Abbie

14

Summer's Smudge
---------
As I listen to the steady sounds, I drift away.

An analog clock.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.

A runner's shoes.
Slap-slap-slap.

A restless bird.
Chirp-chirp-chirp.

Over and over.

The red second hand moves with every tick.
The scenery changes slightly with every resounding step.
The bird's volume falters with every new chirp.

But even a well-paced runner will tire.
The most restless bird will fail to fly.

As summer begins to fade away,
the world more visibly fluctuates.

And then I find the clock,
singing an endless song.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Faith

17

Summer innocence
contained to a tiny light
to comfort a child
scared monsters run wild
on this humid summer night .
Keep them in your hands
hold tight
to the innocence you hold today
hold your head high
don’t pay attention to the words
which others have to say
with a firefly cupped between your fingers
you are perfect.

Ilana

16

This summer

you captured my laughter, like music
and transcribed it for full orchestra.

In the sand between us
you drew out a score
and used my finger to trace the notes,
the crescendos,
the breath marks.

It starts out soft,
a piccolo,
like a breath or a child’s smile,
soft.
But it’s growing and changing,
moving,
and the cellos sound warm and wide and welcoming.

You say my eyes crinkling in the corners is an oboe,
sweet like melting ice cream,
pooling in the crevices of my hands.
The violas are my cheekbones, rosy
like a doll and rising,
and the clarinets are the way I clasp my hands together.

It’s playful, you say, like a funny story,
and then it moves, your head thrown back,
mouth wide and smiling,
like the punchline of a joke.

The cornets enter like a storm,
like they can’t be contained anymore,
like they’re finally free and it’s exhilarating.
The trombones are rich chocolate beneath it all,
and you say that’s your favorite part. That it’s the most like me
and that you wish you could play the trombone
to show me.

But there's still the ending and you take my hand to show me-
the violin,
a quiet magic
like the sea or the sky,
like a breath or a child's smile.

Ilana

16

Sea Foam

And every time I tell you I’m horrible you laugh
and say I don’t know how to be
but I promise,
I’ve watched wood burn and the sun fall
and I’ve smiled at the carnage,
and pretended that life was simple
and that things happened and if we moved on they didn’t
hurt us, couldn’t
hurt us-
these arrows flung from the back of classrooms
and locker rooms, and our locked rooms
where we learned to muffle ourselves
and how to breathe so we could pass out,
and not think or not feel
because they’re the same for us
writers and artists and anyone
with ink-stained hands and bag-tired eyes,
we’re all horrible-
murderers and thieves and cowards
(oh my)
we’ll run away from crime scenes
and write our testimony in black ink
just to wring it from our hands,
like that makes us better
like that makes us forgiven-
can we forgive ourselves
these summer nights
and sand art
and the taste of salt water
that we dripped into our notebooks
an hour later
like it belonged to someone else,
like it was another’s
heart and soul and sopping shoes,
but I don’t know how
to forget the girl in the notebook
or to look in the mirror
and see the pale girl
with all her ink dripping out
still spilling down her legs
and over her shoulders
and not reconcile the two-
but you can and you do
and I hate it and I hate it
and I’m horrible
and thank you
for not believing me.

Adam

18

'Summer minimalism'

Pupils dialate
And consciousness relaxes.
Life explodes momentarily
As seriousness subsisdes.
Changing, morphing, transmutating,
More verbs impermanence.
Learning that nothing remains.
Even summer.
Even summer.
Especially summer.

Claudia

16

Warm July Vacancy

It’s when I’m surrounded by white
noise when I feel the most alone.
When my brain drips empty thoughts
and even my bruises will stain the skin
that covers my vacancy.

I’m in a constant trance of numb walls and starry eyes.
No marrow for my bones.
No arrow to pierce through cerebral catacombs.

Sitting under an absence of starlight
in the dew dripping night, I stare into the black
as cicadas chirp chirp chirp their song of the great unknown.
The glow of each still breathing
soul fades to shadow as we look on,
and still we look on.

