Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather Poetry and prose by 916 Ink’s Author’s Lab Middle School group

Birds of a Feather Poetry and prose by 916 Ink’s Author’s Lab Middle School group

About 916 Ink 916 Ink is the only arts-based literacy nonprofit in the greater Sacramento region dedicated to providing creative writing workshops for youth, ages 5-25, to transform them into confident writers. We empower students to become the authors of their own lives, one published story at a time. Since 2011, we have served over 3,000 kids in the Sacramento Region, and published more than 100 publications. Our mission is to empower children and youth through creative writing. We envision a Sacramento region where every child and teen is given access to a creative writing program that leads them to believe in themselves and to understand the power of the written word. Learn more about us at www.916ink.org, or send an email to info@916ink.org to learn how to become involved.

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction and poetry. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author and publisher hold exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. Copyright 2021.Â

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Dear Reader, What you hold in your hands is the hard work and dedication of a community of youth and adult writers working together to tell stories that inspire, entertain, and heal. At 916 Ink, we teach young people how to write, listen, and support each other in the pursuit of creating literary art.

The words in these pages are carefully chosen and crafted to reflect their unique voice.

This book is a celebration of “taking the yes,” which is a motto of 916 Ink students. “Taking the yes” means that students are unafraid to collaborate with each other and themselves. It might sound weird—how does one “collaborate” with his or her own self? By shutting down the inner critics in our head that tell us that we aren’t good enough, our stories don’t matter, or what we might say is stupid or unnecessary. Stories are how we create meaning and make sense of the world. What’s better than to teach young people how to tell stories, create meaning out of their lives, and understand the world?

Creative writing carves a path to a better life. Writers know this, but maybe the rest of the world doesn’t. A writer is someone who truly gets to live twice—once through their senses and once through the page. Everyone needs writers. Favorite television shows? Go thank a writer. News articles?

Thank a writer. Education? Writers wrote the curriculum. Business? Can’t happen without writers creating marketing tools and business plans. Writers make the world go around.

By reading this book you’ve supported the growth of a writer. Thanks. Please consider making a donation to this great cause on our website at www.916ink. org if you’d like to further our mission of populating the planet with youth who can “take the yes,” and lead a happy life.

Ink-tastically yours,

The 916 Ink staff, the Board of Dreamers, volunteers, and youth writers

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From the Wordslinger Dear Reader, This book is the work of the Author’s Lab middle school group for the fall of 2020. Some of the stories and poems you’re about to read are thought provoking, some funny, and some exciting. All are a delight to read.

We’ve been out of the classroom and distance learning from home for ten months now. I am so grateful that we were able to continue meeting for our writing workshop online. Seeing everyone’s smiling faces and hearing their stories every Thursday grounded me in normalcy. I believe the Inkers felt the same.

I want to thank my class for being so helpful while I adjusted to Zoom. They made “patience with technology” their golden rule from the first day of class when we set our group agreements, and boy, did we need it. The students helped me learn how to use the breakout rooms when our guest editors came to meet with the students. They taught me how to use the survey feature when it came time to vote on a title, and they always let me know when I was speaking to them with my mic muted!

I want to thank my co-slinger, Damon Plant. His familiarity with the class and previous experience in an online Zoom class set me at ease and helped me to settle into teaching online.

Finally, thanks to our ever-faithful Inspirator, Lynn Belzer. Her consistent volunteering is something I’ve come to depend on. That and her keen editor’s eye.

Brew some tea, find a cozy seat by the window, and enjoy this book!

Sincerely,

Isabel Geerer

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Acknowledgments Isabel Geerer

Wordslinger

Damon Plant

Wordslinger

Lynn Belzer

Inspirator

Jen Barton

Guest Editor

Anna Agundez

Eagle Eye

Katie McCleary

Founding Executive Director

Michael Spurgeon

Founding Board President

DJ Waldow

Board of Dreamers, President

Dr. Beatrice Tetteh

Board of Dreamers, Vice President

Shelley Blanton-Stroud Board of Dreamers, Secretary Kathy Flynn

Board of Dreamers, Treasurer

Chris Worden

Board of Dreamers

Daniel Kaufman

Board of Dreamers

Lynn Lizarraga

Board of Dreamers

Rekha Tejpal

Board of Dreamers

Vince Wong

Board of Dreamers

Xenia Schutt

Board of Dreamers

Ian Hadley

Executive Director

Angela Tannehill

Creative Director

Allison Stelly

Director of Development

Nikki Cardoza

Director of Programming

Paulette Greenhouse

Program Manager

Jay Oatis

Program Coordinator

Emma Hoppough

Production Coordinator

Maria Gavia

Office Manager

Christina Nelson

ReadOn! Program Manager

Tory Scott

Bookslinger

Will Evans

Outreach and Development Associate,

AmeriCorps VISTA

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Contents Bryce Porath. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Just a Trick of the Eye. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2

Chloe Fua . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Stories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Thoughts Poem. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Morning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Dominic Fisher . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Drawn from the Storm. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Treasure. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 We Are the Universe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10

Elian Perez-Maghanoy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Corn on the Cob. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Burst Poem. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 The Random Prisoner. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Jack Porter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 The Sea That Is Time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 The Past. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

Johnathan Ferriera . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 The Squash. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 The Journey of Life. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Survivor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Madeline Longoria. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 The End. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Giants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 A Midsummer Night’s Scheme. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25

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Magnolia Roth. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 She. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Prints in the Mud. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Opposed to the Idea. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28

Molly Seely. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 We Are the Phoenix. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 Glass Hearts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Universe Girl. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32

