Iman

14

I find the world with darkened souls,
And mysterious lights,
With chambers of sorrow,
And tasteful delights,

As somthing so quite pitiful,
Yet ever so deluding,
With ghost-like joys,
And people saluting,

I find the world with happy souls,
And nightmares to take,
With drifting boats of happiness,
And horrors that no one forsakes,

I find the world with dying souls,
And living creatures,
A world in itself,
A liar that calls for beseechers...

Rosie

18

Two months, full of drugs, music, and drinking.
Two months of the drugs, music, and drinks letting us discover one another.
Her eyes were just the same.
So small giving me just a taste, and summer so short.
Yet they were so full of things I only had two months to figure out.
In between blinks I would never look away cause I could potentially miss her reason.
Her reason for these two months requiring for her to be intoxicated.
She'd never take her eyes off mine.
Scared that at the end of the two months I would give up on trying to discover her.
And to be honest, she wasn't wrong.

Hannah

17

Today was gold,
Today was blue,
Today was bright,
Today was new.

I could drink today from a golden cup,
Drink deep and never get enough.
I could eat today as the grandest feast,
With the noblest and best beside the least.
I could wear today as my only clothes,
With light for my shoulders and grass for my toes.
I could breathe today and fill my lungs,
With the essence of rays from the sun.
I could kiss today if it had lips,
As it brushes me with its fingertips.

Today was gold,
Today was blue,
Today was bright,
Today was new.

I wish today could whisper words,
It would tell me things as yet unheard.
I wish today could sing an endless song,
The notes would sigh both sweet and long.
I wish today could etch itself in me,
Today’s the kind of beautiful I long to be.
I wish today could touch the world,
We’d see hearts changed, hurts healed, and hands unfurled.
I wish today could never end,
Today is living, an eternal friend.

Today was gold,
Today was blue,
Today was bright,
Today was new.

Hannah

17

Oh, that summer,
Do you remember?
That summer was hot,
But most summers are,
That summer had a green backdrop,
With bursts of sunlight gold and starlight silver,
That summer was a stack of books,
And I finished all of them.

A perfect summer,
Do you remember?
That summer was park days,
Creaky swings and laughter,
That summer was lying in the grass,
Watching ants crawl past us,
That summer was movie nights,
With candy smuggled in my purse.

An endless summer,
Do you remember?
That summer was country drives,
With picnics in fairy tale meadows,
That summer was new friends,
And catching up with old ones,
That summer was holding hands,
Long walks and sweet words.

A blissful summer,
Do you remember?
That summer was discovery,
Horizons explored and found beautiful,
That summer was first kisses,
And not caring if anyone was watching,
That summer was you and me,
Long-standing walls torn down.

That summer.
How could I ever forget?

Monique

14

STARLESS
*

4:57 pm.
on some days, when it rains too hard
with water almost saltier than the pacific
lashing against the world so fiercely
my anger joins the weather
& leaves me,

i want to ravel myself in the sleeping-bag
frayed from 14 years of use
from when we camped in the eastern
side every summer,
where we fell in love
with warm ambiance and pastel skies,
when i zipped stars up in my ribcage

so whenever i would breathe too hard or too fast,
the felicity would swim back
through my veins
& i’d smile.

6:58 pm.
the clouds have been sewed tight again:
pollution
(in this goddamned city)
makes me
so
sad.

Sandra

16

"the moon still howls on cold summer nights"

it's night-time and we're together
on my front porch swing, licking
dripping butter pecan ice cream
from our wrists (because sweet waffle
cones can't be trusted), the dim light
of the setting sun washing our cheeks
bright pink, and there's a halo around your
blissed face, and it glows, and you're glowing—
thirty minutes before it all ends.

it's night-time and we're together
on my front porch swing, nuzzled
under a deep green fleece blanket
because the ocean's breeze is too
strong to go without protection,
yet this is still as glamorous as
ev'ryone thinks: the waves rolling, crashing
against the shore, leaving shells and coins—
twenty minutes before it all ends.

it's night-time and we're together
on a blanket in the sand,
hair splayed recklessly under us
as we point and squeal at the stars,
shaping them, naming them (like we
did back when we were young and didn't
know much else), calling the goddesses
above about the moment we're in—
ten minutes before it all ends.

it's night-time and we're together
on the soggy-wet shore-line
toeing our shoes off, socks off,
and, despite the chill in the air,
the chill in the water ahead,
we close the space between land and sea,
splashing merrily about in it,
shivering under the fair moon-light—
two minutes before it all ends.

