Caleigh

16

Message In A Bottle

Do you remember
that morning?
you stumbled in to the kitchen and I swore,
through the salty sea air and the smell of your burning coffee,
that morning even the dust tasted of love.

The last afternoon,
we swam against a creamsicle sky
the salt coated my legs until they stung
we tripped up the sand to the showers
and as I washed away the last pieces of the shore
you pretended you didn’t see me cry.

Do you remember that boardwalk?
one-hundred and eighty two slats of wood.
you counted while carrying me on your back.
I remember.
I sat high on your shoulders
and swore I could see the future.

We snuck under it, too.
we painted our initials and a heart
into the belly of the path
I loaded the brush with too much paint
and it dripped down the wood like blood.
Remember?

You kissed me as hot sand rained down on our faces
and i said, listen to their footsteps
where are they going, so quickly?
don’t they feel the hot sun on their backs,
reaching out molten fingertips
and pulling them back to the waves?
don’t you remember?”

And you said they didn’t feel anything.
That no one felt as much as I do.

Caleigh

16

Coup de Soleil

I softened like an icicle in the summer
drip, drip, drip,
I could feel my heart melting for you

Your skin was dark and ripe
from hours of baking in the heat
and in your eyes even my land-locked heart
could see the whispers of the sea,
wild and untamed

Your smile curled slow and soft
like a willow tree
and I fell to my knees at your roots
you soared and nearly scraped the cloudless sky
and I looked up at you
with my feet planted firmly on the ground

You were always warm,
radiating some cosmic light
I think that maybe you carry the sun with you
like everyone else,
it is so enamored by you
that it can’t help but follow you around

I jumped headfirst into you
like a child shattering the reflection on a lake
I couldn’t get my head above water,
and honestly,
I didn’t really try
I would have been perfectly happy to drown in you

The day got cold and dark when you left
the scratchy swaddle of my sheets
is the barest echo of your embrace
the breeze seems much colder
without your summer arms here to hold me.

Paloma

17

I fear a cloudless sky will attract me more than a man who contains all-
no no no, I know there is a man
my feet would fit his shoes but we would have no where to go!
toes weightless in absolute desolation, they take me to beach at night time
I watch a little girl with flowers in her hair bury her father with the sand
“Don’t cry darling, daddy could never leave your side”
the salt hits my cheeks and my eyes go dark
night, sleep, and the stars- a replacement of happiness

Paloma

17

We can seek absolute isolation,
Our veins will forgive us as seasons change,
So we can taste the uncontrollable inside of us,
Amaze our now with songs sung since we were young.

Oh dear, my dear, how could I forget you?
You have seen me grow and for that
I am forever grateful. The days I spend in public gardens,
I only think of young blood smeared across daisies.

How good it is that bruises heal?

Paloma

17

Settle without a title dear and I’ll try to catch your eye,
I’ll sell them so that you can see past our last demise.
But how would I know that the gaze just across the room,
is not some change in light but a button that went loose?
Take me to the forest where it all began.
Months ago I’d rather kill myself than being here again.
Somewhere along the way I’ll trip you into dirt,
pin you to the ground as I begin to lift my shirt.
Lonely boy meets lonely girl, they begin to reason with Christ.
Don’t need no night light no more so we bargained with the price.
Lost my friends, lost a pack, the one I disapprove of is myself.
Forget me soon to heal all wounds
I’ll see you someday in hell.

Sophia

16

SPF 50

I was leaning against the kitchen counter
Watching my mother scoop out the spherical pit of an avocado
She diced the avocado and we popped the buttery cubes into our mouths
Barefoot on the cold blue tiles, unaffected by the 85 degrees outside
The sun’s flecks freckled our faces and soon
Laced the sky with golden filigree
We shelled rambutans, peeled mangoes, sliced peaches and scooped out pomegranate arils
Sticky sweet juices dripping onto our hands and we laughed
Because that was
Happiness

