2018 Student Poetry

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Another Time
BY OSIEL SALINAS

A new year, another photo.
The cold new year breeze blows.
Passing time, having fun.
The heat of the bonfire like the sun.
Goofy green shirt and goofier hair.
My cousins and I filled with joy.
We truly were young.

A family party.
A house filled with endless relatives.
A time when we were whole.
A time when we understood each other.
A time that was simpler.
A time when we were happy.
As the Moments Fade
BY JORDYN FUGGINS

The air of the past had filled my lungs.
The warm sun of that one summer's day shone on my face.
The stars on the popcorn ceiling of my
childhood home danced above me in the night.
Every scar was a fresh wound.
Every glance was a meaningful gaze.
Then the clock rushed forward, the black hands
under the clear surface spinning wildly.
The green grass and blue ocean waves now ash gray.
The laughter faded into the background,
like a song ending.
The voices and the smiles swayed in the distance
like a hand waving its final goodbye.

Blameless
BY LEYDI IBARRA

Monday,
Monday as a kindergartner,
Monday, like people say over there
is the day to salute the Mexican flag.
Students dress in school uniforms, red and white.
Girls with hair in a ponytail, boys very well combed.
Teachers and parents gather.
All eyes on the four students chosen to do the honors.
The national anthem is sung.
Everyone is silent as a sign of respect.
Right after, everyone claps, smiles are all around.
Being in the center, I’m able to see them,
Mom, sister…
But. Wait. There’s one person missing.
Always busy, out of town, working all the time.
I didn’t understand.
Missed my birth.
Missed my first words.
Missed my first footsteps.
And of course, this as well.
No hard feelings now.
After all, all you want is the best for us.

Bloom
BY HENRY LOPEZ-RAMIREZ

Young boy exploring a long-lost world,
bitter cold settling into his bones.
Animals bustling through and through,
their cacophony becomes sweet melodies.

Screams of children
both fear and delight.
Imaginations begin to take flight.
An army of scraped knees and elbows
enter another world.
They run amok with nature.
They enjoy this simplistic life.

No responsibilities.
No impending doom.
Everything is sunshine,

because life is in full bloom.
Blurred Past, Clear Future
BY JAKELYN ALCARAZ

A moment captured in a second.
A memory colored with ink and paint.
Happiness dwells within,
sunshine and meadows surrounding the scene.

The little girl blows out the candle,
innocently wishing for a toy.
If only she had wished for those emotions to continue.
She’d come to wish she did.

Surrounded by love and affection,
she’d come to lose that too.
Surrounded by laughter and joy,
she’d come to miss the sound.

As birthdays continued to pass and the girl aged,
she learned the world captured in the photo
was just a second the camera had caught,
of her once unforgettable life.



Born to Die
BY JORGE ALDANA-GAMBOA

Wondering what the flash of the camera might do,
confused, yet to this day. Being held by his mother
who is lying next to him. The light blue and white
colors show the innocence of the child.
The brightness focused all around him
shows the happiness of his home.
Surrounded by loved ones.
His mother by his side.
His green, white, and blue bird in the cage.
His brother snapping the shot, now at work.
His father at work like always, never home.
The fears of being left alone by his family taunt him.
The fear of death that is on its way torments him.
He’s forgotten his childhood memories but
has kept the secrets since he was born.
Secrets that death itself won't get to know.

The Boy Grew Up
BY ISIDRO ARMENTA

A boy lying on a couch
wearing nothing but a diaper,
peacefully sleeping,
nothing bothering him.

His family members can’t stop
taking pictures of him. His uncle no longer
with them. Missing him all the time and can’t stop
thinking about him. Lived with him his entire life.

Grew up a little too fast. Missed his childhood.
Always having fun but not with kids.
Did not care how young he was.
Always listening to conversations at parties.

The Broken Glass
BY VANESSA AGUILAR

Broken glasses like broken memories,
the thoughts, bubbles, giggles, and wiggles
shake through her small hands.
She does not remember.

The good times, the bad the laughs,
the screams and the cheers.
She was young. A life filled with
Joy and Glee.
She does not remember.

The shoes in the corner, laced with
fabric, like the forms of quilt
patterned into her life and amusement.
She does not remember.

