my family normal?

How will my life turn out?

I HEAR

Nails screeching on the chalkboard

The sound of cotton balls sending shivers down my spine

Love

Want

I SEE

The struggles of humanity

The fire inside me

The waterfall rushing through my body

Sadness

I PRETEND

To be invincible

That I‘m not afraid

That I don‘t want it

That I don‘t miss him

I UNDERSTAND

The need of friendship

The fun in being a senior

That I need to make something out of my life

I AM

The caterpillar turning into a butterfly

The first snow of the New Year

11:59 PM on December 31

The candles on a birthday cake

A girl who dreams

I AM ME

33

Poems

Kasey Zimmermann

Dreams

Darkness brings happiness and fear

Making my dreams scary and dear

Some seem so real waking me with a fright

Yet some are just fantasies all through the night

Hoping that all my good dreams come true

And the scary ones stay away from me and you!

Night

The sun drifts off to sleep in the trees and the moon sets off on his journey

A blanket of blue sheds across the sky

The wind howls as the waves rest on the sand

The sail boats sails are no longer singing

The stars shoot up in the sky and night is ready to look upon us

Sunrise

The sun awakes from its slumber under the trees

The wind is no wonder howling

The sky is like a painting that took all night

The gulls screech in the sky

The world is set for the day

Raindrop on a Lily Pad

It rained all day

The willow tree was soaked and sprinkled a drop of water on the lily pad

The lily pad danced on the lake

The rain played a little tune

While the wind whistled to the song

The rain stopped and the lily pad stopped dancing

34

True Love

Yvette Cannata

35

Loneliness

Christie Ross

The lone tear that doesn‘t want to be seen. No one knows it‘s there.

The lone tear wells up inside almost escaping. It‘s fought back and people pretend not to notice.

Waves crash inside.

The lone tear continues to build and build, afraid to show itself to the outside world for fear of

how it will be received. A storm begins to form.

The lone tear gains momentum. A sea storm inside forces out a drop onto the smooth surface

below. The ripples are the only sign of a struggle.

36

Untitled

Marissa Martin

We live stress filled days and sleepless nights, but with one look at the sunset, we are reminded

that God created the world for us to enjoy.

37

Love Lost to Winter

Ben Russell

I am afraid to tell you this, my dear

But I lost your heart to the snow today.

Please, I do not want you to have the fear

That in an icy tomb you will e‘er stay.

After all I had done to get your heart,

I would ne‘er leave it in the cold to lay.

Search and quest again from the very start

For you are something I can‘t outgrow

Never again shall we be so apart.

I desire your return, face aglow.

But please don‘t fret yourself, my snow-golem,

Your heart is staining red the once pure snow.

38

Hunger

David Vaughan DeVine

―Will write Poetry for food!‖

―Will recite Poetry for food!‖

―For God‘s sake, spare a dime

to spend one moment of your time

to hear a broken man

quote something great…

God bless America?‖

My home howls at me.

Its eyes and its cries

to do something ―more‖

have torn me apart.

But what more can be done?

I‘ve gone about, and

received nothing ―more‖

than what I had then:

An audience, constantly

moving too quickly to

hear all of my words

before they pick up and leave,

while only a few of them

pay any heed to what

I‘ve got to say,

A handful of spare change

that is something so

light, that I rarely

am able to enjoy the

delights of the food

and drink you down

while you are unaware

of your own surroundings.

A little scrap of luck,

but not too much to hear

the cries of a newborn child,

or to see the smile in the eyes

of her mother.

A good coat,

and …

a decent pair of jeans.

And to some, that

might seem like a lot,

which is sad … but

day by day, I get by just …

39

fine.

Pity and philanthropy

have been my lunch and dinner,

donations my clothes, piety

my shelter, and generosity …

my medicine.

And that‘s how we all

get by, out here

between sun up and

sun down.

That‘s how we move,

that‘s how we breathe,

and for the more

lucky ones of us,

how we talk or see

that there‘s something of value

left above those bridges,

and between those streets,

even if we don‘t meet it…

too often.

I fight the hunger

the same way we all do…

waiting until we go get

food, or have it given to us…

Humbling isn‘t it, to be

fed, and to depend on

others, as if … a child?

―Compassion or Charity!

Whatever you prefer today!‖

―Get a job!‖

And I‘ll turn it around,

and then, as they‘ve

all taken a history class,

understand.

―Lonely Poet fights hunger

on the streets of

a small city.‖

And then they know.

40

Snow

Amy Breen

The dark whispering sounds of the moon enter,

The fear of infantiles come as sudden as Texas Winter,

Streets are restricted from the apprehensive guardian,

The wishes for the snow days are just now honest,

The principals are yearning for every student present,

The only desks occupied are a very few attendance,

The powder falling joy incites,

The successful dreamers all unite.

Sledding down the frosty hill,

Gives the children an apprehensive thrill,

Hoping that the descending never ends,

Turns the snow into a casual trend.

41

The Silent Day

Michael Cimino

We've all heard the tale of the Jabberwocki

of a beast that was o so frightening and bulky

but who was slain by a maiden fair

whose calloohs echoed throughout the lair

But hath you heard a sight not seen

the beast whose mouth glistens and gleens

as slop slobbers from its jaws alight

with five rows of teeth large and white

Tellest the young ones of the plight

for this beast hath begun its flight

eyes seen with a garrulous glare

burning villages without a care

But where is our maiden fair?

Surely she would be the one who dare

face this beast so grulish and horrid

and become a part of village lorid.

But alas this beast so brutish and crass

hath slain our fair maiden lass

And after all this blood and gore

the villagers calloohed that day no more

42

Untitled

Ashley Hancock

One kind word can warm three winter months.

- Japanese Proverb

43

Those whom are Seen through the Water

Ryan Jasse Pelarski

One cold morning, lost and confused was I,

After long afternoons of hot football practice

I came to where things were reversed

From early to school late to leave,

To late to school early to leave

In football I could have as much air as I wanted, but little water

In swimming I can have as much water as want, but must conserve my breathing.

The coach is old and strange yet very wise

The assistant coach is young and cheerful, but very stern.

I but a beginner watch in amazement as the others swim so gracefully,

Like a duck in water, like a dolphin in the sea.

Each part of their body works in perfect harmony,

Never out of sync, their rhythm never broken.

So unlike myself,

I who flounder in the water who nearly stop to sink

Yet I never give up,

I always swim

My breathing is heavy, but my teammate's care keeps me going

My coaches‘ advice is always upheld,

To the point where I will greatly improve.

44

The Christmas

Brianna Muniz

Someone had left the television on ABC. A bubbly voice announced HEB‘s extremely

low holiday sales on turkey. And then, I heard Linus‘s peculiar voice proclaiming to the Peanuts

crowd the story of Christmas. His voice stuttered over the big words as he swaddled his pastel

blue blanket. Schroeder‘s music began to fill the air, swirling in the air like fresh snowflakes,

note by note warming my heart. Breaking the spell, a pair of footsteps rushed closer, pounding

on the hard wood floors. And then a voice.

―Sarah! Where did you say that toy was?‖ Jack inquired, while sprinting up the stairs

two at a time. ―In the closet? The closet? Why is it there?‖

I figured they were talking about me. At least, I hoped they were talking about me. For

the past 58 days, my life has consisted of staring into Jack‘s striped and polka dot silk ties until

my eyes were exhausted. His collection of ties surprised me; every morning Jack analyzed his

outfit and only selected the finest tie for the day. And then I wasted time trying to tell the

difference between Jack‘s numerous gray suits. The brisk breeze extending from the vent above

me was making my wheels chatter against the hard shelf. When Jack flung the door open, I

jumped.

After shifting aside an empty shoebox for golf shoes, Jack brusquely grabbed me off the

shelf. Before I knew what was happening, he strapped a girly bow on me. The gleaming red of

the bow shined in the light. I settled in between his arm and trembled as we dashed through the

lengthy hallways towards the Christmas tree. Puffs of toasty air came through these vents and

warmed me; I was grateful for the heater. As I was released from Jack‘s arms and set on the

ground, a few needles uncomfortably poked me in the side. He kindly adjusted the limbs over

my package; however, he forgot to remove the prickly arrows jabbing me. Jack stood up and

turned the television off as he and Sarah strode to the mahogany door, decked out in

embarrassingly festive scarves and marshmallow-like coats. A couple of snowflakes snuck

through the opening, instantly vanishing into puddles.

―So do you think we‘ll be back ‗fore midnight? I hope Chris stays asle--,‖ I heard before

the door slammed. The Christmas wreath shook, knocking off a plastic holly berry, the luminous

lights shimmering. The hollow thump echoed through the enormous house.

I waited for something to happen as I surveyed the room from underneath the tree.

Above my head, multi-colored lights blinked and flashed in rhythm like yellow stoplights at

nighttime. Throughout the rest of the dimly lit room, I noticed the cleanliness and order. A few

holiday magazines filled with savory mouthwatering recipes were arranged on the stout coffee

table. Along the edges were left over pieces of tape and a scrap of snowflake blue paper rustling

from the fan. A cinnamon apple candle flavored the air. Hanging off of the mantel, four

elaborate stockings were overflowing with giant candy canes and Ghirardelli wrappers. I almost

thought they would each fall off their flimsy hook because of all the gifts inside. The silver

thread sparkled, illuminating the cursive names. Curious, I thought, as I read the fourth name.

Who is Finn?

Suddenly, as the clock struck eleven, a timer dinged in the other room, vibrating against

the surface. Within a few seconds, the peppy beats to Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer

permeated the house. I dreamed of what Rudolph would look like, whether he was a nice guy or

not. His red nose sparkled in my mind; I touched his caramel colored fur, feeling the softness.

The gust of wind would slam me back, chilling me to the plastic center, if I flew with Rudolph.

45

The song then changed, waking me from my fantasy. ―Jingle Bell Jingle Bell Jingle Bell Rock‖.

After thirty seconds, I was annoyed with the song. The volume had been turned up to the point

that the pine needles shook around me. While I was dealing with the present problem, a scruffy

puppy zipped past me. The blur of white fur caught my attention. A screech, then nails digging

into the wood floors alerted me that the dog was going to run into me. My mustard yellow

bumper wiggled as I was squished between the fluff ball and the box of socks for Jack.

Everything else irrelevant now; the music was drowned out by the excessive apologies.

―I should have stopped! I didn‘t know! I‘m so sorry! Forgive me? After all it‘s

Christmas. Well not yet. It‘s close enough, right? Please. I never meant to do nothing, man.

So?‖

I sounded my siren to make the whining stop.

―Come on, buddy.‖

His round eyes stayed focused on me, a big feat for this terrier. I could tell by his jumpy

legs that he wanted to keep running around the house, but something was holding him back. The

golden-flecked eyes studied me as I shot my ladder into the air, making sure it still functioned

after the hit. He sprang up half a foot when a shiny silver ornament tumbled off the tree, hit by

my fire-fighter ladder, smashing into practically invisible pieces everywhere. By coincidence,

the music had ended, and the house was silent again as we stared at the broken family heirloom.