Louisa and I sat on the lawn
Teak chairs and bikinis
Staring at the swimming clouds
90 degrees and our sunscreen was melting
I watched Louisa bite into a slice of watermelon,
Her eyes closed, eyelashes catching scintillating rays
We got into my car and looped the highway
Until it was dark enough for us to go to the beach
We forgot where we fell asleep that night but
That next morning we woke up in my bedroom
Hair still tousled by salt spray
My mother walked in and when she kissed both our foreheads
I started to cry a little because she knew where to find us
Even when we weren’t lost
And that is a truly beautiful, happy thing

It was almost 100 degrees outside and
I sat at the window noticing the sundial and
The fluorescent drops of melted Popsicle pooling on the asphalt and
The sidewalk gap everyone tripped over every now and then and
The teak chairs Louisa and I forgot to put back
It soon became overcast and that was when
I tasted the sun rolling around on my tongue
Swaddled in the glow of holy, I faced east
To where I would soon rise like a muted hum

Lydia

17

"and white rubber shoes"

good morning,
yellow teeth

come on out,
full swing against
our skin like fresh milk.

spooning intersection dust like sugar,

I leave behind my lungs,
in the hollow red ashtray of the subway,

like my apple on the table, suffocated by a worm
twisting boa-like around the shiny purple skin.

while daffodils float into their dressing gowns,
and the gulls
don fresh white blouses,

a small one drags her knee across the pavement
in genuflection,

assured.

During the day, my dog waits for his monthly
as the mailbag barks at him,

“not for you, not for you,”

our tongues so tangled in the trees

that we can only wait in the fresh,
white sun,
until the August day we spoil.

Reid

14

Summer at Home

Smoke
From the barbecue floats down
across the yard and with it come the
Scents
Of cooking food and gardens blooming,
life and happy things going about business
and that special summer smell off the
Wind
Who is calm and gentle and caressing
More peaceful than he usually is, and he
strokes and tickles and teases and scatters
Sounds
Full of laughter and voices and the one who
yells "Dinner's Ready" but the game isn't done and our
Eyes
Don't leave the game we play and the board sits there
and our arms curl and we toss and shout and moan and beanbags
Fly
Because we all feel like we could right now
And the Sun shines and the Clouds dance and
The Ocean breeze cools and refreshes and we
Call Out
To people we know and they call back and
we keep friends in our hearts all the year long.

Where I come from
The Winter
Is cold and harsh and character-building
The Spring
Is wet and pleasant and exciting
The Fall
Is gorgeous and interesting
And
The Summer?
The Summer
Treats us well.

Christi

17

Summer Love

Summer is the season for loving
When touching, though not needed
Is an unapologetic act
The flesh reacts to more than just
Hot, sunny days:
The tingling of a kiss
Underneath passion's rays
That burn the soul more
Than hallucinogenic, humid haze
And the fountain of youth
In truth, feels ever flowing
Even the glowing of the twilight
Is bright...
But in hindsight,
Summer has a way of confusing
What seasonally excites
With a love that lasts year round:
A love that's truly right

Andrew

17

In Broken English

It had been a long night at the supermarket, and the store had passed through my hands. The skin had stretched tightly over my fingers, which broke through the layers of plastered food as I sat in the break room chair. I was a cashier.
I was wise enough to save the cookies for my last break. My new friend sat in the chair opposite my own, head bowed under layers of oppression. I still had fourteen and a half minutes left in my break after finishing my cookies. What the hell?

“How are you, Felipe?” I asked. His head rose. “Hi.”

Still buried in oppression, his hunched back made his dirty uniform seem even dirtier. Even mine was still passingly clean after a long 6 hours at a grocery store. “You work in the kitchen?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said, and his tiny eyes looked at me. There was little future

that they could see. “How long have you worked here?” “Six year…before that, I no here…” he told me. His broken English was not the only broken thing about him. He wouldn’t have to talk to the customers in the kitchen… especially the wealthy, well-educated all-American ones.

He was not a young man, maybe in his 50s or even 60s. “Do you have kids?” “Yeah…they 3…eh…3 them…eh………” “Do you speak Spanish?” I asked. “Hablas Español?” “Sí.” “Bueno…aprendí un poquito en escuela…” “You learn…in the school?” he asked. “Yes,” I said.
For some reason, he kept talking with me in English, as if he couldn’t understand how someone like me could possibly understand his language. “So, how many kids do you have?” I asked. “Cuatro,” he said. “Four…eh…three in school, one no. He have job, like me. He twenty-four.