Adam

18

"Daydream's Preacher"

I stand half naked on twilight's beach
Preaching to the fearful tides as they
Soar high , and hesitantly fall with thanatophobia.
The black sand covers my feet and
The wind rushes and rises and blasts on by.
I proclaim like Whitefield to the ebbing tide,
"You, wave, are no different from your bothers and sisters.
Because water you are and water you become. It is so vivid, if only you can see.
Like the seasons come and gone, and born again
You will rise with the coursing pull of the lunar orb.
I tell the waves, "do not fear uncertainty, for all
Summers, all springs, all winters and falls cross in and out.
Like a switch on and off. Your brothers crest with the same curl of the seasons,
As every wave has traversed your path. Therefore
Do not fear uncertainty. Fear of the unknown does not suffice here.
Because if you could see the sea from my view,
You will shudder in unity and brotherhood.
At that moment, the water moves asunder and
A billowing boomer rises tall and tackles me.
I collapse under the force and am carried seaward.
Drifting, the wind blows like a sitar and the water gargles in my ears.
The universe is conspiring.
Satori! Satori! Satori! I cry!
Suddenly my eyes flick open and
My dead legs come to life.
I rise from my seat with my cap and gown on Graduation Day, and walk that beaten path
Across the stage, despite this summer's gradual death, despite the sound and fury of
That preacher in my head.

Nora

18

Wisps

People try to define what the feeling is when your blood
Feels thiner and your mouth gets dry
And the sheets are weeping and
Your body is
bruised.

They can never define what the feeling is when your ears
break
And there are taps against your teeth forcing
“Remember me?”
down into your hips.

I defined my wisp of flesh as the unity
Of fingernails against skin,
Because the day in July I gave myself up was
The day you stole –
that watch from the store to give to your mother.

Now that definition is stuck between my toes
So that every time I move I remember
the mixture of stillness and weight.
I am cutting away at the bone –
an attempt to breathe with my lungs lined with
blood.

Some slices of myself are fading –
But some will never let me swallow without touching the colors
and seeing the sun.
It was those crisscrossed vocal cords –
We both lost those that day.

Helen

16

"garden"

when I was four years old,
I planted seeds in the depths of my core,
hoping they would blossom
into a beautiful woman

I watered them every day
with optimism and positivity,
and I swatted away angst and rebellion
as if they were mosquitoes and wasps

my mother gave me a bag of fertilizer,
desperately urging for sunflowers --
possibly daisies,
maybe peonies or dandelions

on my tenth birthday
I felt the stems radiating
from the soil of my heart,
and I felt an inordinate amount of glee
about the growth of my garden

but no flowers were to be found,
plucked, or destined for a bouquet --
only mounds of colonizing weeds
and emerald ivy that hugged my bones

so I ripped them out
and uprooted them from my psyche
and prayed for clouds of gaiety,
sun rays of jubilance

but I got lightning bolts of woe
and rainbows drained of color;
thunder bolts of solemnity
echo and boom with such ferocity

june 24th, summer 2014
roses grow in my ribcage,
and while their petals delicately decorate my soul,
their thorns have bled me dry

Rosanny

19

Adela. Don't you dare to listen to what everybody says. You are much more than just a body. Summer is here, why don't you think of having fun instead of wanting to die? Look at the trees, do you think they want to be full of leaves like in the summer or do you think they want to look empty, lifeless like in the winter?

Adela. Do not pay attention to the typical "I need to get skinny for the summer" phrase. Aren't you already tired of crying at night? Of looking at those runway models and wanting to cut yourself? You're more than that mi cielo. Why don't you see it? Porque no lo ves?

Since when starving yourself until you open your eyes in a hospital became the definition of happiness? Adela. What are you doing with your life? Wait! What's that pill for? Mi amor, think about it. Do you think that the sun looks at the moon with eyes of jealousy?

Adela. The summer is long enough for you to think about it. Adela. Are you awake?

Rosanny

19

"Adela"

Adela. Don't you dare to listen to what everybody says. You are much more than just a body. Summer is here, why don't you think of having fun instead of wanting to die? Look at the trees, do you think they want to be full of leaves like in the summer or do you think they want to look empty, lifeless like in the winter?

Adela. Do not pay attention to the typical "I need to get skinny for the summer" phrase. Aren't you already tired of crying at night? Of looking at those runway models and wanting to cut yourself? You're more than that mi cielo. Why don't you see it? Porque no lo ves?