Aby‘s First Chri read the only remaining piece. Tears formed in my eyes. So far, this night was

going badly. The dog was shaking; I was unsure if he was fighting against laughter or tears like

me.

Thankfully, like Niagara Falls, the laughter whooshed out of the dog; his tail waving like

a sail. The silly snickers told me it would all be okay. He introduced himself as Finn, when he

slowly regained control. Finn was new to the family, recently bought last Christmas. He

bounced back and forth in front of me, inviting me to play with him. I noticed a patch of green

and red fur on his back when he spun around leaving dirty paw prints in his wake. His over

excitement was contagious as I imagined myself getting cool splotches of glitter on my red truck.

He poked his nose at me, leaving a trail of slobber on my side. Unsure of what to do, I

watched as Finn turned his head from side to side, studying me. The wheels would be ideal

chew toys and my ladder an excellent tug-a-war toy. As he was pushing me on my side with his

nose, of course, inspiration hit.

―Let‘s go!‖ I blurted out, uncharacteristically, letting loose on my horn as well. Finn‘s

elfish ears twitched at the high-pitched blare as he let me go. Promising to show me around the

room, he sprang forward, elfish ears pushed back by the speed. He ambled towards the flat

screen television to admire his snowy fur.

With inhuman ability, Finn whirled around when he noticed in the reflection I was not

next to him, offering praise. I mumbled to myself that I had never once turned my wheels.

Never felt the satisfaction of the wheels swiveling, guiding me around obstacles. The silver rims

looked menacing, enclosing the immense rubber wheels. Fake fiery stripes had been painted on

my sides, giving me false hope. I refused to meet Finn‘s sparkly eyes. Instead, I stared down

with dark eyes at my wheels, wishing for a Christmas miracle.

Finn sensed a problem and sped over to the toy basket on the other side of the room.

Tennis balls and chewed up squeaky toys went flying around carelessly. I flinched as a chewed

dog bone soared towards me. An angel figurine, glorified by the lamp‘s bright light, crashed to

the floor when a Frisbee smacked into it. ―Whoops‖ slipped out of Finn‘s mouth casually. He

went back to searching in the toy basket. When he finally found the tug-a-war rope toy, frayed at

46

the edges, he appeared at my side. The rest of the toys were left in his wake, as if a high school

party had gotten out of control.

Biting onto one side of the rope, avoiding the slobber, I shut my eyes. With Finn‘s help, I

would take my first roll. The stringy rope tasted like dog food, and I wanted to get it over with.

Finn barked, growled, and ruff ruff.

―Can I see the gingerbread house? And the snowman? And the advent tree? Oh

please?‖ I begged.

―Yessir,‖ replied Finn, struggling to stay composed. I did not pay attention to him.

As he counted down to one, I prepared myself. The first tug came, but too quickly. He

jerked the rope out of my mouth. Awkwardly, I spat out the few pieces of string hanging on my

teeth. Finn barked at me, cackling in his terrier way. He wagged the thick rope in front of me,

teasing me. Again, he positioned himself in front of me. I cautiously held onto the rope; this

time biting on the very edge. All of a sudden, my wheels turned! The tiny traction smoothly

rolled over the Christmas tree skirt, making pine needles fly up. I dropped the rope and

continued moving, smiling as wide as a slice of watermelon. The scraps of wrapping paper

crunched underneath my wheels. I shook as I crossed the massive lilac rug; the bumpy texture

made my siren vibrate. Because I could now move, Finn and I explored every inch of the room.

We played hide and seek; I hid behind the tree until he found me and I jumped into the toy

basket. We sped in figure eights around the ancient nutcrackers that Finn picked off the coffee

table. Finn sprang onto the table and stole two Christmas cookies for us. Mine was the shape of

a candy cane, with red and white stripes. Crumbs flew out of Finn‘s mouth, sticking to the

carpet. Eventually my ladder whacked the side of the classic soldier nutcracker, knocking him

over onto his tall red hat. The hat thankfully did not split, even though I noticed a scratch in the

hat.

Finn had found out a way to turn the music back on earlier by jumping up on the kitchen

table. With a skip, he ran away to blast the Christmas music on 95.5. When he returned, we sat

facing the Christmas tree, shaking the boxes and listening to the noises. His barks and my siren

were making quite a storm when the radio announced excitedly, ―Santa Claus has been sighted.‖

I became quiet, while Finn chatted on about Santa, jumping every so often. I vaguely heard him

mention a jolly red man with a marshmallow-like beard and a Mary Poppin‘s kind of bag.

Because I had been bought before the Christmas décor had been placed around Target, I was

unsure what was going to happen tonight when Santa came. He sounded nice enough from what

Finn said. Again the radio made another announcement concerning Santa. I rolled towards it to

hear better, when Finn bumped into me. The radio screeched to the hard wood floor, yanking the

plug out of the wall.

Thump, thump. Someone was shuffling around upstairs. We froze, waiting to hear a

door creak open, but there were no more sounds. Finn barked at me incessantly as I drove in

tight dizzying circles. Dog toys thrown everywhere; wrapping paper falling like snow; pine

needles trailing around the room. The flashing Christmas tree lights were now threatening, as if I

was standing in the middle of a crime scene.

Finn barked once before escaping out the back door. So much for buddies, I thought.

Suddenly, everything was too much to handle, and with the threat of Chris, the boy, coming

downstairs, I had to fix it. I would not break the Christmas spirit for my new buddy. However,

as I sat in the center of the room, I wondered what to do.

The chimney shook slightly, sending thick plumes of ashes out the end. Four crimson

stockings rocked back and forth on their pins; a candy cane broke loose and soared through the

47

air until smacking into the brick fireplace. ―Ho Ho Ho,‖ someone bellowed down in a boisterous

voice. I was unsure where to hide because everything was overturned and broken. With a

resounding thump, a belly that shook like jelly plopped in front of me. I was overwhelmed by a

whiff of peppermint. His white beard was ruffled and his cheeks tinted radiant pink. Santa

quickly headed towards the smell of sugar cookies and left his bag of toys near the tree. I could

smell the vanilla from here in the living room, overpowering the Christmas tree smell even.

There were reindeer cookies, candy cane cookies, and snowman cookies, all smothered in

sprinkles waiting for Santa in the kitchen. Propped conveniently nearby, a tall glass of

refreshing milk sat, prepared to freeze the fingers off of anybody. While Santa was tackling the

cookies, Rudolph trotted outside the room. I could see him through the frosted double windows

besides the Christmas tree. He waved his hoof for me to approach him, so I cautiously wheeled

forward. This was just like one of the songs I had heard, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I

stared into his large, gingerbread colored eyes, mesmerized by his presence. He politely asked

for a large carrot stick or some sugar cubes, but I had no idea where to find them. His hooves

clip clapped against the floor as he came closer, and then into the toasty house. Just barely, his

willowy antlers fit through.

Surveying the damage, Rudolph worked fast before the parents came home from their

party, and more importantly before Chris, the boy upstairs, woke up. Curiously, Rudolph turned

his head from side to side, scrutinizing me. My small stature and vivid red often caught other‘s

attention.

In a bold voice, Rudolph said, ―Now, little one, do not worry. We will save Christmas together.

Everything will be okay, my friend,‖ as he looked down at me.

Forgetting Finn, the coward, Rudolph and I zoomed around the room to clean up.

Occasionally, a howl emitted from the kitchen where Finn hid, bolting down the cookies.

Rudolph‘s commanding presence prevented him from wreaking more havoc on the house before

Christmas. Rudolph told me he had met other dogs like Finn. It was always the same. The

terrier was unaccustomed to having to share his life. His master plan was to probably frame me

on Christmas Eve and ruin my future as Chris‘s new favorite toy.

Rudolph and Santa packed up their sleigh, stuffed with cookies, and jingled over to the

neighbor‘s house. Finn was sent to his firm bed without any gifts from Santa this year. Jack and

Sarah stumbled back into the house around 4 a.m. singing the Twelve Days of Christmas. Chris

stayed upstairs, asleep and oblivious, dreaming of sugar plums. In a few hours, Chris dashed

down the stairs, flying to the tree, to tear apart the wrapping paper and removed the silly bow

from me.

48

Untitled

Leticia Hernandez

49

The Basketball Player

Joseph Tybor

The tall athletic boy questions

While his coach makes suggestions,

Their playoff future is riding

On this game, which is frightening

The game starts in minutes,

They‘re going to push the limits

To put that banner on the wall

To end the doubts once and for all.

He is standing tall and confident

Gonna play like the prominent

Player that he is, putting points

Up trying not to disappoint.

The game is rigorous and rough,

The teams effort is not enough

They are slowly falling farther

Into a hole getting darker,

The boy realizes it‘s the end

He was supposed to help them mend

All the problems into a feat

That would earn them district repeat.

Sadly their valiant efforts failed

Game ending the winner unveiled

The snooty St. Thomas Eagles

The pain similar to needless

Basketball is a crazy sport

Dreams started and ended on the court

When ended it is a harsh blow

But it is the fame we love so

50

Lockgnar

Joey Rousseau

Out of the morning sea

Came Lockgnar, the Swell Surfer, swift and sly.

The son of Orthorp brother of Talin,

Ring-Giver of the sea. Long, lean Lockgnar,

lurking lively, lowering the tides.

readily riding the rapid waves he boasted,

―Kinsmen, I am the great Lockgnar, the Depth-

Defender. I am son of the omniscient, omnipotent, Ocean-Oracle

Orthorp. Second of the thrashing, thoughtful

Throne-Keeper Talin. I have battled the banks

of boundless swells. Torn thrashing holes through boats time

and time again. Defeated the daunting, dark, demon

Dezrin, freeing many a kind of more meek kinsmen.

And now I sit and stalk the stirring storm;

the daunting depths have become

my dorm. I envy no enemy, who‘s arms

stretch a thousand moons. Or who‘s blundering,

broad blade has buckled and broken men

to soon. I hear of Wrydeow the Wrath-Reaper, who wallows

and wakes when women and men

weep or sleep, their souls and hearts

he forever keeps. This Grim-Goblin,

who grabs and grinds and grows from the

girth of the earth. This Heart-Hoarder,

has held hastily, hiding away, for

he knows of my arrival some day.

Now I mean an honored heart match for Wyrdeow.

Finish his fear-filled torment with fighting.

My proud purpose for less or more, a noble

challenge, the Man-Murderer will live no more.

51

You Were Too Much With Me

Kimberly Trimble

You were too much with; always late, too soon,

Taking then breaking, using your disarming powers:

Hardly ever we see what we really want, need;

We have opened our hearts, a pleasurable wound!