Cake
BY JASMINE TORRES

Gentle breezes whisper through your hair.
They whisper below, through the greens.
They whisper through your gown, the gown
swaying up, filling your vision with red.
Small in stature, eyebrows pinched, small
hands holding a beautiful sight, your vanilla
cake.
Yet, as the scene around you turns chaotic,
children your age running and screaming,
the sun disappears, and smiles are what
you can only see.
Smiles from whom you call Uncle and
Grandma.
They are blocking the path to where the
tables are, where you can finally eat your
cake.
A loud click is heard and you look up
seeing a familiar woman holding a camera,
your mother.
Having just captured a fraction of a second,
Now forever in time.

Canela
BY ITZEL BAUTISTA

Light blue jeans,
too big,
too wide,
next to yours
that fit
snug and tight.
Warmth and comfort
vanished over time.
That smell of yours,
sweet and kind.
From there you are
in calming sounds,
relaxing state of mind.
Time and dates
unparalleled our lives,
though links like chains
kept us congruent.
The household still sits
with pleasure in sighs,
protection and memories,
style and beauty.
As dawn approached,
sweet smells
filled my lungs
with canela spice.
Capture
BY JESUS GONZALEZ

Mother is gathering all up. She says, cheese.
Kino and his sister don’t want to pose.
As they grow old they will understand all.
They hated being captured like monkeys in the zoo.
Memories last forever,
Goofy moments grow to be the best.

If you don’t capture them now it will be too late.
If I thought about pictures this way it would be a pleasure.
The background shows it all,
Every moment captured has a special story.
Some are dreadful, some show glory.
My mother has captured since day one.
Now that I look back,

I’m glad my mother made us say, cheese.
Now I ask her to show me the memories.
I can look at the albums and say, throwback.
As I grow very old,
I will glorify all these moments.
They are all permanent.
I thank my mother for the luxury of capturing a moment.

Carousel
BY GERARDO TORRES

A return to my origins,
the old buildings teeming with new life.
The day is cloudy, yet bright.
The baggy clothes an old relic.
Strangers tend their daily routine.
And I spot the merry-go-round in the main plaza
filled with strange faces, historical traces.
I simply stare out in a daze,
a familiar place, a comforting space.
Traffic circles the main plaza, smog filling the air,
the smell of pan dulce making me hunger.
I ignore the temptation.
Something stronger pulls me in.
I must admire the scene.
And now as I mount my great yellow stallion
my view becomes a whirlwind,
yet my thoughts become clear.
The ride slows
to a stop.

Home.

A Child’s Mask
BY ROGELIO VIDAÑA

I remember this day.
My yellow shirt glowed
from the radiant sun
onto my creasing cheeks.

It was always full,

the heavy color-filled basket,
loose underwear that sagged low,
the crispy grass that flew into the shoes,

lost all in all this photo.

I remember this picture.
My dad watching every move I make.
Our words tip-toe around Him.
My mom keeping the peace between fear and love.

The boy with the blissful smile.
Childhood
BY MIGUEL LOPEZ RAMIREZ

The way he smiled without the dread
of growing up.
He had no fear of being
a child.
Knowing that his parents were always
there for support.
Now that he’s older, he has forgotten
the past.
Except the excitement of childhood,
that will never come back.
The brightness of his surroundings,
and the darkness of the room,
show he is growing up.

Dancing with Ol’ Red Eye
BY SIMON MOORE

Adults towering over the young
couple sharing the dance.
Adults’ hands on waists,
smell of alcohol in each other’s face.
The movement is simple,
I catch on quickly.
Left.
Sway.
Right.
Sway.
I am good at this.
The girl in white was proof.
How else could she end up here,
in front of me?
Cute, but there’s a
scab on her right cheek
staring me in my eye.
My eyes wander,
to release contact
with her facial addition.
I see family all around.
Adults hold the gaze.
I can’t, there’s a scab,
grossly staring at me.
Everyone else’s movements
seem wobbly, even though this is easy.
Easy and
boring.
Everyone has a smile on their face,

she has a scab on hers.
Her hair brown.
Her dress white.
I’m bored, then I am
lightly kissed on my cheek.
Maybe because I don’t
have a scab on mine, staring into her soul.
Regardless, it’s a girl.
For a brief moment
it seems cool, until I
remember this ain’t my first rodeo.

Dark Brown
BY ANA CONTRERAS

Little girl, oh little girl.
Smile so bright it could blind the
whole world. As her legs and arms grew,
the clock ticked and the bright
young smile faded away. At 6 years old,
the little girl became acquainted with
the small mirror in her shared bathroom with her mother.
It showed her light Brown eyes, light Brown
hair and pale skin. The Mirror told the little girl’s
mother a different story.