Since when starving yourself until you open your eyes in a hospital became the definition of happiness? Adela. What are you doing with your life? Wait! What's that pill for? Mi amor, think about it. Do you think that the sun looks at the moon with eyes of jealousy?

Adela. The summer is long enough for you to think about it. Adela. At you awake?

Spenser

Sixteen

Just because
We'll walk to the end of town in sandals
There'll be dirt in our toes and sweat in our hair
I'll blow grass in your face,
and throw pebbles into an empty street

Just because
We'll say it's too hot
and we'll keep saying it

Just because
We'll lay in the grass with the bugs
You'll complain about nothing,
while I count the leafs on a tree
and if I finish, I'll forget

Just because
We'll try to lick our elbows,
slip on a banana peel,
eat dandelions

We'll do it all
just because

Jubilee

17

Get laid (in the summer)

Get laid,
Smooth on the edges, all the way to your nape
Put my scarf on the circumference like a cape
Curly weave or perm, roller set, not do’
Not Erykah Badu, not talking about you
Keep your nails done, and your weave tight
Hair did, looking right,
Ahead
Baby hairs get laid,
Unless summer heat reverts what you paid
For, until the naps underneath relaxed
Processed start unearthing in the kitchen
Not curly, but peas, behind your ears, please
Dominican woman got Dax and a brush
Little hairs is sensitive, fine but not enough
Block party, dancing, pumping hard and tough
Baby hairs get unlaid, undoing what you done paid
For, roots shifting to kinks
That links you to the knotty-knots
Days ago, wash n’ go, between your mother’s thighs
Tugging hard she made you cry
Worship that good hair, worship that skin fair
Edges mad slick, slip on that d***k
Baby hairs devirgined in the summer, getting laid with gel
It’s hotter than hell,
Out here,
Box braids, kinky twists, all colors, and waves
Low cut fades
Last you for days
My hair
Get laid,
In the summer

Sarah

14

The Spirit of Summer

Four young maidens stood in mark,
All waiting for their judgment.
The first was tall, with billowed mane;
The last was small and dark.

The decree their father held at hand
Was to decide their fate.
Either cold, or hot, or in between,
Or snow, or leaves, or grass, or sand.

The eldest was called up first,
And send to a far off land.
There she thrived in wind and cold,
What others think the worst.

Thereafter were the second two,
Whose destinies next unraveled.
Skipped over and forgotten most,
Their purpose was to renew.

Last came the youngest, sprightly and thin,
Who’s spirit never waned.
She was to be the gaiety,
The children’s joy and grin.

She traveled far, that little one,
Until she found her home.
Amongst shining sun and washing waves,
With space to play and run.

For centuries she has sat there,
Watching over boys and girls.
Bringing merriment and laughter,
And true smiles – sweet and rare.

Still she shines with wonder,
The youngest, small and dark.
Basking in her happiness,
Thus is the tale of Summer.

Felicia

15

"Summer Vampire"

I’m the summer vampire,
who hides within her curtained room,
and hisses at the scorching fire
that sneaks between each lit dust plume.

From my cavern, only sounds
Of clicking, clacking keys come forth,
My dark spirit shall make its rounds
To suck sad tales behind closed doors.

Often, I smooth silky prose
Of dancing in a sunlit bath.
But when, my outdoor blackbird crows,
I squint outside, and then I laugh.

Andria

16

Tempest

What is summer
without the sun?
I’ll tell you:
It is the dark and warm
before the cold.

The good days are
the light before the dark and the cold,
when the sun beats down
on the skin of playing children.
Summer is the fluttering wings of butterflies
and catching fireflies in the clear nights.
It is warmth and it is the sour-sweetness
of lemonade in a glass wet with condensation.
Summer is fireworks and barbecues
with your clean-cut suburban neighbors.
It is the sweltering heat
and the time of the greatest storms.

The tide rises with the moon and the crash
of the monstrous waves against the cliff sides
beat the rhythm of summer in the night as well as
the chirped songs of the crickets inland
where the grass merely trembles with the thought of wind.