It started with a kiss, which sent it to its tomb;

It might have lasted more than a few hours,

If it were nourished with a watering can, not spring showers;

For this, for everything, I must apologize to you;

Your feelings were for naught. – Oh God! How I‘d rather be

Anywhere else than in a gaze so torn;

So that I, as I merely tried to be,

Would be free from a heart so worn;

Would be free from your revelation and plea,

Or let the heartbreak be bravely born.

52

Winter Months

Caitlin Whiteley

Blistering cold on our skin

Can‘t wait to get in the school building in the morning.

Wind that nearly blows us over,

Rushing to our cars at the end of the day.

Layers upon layers,

Going out to face the cold.

Everyone complaining about the freeze,

But not us, not me.

For the soccer team these cold days mean one thing,

Playoffs are here.

Feeling as though you are an ice cube,

But practicing anyways.

Wind burn instead of sunburn

Teens instead of hundreds.

It may all seem like torture to y‘all,

But for us it means one thing.

The cold means we made it,

Made it to play another day.

It may seem cold,

But for us it means one thing.

53

I Bleed Love like a Broken Heart

Blythe Storrar

I bleed love like a broken heart

That is split into two pieces,

When in you come with a spare part,

Your words, with several creases;

One full page, stained with ink,

Mending and healing what I think.

Puzzling as the handwriting used

A scribble of meaningful words,

Repairs the heart, but it‘s still bruised,

Several small scars left as girds,

Stained as a lasting memory,

Is what these words will leave with me.

Although it said we could not be

All I can see is ―I love you‖,

But thank you for your honesty,

It is a beautiful to hear too,

Just knowing that you really care,

It helps me deal with my despair.

In the darkened night I ponder

The words you wrote to show regret,

And let my mind sit and wander,

How brave it was for you to get,

Vulnerable with poetry,

For you I‘ll smile happily.

54

How Valentine’s Day Began

Andres Alverez

Red paper cut round in bounds,

In the aroma of morning coffee grounds,

Was how Valentine‘s Day began.

Lace trimmed around the border,

Everything at this point was in disorder,

But that was how Valentine‘s Day began.

The amount of candy hearts used was absurd,

And the girl had yet not heard,

But that was how Valentine‘s Day began.

I puckered up some nerve,

And tried not to swerve

From the path towards her,

And that was how Valentine‘s Day began.

You may wonder if I walked to my demise?

But the hearts and lace worked to my surprise!

And that was how Valentine‘s Day went.

55

Y.C.

Michael Cimino

I can remember a time

Before rhymes

And reasons

When love was a game

That was played in all seasons

Girls were the target

A means to and end

To love and to leave

But never to tend

I see I was foolish

I see I was wrong

I have never felt right

Since You came along

You have stolen my breath

That‘s the least of your crimes

You have also taken

The heart that was mine

This was not surprising

It was easy to see

You‘re the girl that I want

You‘re the girl for me

And now every day

My thoughts are of you

Of holding you close

Whispering love so true

You may think I‘m crazy

You may call me insane

But if this is true love

Why not call it the same?

56

The Dinosaur

Kimberly Trimble

Dinosaur! Dinosaur! Of great might

In the jungles of twilight,

What force or object from the sky

Dare erase reptilian royalty?

What misconceptions or outright lies

Are told concerning your demise?

Did a volcano send you to your pyre?

Or was the threat from some place higher?

And what Earth must have been like at the start,

A beauty so natural, did it pain thy heart?

And when the birds began to tweet,

Were you already up a creek?

Running, flying o‘er the plains,

Enjoying sunshine and the rain.

When did living become too hard a task?

When did your breath start to rasp?

Did you sense the end was near?

Did you experience any fear?

Mass extinction: your unlucky fee.

But how could dinosaurs cease to be?

Dinosaur! Dinosaur! Of great might

In the jungles of twilight,

What force or object from the sky

Dare erase reptilian royalty?

57

It’s a Feeling

Nancy Van Gompel

It‘s like a knife in the center of your back.

You don‘t want to tell, yet you do.

Everyone knows, yet no one does, they just hear words,

They don‘t feel the meaning or the reason of them.

These words are powerful,

They are heard, spoken, lived.

But their

meaning is different for everyone.

Love

It‘s like ice on the back of your neck.

At first it freezes then melts,

Running down your shirt like a river.

Love

It‘s the warm feeling that runs down you throat like hot soup.

It’s the kiss that

Makes you feel like you have

Butterflies in your stomach. It’s a feeling that

No one can describe in words. It can only be

Described in actions and color. The best

Way to feel, and to describe it is by

Experiencing it for yourself.

By experiencing Love.

I love you.

58

Love

Tyler Paul

If time could stand still,

I‘d freeze it here,

So you‘d always be with me,

Close and near.

You in my arms,

Where you‘re meant to be,

My heart‘s full of love,

The perfect kind you‘ve given me.

Our lives entwined,

To be as one,

Upon this journey,

We‘ve just begun.

Where you and I will find no less,

Than eternal love and happiness.

59

Flower Three

Leticia Hernandez

60

When in Unfailing Love a Child is Born

Iliana Rodriguez

When in unfailing love a child is born

Before one breath, one cry he ever takes,

Before his life, decided by our Lord

One night his mother suddenly awakes.

This life, this future, tomorrow unclear,

Now in machines he silently does sleep

A father‘s hope brings all of us to tears

Their faith in God tells them their son He keeps.

A poet? A writer? A business man?

The sunset, the wind in the trees, a rainbow

Experiences never in God‘s plan

Valleys, shadows of death soon over blow

This three week old child, now back with our God

And forever with angels Duke will trod.

61

Valentine’s Day Poem

Anonymous

Happy Valentine‘s Day to you,

I love you I truly do,

You are my heart‘s desire,

My passion burns for you like a fire,

You are all I know,

You make my heart glow,

You are so sweet and caring,

and I consider myself daring,

to chase someone as perfect as you,

You are so sweet and charming,

I love you so much some find it alarming,

but the only person I care about is you,

with all my heart I definitely do.

I had my eyes on you for quite a while,

But I guess I simply was not your style,

I could not tell if you liked me or not,

And at that point my insides began to rot,

But then suddenly everything changed.

You began talking to me more and more,

And you were never a bore,

We started hanging out in groups with our friends,

And I wished that my time with you would never end,

I still could not tell if you liked me or not,

And once again my insides began to rot,

But then suddenly everything changed.

One day you came over, to watch a movie,

And you still had not proved to me,

How you felt,

And when you didn‘t my heart began to melt,

But then you surprised me and kissed me on the cheek,

And my knees went weak,

And then everything changed.

Now we are inseparable and together forever.

Happy Valentine‘s Day.

62

Untitled

Andres Alverez

There she stands wearing her gold locket.

Here I am holding a box of chocolates.

But wait!

What happens next I warn you,

Will make you wish I had a redo.

It all started with my untied shoe,

That thing caused all this hulabaloo.

After stepping on my untied shoe,

The chocolates all flew,

And of course, hit her too.

63

Dance with Me

Cella Mahoney

I beg of you

Dance with me

Hold me close

Hold me tight

Take my hand

Lead me ‗cross the floor

Please twirl me

Pull a stunt

Take a step

Another step

Again and again

Dance, let us dance

Like no others

Exist

Just us two

Together close

Close together

Hand in hand

Arm in arm

Heart hugging heart

The music

We listen to

Is not

The importance

Of this dance

But the moonlight

Above

And the people

Non-existing

Just us two

Just us two

Dancing, dancing.

64

Gin

Danielle Spagnola

65

Passing Period

Jennifer Mott

Tiredness stings my eyes and loosens my joints so that when I sling my backpack off my

shoulder, it falls faster and harder than I had meant – the zipper clanging against the metal wire

basket beneath the desk, sending cold, high reverberations through the near-empty classroom.

Two girls in the corner giggle, and my eyes glue themselves to my hands as I squeeze into the

tiny blue chair, letting loose a held breath to feel the desktop tighten its grip around me. Deep

aches seep into my shoulders and back, and I stretch and arch within the confines of my desk in

an attempt to ease them. Searing pain races around my head, striking my left temple to mark the

laps. I close my eyes, but, in the darkness, the pain is more concentrated. I, now dizzy from the

circling stinging, open my eyes to the image of my hands, only to notice that my fingernails are

uneven. The nail on my left ring finger is longer on one side, and I lift the finger to my mouth,

clamping down on the long end and pulling my head back to tear the nail into uniformity. My

eyes are dry, and I can feel my contacts hardening. I blink a few times in rapid succession and

knead my right eye with a knuckle that is extending out of a fleshy, clenched fist.

I take a deep breath, wincing as the desk rams farther under my ribcage, but effectively

gathering enough courage to chance a glance over at the girls who had laughed at me. They

were standing next to Cecil, one of those dim-witted football players. Bobbie and Sandy. How I

dislike them. Co-captains of the volleyball team, best friends since second grade, Hell, I heard

they lost it together in a three-way with one of the guys on the football team – that’s how close

they are. Bobbie, with her gorgeous, shiny, blonde hair, also has eyes that are set way too far

apart and her teeth overlap on the bottom. Even if you were somehow able to get past those

things, there‘s absolutely no substance to her – physically, emotionally or intellectually. Her

arms look like they‘re about to snap any minute, and I don‘t think I‘ve ever heard her say

anything remotely intelligent. The closest I‘ve ever seen her come to expressing actual emotion

was last year.

* * *

Walking back to my locker during my free-period after having tutored some freshman in

Latin, I heard a group of kids talking around the corner. I noticed that the voices belonged to

Bobbie, Sandy, and Bobbie‘s brother, Evan. I slowed, debating whether it would be better to

turn around and find an alternate route or awkwardly walk past them on the way to my locker.

―I love your highlights, Evan,‖ Sandy gushed. ―They make you look just like Lance Bass

– I had the biggest crush on him when I was little.‖ She giggled. It was disgusting.

―You know Lance Bass is gay, right?‖ Bobbie pointed out, jokingly, but I guessed that

she must‘ve been at least mildly grossed out by her best friend hitting on her brother.

I couldn‘t see Evan, but I could feel the waves of anger rolling off of him.

―I don‘t want to hear you talk anymore, because nothing you say matters, because you‘re

a fat, little bitch who no one could ever want. At least Lance Bass could get someone to do him

if he wanted to.‖ These words were spat at a controlled volume until ―someone,‖ then it got

loud. I could picture Evan‘s beady little eyes narrowed and his face growing increasingly

flushed while, with every word, his mouth opened just a little bit wider so that his giant, jagged

teeth looked like they were on their way to your jugular.

Now, I knew that those comments were unfounded, but apparently, insults don‘t have to

be even remotely based on fact anymore.