Dark Brown eyes, Dark Brown hair,
and Dark Brown skin. Upon seeing what the mirror showed,
compared to her mother, her face stiffened and her jaw
tightened with anger.

The lightness in her hair made her feel sick.
Her pale skin compared to her mother’s was ugly. All the tales
of her beautiful light Brown hair made her furious. Dark Brown
was beautiful and precious. Why did the bystanders compliment
and praise the light Brown that shines under the sun
and not the Dark Brown
that shines under the sun and moonlight?


Eighteen Years
BY DULCE LUCERO

As long as I am in her sight
I will always be the baby girl
with the rose in my cheek,
with the lace on my dress,
with the flowers in my hair.

I grow
by her strength and her stare.

I stand here now 5 feet tall
with makeup on my face,
with heels on my feet,
with that crown on my head.
I am now 18.

The Fabric of Time
BY DAVID GARCIA

The Clear Cloth color that reflects.
His Blue, His White, His curled black.
The warmth, the silence, Him.
Its purity shows.

Despite the frosted mess of cake upon his face,
perfection prevails.
His actions, a flake to the fine piece of material’s wind,
for no amount of eagerness can taint its beauty.
Its mere existence, and all those associated, will be etched in history
for as long
as the moment
Lasts.

Is Remembered.

Lost
Is when the fabric withers in due time.
Inevitable. Was such a fate predetermined
by His undeveloped perception.
Unknown ignorance.

A fabric once so clean,
destroyed, demolished, distorted.
Victimized by the mind.

Tears of curiosity through recollection,
Confused and distraught over the loss.
Useless is He then, and now to carry forth its beauty.
A celebration

of what has been

Forgotten.

Flightless Birds
BY JOCELYN SORIA

The sun cradling two faces.
Sweet flowers caressing new skin.
Birds chirping and roosters crowing
to the melody of innocent cries.
In his eyes there is pain.
In her eyes there are oceans of worries.
Then a sea of years pass inside, and
dark days fill her pupils.
She will never be as golden as the sun.
Wings are impossible.
Maybe she will never touch the sky.
The simple cries taken place are gone.

Forgotten
BY NATALIA MENDEZ

We jumped up and down with excitement,
laughing like kids at a playground.
Everything captured in that flash.
the kind of flash that blinds after the moment.
The hazel eyes that glare with light.
A feeling of warmth
radiating from underneath their smiles.
However, who knows what their future holds.
Two different paths heading different directions.
The happiness that was once present
has been lost forever.
All that remains is one part left alone, unfazed.
An unfinished puzzle,
with the remaining pieces scattered everywhere.
Never to be connected.

Four Eyed Future
BY ISAAC VARGAS

Cooked shrimp sizzles the air,
swish swosh the waters go,
grandpa and dad coo at the critter.
It’s the first time in a long they’ve felt this.
Sswosh the critter splashes
goo goo gaa gaa!!
The waters are clear now,
in time they’ll be ravenous elsewhere.

Cooked steak seared sizzles the air,
drip drip drip drip the stream comes down,
grandpa and dad praise the creature.
Been a long time they’ve done and felt this already,
Scritch scratch the creature scrubs,
a siiiiighhh is let out,
the waters are dangerous,
they’re filled with years with emotions and actions,
they grow more sensitive, shocked, and sincere.

Now listen you creature, shut your eyes,
slip into a slumber,
from which you’ll wake up to the beast,
by then you’ll see the tale of one
with the four eyed future.

A Fresh Perspective
BY ALYSSA CARAVAS

The memory blurs, but the people are clear.
Dancing giggles twirl in the brisk air.
Red velvet drapes porcelain skin.
Sunshine hair falls upon her limbs.
Her bright, twinkling blue eyes bring a new light.
Her hanging tongue from her playful smile,
elated by her new books,
she shrills in delight.
Her young mother’s earthy eyes glimmer at the sight.

Grandpa glows behind the camera.
Grandma misses the off-center portrait
to add to the aroma of an Asian cuisine,
soy sauce ready on the counter.

The little girl longs for someone small
to share this joy with.
She fears leaving Grandma and Grandpa,
now she hates the idea of them leaving her.
She wishes she could return to a time
when Christmas around the corner
was enough to make her smile.

Will it all be forgotten?
What we are meant to cherish.