I eleven.”
He clearly didn’t know his numbers very well.
“How old are your other kids?” I asked. He looked confused again. “How…?” “Old,” I said. “You know…age.” “No…they no have job. They have school…

They zero. One is twenty-four. I eleven…”

He repeated this several more times before I realized. Not age. Money. Dollars per hour. He had to think about money a lot more than age. For me, it was the opposite. I was seventeen, but, in his terms, I was eight and a half.

“He better than me, no?” Felipe laughed. He was a proud father. I guess that was one thing that sort of pride was the same for both our peoples. I thought it was one of the most beautiful things in the world: he didn’t come to this country for himself.

He came for his children.

Claire

17

Racing the Moon

Sometimes when I'm stressed,
and no music can soothe my mood,
my focus shifts from the road to the sky.

There was the moon, bright as day.
My constant companion.
And I got this notion.

One hot night, I finally set it through.
I told myself on that dusty, country road,
I'd finally race the moon.

At 40, I stepped on the gas.
At 50, the engine roared.
At 60, the moon teased.
At 70, I started to grin.
At 80, I laughed.
At 90, I cried.

And then it all came to a halt.

Not because of a terrible tragedy.
No, no.
Not because my life ended that fateful night.
Of course not.

But because I realized,
I could never outrace the moon.

Rosanny

19

"Abuela"(Grandmother)

Never saw you. Never touched you. But there's nobody on earth that can erase my love for you. Sometimes I imagine you dancing con the sabor en tus caderas, the smooth steps while you dance at the rhythm of the bachata and the sweet voice to calm your kids when they cry. Abuela. Did you meet the meaning of true happiness? When the only person you had was you. Tell me. Tell me if the hands you wanted to hold were the ones beating the crap out of you and the lips you once kissed were insulting you with a strong smell of vulgarity and alcohol.

Abuela. How did you cry? Did you want to pull your hair out? Did you smile in front of your kids, so they could never find out the way you felt? Abuela. En realidad encontrastes el amor? Did you really find love? But how could you have met love when the one you thought was your hero it's the one who was killing you?

Abuela. Did you want to scape? I bet you did but you couldn't left your kids behind. So you just stood there, quiet, watching yourself disappear. How did you pray abuela? How did you ask God to save you from the hell on earth you were living in. Abuela. Did you dream about me? Abuela. Are you resting in peace?

Emma

14

Pomegranates

The pomegranates I stole from the tree in your backyard:
Plucked from slender branches, hidden in leafy enclaves
Grabbed with both hands when no one was looking
And eaten under the moonlight seed by seed.
Like a thousand tiny jewels that I crushed between my teeth
And slipped into my belly over and over
Until hot red juice dripped down my chin.
So sweet, yet still holding the bitterness of shame inside.

Emma

14

Summertimes Past

i sing the songs of the neighbor kids
the ones who taught me how to scream
and told me to paint my face with brown mud
it was in those days— with the soles of my feet red with dirt
that i received my true education

in those summers we were still young
our bodies were covered with mosquito bites
and our knees were scabby and swollen like cherries
our mouths were yet to learn how to kiss
we only kissed our mothers
we were new to this world—our minds still untouched by the yellow fingers of adolescence
and in those days time stood still

still—there was always night
soon the girls with their new breasts
and the boys with their fractured voices
stopped screaming—they were too big for the shrieks of children, too old to play in the dirt
now they painted themselves with a new kind of mud

and now i wait—
crouching in the sun like a frog
my belly hot and lonely
my feet have not touched the summer grass in years
i am listening
waiting for a new generation of neighbor kids
to begin to sing our songs
again

Sarah

17

Sweet warm breezes drift through the air carrying with them the weightless feeling of summer
A child's face beams up at the clouds as the sun leans down to kiss her freckled face
Each day is filled with lounging, laughing, playing
It is the time to find yourself or lose yourself
Not a single care rests on a youngsters shoulders
For some, it is the mark of the end of their childhood
One last summer home with family
One last summer spent running wild with the friends they've grown up with
No idea what the future holds, only sure of these two sunny months
The days string together soon to be history hung for display
The pages flip past under their own control
Until, all too soon, you see this chapter coming to a close
Never believing that this moment you've pictured for years is finally what's real.