66

I heard footsteps rounding the corner, so I turned towards the nearest locker and started to

enter in my combination, knowing it wouldn‘t work, but not caring because the point was just to

blend in. My periphery was limited by those hideous bangs I used to have, so all I could glean

was that her face wasn‘t blotchy or contorted like it would be if she were crying, and I think

that‘s when I decided that she must be a robot.

She went into the bathroom, and I was overcome with an, admittedly, sick curiosity

regarding my robot theory. When I walked into the bathroom, one of the sinks was running, but

no one was using it. So, I (ever the environmentally-conscious-upstanding-citizen) turned the

faucet off. I don‘t think I was actually expecting to hear gears shifting or metal compartments

unlatching, but I definitely wasn‘t expecting to hear coughing or sniffling.

I left the bathroom immediately, and decided that going the long way to my locker was

the best course of action.

* * *

The pain in my head swells at this recollection and I can feel a crushing heat suffocate

my thoughts. I lay a cool finger on my forehead and revel in its icy touch – the doctors say I

have bad circulation, so my hands are always cold.

Something Cecil said brought out the same kind of giggle Sandy had used in that

conversation with Evan last year. She ran her pudgy fingers through her long, frizzy, mass of

orange curls before moving to fiddle with Evan‘s class ring, which she pulled, by its chain, out

from under her shirt. They had started dating the day after that conversation, and, based on that

giggle, I would guess that they‘re going to be stopping the day after this one.

I‘ve never understood how Bobbie and Sandy go through so many boys. I could

probably do that if I ever wanted to. I‘m not so different from them – I‘m just smarter and

cleverer and actually respectable.

Sandy thrusts her hip out towards Cecil and her undersized polo shirt pulls up, loosing a

roll of flesh that flows over her snug pants (it probably took her like, fifteen minutes in squeeze

into those). I can‘t see Cecil‘s face, but I hope it‘s disgusted. But, he‘s on the football team, so

he‘s probably just picturing her without the pants that push all that weight in his face. He turns

away from the girls, his small features composed in a grimace, no doubt intended to make them

want him more, and rifles around in his backpack. He pulls out his homework, which tells me

that he must be having a particularly hard time in his class because he‘s done the homework.

As I sit in the back corner desk, closest to the door, a bubble crosses my line of sight and

I swat it away, turning as far as my desk will allow in order to locate its source. Elaine. My eyes

narrow both at her obnoxious bubble blowing and at the neon yellow sweater she‘s wearing. Her

short, brown hair swoops with her as she cranes her neck to watch a bubble drift up to the

ceiling, only to be shot back at her by the air vent. The little bubble twirls around her, and she

moves freely within her desk, following it all the while.

Cecil turns to Elaine and smiles as a bubble drifts past him, asking if he can check his

answers with hers. His smile is disgustingly fake – his lips are far too big and they stretch really

awkwardly around his small, plaque-glazed teeth. Elaine agrees and passes him her paper, which

surprises me because I‘ve always considered her above cheating. Despite her obvious, needy,

attention-grabbing ploys, she‘s a good person, and I am astonished that she can‘t see that he‘s

just going to copy off of her. You would think that someone who‘s going to Yale would be a

little savvier.

Personally, I‘ve always preferred Harvard. Cambridge is so much nicer than New Haven.

Plus, the people at Harvard are all bright. Yale is almost as bad as Brown with the number of

67

weirdoes they let in. But, Harvard doesn‘t let you apply early, so I have to wait in agony for

three more months to find out if I‘ve been accepted. I know I would fit in perfectly there. There,

people are smart, and they‘re there to become important people, not to waste their lives with

meaningless relationships like these people I have to put up with now because they don‘t have

the brains to succeed in the real world. No one needs anyone else. I don‘t need a relationship – I

don‘t need anyone but myself.

Cecil takes Elaine‘s paper and compares the two, scanning his eyes from one to the next.

Honestly, I‘m amazed – he must have a fantastic memory because he handed the paper back to

her within a minute, only scribbling something down once or twice. He says something about a

question where their answers are different; of course, he‘s just trying to fool her into believing

that he hadn‘t used her. She, believing him, leans over and glances at the problem, but, I guess

she didn‘t see anything because it was probably just the same work as hers. She looks at her

paper and erases something – probably something that didn‘t have to do with Cecil‘s problem,

and if it did, probably just to make him feel better – then blushes (forced for sure) and writes

something else down.

She really is too nice to people. I don‘t understand how she can manage – especially to

be so nice to those people. Those people aren‘t good – they‘re hardly even bearable. They‘re

just using her, taking advantage of her generous nature and her above-average cognitive

capabilities. Everyone in her family is like that, though. Even her little brother is nice enough to

spend time with the little cretin my parents are trying to pass off as my brother.

I swear he‘s not of this planet. One time I had friends over, and he baked us these

chocolate dipped profiteroles – as if an 11-year-old boy who loves to bake isn‘t weird enough.

I‘m pretty sure they were poisoned, because when my friend, Mandy, ate them, she started

talking about her plans to apply to ATM just because some guy she‘s been dating for a few years

wants to be a vet, and his parents won‘t let him move out of state. Madness. Also, how is it at

all fair that he can be just as smart as I was at 11, but he spends all his time playing video games

and the piano? He‘s so annoying. But, he‘s not even close to as awful as my sister.

She‘s the devil. She‘s blonde and tall and thin, and everyone‘s always going on about

how beautiful she is, but she‘s not. Her teeth are too big, and they‘re only straight because she

had braces for like, five years. Her eyes are huge – like bug eyes – and they‘re so creepy and flat

and vacant, like there‘s nothing behind them. And she‘s so dumb – granted, she tests well, but

that is really the only reason she got in to NYU. She just uses other people – that‘s how she got

through her math classes since fifth grade. I legitimately never saw her do homework. Ever.

She‘s dated at least three different boys every year since she started school, and every time, at

least one of them was her academic superior.

How can things come so easily to people like her, and not to me? I work harder. I study

more. I earn everything I have. But with her – people just give her things. Our parents are

paying for her to go to one of the most expensive schools in the country; they paid for her to go

to this soul-crushing little private school that now I have to attend and that my little brother will

have to attend. Everything just seems to fall into her lap. But not with me – just because I have

the dignity and self-respect to not hit on anything that walks by in hopes of receiving some kind

of pay-off, I have to work harder. There‘s just something about that combination of luck and

sluttiness that makes this world so unfair for all the people like me who have to actually put

some effort into their lives.

Someone walks in as the bell rings. Class is about to start, so I rummage around in my

backpack for a pencil. He slides into the desk in front of mine and turns to face me. I‘m looking

68

at my hands again – when I hold my pencil, my wrist bulges like a fat baby‘s wrist or like one of

those glitter tubes you get at Dave & Busters.

I recognize the plaid shirt in the corner of my eye, but I don‘t want to talk to him right

now. All Keith does is complain. The fact is: if he would just take control of his life, everything

would work out fine. But he insists that it‘s entirely out of his hands. He goes home, and he

watches television until two in the morning, then he complains about how he couldn‘t find the

time to do his homework. His mother makes him breakfast, packs his lunch, and bakes cookies

for a living, but all he has to say about her is how much she‘s smothering him with her

oppressive need to rule his life.

You would think that with all the people in his family who are normal, smart, and

responsible, he would turn out that way too. His parents met at Stanford. His aunt and uncle met

at Stanford. His sister graduated from Stanford a few years back, and there‘s another one going

there now. If he had just turned off the television and stopped feeling sorry for himself for an

hour or two, he wouldn‘t‘ve missed the deadline to apply to Stanford. But, then he wouldn‘t

have that to complain about for the rest of his life.

Don‘t get me wrong though, he‘s my friend and everything. I mean, he is a good person

and all that. But, he‘s just so dependent on the kindness of others that I don‘t think he‘ll be able

to handle anything on his own. I mean, the only reason he started getting to school on time

(instead of forty five minutes late every day) is because Elaine found out that if he kept up this

tardiness, he wouldn‘t be able to graduate, and she made him start carpooling with her. She was

telling me about it a few days ago, and it sounds terrible. He‘s actually been making her late.

She gets to his house at the same time every day, and every day he makes her wait for twenty

five minutes before they can leave. She‘s told him to wake up earlier, but he refuses to listen to

her. Elaine‘s never been late to a class in her life, and I think this is just another example of

exactly why you can’t do that – you can‘t be so invested in other people, because they will

always just end up dragging you down.

I haven‘t looked up from my hands. I know that once I do I‘ll be doomed. He has his

shoulders turned towards me, and he‘s fiddling with his cuticles. The pain in my head is making

me dizzy. I draw in a deep breath and try to let it out slowly, but it comes out more like an

exasperated sigh as I lift my head.

―Hey, Julia. How‘s it goin‘?‖

―Fine.‖

69

Flower Two

Leticia Hernandez

70

Journey to Paradise

Anonymous

A world with six point seven billion souls

And so few like me

No matter where I go or who I meet

They seem to be the same

With only slight differences

One or two like me are precious gems

For me to treasure their company

Maybe I‘m doomed to wander the Earth

Talking mouths always ahead of me

Until I give in.

Or maybe I persevere and keep walking

Trying to find that place

With others like me, but if I don‘t,

Is an eternity of isolation better

Than losing myself to company?

Of course it is

They might be out there

Waiting to celebrate another arrival

Another soul saved for the mind.

71

Tears

Maria Salmeron

Tears Tears Tears roll down her face

You can just see the scene within her space

Of the eyes she saw all the lies

She lay there asleep only to wake

From all the light that came out fake

To the horror of the fight,

Now it is no longer day but only night.

72

I’m Just Me

Mallory Hill

73

Baseball

Tyler Paul

Stealing bases,

Graceful slide,

Hear the ping,

Watch the ball glide.

Swinging hard,

Burning heat,

Muscles flexing,

350 feet.

Fielding grounders,

Moving fast,

Make a play,

Rob the blast.

Throwing hard,

Trying to stretch,

Runners out,

With a great catch.

Playing at the diamond,

Spring is near,

Joy is back,

Baseball is here.

74

No Path in Mind Selena Alonzo

No path in mind, I wandered through the green

Hoping that things of beauty would appear.

When suddenly arose sights to be seen

Lights reflected upon water so clear,

With a pathway of stones leading the way

To an oasis where water did spray.

The stones had been scattered in the pure pond

As if tossed by the All Powerful Hand,

Greenery surrounded from moss to fronds

As if they had come from a rain forest land.

Ahead of me was the greatest wonder

Waterfalls making the sounds of thunder.

The green and blue produced vivid contrast

A vision that awakened the senses;

In a world where time can go by so fast

One must admire the beauty so immense.

Gazing with wonder at what I had found

Glad that nature continues to astound.

But now I have departed from that place,

Making it only a spot in the past,

Yet oftentimes I go back to retrace

That scene of awe, willing it to last,

And then my mind is joyful once again

As peace and tranquility start to reign.