From Left to Right
BY NATASHA RODRIGUEZ

The first, the oldest,
her smile was bright,
but the days were not.
She shook her head.
The second, third born,
took place before the other
since no one taught me better.
I shook my head.
The third, older than me,
fiddled with her fingers and crossed her feet;
confused by the absence,
she shook her head.
The last. A boy.
This made father happy.
He asked us to smile.
Mother would never be there to see it.
We shook our heads.

Fully Grown
BY KARINA MENDEZ

Her innocent face lit by her vibrant purple overalls,
so bright she couldn’t look into the future,
to see what it held.

Year by year, time advanced,
but she never looked back.

She sees her now,
pursuing her goals and leaving the past where it belongs,
the past.

Graduation
BY BIANCA RAMIREZ

A young girl surrounded by caps and gowns
waiting in something so gold,

in line for so long,
bright lights flashing before her face,

standing in a pose only she remembers,
such happiness brought to her face,

when hearing her name.

Grey Clouds
BY CLAUDIA NAVA

We've been driving in the fog.
I look around
and see nothing—all just a blank cloud of gray.
I can see faint colors—purples, yellows,
and greens—that burn bright
and fade just as quickly.
I go to open the car door
when muffled laughter is heard.
It's a whirlwind of cries,
laughter and screams all at once.
The door is jammed.
A song begins to play.
So familiar
that the words dance on the tip of my tongue.
My foot tentatively taps to the tempo.
Then the car swerves left.
Then right.
Then spins through the street
and my breath has halted.
And it settles down
going miles and miles away.
And with each second passing
I seem to forget where it all began.
I cannot predict where I'm going,
nor tell you where I've been.
I can tell you it's been nice,
at least what I recall.

Growing Up
BY ADRIAN RUIZ

A confused boy I was.
The moment of the picture
I was curious of the world,
innocent.
A boy whose toughest decisions
were what toys he’d play with next.

I'm getting older now,
no longer a child,
not yet an adult.
As I grow and have to make real life decisions,
I only wish I could be young again.
Back to when I was confused about
how to pose for a picture.

Now,
I am curious as to how my life will be captured.
Every detail is in perception.
Which frame should I use?
Who is going to be in it?
For now, I’ll remain answerless, just
as I am in this photo.




Her Last Words
BY LESLIE PEREZ-LOMELI

There is a smile on her face,
there is hope in her eyes,
a father behind the shot,
and the mother who just gave life.

In an empty hospital she last saw
the father no longer in her dreams.
Her eyes now dark with twilight,
a new beginning has come with lies,
the disguise of the future has died.

I made it happen,
all of the voices came to life.
I could not stop it.
The little girl standing there lost hope,
the smile on her face has died.

Her Own Blood
BY RUTH NAVARRO

Natural surroundings with infinite timber.
The little child with a bubbly bright loving smile.
Cherishing a fraction of her time,
she darts to her own blood,
surrounding her are strangers
concerned with their own.
The atmosphere is gentle with
her percent of nature bursting aroma.
She sees her own blood,
like a track star she darts toward her with comfort.
Now her own blood is quiet.
There’s a senseless presence,
numb, knowing her state.
Her own blood is gone to dust.
She learns this on her own.
Purposely she smiles at strangers concerned with her.
The corners of her eyes crinkle.
Written on the black of her mind is her own blood’s mark.
She secretly fears being overthrown by another.
From then on she forgets who she is.
So for now she commits to moving on, numb.
Knowing her state, she accepts her faith.
Who is this person now, who is this person now,
in whom she regrets her own blood?


The House on Ramon Road
BY ABIGAIL “July” GONZALEZ

A family smiles idly,
careless, comfortable, content.
Together, there is dark orange, light orange, and white.
Colors had never looked so beautiful.

Two stares followed the eyes of the camera,
ready for the photograph,
however, missing the sound of “snap,”
one stare was kept to the side,
taking in the music of giggles and chatter.
A palpable love was clear,
cut crystal in the frame sparkling off the lens.

Within a flash, a second, a split in time,
a moment was captured,
one of delight and peace with smiles as proof.
In the arms of grandparents,
the frigid winter
felt like the blur of brilliant green in the Spring,
warmth emitting off the beating hearts of benevolence.

Colorlessness did not exist in the house on Ramon Road.
It was a home to my grandparents and a home to all.
No frown could be found;
smiles, grins, and harmony were the premium package.
Within a flash, a moment was made infinite.



In this Moment
BY ANGELICA DE LA TORRE

Flash.
Languorous smiles are frozen.
The woven cotton among
the cheap organza squirms,

crying out for touch.
The organza engulfs the cotton,
soothing its shrill cries with
soft sighs.