Jonathan

16

Warm Yellow Lasers tear into me
Flowers throw pollen in protest
Yellow Jackets, and Bloodsuckers line up
Stick-mes drawn
Wait until you see the pale of his skin!
And they fire
I tear away through sun-baked soil
Ducking my way into a concrete ravine
Into toddlers' trails
I spill my guts on the lake-shore
I should've stayed home today

Angelina

14

WILL OF THE SERAPHS

I had a pocket like a picture
When they walked down the road,
And when they caught me singing,
I tossed the silver out for gold.
It was his face, the base of days
My dream-speller had me told,
‘You’re heart’ll fly, a penny five,
‘And what has the Seraph sold?’

The Seraph’s sold bloody gold
To keep up at ‘em in heaven,
And how would you reflect
On seven-four days left,
Rushing into the bank for eleven?

And I’ve known your thousand faces
‘Cause I’ve made them up in rhyme
With your shackled iron laces
Stuck spinning in time,
And a soulmate was never beautiful
Before you bound them up in stars,
Without the understanding,
Of the people
they are.

His smile was halfway out the door
When he saw lies that did not exist,
And he piloteered ten shots of gods
Ruled by an iron fist,
Why was the Reaper greedy,
Who bound up the red witch,
And how’d summer draw up dead tears
When no one asked me to live?

The Seraph’s sold bloody gold
To keep up at ‘em in heaven,
And how would you reflect
On the seven-four days left
Rushing out the back for eleven?

Eleven years,
Eleven days,
Eleven more to spare him,
Couldn’t you take the brutish youth
With less days upon him?
Before I’d saw him,
Before life did,
Eleven years,
Eleven days,
Without or with?
Without or with?
Why didn’t you give
A choice to live
Without
or with?

The Seraph’s sold bloody gold
To keep up at ‘em in heaven,
And how would you reflect
On the few days left
Rushing to the door for more?

I sweep dust into my tombery
With a tweet in my beak,
The dues have been done in,
I’ve medalled the weak.
And still does the sacrifice
Wander the summer to seek;
He’s the sunniest shroud
The world’s ever seen.

And the soulmate was so beautiful
Before you bound ‘em in stars,
Without the understanding
No, never,
Of the people
they are.

Zach

15

Summer Hammock Lounging

With projects done and school at stop
My mind has rest and relax on top.
Waters of mine, the sun draws out
My skin is dewed with sweat- no doubt!

The hammock swings to a slight breeze,
No shade is thieved from above trees.
The cloudless blue sky offers no grace,
With thoughts of AC, inside I race!

Austin

18

Gone

College-bound and she stay’s home.
I’m gone yet the memories stick.
On the phone we let our emotions grow cold,
to ease the severance and the passing glow.

There’s little more romance to roam.
The verbiage is making me sick.
Your silence just makes me feel old.
The line I just feel that I tow.

I miss the thoughtless moan,
The air we once laid in was thick.
Now worry has ridden in bold,
our trust and our confidence low.

I hope that when I do return home,
that the promises that we made stick,
that some warmth will be born from this cold.
That my phone screen won’t be the only glow.

Baila

17

This is a poem about Love

What is love, dammit?
Everyone’s always going on about it
I thought I felt – once –
But I wasn’t quite sure of it
Before it escaped me
It’s the only one
That still refuses
To be felt
Out of the whole kaleidoscope
Love
Is what I don’t understand

I’ve nearly fallen again
It falls with me
I crunch it under my feet
Do you hear it?
It reflects me disinterestedly
Until the blackness of my heel looms too large
Slivers of incoherent drops
Die unfeelingly beneath my shoe

This is a poem about Summer
Because in summer
It always rains