75

Oak Brianna Muniz

I tip toe around the grass, afraid to crush the blades as they struggle to grow. The

kaleidoscopic zinnias, classic red poppies, and cheerful sunflowers flourish, and the colors dance

around me. I sense the spark of life. Before I realize, the vivacity slips from my grasp and clouds

pop out of nowhere; the spirit crawls out of my reach. My thoughts shift to the majestic oak tree,

the lighthouse shining a light on me. As the wind shrieks through the branches and the leaves

tremble like butterfly wings, it reminds me that I must act now.

I dash over the grass, not caring anymore, as raindrops begin to pound me. In mid step, a

crimson leaf drifts towards the ground, patting me on the shoulder, terrifying me. I collapse from

fright. My legs twist like a pretzel as I prepare for impact on the rocks jutting out from the dirt. I

embrace the vine dangling on my left, which snakes along the trellis, gleaming in the shade.

Accidentally, a grab squishes and a rush of juice trickles down my arm.

I begin to sprint again, yearning to be under the branches and away from this spattering

of rain. The oak extends itself to me, dragging me inside of it. Although the weather bites at me,

I detect a tenderness and charity from the branches, the leaves, the trunk, the body. I release my

anxiety, and I settle against the trunk, despite the bulges. It resembles walking barefoot on the

asphalt during the afternoon, but I do not notice it. Surveying the yard in front of me, I watch it

get drenched. The color melts away as the rain begins to puddle up. I will wait out the storm

underneath the oak.

76

Flower One

Leticia Hernandez

77

On Hearing a Mocking Bird

David Vaughan DeVine

IF I were to die,

and again come alive

to this Earth,

I think that

I would do so, singing,

banded like a bird.

With black and white

distinct from greys,

I would lounge about

the trees and play

my voice along, for with

what else would I

play my song,

the dusk and the dawn

and round this day-long?

Talons and beak

and many chords,

but not a thumb in sight,

and if even I may

pluck at a string,

it would not sound the same

than if I were to sing

about this Spring an dance,

my plumes all, ruffled.

And for miles ‗round

my friends and I

would harken to each other‘s sounds,

that for those miles travel

along through stolid doldrums,

never to be muffled.

And when the noon-tide

greets the moon

in April, all a-glowing,

I‘d sing my song,

of my death and past-life

never knowing

78

My Battle with the Sea Channel

Beth Smith

I battled the vein of the bitter sea

one sunny summer ago. My sister and I, foolish in our flamboyant ways,

took our canoe from the blissful bay out into the adjoining treacherous channel.

This seaman’s passage was known for possessing the power to only keep

strong sailors from swimming in its waters.

Therefore, when our weak water-glider turned into the channel,

it was swept swiftly down with the tough tide toward open water,

the shark’s domain.

My sister, terrified and trembling, yelled, “Paddle harder!”

As I summoned my strength, I pounded and paddled my oar into the challenging channel,

hoping helplessly we would start to move forward.

I knew this waterway was meant to turn the mighty meek with mourn.

Miraculously, I remembered the marsh to our right and reached for it.

I grabbed the green , giant sea grass and stopped the boat from going farther down.

I hesitantly removed one hand and hurled forward

to hold the grass further up the marsh.

The canoe, cautious yet continuous, crawled

along with my every grasp.

My sullen sister sprang with new life at our slow

movement and also mauled at the marsh.

The two adventure-seekers advanced amid the waging waters.

I noticed a neat red line running from my hand to my elbow, and realized

the tall grass had been tearing tons of tiny lines in my hands from the death-drip I had.

The sweat stung as it smeared into my smarting eyes,

The sweeping current splashed in my sorrowful face as I met the front of our fighting freighter.

My heart hauled the wave-rider forward.

After an eternity amid the perilous sea creatures’ pool we reached a promising

opening to the bay.

Fearful and faint, I was forced to leave the safety of our sea-home

and emerge myself into the sea to steer the starboard around the steep corner

to the security of the beautiful bay.

I clung to the side, the current fighting against me, trying to claim my life.

We finally finished our fearful flight and peacefully paddled

over to the darkening docks connected to bay.

I was no less tired than a solitary soldier in warfare.

We emerged from the evil water as warriors, and held our heads as so.

Our prize was paid for with sweat.

We returned home and received long awaited praise from our loved ones.

We had conquered the courageous sea, battled the beast filled waters.

We were Poseidon.

79

After the Rain

Leticia Hernandez

The schoolyard fences rust to a dull red.

Wooden fences blacken to a dark grey.

The grass is licked clean of all dirt and impurities

for a moment, the world is

innocent.

The street is full of puddles

as taillights reflect off calmly, expectantly.

Mud on the shoes of children leaves behind prints on the sidewalk

for a moment, the world is

silent.

The tree stands proudly

though its bark is beaten and battered from battle

its roots satisfied and content.

for a moment, the world is

peaceful.

From the clouds break a new ray of light, shining softly on the dirt

floor.

The sun peaks out hesitantly from behind, like a

small child.

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Untitled

Danielle Spagnola

81

Paint the Boy

Mallory Hill

Lays abandoned like a child

Whose mom was found inept.

The child‘s life left to the wild

But with loneliness it wept;

The brush it lay‘s on paper crying,

The paint dries up, the paper dyeing.

Imagination draws a blank

Like clouds that block the stars,

Leaving corners dark and dank

Mind locked up by prison bars.

Waits on a hand to seize it tight,

Create a world that‘s filled with light.

To flow as music in its time

Composer‘s pen draw all the notes

Master‘s beauty in every rhyme

The colors sing as paper soaks.

That hand that dances on the page:

The greatest master of the age.

And though my hand now lays at rest

He walks by, my eyes in wake,

Heart beats wild in my chest and I offer it for him to take;

Hand still no more, ―it‘s better late‖

Paint the boy, I‘ll forever wait.

82

Crush

Derrick Merkel

When I learned of a close friend‘s death,

I immediately felt that familiar dark feeling,

A feeling that can bring me back to multiple other events in my life,

I could feel its endless tonnage weighing onto my body,

I wondered how I could sleep,

Without going into a madman‘s dream,

This weight stayed with me throughout the year,

That cruel year damaged me,

In mind, body, and soul,

But finally,

I was made aware of the truth,

I awoke to the fact that during that time,

I felt the most alive.

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Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover

Anonymous

It was the first time I met her,

At a camp in Wyoming.

She was standing in a circle,

With group of her friends.

And as I met her eyes,

She stared back at me with coldness

Her dark hair and green eyes made her look selfish

As the director told us our roommates,

I hoped my roommate wasn‘t the girl with the glare.

But of course, my wish was in vain.

I became roommates with that girl.

Her name was Sarah

As it turned out, she way shy and nice,

Unlike her first impression.

During my short time at camp,

I spent every hour with her.

From which blossomed a friendship like few others,

As we got closer, we saw our personalities mirrored in each other.

Our bond was so close that we became best friend.

And we made millions of memories,

In only three weeks.

Of course this time passed like tornado has.

And as the camp came to a close,

I regretted. And I remembered a statement.,

―Don‘t Judge A Book By It‘s Cover!‖

84

Assorted Haiku

Ben Russell

Listen. From the trees

The burraciousness of the

Cicadas fills ears.

On rippling water

Leaf rafts floats, wasps stop to sip

All from the cool pool.

Cheese mixed with bread and

Served lightly buttered. Take a

Bite, it melts away.

Sickly sweet and slick

To touch repels the gobblers

Of this gobbling meat.

Orange slice I bite

At first pain then pleasant then

Nothing but water.

85

The Illusion of American Culture

Phillip Flagg

America, the land of free and the home of the brave: That's what we have been told to

believe, led to believe. Perhaps it's because the truth is seemingly too awful to face, the truth that

all that America is and stands for, is an illusion.

We inflate our grades and our egos, we create this illusion that we're good, but more than

that, we're better! We‘re better than other countries and other people. We say we're the greatest

nation in the world, we say we're free and powerful and wealthy and educated. And yet, when

you really look at it you realize that these are really mere illusions.

We may be "free" but only in the sense that we elect people who then make decisions for

us, sometimes not in our best interest and sometimes we elect the "wrong" (relatively) people.

We may have a powerful military, but we're certainly not unrivaled. Also, is that how power is

defined? Military might? Economic might perhaps? What about our intellectual might? Our

scientific might? Our 'spiritual' might? We may have a hugely powerful military, but at what

cost?

Killing Bin Laden may be a victory but the ultimate victory would have been for him to

not exist in the first place, for our precious planet to be freed from these shackles of unreason,

superstition, and irrational hate. the ultimate victory would have been for every human being on

this planet to be so enlightened that war itself is viewed as absurd, violence, hatred, and

unreason, are all cast aside as relics of the past. How powerful are we in that sense? We grow

complacent, fat, ignorant, and apathetic, we eat our hamburgers and guzzle our sodas and drive

to work in our cars and lose ourselves. We tear away any meaning to life that we have assigned;

we regress into childhood, living to be entertained. We seek all the easy answers to all of the

hard questions, we accept authority, and we obey. We quit.

We want to think we're special, so we find someone to tell us we're special. We want to

feel smart, so we watch our TV‘s and tell ourselves how much smarter we are. We mass produce

education and deliver it to the youths of this nation and slip into the coma of our willing

ignorance. We watch the world burn to the ground from behind our computers and busy

ourselves instead with our trivial concerns and meaningless pursuits. We‘ve become a nation of

pretenders, a nation of addicts looking for a quick fix, better to live for today and forget

tomorrow.

The brilliance of America is that we have managed to create a separate reality from our

own, one where our small little bubble is all there is. Where bad things only happen in far off

places to far off people but that‘s ok because we're safe where we are and we always will be.

And if we should ever grow uneasy about our fate we can simply turn off our questioning, we

turn off our humanity, we drink another coke and watch our favorite TV shows and in all that

glare we simply forget.

We forget to ask questions and seek answers, we forget our humanity. We‘ve become

less a nation of people and more a nation of drones, a nation of babies. Just bring us our feed and

give us something to watch and we'll be good, we wont cause trouble, we wouldn‘t know how

anyway. We feel safe in our ignorance, so we swaddle ourselves in it. We forget to learn and we

learn to forget, we let go, and ignorance reigns.

86

The End of the Day

Yvette Cannata

87

Swing

Cella Mahoney

I‘m in love

I‘m in love with this thing

In love with this thing

This thing called swing

Dancing

Makes my heart sing

Rock step

Kick and

Twist on seven

Oh God this is my heaven

Rock step

Step

And S l i d e back on seven

You know my wish for eleven eleven

Would be

To have a dance partner

You and me

Rock step

Step

Kick and

Fall into your arms

And twist back in harmony

Honey, let‘s just swing

88

The Medicine Woman

Christie Ross

The moon shone on the teepees in the field. Smoke billowed from inside a teepee in the middle of

the cluster as a loan moan could be heard throughout the plains. An honored warrior of the Comanche

tribe in central Texas was suffering from stomach pains and convulsions.