The amaryllis tinted fabrics blend,
rigid and soothing silkiness
complement each other
like thorns on a narcissus.

In this moment,
the worn knows what it is like to be complete,
like a puzzle, the pieces
have fallen into place.

In this moment,
the organza has nothing more to be thankful for,
than the candy-floss bundle of laughter
that mended its frayed edges.



Inseparable Trio
BY ANGELICA AGUILAR

Our world revolved around playtime.
Laughs and giggles,
all day long.
Three goofy girls play to the sound
of chirping crickets, buzzing bees,
and singing birds.
The world to them was like rainbows
and butterflies.
As the pretty night approaches,
the parent’s steps take over all the surrounding sounds.
The goofy girls will soon all be tucked in
for a night’s rest.


Jungle-yard Fun
BY ANTONIO VENEGAS

His messy hair.
His curious look.
His motions of excitement.
His soul green, like his shirt.
The eagle on the patch, brown like his skin.

The wonder in his eyes
flowed through like
the Amazon river,
his front Yard a Jungle in his eyes.


Lifted
BY ANIKA ACOSTA

She climbed the wooden seat first.
The only worry on her mind
was how was she going to get on top of that table.
She was unaware of all the future stress she would have from school, boys, and everyday life.
She soon felt arms around her, lifting her.
When she looked up it was her mother.
Her mother.
Her only support in her life and her true best friend forever.
Once she finally made it onto the table,
she laughed and giggled with no fear whatsoever.
She smiled to her mom, knowing she would always have her.
She knew her mom would be there
for all those fears and tears she would later have,
from going to the doctor or dentist,
or losing friends and breaking relationships.


Little girl
BY SOLIMAR JAIMES-MIRANDA

The sky painted with streaks of blue.
Sunlight shining through the window.
Blue flower pants with a white shirt.
Hair golden brown just like honey.
Standing on top of the seat.
Smiling towards the camera.
Skin white as snow.
Straight hair tied in a topknot bun.
White shoes, little hands, leaning against the window.
The smell of lavender in the air.
Branches dangling from trees.
The neighborhood nice and quiet.
A shadow cast over her.
Enchanted little girl full of joy.
Full of life as she jumps out of the car.
Running around in circles until she is dizzy.
Lies on the grass looking at the streaks of blue painted on the sky.


The Love I Found
BY VIVYANNA MONREAL

Let’s take it back
to Grandma’s house in Mexico.
We could hear the townspeople gossiping
like hissing snakes in a pit,
as they made their way to the fruit store next door.

However, we continued to prance in the grass
like wild deer in an open meadow.
Suddenly, mom stopped us to take a photograph.
We went down the steps and posed.

You wrapped your arm around me and held me close.
As quick as a light switch flicked on,
I felt something incredible.

I felt something as warm as the bronze tiles
that sheltered the front door of the house.
I felt something so calming, just like the
turquoise flowers splattered all over my lime green shirt.
I felt something as sweet as the aroma of
the ripe fruit that filled the air.

I felt,
a love so warm, calming, and sweet.
A love that I knew would protect me,
just like the bronze tiles that sheltered the door.
I felt the love of a sister.

Mariachi
BY JHONATAN ORTIZ

I see myself 8 years old, dressed in a
white shirt, 
black pants with silver buttons up the side the legs, 
and a black sombrero with white stitching around it.
I feel a guitar in my hand.
I feel it playing
one of the best songs
just like a pro.
I would like
to go back
10 years,
before school became so stressful,
and remember
how to play a guitar.

Mt. Porcelain
BY DIANA CARRION

The small child stands there,
chubby hands balled into fists,
face set into a soft grimace,
a picture perfect image of determination.

Above her looms a tall,
porcelain figure,
the shiny white glint on its surface
mocking the child.

The porcelain figure,
the child's very own Mt. Everest.
Hands, one in front of the other,
pushing themselves up to victory.

The child falls back,
pushed down by the figure.
Gets back up.
Makes it to the top.


Old Frame
BY ABIGAIL “January” GONZALEZ

Standing still in the white empty room the girl
in the frame that seemed to
surround her.
It was embroiled with beautiful bright
shades of reds, pinks, and yellows peaking
through.
It was sewn by the hands of her Mexican
people, carefully intertwined with
her mother's personal touches.
She was told to stay still and fill the frame,
but then she peeked outside
and stepped away
to create her own frame,
with no borders, no restrictions,
only space enough to grow.