it's night-time and we're together
standing calf-deep in water,
the waves soft, rumb'ling beneath us,
no other life in sight: no ships
with tall sails, no sharks with sharp teeth;
nothing but us and the moon-light and
the waves crawling higher up our legs,
engulfing our soft skin and dry clothes—
that's when it all ends.

michael

15

smoke in the sky
fire in the air
heat of the season
makes tempers flare
life has begun
and joyous it is
for those who are young
they run and play
they sweet day by day
yet energy never fades
day by day
there is the works of fire
in the sky
and greenery all around
the splish splash and sizzle as the water hits the ground
so when the smoke clears and the fire simmers down the leaves will begin to fall and we will think its the end of us all
but truly it will come again
when there will
be smoke in the sky
fire in the air
oh how the summer time is fair

Olivia

13

My Eternity

Hazy, golden light
Air rich with freedom
Heavy rains to wash away
Chores
And work
And obligations that make
Heads spin with
Stress

Stay.
Don’t live up to that
Mocking motto
Tempus fugit.

Stay and be my eternal
Summer.

Olivia

13

Where Roses Bloom

I know where roses bloom in summertime,
where sweetness fills the air like fairytales.
I know where sparrows sing with voices chim-
ing brightly, somewhere sunlight never fails
to be.

I’ve been with someone there not long ago,
when sweetness filled the air like fairytales.
And we were like a fairytale, with hope
and passion blowing in our hearts in gales
of joy.

But I have not been back since then. He left.
I have not seen the roses, heard the sparrows sing.
Haven’t tasted sweetness in the air. I’m dressed
in woe.

Again now, summer’s coming ‘round this year,
And I thought, maybe… you could take me there?

Austen

14

Frances/Jane’s daughter (desires) (15)

one glance in the mirror feels
like a tidal wave of pain.
the lines of my shape become
unclear, as welling tears blur my vision.

I try hard not to look
as I pass windows on the city streets.
I look at the floor instead of the lengthy mirrors
at the end of long corridors.

sometimes, I wish I could simply see myself in the eyes of somebody else.
I wish I could step out of my awkward, unpleasant body,
I wish I felt comfortable in my own skin.

day-to-day life is not a challenge,
but living a life withdrawn and bashful
is not what I desire.
I desire beauty. I desire poise.

Austen

14

Jane/Evelyn’s daughter (35)

red lipstick
stains the rim
of the transparent
glass.

red wine splashes
onto
the white
of the tablecloth.

one glass,
quickly accumulates.
three glasses turns to six,
six to eight.

however sober she stays,
however intelligible she seems...
years go by,
liquor remains on her breath.

Austen

14

Marie/Evelyn’s adopted daughter (26)

the voices in my head are low whispers -
almost too low to hear,
but I hear them.
their ghostly murmurs,
constantly breathing in my ear.

I try to speak to them,
only receiving glances on the subway.
I try to ignore them.
I’ve tried everything.
but they prevail, never ceasing to torment me.

After years with them at my heels,
it seems as if they have become a comfort.
an assurance of insanity.
a reminder that I am broken.
a reminder that I can’t be fixed.

Julia

17

Deluge

We lost our purity rings when September came,
and yours, the one with the sapphire,
disappeared down the drain during the deluge.
It was still September.

You know, I used to collect dead butterflies
and beetle wings, but they got lost in the deluge too.
One time I walked to the riverbed and saw two dragonfly wings
and I dreamed their filmy skeletons were our bodies.

Your face is a Botticelli
and I want to put your secrets in a glass jar,
watch them fade like fireflies.

Someday we should collect our eyelashes
when they fall from our eyelids
and watch them drift away like an illicit love affair
when we blow them from the cradles of our fingertips,
not kissing, not watching dandelions sway
in the midnight breeze,
not breathing.

Emma

14

River Glass

Just for fun,
they broke a bottle on the rocks.

Pieces, sharp and jagged
left on the sand
hidden in folds of the velvety night.

Greet the sun
with a wink and a glimmer.
still sitting.

Pulled by the current
swift and sure
Running over sharp edges
and making them smooth.

Millions of droplets
passing each day
time.

Moon and sun pass,
soften, transfigure.
The river takes the broken glass
and makes it its own.

Birds, bugs, beasts.
They move.
The glass is still.

Like cheese fermenting,
the glass is transformed.
Like wounded hearts,
growing back twisted.

Sink and slip,
the sand swallows
the transparent amber glass.

Some call it healing
the sharp edges start to round
but the glass will never be whole
because it is broken.
And once things are broken,
they are never the same.

The glass forgets
its old form.
Letting go, and growing into
something new
Lost, to the circadian rhythms
of the waves.