―Where‘s the medicine woman?‖

―Get the Old One!‖

―Someone find Kateri!‖ Were the shouts heard in the night.

Hearing the commotion, Kateri awoke, bewildered as to why she hadn‘t known someone was in

pain. She hobbled to find her bag and put on her cloak in her small teepee on the outskirts of the group.

She stumbled toward the center of the activity.

―Please, leave,‖ she commanded, and everyone humbly left the space. She went to work at once.

Closing the down flap and pouring out the contents of her bag, she began to chant, ―Spirit come. Come so

that I may help your people. Come. Come to alleviate darkness. Come.‖ She began to boil water and

sitting in the center of the teepee with her hands on the man‘s bare stomach she again said, ―Spirit allow

me to enter your world so as to better see the ailments of the afflicted. Spirit who conquered the wind

storm, spirit who takes the shape of wolves, spirit come.‖ A chill slowly crept into her as she realized the

spirit was not coming. She was being denied by the spirit world. The man let out a murderous scream as

his back arched toward the stars. Hurriedly she left the man‘s side and knelt down examining the contents

of her bag. There was not much time and she had not relied on herbs to heal for many years. She picked

up a small jar of a gel substance that smelled strong and bitter and rubbed it on the man‘s stomach saying,

―Spirit help the afflicted with the concerns of mind and body. Allow the pain to be removed and placed on

the shoulders of the one designated, the one called, place the pain on your servant, place the pain on me.‖

Kateri then seeing that the water was boiling put two peyote buttons into the water. She again went to sit

in the center of the teepee, this time placing her hands on the man‘s forehead. She looked into his dark

eyes for the first time and said, ―You shall be my last.‖ As she spoke the words a sharp, familiar pain

engulfed her. The relieving pain of healing. The warrior‘s ailments were being healed. Slowly Kateri was

taking on the suffering. She gazed up to the stars through the small hole in the center of the teepee with a

sigh of relief on her face, a single tear trickled down her face more out of sadness than from the pain she

was enduring. She knew her healing powers were diminished, yet she did not know why or who would be

her successor. As sudden as they had come, the pains were washed away leaving a weakened and worn

Kateri. The warrior lay peacefully in a deep sleep on his cot, healed of his ailments. She gathered her

things and left the teepee stopping outside to speak to the man‘s wife.

―He is healed. There is tea inside. When he wakes make him drink it. It is bitter: he must not

fight it.‖

―Thank you,‖ the woman cried out with a trembling voice. ―You are truly great Old One. Praise

you!‖

―As always the spirit of the wolf is the one to thank. He is my key and your savior. He saved our

descendants from the sand spirit many years ago. Praise him.‖ With that Kateri walked away, knowing

she would never return to the cluster of teepees she was leaving. With the rise of the sun, the tribe would

be off to find better herding ground, but she would not be there to see their next destination. She made it

back to her teepee without speaking to any of the people that looked at her with amazement. The sky was

taking on a dark, purplish hue, which she knew meant the sun would soon come. She grabbed her walking

cane and added a few small jars to her bag knowing she was not strong enough to carry anything else. She

glanced back at the many teepees that belonged to the ones she had healed and said, ―Spirit, protect those

here and keep them from harm. Place a careful watch on the sand spirit. Do not let him escape your

power, especially while my tribe is without a healer.‖ She then took her first step towards the end, not yet

knowing where she would go.

89

Kateri stumbled through the wilderness. Not wanting her tribe to catch her on the plains, she had

taken off to the trees while the veil of darkness was still present, allowing for her getaway. She did not

know where to go or what to do, and she could only walk so fast among the roots and branches of all the

trees that surrounded her. She hoped the spirit would come to her to give her a last piece of advice, a

warning, or an omen, but nothing happened. She continued to walk, knowing her time was coming to a

close. She thought about the dwindling numbers of her tribe and how they would soon be extinct without

the aid of a healer. She thought about her one hundred and seven years with them, and she thought of her

younger days when she was just learning how to harness her power and the spirit‘s together to heal. Her

thoughts turned to a conversation she had had with her father, the healer of the tribe before he had passed

the power and responsibility on to her.

―There is only one known place to heal the kind of suffering we endure,‖ her father began. ―Our

pain is not the kind we heal. Our pain is more powerful because we feel the pain of all people and things.

The pain we take on when we heal stays with us always. It is a reminder that we are not invincible, and

our day will come too. We must use our gift to help others and never shall we work with evil spirits. The

one place that my father passed to me and I now to you that will alleviate our pain is a special spring

hidden among rocks that is the source of a creek. By submerging yourself in that water you will wash

away the suffering of others. I have yet to see that place and doubt I ever will, but remember always it is

there.‖

Kateri‘s heart began to race as she realized there was hope. She needed to find the spring. She

looked at her surroundings and noticed that the trees were changing. The cedars and oaks were

disappearing, and cypress trees were becoming more common along the path as she continued walking.

―Water is nearby, that is what the change must mean,‖ she thought to herself. She continued walking

knowing that this was her only hope. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, not

wanting to fall. She had to increasingly use the trees and her cane for support. It seemed with each step

forward her strength dwindled. She noticed that the terrain began to change, and smooth rocks could be

found under her feet. She looked up and saw what appeared to be a rock formation. Cautiously she

approached the grouping. As she drew closer she saw that the earth beneath her sloped and gradually met

with crystal clear water. Her heart leapt insider her. ―The spirit was with me. It guided me here,‖ she

thought.

She quickly disrobed and inched into the chilling water toward the center of the spring. She began

to float above the dark circle that was the source of the creek, trying to call upon the spirit to heal her. She

felt nothing. With a sense of desperation she submerged herself in the water. Still she felt no change. She

came up for a breathe of air and went back under the chilling water. She kicked and fought to stay under.

Bubbles emerged all around her trying to push her up, yet she fought it thinking that she must suffer one

last time underwater to heal her pains. Her chest burned, and she began to feel light headed as a light

shone in her eyes. ―This is it,” she thought. ―I will be healed!‖ Her body slowly relaxed as she

unconsciously drifted through the water. The spring was still, the bubbles were gone, the ripples caused

by her kicking were no longer.

A splash suddenly echoed off the rocks. A young woman had jumped into the spring. The woman

powerfully cut through the water, reaching the Old One just before she hit the rock bottom of the deep

hole. She grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the surface. As both the woman‘s heads punctured the

surface, a sharp burning pain stabbed the young woman‘s hand where she was touching Kateri and

Kateri‘s eyes sprang open.

―Devil! What have you done to me?‖ the young woman bellowed.

Kateri gazed at the woman with astonished eyes. ―What is your name, young one?‖

―Who sent you here? What are you? Get away!‖

―I‘ve been led here by the great spirit. I came to be healed, and I was. You healed me.‖

―You speak words untrue! I am no healer!‖

―But you must be.‖

Sensing the old woman‘s confusion, the younger of the two softened, ―I am Nitika. I have lived

here, guarding the spring for one year now. I rarely make myself known to people. This is an exception.‖

90

―Why did you help me?‖

―I felt you needed help.‖

―And now?‖

―I will leave.‖

―Wait!‖ Kateri croaked. ―I feel the spirits have called us together. You have a power you are not

aware of, daughter, and you are a good person. I need you.‖

―I will not take part in the act of a stranger,‖ as Nitika said this her eyes met the golden eyes of

Kateri. Her stare emitted a sense of wisdom, but also a tired desperation. Nitika realized she must help the

woman.

―Please,‖ whispered Kateri.

―I will. What must be done?‖

―Is there a place to go and rest? I am weak, and there is much to share.‖

Nitika led Kateri up and behind the biggest rock situated to the left of the spring, being careful

not to touch her. After being alone for a year, trusting another was difficult to accept. Nitika made a space

in the clearing for Kateri and sat down herself.

―What is this about? You must tell me now.‖

―I am a healer or medicine woman,‖ Kateri began as her breathing became increasingly difficult.

―With the great spirit‘s help, I can enter the spirit world and understand what is ailing a person,‖ she took

another sharp breathe. ―This allows me to heal their mind and body. I also use herbs to help the ailments

of the body.‖

―And what does that have to do with me?‖

―I am weakening. The spirit has decided my role here is over. I can no longer heal as I once

could, and my tribe will soon be nonexistent if there is no replacement.‖

―How could I be a replacement? I am no such healer.‖

―Ah, but you are. You are caring, otherwise you would not have jumped in after me. You are not

vain, though your outward appearance could say otherwise. You did alleviate my pain when you touched

my arm, and you were given the burden. A healer takes on the pain of the one being healed when they

touch. I came to this spring to try to lessen the effects the others‘ sicknesses had on me, yet you, not the

spring, took it away. Even a healer should not be able to take my pain away. You are special, Nitika.

There is not much time. My life is dwindling.‖ As Kateri said this, she knew it was true. By the time the

sun, now high in the sky, was no longer she would also perish.

―I will not do this. This is not what I want.‖ Nitika began to hurriedly grab her things, putting

them in a rucksack, preparing to leave. She turned away from Kateri gathering a few small mementos

from her time at the spring before stepping away.

―Nitika, you know you are needed. You‘re life will not be the same. You will be plagued by the

spirits, good and bad until you pledge a side. You‘re life was changed when you tried to save mine.‖

Nitika stopped. Somehow, in some unknown way she knew the old woman was right. It was like

she had known this would happen all along.

―Teach me your ways,‖ Nitika murmured.

Kateri went to work at once. Unpacking her bag she explained each jar to Nitika and what the use

for each was. The sun had begun to turn a dark red when Kateri looked up at the sky and felt comfortable

with the knowledge she had passed on.

―How do I heal with the spirits?‖

―That is for you to discover. Each healer has her own spirit that comes to them. It is for you to

decide who will be your guide, good or bad.‖

―How did you know?‖

―Listen to your heart.‖

The stress of the day was becoming evident on Kateri‘s face. She laid her head against the cold,

hard rock as if it was a field of grass. Again she looked up at the sky. The sun was now only a quarter

visible above the tree tops. The stars already twinkled at the prospect of another night.

―It is time for me to pass my powers to you if you accept.‖ Kateri whispered.

91

Nitika nodded sensing the pain this was causing Kateri.

Kateri righted herself with her back still up against the rock. She smoothed her hair and tried to

clear her throat. She reached for Nitika‘s hands and held them close to her chest.

―Oh, great spirit, I have understood your will for me, and now I ready another. Let the spirits

come upon her and freely allow her to make a choice. Let her guide be true, steadfast, and loyal. Allow

her to serve those you wish that are in need,‖ Kateri‘s hands began to shake as she recited the last line.

―My duty is done. I release the burden and power knowing it will go to the one prepared. Knowing it will

go to Nitika.‖

As this was said, Kateri slowly closed her eyes, and a tear fell from Nitika‘s face.