One of Many More
BY MIREYA RODRIGUEZ

Early sunrise coming up
toward the window, dim sunlight
trying to break in through
the glass, happy little girl sitting,

scrumptious plate placed right in front,
smiles to the left
as her grandmother’s voice
calls out,
“Mireya volteate.”

Bright flash hits the room instantly,
another
memory
added to the books.


The Ongoing Clock
BY JEANNETTE ALAVES

Time with its conquering hands,
encages the mind.
It witnesses the crime,
A key tossed into a wasteland

where bars accumulate rust
and thoughts turn into dust,
colors change to hues of grey
and an empty slot remains.

That memory,
the precious of the bunch,
when the sky was blue
and the grass was green,

when the laughter of children
roamed about freely
and a young girl flew
with hopes and dreams.

Become no more,
that’s ‘til a light appears
which pieces together
those once lost childhood memories.



Only Time Will Tell
BY EDITH GONZALEZ

She doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know what the years will bring.
Her innocence shines through,
cheeks as pink as the store bought sheet cake
she begged mami for.
Her naivety,
almost as blinding as her wide,
crooked smile.

She doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know each face around her
will slowly fade away, like….
She sits there,
surrounded by loved ones who will
leave her
with only faint recollections
she’ll wish were fainter,
always trying to rub them away,
like the stains on her hand-me-down overalls

Maybe I should let her know.


Overall
BY LUNA OLIVA

Grandma chose me to class the small girl’s body.
Over her scratchy diaper I went.
My wrinkled denim rolled at her ankle.
I was a size too big.

Outside she roams, the warm sun reflecting off my buttons.
She splats mud on me
like it’s her favorite accessory.
Inside she eats, slurping her savory soup,
giving me a taste as it misses her mouth.

She chews
on a toy, drool dribbling down her chin,
hoping my damp collar will dry soon.

Soon my buttons won’t buckle.
Soon I’ll lie in the back of the old wooden drawers.
Soon she’ll grow into bigger and better things.



Play
BY ARIEL ALVAREZ

As he plays in the car, he is happy.
His dirt brown jeep keeps him occupied for hours.
Here he has no worries, just hopes.
Hopes that it’ll remain the same.
He wanted to stay in the beat down trailer
that he called a home for his whole life.
He never wanted to leave.
The spring smell surrounds him.
The scenery is so surreal.

He enjoys his family deeply, wishing to always
be with them. His cousin with him,
both children worshipping happiness,
and the mother capturing the moment
loves them both with all her heart.

Ohhhh how he never wanted this to change.



The Puzzles
BY TRACY LIN

Pieces of puzzles were connected for the first time,
each different than the others,
but all are connected by blood,
which is what we call The Joy.
The pieces are colored with red.
While they are connected,
happiness is portrayed through the frame,
But one look is lost.
The darkness in the frame has been eating,
the completeness of the puzzle.
It is now never a full puzzle,
as one is forever missing.
The pieces were torn apart by the force of time.
No one shall run away from their destiny,
It is prohibited.
Can’t be changed.
Two are off on their journeys
and one is waiting for her departure.
The two main pieces of the puzzle
have forgotten the last one at Home.


Reminiscing
BY GERARDO PALACIOS

Chilling in a four wheel,
but it ain’t a power wheel.
Cousin to the right of me,
best buddies, we were,
something like Yoda and Luke.
We left Mickey so we could be with Goofy,
being pushed around,
picking us up like books,
but not by a bully.
Everyone seemed so happy.
Smell of laughter and joy everywhere.
I wanna get off and run,
while my cousin is just playing with his thumb.
But why are there so many people around me?
Man, just let me go to sleep.
Oh look it's Mickey!
*Sound of Thunder*
Mickey, Mickey, he's the man,
he's the one who protects the land…
*Sound of Thunder*
But I ain’t going back in time.
Just reliving a moment.
Reminiscing
BY NALLELY LARIOS

Last night I had another dream of my childhood home.

I can still smell and hear the laughter.
I can see myself dancing to random songs
and wearing my bright clothes.
Sometimes I wish I could go back
to enjoy what I took advantage of,
to laugh with my friends and play in the yard,
but I know it’s nothing but a wish.
So I need to stop living in the past and focus on the present.
So that I can build even better memories to look back on,
and smile brighter than I ever have before.


Revelation
BY ANDREA ZARAGOZA

An aura of concentration was fluid,
the intent eyes, serious look,
eyes of surprise and lips that
spoke every word, slowly

as to absorb every action taken. A
moment of silence. Searching eyes
running over every detail of
the illustrations in the book.