This is summer:
The tempest hiding behind gentle breezes
carrying the sharp scent of sunscreen and
grass and upturned dirt.
It is watching the sky turn white with lightning
and it is the smell of ozone and the earth-shattering
cracks of thunder.
It is heat waves and wildfires
And lying at night with covers kicked back
sweating and contemplating
the endless Void.

The sky flashes white with lightning,
the light before the dark and the cold
and summer wind howls in the dead of the night,
bringing down the wrath of the gods of rain,
and thunder rumbles through gray clouds,
shadows in the night.
This is summer without the sun.

Sauvanne

17

Thigh Gap

I have no gap between my thighs
But there's a gap between my eyes
Behind the bridge where lies my nose
Is a massive muscle of mostly rose

My breasts are perky but they are small
Does this upset me? Not at all
Beneath the flesh there lies a heart
Filled with passion, love, and art

My legs aren’t lythe, nor is my frame
Though these facts cause many pain
They weren’t designed to please your eyes
Nor was the gap between girls thighs

Sometimes my waist is not apparent
All bodies should come with a warrant :
‘‘Your genes are passed down from generations
So you might not meet today’s expectations’’

My skin is not golden, smooth or clear
It's fine to look at; if you're not near
But it keeps my organs away from any harm
And the blood inside me very warm

My hair is long and thick and fair
But did I mention it grows…down there?
Girls are told to shave it but why should we care?
Last time I checked it grows on everyone, everywhere

So women do not worry
If your lady parts are furry
Your skin is blotchy, red and rough
Your legs are short and round and tough
Your breasts are oddly shaped or sized
And you have no gap between your thighs

You are an individual
A human, a woman, you are special.

Mireille

14

Next Summer

ashes, toward the end,
fade away in a sprinkle of sparks—
next summer,
the bean pods are dripping honey,
and crickets chirp louder than words,
and you
are sneaking up behind me to ask
if i believe in ghosts and
dandelion wishes.
next summer,
daybreak is crashing
like waves over the mountains to the east
and the long-trunk trees
come dangling down from the sky like braids.
grass slapping at your shins,
and knotting my shoelaces
we stand by the beach, and i’m still trying to catch wispy moments in a jar,
and the sun is made of dull gold—
all of the sudden.
next summer,
your fluorescent eyes flicker next to me,
light a firefly glow,
and i'm wondering how i'm ever
going to get out of this place, as cottonwood
drifts
past my ear.
next summer,
i am grabbing the sun and peeling it like an orange,
next summer,
the birds are breaking through the window,
next summer,
the cackling wind takes my breath away,
next summer,
we are shaking the dim stars,
grasping for riches.
rhinestones
come floating down like
dust.

Ryanne

15

"The Kings and Queens of Summer"

Don't you love that feeling
Of the sand sifting beneath your feet
The wind whispering through your hair
The sun kissing your skin
And that moment when
You're in the car with the
Music up
And the windows down
The highway curving like a snake
And you, the brave conqueror
With the world at your fingertips
Invincible for once
The kings and queens of summer
Cannonballs and spinning bottles
Windswept carefree nights
Breakfast at noon
Spinning the kind of stories
You can't wait to tell
When autumn comes and wipes it all away
But for now you're free
Eyes bright and feeling alive
Like the way you feel
When the sand's beneath your feet
And the wind whispers through your hair
And the sun kisses your skin

Tamanna

15

one day
like all other days
after walking out of the grey box where you use your too expensive schooling to drive forward corporate america
you get in your car
you start the ignition
you drive

you approach a fork in the road
there is a red light
you turn on the left blinker since your wooden fort of a home lies to the left

but then an impulse washes over you
takes you under
and for no other reason except that you are bound by the freedom to do anything in this life
you turn on the right blinker instead

green
you drive

where to now?
you don’t know, but you go there anyway

sparks of actual life
the stuff of excitement and adventure and wow
reach up like heat waves from the white lines on the road
through the mechanics of the engine
into the mechanics of your metaphorical heart

that day
unlike all the other days
you feel the consequences

all at once
life - bleary, washed out - snaps back into focus

all at once
you are no longer free

it’s all catching up
and finally
you suffer the consequences

and you can’t wait
because finally
finally
you feel something again