Dissonance between worlds
the humans that break
and the nature that softens.

The river glass falls
beneath the rolling waves
sinks to the bottom
and forgets.

Valerie

13

Sounds of Summer

The world is chaotic
When the sun blotches the sky
Eighty shades of red.

The hum and buzz ricochets off every tree,
Firing merciless bullets at my peace.

I don’t know why it’s silent now.

Now. Now, there’s only harmonious rustling of wind,
Swooshing.
It sounds like water and feels like it too
In my ears.
Listen.

There’s the persistent gravelly ocean sound
Of the nearby interstate,
Bustling with people that do not even bother to
Listen.

Animals, too. They want their songs to be heard.
A dynamic orchestra that
Crescendos
And
Diminuendos,
Directed by the motions of the swirling baton of
Heat and chill,
Comfort and dis.
Listen.

With eyes closed the world is so much clearer.
Listen.

The thunder booming inside the house.
The rain of cheeks on cheeks.
The air pressure building and colliding and pushing
A little girl to go outside and
Listen
To anything but that.

The neighbor’s growling dog,
Making the clawed fence open its eyes and groan in distaste -
Clearing its scratchy throat.
And I
Listen.

If the sounds could tell me a story, I would
Listen.

And they do. They tell me about a princess
Beneath a red sky
And the waterfall that soothes her throat
And the stomping armies of knights too absorbed in themselves too hear
And the animals that fix and flower her hair
And the thunder that cracks open her skies
And the growling of the dragon.
Listen.

The sounds tell good stories if you
Listen.
They tell the happily-ever-after ones.
Because no matter how
Red and
Loud and
Rainy
It may seem,
The princess will wake up another day
And see the red as
Ruby
And the loud as
Jubilee
And the rain as
Blessings.
Listen.

June

18

What Happens in the Summer

I told them about the little beings I saw
But no one believed me.

They muttered,

If it’s not in the manual, existence can’t be
Acknowledged. No nonsense
Please.

Then running unbelieving fingers through
Thinning hair:
Summers breed wild imaginations
By the dozens.

I wish I could take those fingers
And press upon them the truth of how
The little beings squeezed out
Of my heart, sailed through the blood,
And floated out by the breath in my lungs.

Let them feel
For every one that drifted out
Of my mouth, I felt a little sadder.

You don’t have the right to forget,
They whispered,
Crawling on my skin like heavy
Cats. These summer nights
Are not for you.

Sophie

17

When you Leave the Bottle Open

We are what’s left
of winter. The chill has turned
the marrow in our bones
numb, our tongues blue. It sticks
to the roofs of our mouths.
We don’t melt until the sun
has hidden and our skin has fallen
off in flakes. We taste our sun-
broken lips, burn with hard lemonade.

My body has refused
to melt against yours. My tongue still stuck to the ice
between my teeth. I don’t know how to say-
I have fallen for
the smoke puffed from your cigarette.
Make me that toxic
summer song that falls
like the current, rest my head on your knees.

When the sun comes out,
it cradles our skin
its underhanded insult burning
the lining of our stomachs.
When the sun comes,
I have forgotten the taste of winter bone blue.
It has been replaced with sunset orange soda,
the carbonation going flat the longer
the bottle is left open.

Alexis

17

Blue skies and sea air
and laughter
I hear children giggling
together

catching crabs in
the kiddie pools,
the water is
knee high

warmed by the sun
in the summer
when the grown-ups
are talking,
lying on beach towels

umbrellas and coolers
cover the sand

I look for
seashells as I breath
in salty air
with a gleam in my eye.

As for the children
knocking down sand castles
and screeching at seagulls
who are told to be seen
but not heard,

their freedom
we’d surely
be lucky
to learn

Catherine

17

Remembrance of the Orchard

I plucked pears
from their stems, my legs
swinging against his shoulders.

As I reached, the earth trembled
into a singular green thread
for my to break around my thumb
and pull off its root--

the basket silent in its pregnancy,
we lost in ripening peels.

Catherine

17

Miami in a Berry Shrub

This is where Summer, her veins knotted like stems,
patted my hand after the blueberries
left a black love bite on my bottom lip.
I think she was old by then
in my aunt’s small garden.

She was waiting for Autumn with me,
wondering if it’ll bring me more sweethearts,
string salted-winds round my neckline,
and if the blueberry stain would still be smeared
where the late harvest left a bold hello. It was night then.

She said the moon’s grace
made the berries taste more acidic,
as I pulled the last stubborn ones
loose from their nest and bit down.
The trickle of the juice betrayed
the subtleness of her departure,
her will already broken for this year.