The eyes shift within their orbit to
change views. A woman with a camera.
At a command the eyes shift within their
orbit again.

At another command the upper
and lower vermilion contract and expand
to resume what they'd been previously doing.

The flashing light travels
onto everything it can touch
and reveal.



She
BY XITLALIC MEZA

The big, yellow, stuffed dog
along with the pillows and bed frame.
Her brother’s shoulder hiding the Dad’s arm,
and her face covered as she slept.
The mom snapping the picture as the males are awake.
Let’s take it back to that moment as she slept.
He jumped in between them to be in the picture.
She kept sleeping.
After the picture was taken, he left.
Now let’s come back to this moment.
As she views the picture, she
notices the date at the bottom right, 15 3 ‘01.
The good old days that won’t be lived again.
She realizes,
she has kept dark secrets.
But she realizes, opening up has always been difficult,
from where she has always been,
hidden in the shadows.


Some Things Are Worth the Wait
BY ILENE PIÑON                                    

Her arms are spread like wings
as she imagines herself taking flight,
just like the birds in front of her are prepared to do.
She gazes down at the ground, as she is lost in thought,
thinking of the future ahead of her.

Her will to be free,
her will to be heard,
stems from her being ignored,
as if her small voice means nothing.

What she doesn’t know
is that her voice will grow with age,
just as she does,
and her freedom will come with time.
It will be long awaited.

But when it comes
she will embrace it with open arms,
just as she’s done before.

The Special Day
BY KLAUDYA GUERRERO

Her tiny white shoes,
innocent smile, and censored thoughts.
Fearing her mother screaming at her,
“Behave!” “Stop that!” “Be nice!”
But there’s also the knot in her stomach caused by the
dips in the road.
Her short wavy hair.
Those messy short bangs blowing against the wind,
her thoughts floating around her white hat
wondering, “What’s so special about today?”
The bells chiming, the candles lit.
Her white fluffy dress that made her feel like a princess.
Too young to understand what the meaning of the cross is
as the father places cold water on her head,
murmuring words she doesn’t understand.
But her face lights up, her cheeks blushing red,
as excited as a two year old can be,
seeing her loved ones all together.


Still
BY UBALDO NORZAGARAY

A boy on stage,
mic in his hand, he doesn’t know
he’s lost yet.
Bright on his back he wears
his childhood memory.
It’s still, but I can see he’s nervous.
It’s dark,
but his rosy cheeks illuminate a dimly lit night.
It’s long ago, but I stand next to him today.
Oh how I miss him.
Oh how I wish to see him smile again.
Now I sit within these four walls.
Still dark.
Still holding the mic.
Still.
Only now his cheeks have lost their flame.
Oh how I miss him.
Oh how I wish to smile again.


Una más
BY PEDRO ACEVES

You could feel the excitement in the air.
This was home for the next month.
This has always been home.

Two days in a car have lead up to this moment.

We pull up to the dark driveway,
rush out to see what we have been
waiting a whole year to see.

I hear dad pull out the bulky key chain and open
the noisy back door.
The dark house suddenly lights up and we are home.

As soon as I walk in memories start to flood my head.
My first day of school. The mean teachers.
My dad rushing out early to work.
My mom cooking in the mornings. The wet bed.
Her sudden mood change. The cold showers.

But that is all over. Back to the present,
My two sisters still young run around screaming in joy.
“Juntense para una photo,” says mom.
Snap. “Una más.” Snap. Our summer has begun.


Waves of Mind
BY JOHANNA RAMIREZ

As I look back on that day,
that warm joyful day,
as I sat on that boat
wondering how to arrive,
to the island where my
thoughts could not mind.
I saw within myself the
awaiting, drowning moments of my life,
together with the moments where I
could barely stay afloat.
Often wishing I was on shore,
both under and above,
controlled by the fear of
being caught in a wave,
then having to wave
goodbye to my dreams
and goals.
There I was
not knowing what would come,
drowned once, then twice,
yet somehow still survived.
Everything I needed was always there,
the waves themselves,
those that once stopped me,
surrounded me, and opened doors.
I learned to use them.
Together with that bright boat,
I reached the island
of unbothered thoughts.
I would’ve never known
I would end up
staying afloat
Standing above.


Where Dreams Come True
BY IVAN GARCIA

2007.

2 heavy metal balls stick to the floor as I struggle to lift them.
Oswald the frolicking rabbit walks past me as I watch so happily.
Others watch the moment and snap, snap, snap a shot.
7 years of life celebrated.