―Beware of the sand,‖ Kateri breathed.

Nitika looked towards the fading sun to keep from letting another tear fall from her face. She

watched as the final ray of sun left the sky, and the sky became a purple world of shining silver. She

looked back towards Kateri and noticed her chest was not moving. She let her hand come to rest on

Kateri‘s forehead, and she felt peace. A gentle wind stirred causing the water to ripple as Nitika‘s tears hit

the rock. Her stream of tears flowed of the rock and into the rippling water below. At the same time the

wind picked up nearer to the shore and caused sand to whirl about. Remembering Kateri‘s last words,

Nitika knew it was time to choose. She carefully lay Kateri down under the overhang of rock and

gathered the herbal jars in her bag. She grabbed Kateri‘s walking cane and slowly stepped into the water.

―Water spirit, come to me now. I choose you. Please, be my key. Unlock the spirit world when I

am in need. Be my guide and friend. The water swirled around Nitika blowing her long hair this way and

that. The sand storm on the shore began to move towards the water, yet each time it was turned to mud

and had to gather again before it could attack. Nitika cried out, ―It is over. I am ready. Let it be finished.‖

As the words were said, the water billowing around Nitika again came to rest in the spring. Nitika stood

still for several seconds waiting for the surface of the water to again become smooth as glass. Moments

later she saw her own reflection gazing at herself with a different set of eyes. The eyes staring back up at

her where a deep golden, like the color of the fading sun. The world was at peace once again, and

everything was as it should be.

92

Flower Four

Leticia Hernandez

93

Untitled

Kira Parsons

Fiery orange stripes gleam against the trees

Paws pace forth carefully, head to the ground

He sidles beneath the thick canopies.

Blessed with a still day, he awaits a sound.

The striped beast crawls, skulking into dense brush

So he can hide that which gives him away.

He stops, his adrenaline starts to rush

Was that a twig snapping? he cannot say.

Now! His ears perk up, his eyes glimmering

And he spots his prey, and gives his jaw a lick.

Their eyes meet, prey‘s eyes sadly shimmering

One beat of silence, palpable and quick

The a careless step, a rustle of leaves

And the prey is his, glory he achieves.

94

Lament of the Primrose

David Vaughan DeVine

IF ever there was a joyful lament

the earth would sing it on this day

in the way a primrose,

laden with dew does cry,

and is weighed down by holy rain.

In its growth, she becomes myth,

while she longs for companions,

far along the hill, but in the ills

of loneliness, holding up the column,

she grows so strong.

In this soil, shallow and rocky,

she stretches her minuscule roots

in the hope that one day

she will crawl away.

95

Toads

Elizabeth Carls

The sky was clear and the summer breeze warm

On the night I discovered a secret art room

Mixed with the songs of birds and crickets‘ tones,

From a dark pond came an amphibious moan.

The music stopped as I neared their abode.

For fear of a predator who liked to eat toads.

But after I passed, it started again,

A chorus of baritones like tipsy old men.

Hearing the croaks, I ran back to the shore,

Mischievously crashing their party once more

But I hid in the reeds and made not a sound

And the toads forgot that I was around.

They sang their ballads, recited their prose,

Unaware that now there‘s one who knows

Of the strange cacophony of voices,

The music of toads.

96

La Croix and the Tower of Eternal Darkness

Josh Rodriguez

I had just finished my homework. First time in a while that I had actually completed it

before I got to school the next morning. And I must say, it was pretty difficult. With YouTube,

and Facebook beckoning to me, it took all my willpower not to succumb to their tempting calls

and to finish reading my IR book. I didn‘t think I could stay focused long enough to do it, but

somehow, I did, and now the time for video games, my favorite pastime, had come at long last. I

turned off the light, and ran to the next room fired up the Xbox. ―This is the life,‖ I said to

myself as I relaxed in my comfy chair and laid waste to my virtual enemies. That‘s when my

Mom walked in. When I saw the expression on her face, and I knew that she needed help with

something. I pretended not to notice her for fear of being asked to lend a hand. I didn‘t want to

be torn away from my game, I was doing great too. Sure enough, she said to me, ―Jacob, I have

some work that I need to finish tonight.‖ I knew where the situation was headed, but I let her

keep talking to see how it played out, maybe I was wrong with my assumption it wouldn‘t be the

first time.

―So I‘m going to need you to put Lauren to bed. Do you think you can do that for me?‖

I knew it! I really didn‘t want to. I mean, who wants to stop playing an awesome game to put a

5 year-old to bed?

―Yeah O.K.‖ I said as I reluctantly stopped what I was doing and sullenly walked to her

room.

Lauren is my five year old sister. If you haven‘t met my sister, you should probably first

know that she‘s not the easiest person to deal with. She‘s stubborn and doesn‘t listen, like at all!

When most people meet her, however, they find her charming and adorable. I have a hard time

seeing her like that though. I have to be around her every day. In my opinion, a little girl who

argues with everything you say isn‘t adorable. We often get in heated arguments about the

stupidest things like whether or not we have any pancake mix. So a long story short, my sister is

a pain. You might find her adorable, and she might even agree with everything you say; maybe

it‘s just sibling hostility. Luckily, most of the bedtime ritual had been completed for me before I

got there, so things were easy. I found her pajamas and told her to get dressed and to brush her

teeth. I sat on her bed waiting for her to finish. The walls in her room are painted two colors.

The wall was yellow from the floor to halfway up the wall and from there up, was a creamy off

white color. My parents had chosen that color scheme because they worried that we might have

a boy and not a girl. They thought it would be a good idea to paint the room a gender natural

color. Toys were scattered on the rainbow colored carpet and stuffed animals were hung by clips

from the ceiling in the corner of the room by the window. I looked at the time on my phone.

Only eight. If I finish this quickly, I can get some Halo in before I go to bed. I figured that this

bedtime thing would be a smash and grab job; get in, get out, and I‘d be done.

She came back with fresher breath, crawled under the covers and sat up against a propped

up pillow. ―Tell me a story,‖ she told me.

―O.K what should I read tonight?‖ I grabbed a stack of books that were sitting next to

her bed. ―Any of these grab your interest? We can read Robin Hood, Mulan or Aladdin.‖

―No, I don‘t want those.‖

―You‘ve got to choose one. That‘s all there is.‖

―Just tell me a story.‖

―Oh alright, I‘ll make one up then.‖ So I started my story.

97

―There was once a mouse named La Croix; he was…French. And he lived in the far

away kingdom of Mozzarella. He was their hero, and everyone looked for him when there was

trouble. He wore a duster and always looked cool. He even had cool little mouse booties. Oh,

and he also had a cool hat with a feather. No, I take that back. He didn‘t have a hat; he liked the

sun in his eyes, it made him fight better. Now this little mouse had his eye on the princess,

Cheddarella. She was a pretty little mouse and was everything that La Croix could hope for in a

female. They had similar tastes in music and movies and had a great chemistry.

One day, he got enough mousey courage to ask her to accompany him to a cheese and

wine social. He made his way to the castle, and just then there was a deafening explosion in the

tallest tower. He rushed up the tower, double stepping, even triple stepping the stairs to get to

the princess at the top of the tower. When he got to her room, he sliced the door open with a

slice from his mighty sword and rushed in, ready for action. The castle guards were strewn

about the floor like playing cards, wounded and or dead from battle. There was a gaping hole in

the side of the room where the explosion had come from. ‗What happened here soldier?‘

questioned La Croix.

‗It was the evil sorcerer *cough* Ratberg the White. He‘s taken the princess. I‘m sorry;

he was just too much for us.‘

‗You‘ve done well soldier. Besides, there wasn‘t much you could have done against his

evil.‘ It was then that La Croix noticed a piece of parchment lying on the ground near the hole in

the wall. He walked over to it and read it out loud.

Hahahahahah! By now you have noticed that your precious Princess Cheddarella is

gone. You’re probably wondering where she is. Well let me save you some time; I have her! If

you want to save her, you know where you can find me.

Your nemesis always, Ratberg the White.

‗That fiendish fiend!‘ exclaimed La Croix. ‗He‘s taken her to the Tower of Eternal

Darkness, I have to save her!‘ He ran to the ledge and gave a sharp whistle and summoned his

trusty steed. He jumped off the ledge and landed on his valiant—‖

―Lizard!‖ shouted Lauren.

―A lizard?‖ I asked. ―Well, alright, he jumped off the ledge and landed on his valiant

lizard named Edgar, and scurried off towards the Tower of Eternal Darkness.

La Croix rode for what seemed like hours but what was actually about five minutes;

everything seems to move faster when you‘re as small as a mouse. He rode until he reached a

dense forest. It was dark and mysterious, and was therefore called the Forest of Mysterious

Mystery. Upon arriving at the forest, Edgar began to hiss and stir restlessly. ‗It‘s alright old

friend, we‘ll go in together,‘ assured La Croix. The two friends entered through the foreboding

trees and were soon engulfed in the foliage. The Forest of Mysterious Mystery was very foggy

and was pretty much the creepiest forest you‘ve ever seen. La Croix‘s eyes were playing tricks

on him, and he was sure that he had passed that tree before. Then it was apparent; he was lost.

He rolled open a map of the kingdom but there was nothing on there about the Forest of

Mysterious Mystery. La Croix was regretting not going around the forest especially since the

detour would have taken him through the Fields of Eternal Joy and Overwhelming Happiness.

About now, La Croix was getting the tummy rumblies that only cheese could satisfy. But he had

forgotten to pack provisions for his journey in his haste to save the princess. He walked and

walked in circles until he collapsed from exhaustion. Then he smelt something. He looked up,

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and in front of him were three chocolate trees. Naturally, La Croix was very relieved to happen

upon those trees and rushed to them, eager for some chocolate. He was about to take some

chocolate off the branches, but just then, he was sent airborne with a swipe from the tree‘s

branches. ‗Just what do you think your doing?‘ bellowed the chocolate trees.

‗I just wanted some of your chocolate, I‘m very hungry,‘ squeaked La Croix.

‗Well, how would you like it if I took a piece of you and ate it?‘

‗I suppose I wouldn‘t like that one bit; I‘m sorry.‘

‗You better be, you filthy little varmint.‘

‗What did you call me?‘ questioned La Croix.

‗Did I stutter? I called you a varmint, you dirty piece of mammalian trash, you.‘

‗That was uncalled for!‘ said La Croix, ‗I already said I was sorry.‘ The chocolate tree

turned to his other tree brethren and said, ‗Stupid mice, they are the dirtiest creatures I‘ve ever

had the displeasure of meeting.‘ The other trees started laughing. They wanted to look cool. But

there was someone there who didn‘t find that particular joke very funny.‖

―Who? Who wasn‘t laughing?‖ asked Lauren intensively.