Two thousand and seven.

Two children experiencing an adrenaline rush
                                          coming off a roller coaster.
Thousands of happy faces speak of the rushing rides,
                                          horrendous heat, or their cheerful children.
Seven different colors shine off the walls of the toon-town.

The happiest I have ever been on Earth.


White Frosting
BY ROCIO HERNANDEZ

White frosting, white dress.
Pink roses, rosy cheeks. 
Two sparkling eyes 
gaze at a single flame 
hovering over a wax number one, 
dripping on frosting, melting on cake. 
A curious hand leans to the front. 
A worried hand pulls it back. 
Chanting ends, cake is served. 
A year of life passes,  
turns into eighteen.


Who I Once Was
BY AUDRY VALENCIA

Your smile showed no twilight.
It could brighten the darkest day
and the cloudiest sky.
You were young and pure,
showed no gloom.

A mysterious storm had followed you
and was enough
to remove the balloon,
and change who you were
till you were no longer
attune.

You struggled to show yourself.
This bothersome storm
altered your character,
and made you forget
the girl in the picture.

Sometimes it’s hard
to remember who you are,
remember what you do,
but I may be hidden
somewhere you can’t see,
just beyond your view.

Eventually, you’ll come to terms
with your true self.
It may take time,
but you’ll soon realize
you’ve always been
who you were meant to be.


Who is he?
BY EMMANUEL MIRANDA

The sun went down as the black sky appeared.
It was pitch dark,
you could hardly see anything.
All you could see is the healthy garden
on one side the great grass growing.
On the other, flowers blooming big and bright
almost as if they were reaching for the sky.
And a pumpkin just popped there.
In the center of everything, there was a boy.
A boy who enjoyed the attention.
But who was he starring at?
Swish, swoosh, swish,
as the hands moved back and forth.
The boy started to chuckle, “aha aha aha aha.”
The crowd must have liked him, for his costume
was a round, orange pumpkin that melted their hearts.
The boy was getting ready to start his adventure.
As he heard the other children making noises,
“tap tap tap” and “swish swish.”
The young boy was ready to join in the fun.
He started making his way to what would be
a new memory for the books.


Witness
BY SAMANTHA LIMON-GUDINO

A tree,
planted for protection,
for the purpose of shelter.
A tree ready to be nurtured,
excited to live.
It lived through it all,
the stormy nights,
the hot summers,
the cold mornings.
A witness,
it was quiet but it heard.
It was witness to its loved ones,
to their troubles and their pains,
to their burdens and their friendly competitions.
It saw the calm before the storm,
the smiles, the laughter,
the cries of pain and the weeping.
Nothing but supportive.
Nothing but accepting.
It was there for it all.


Woman Warrior, Sweet Mother
BY DAVID OBESO

Her brown small hands

rough from the work she’s put in, in the daylight
and night of this world.

Bumpy like the mountains of this earth from the wires that connect her pumping heart to her small bumpybrownroughhands.

Those with which she held my face when I as a child, would fall to my knees and cry.

And those with which she brings the bread, the steamy orange-reddish soup she serves during winter: el pozole. That tasty reddish meat mixed with eggs: el chorizo. And the brown delicious mashed beans: los frijoles. All provided by her smallbumpybrownroughhands.

With those I've been punished
for bothering those I live with.

With those I was lifted to this moment.

With her smallbumbybrownroughhands
she rose from crumbs.

Not for herself,

but for us.

And so she defied failure,

for the sake of us.

So I wonder as I stare into the night sky,

how will I pay her the debt I owe her?

As I venture into life’s dangerous journey, I hope I can pay my sweet mother's sacrifices.


Young Love
BY JENNIFER MALDONADO

Our love was pure,
laughs and fights everyday,
and not once did that make us drift away.
We hugged, we ached,
and our hearts felt the same.

We were family, everything we did, we did together.
We were inseparable, we only had each other.
This bond, of a brother and sister,
we thought would never break.
We'd joke, we'd hurt, we'd play,
we'd curse, and nothing ever changed.

But we grew.
We'd play, but after several “not today's,”
we made our own friends, ones that were our age.
We replaced family with strangers,
and that's when it all went away.

We forgot about love.
We forgot we had each other.
So we went our separate ways,
and soon our meaning of family had changed.

Although we claim we still love each other,
we know nothing is the same.
You're my brother, I'm your sister,
and that's all that has been left.

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