―La Croix that‘s who! He was a mouse full of pride, and he couldn‘t just sit there and

take that kind of attitude just sitting down. He quickly drew out his sword and launched at the

very rude tree. ‗Let‘s see if you think this is funny!‘ shouted La Croix. Then with a swift

swoosh of his sword; he sliced the tree in half, thus silencing the unruly chocolate tree. The

other chocolate trees were so terrified at the sight, they uprooted and ran for the hills, looking to

escape the wrath of La Croix and his majestic sword. La Croix would have normally felt bad

about eating a fallen foe, but he was hungry, so he sat down to eat the chocolate tree. ‗To the

victor go the spoils,‘ he resounded in pride. He reached into the branches and pulled out huge

bars of chocolate and immediately began consuming them. ‗There is no sweeter taste on thine

lips than victory!‘ triumphantly boasted La Croix. Even Edgar got in on the chocolaty action as

he ate the chocolate tree bark that was made of chocolate wafers. Soon La Croix and Edgar‘s

stomachs were content and they were on their way to save the princess from the wicked clutches

of Ratberg the White.

Luckily, La Croix was able to find a forest path that led him out of the trees and the fog.

Beyond the forest was the small village of Pepper Jack and beyond that was the Great Desert. La

Croix knew that he would not last long without the proper supplies, so he went to the village to

stock up. There, La Croix resupplied and was given directions on the quickest way through the

desert. Taking the advice from the town elders, La Croix waited to set off until nightfall.‖

―Why did he have to wait until night time?‖ asked Lauren.

―Because at night it‘s not as hot as it is in the day time.‖

―Oh.‖

―Anyway, back to my story. So, as soon as it got dark, La Croix and Edgar left the village

and walked into the vastness of the desert. It was a good thing that Edgar was a desert lizard

because he could travel through the desert sands with great ease. Our heroes were not too deep

into the desert before their lives were in danger. They were on the run from an angry flock of

cactus owls. Apparently, La Croix and Edgar had come too far into their territory. Seeking refuge

from the violent pecks of the cactus owls, they hid in an abandoned fortress.

La Croix was tired and thought it would be nice to rest. But he couldn‘t rest, not until the

princess was safe. Upon further snooping through the fortress, he uncovered a passageway. An

ancient sign by the door had ―Kangaroo Cave shortcut to The Tower of Eternal Darkness.‖ La

Croix knew that it might be more dangerous, but he knew what he had to do. He led Edgar down

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the passageway and they started their journey through Kangaroo Cave. The cave was dark and

scary, and La Croix could hear lots of creepy, unrecognizable sounds. He had safely walked for

a long time without any incident, and was beginning to think they wouldn‘t run into any cave

kangaroos. It was then, that he heard the bone-chilling howl of cave kangaroo as it descended

upon La Croix, looking for a fight. La Croix drew his sword, ready to defend himself. But the

crafty cave-marsupial was too fast for him, and it slapped the sword right out of La Croix‘s hand.

He was defenseless; he saw his life flash before his eyes. Right before the kangaroo could use a

deadly right hook on our poor hero, Edgar, with a mighty swoop of his tail, sent the kangaroo

flying into a dark abyss conveniently located in the cave. ‗You saved my life!‘ exclaimed La

Croix. The thunder-lizard wagged his tail with satisfaction; he knew that he had done a good job.

‗I‘ll make sure to make you a big sub sandwich when we get home.‘ The adventurer and his

loyal steed proceeded through the cave, untouched by the cave kangaroos.

They happily greeted the bright, rising sun as they exited the cave. On the horizon was

the Tower of Eternal Darkness. La Croix had finally reached his goal. He mounted Edgar and

charged at the tower through fields of seemingly harmless plants. But they weren‘t harmless,

they were man-eaters! The carnivorous plants snapped and snarled at La Croix and Edgar as they

passed through, but his sword made short work of them; nothing would stop him from saving

Princess Cheddarella. Covered in the sap of those fallen photosynthetic psychopaths, La Croix

reached the front door of the tower. The door was huge and made of a rich mahogany, studded

with intimidating spikes. It was common knowledge that adventurers can‘t bring their lizards

into castles and towers. ‗Wait here, I‘ll be right back,‘ reassured La Croix. Edgar whimpered

and whinnied as La Croix entered through the door to face the evil sorcerer.

The tower was dusty and unkempt. ‗Only someone as vile as Ratberg would keep such a

messy home,‘ scoffed La Croix. With heroic speed, he ran up the stairs, avoiding the booby

traps that the sorcerer had laid for him. In what seemed like no time at all, he was at Ratberg‘s

door. He kicked the door in, with a spectacular fashion. ‗You‘ve fallen right into my trap,‘

muttered the sorcerer.

‗Where‘s the princess, you nasty rat, you?‘

‗I resent that,‘ retorted the rat. ‗Soon you will meet your doom, and there will be no hope

of saving the Princess!‘ Ratberg let out a sinister laugh, confident that victory was his. La Croix,

full of courage, rushed at the evil enchanter, sword shining. Before La Croix could get close

enough to Ratberg to land a fatal blow, the sorcerer created a force field and sent La Croix flying

across to the room to crash against the wall. ‗Now,‘ said Ratberg, ‗Allow me to show you my

true powers.‘

Then something horrifying happened. Ratberg began glowing, and the room began to

rumble. His eyes turned blood red and he began to shake violently. La Croix was stupefied; he

had never seen Ratberg use this type of magic. Ratberg hunched over and from his back

sprouted two leathery wings.

‗Gasp!‘ gasped La Croix.

Ratberg grew larger and larger until finally, he was a giant bat, a rat with wings. A battle

was about to go down unlike any the Kingdom of Mozzarella had ever seen.

The giant bat launched at La Croix with a speed comparable to a rocket. La Croix was

unprepared for this sudden attack and had the wind knocked out of him with a vicious head-butt

from his magical attacker. He spun and flopped onto the cold tile, trying to catch his breath.

Ratberg came in for another pass, but this time, La Croix was ready for him. He dodged at the

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last second and managed to grab on to Ratberg‘s wings, and a brilliant aerial battle ensued. La

Croix was able to strike Ratberg several times with his sword, but Ratberg was wise, and he

knew he could not defeat La Croix as long as he had his sword. So Ratberg threw La Croix off

his back and swooped down to knock the sword from La Croix‘s little mousey paws.

Unbeknownst to Ratberg, however, was the fact that La Croix was specially trained in advanced

hand to hand combat. When Ratberg came in for another attack, La Croix was able to weave his

way through the bat‘s attacks and punch Ratberg in the solar plexus. Ratberg fell to the ground

in pain stunned from La Croix‘s well executed attack. Desperate to finish the battle quickly,

Ratberg took to the air once more and prepared for a final attack. He then began to shoot magic

energy beams from his mouth in an attempt to vaporize La Croix. La Croix to cover behind

furniture, but with all the furniture exploding around him, he was running out of places to hide.

‗This will be your final undoing La Croix!‘ hissed Ratberg. Then he began to form an

intense energy ball and charged up to attack.

‗What can I do? The blast will certainly destroy me.‘

Then Ratberg launched his attack at La Croix. The light was blinding, and La Croix

fumbled for his weapon. Ratberg was laughing manically, sure that victory was finally his. La

Croix used his sword and swung at the energy ball, sending it back at his attacker. Ratberg was

too busy laughing that he failed to notice his impending doom. By the time he did notice

however, it was too late. He could not get away in time before he was hit with his own attack.

His limp and charred body fell to the ground, lifeless. Around the neck of Ratberg‘s body was a

large key. La Croix examined it and wondered what it opened. Then he heard the muffled shouts

of a lady mouse somewhere in the room. He searched and searched, until finally, behind a large

oversized portrait of Ratberg, there was a golden door covered in chains with a large lock.

Curious as to what was behind this door, he tried the key in the lock, and the chains fell off. He

opened the door and there was the princess, waiting to be rescued.

La Croix and the Princess Cheddarella shared a heartwarming hug.

‗You rescued me!‘ exclaimed the Princess. But this was no time to celebrate because out

of nowhere, Ratberg‘s body exploded in a dazzling display of lights and fire. The tower began to

rumble and shake erratically. ‗We‘ve got to get out of here, princess! In his dying breath, he is

trying to destroy the tower, and us with it,‘ said La Croix. Pieces of ceiling began falling down

and nearly crushed our hero. La Croix and the princess dashed for the door but it was blocked by

a large pile of rubble. It seemed as if all hope was lost, but La Croix had come out alive from

stickier situations. For him, this was just another day on the job.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed a window. He grabbed the princess and leaped

through it, hoping that they would land in the moat. Luckily, for them they did land in the moat,

and they scrambled to shore where Edgar was waiting for them. From a safer distance they

looked back and watched the tower as it fell and crumbled into tiny pieces. It was all over;

Ratberg had been defeated and the princess had been saved.

‗Thank you for saving me La Croix. You‘re my hero,‘ squeaked the princess.

‗It‘s all just part of the job.‘ La Croix lifted the princess onto Edgar‘s back, and the three

of them walked off towards the horizon.

―So, what‘d you think? Was that a good story for you?‖ But Lauren had already fallen

asleep. I tucked her in, turned off the lamp, turned on the little floral night-light and closed the

door behind me. I felt pretty good about myself; I knew that I had sewn a tapestry of imaginary

excitement above her bed. In other words, I was proud of my story. ―She wasn‘t so bad,‖ I said

to myself. I turned on the Xbox again and got down to business.

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The Lego Man

Matt Leibowitz

Lego Man, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Built thee shape, and built for you,

A ship and a racecar too;

Gave thee kingdom of plastic,

Your large castle, so fantastic,

Gave thee a green lightsaber,

In bricks built by his labor?

Lego Man, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Lego Man, I‘ll tell thee,

Lego Man, I‘ll tell thee.

He is called by my name,

For I call myself Matthew.

I am tall, and am a boy;

I play with you, little toy.

I a boy, and toy are you,

I am called by my name.

Lego Man, I built thee!

Lego Man, I built thee!

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Butterfly

Sometimes in Life

You get too stressed

You need to break away

And even though,

You try your best,

It doesn‘t work out that way,

But up in the clouds

It‘s hard to see,

How anything can go wrong,

The world is turning,

Constantly,

But you just float along,

Butterfly, tell me,

How does it feel?

To fly above the rest,

And when you look down,

You see that ground,

Is more beautiful than you‘d

guessed,

And when you choose,

To fly away,

You dazzle those near and far,

Because when you fly

You spread your wings,

And they see how beautiful

you are

If I could talk to the sun,

I don‘t know what I‘d say,

I might sing or I might dance,

But luckily, butterfly,

You already know,

Because you‘ve been given the

chance,

But you wander, butterfly,

From place to place, Erin

Each day from dusk to dawn, Crowley

But when you leave, 2006

You touch the sky,

And into the sun,

You‘re gone.