Rosetta Porath. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 All I Wanted Was Wings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Wishes Won’t Always Come True. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Rosetta Had a Lil’ Bug . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

Taylor Cox. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Untitled. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Halloween. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Untitled. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38

Zoe Dubois . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Do You Have a Choice? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Fly. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 The Search for Something More…. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

Zohair Qadri . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 The Bone. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 When Disbelief Pays Back. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 A Change of a Lifetime. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50

Wordslingers and Inspirators. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 Zoom Burst. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 Re-claiming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53

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Bryce Porath

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Just a Trick of the Eye Bryce Porath

Sometimes I wonder if everything is what it seems. Some things aren’t what they really are expected to be. For sometimes, something strong and reliable ceases to work and comes crashing down, and when it does, it causes confusion and chaos. So what is to trust, and what is to not? It can be hard to accept, but even with the most powerful things come many hidden details we just don’t realize until it’s too late. It’s common to go around all those details and push them into a corner and just ignore them. If you look closely, there have been signs, but you just don’t realize them when they’re happening. Is anything reliable, or is everything just a trick of the eye?

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Chloe Fua

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Stories Chloe Fua

A story can be far, far away Where the sun rises.

A story can be near, a book away Where the wind dances.

A story can be right here You just have to write it.

Thoughts Poem Chloe Fua

People think it’s so hard to write poems Of stuff, when you can make them about Everything in the world, including the Moon and Stars.

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Morning Chloe Fua

They flutter through the leaves The sun peeks out of the night.

The moon fades away Dewdrops shine in the light.

The stars are veiled The rooster crows Morning has come And the air flows.

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Dominic Fisher

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Drawn from the Storm Dominic Fisher

Drawn from the storm, the swirling fist of memories, the stolen stars.

She came fueled by broken words and shattered diamonds.

She rose on wings of marble and dust, whispering soft secrets to the moon.

Her hair swarmed like smoke kissing the horizon.

Her dark eyes mirrored the night, casting pools of shadow upon the rising sun.

She harnessed the changing tides with a flick of her wrist and molded them into a flowing throne.

Then, after filling the empty seas with her tears, she left.

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Treasure Dominic Fisher

She stealthily slid down to the ashen streets and picked up a single quarter, cradling it in her open palm like a treasure.

An imperfect treasure, worn with age and unknown pockets, but a treasure nonetheless.

With the coin grasped tightly in her sticky fingers, she tucked her dirty hair behind her ear, licking her cracked, bleeding lips and crept silently back into the shadows, leaving no traces for them to follow.

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We Are the Universe Dominic Fisher

In a way, I believe we are all stars. All of the universe was made from the same atom; us, the stars, the sun, the planets. Does that make us immortal? Does that mean that we have seen the past, the future, and everything in between?

We are time travelers, witnesses of beauty and creation. Of small moments, of wars, of peace. We know the joy of seeing small, new leaves unfurling, coming out to greet the light. We know the broken feeling of loneliness, of falling on our own through time and space and the vast ocean we call our minds. We are the hands that ground us, and the tides that tear us apart. We are softly whispered secrets, the moon, and glowing candlelight. We are dawn, sunset, the changing leaves that cling to their trees. We know all, but at the same time, we know nothing.

We are the universe, and the universe is us.

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Elian Perez-Maghanoy

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Corn on the Cob Elian Perez-Maghanoy

Various sundry corn on the cob is miniature. Can you believe it? It´s magical thinking, and wildlife adores it, no matter what, on arrival. You know what?

Forget what I said.

Burst Poem Elian Perez-Maghanoy

I think squash is fun.

I hate the cats that are in the washer.

I wish that auroras were not here in limos.

I learn that phantoms are T. rexes.

I love Skittles.

I regret getting the cat.

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The Random Prisoner Elian Perez-Maghanoy

The earth trembles with its mightiness, but then mutant squash invade the prison. Oh no, I lost the cats in the explosion; are they in the police car? I pickpocket a turret guard and then leave in a hurry. I check, and nothing.

Oh wait, a note. It says, “Have you lost your marbles?” Oh no, did I lose them too? I look. So random.

“Hey! What are you doing, inmate?”

“Uh, sir!”

“Git away from there! It ain’t safe! Plus, you should be in the ol’ yard! Not messing around with the turret tower doors. You ain’t tryin’ to escape, are yah?”

“N-no, sir.” “’Kay then, get to the yard, NOW!” “Yes!” “GOAL!” “Woohoo, let GO!” “Good job, homie!”

“Thanks!”

“Hello, inmates. I have an announcement! Would 23971, 23959, 23940, 23955, 48290, 36661, and 19734 report to your cells, NOW!” “Huh, this is odd. I wonder what he wants?”

“All right, 23971, 23959 and 23940, you need to finish your tasks for the day.

23955, you need to…”

BOOM! “What was that!?”

“Uhhhhhhhh, guys, look outside…”

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Jack Porter

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The Sea That Is Time Jack Porter

In the sea that is time, We solemnly sail.

We are all pounded by the waves.

When our ship sinks, We fall through an infinite silver storm, And on the other end—is it paradise Or oblivion?

We can never know.

The ferries that carry us Across a never-ending sea Are dented by the jagged rocks.

But until your ship sinks, It will float And you are alive And life goes on.

And it goes on And it goes on.

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The Past Jack Porter

A peculiar echo— An echo of the past.

The past…

The past is what once was But is no longer.

The voice begins to echo An echo that is the past: The past that is set in stone.

The voice is then the past, now, And the echo is what is: The present.

The present echoes the past And the future echoes the present, So why can’t we learn from our mistakes?

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Johnathan Ferriera

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The Squash Johnathan Ferriera

I’m Squash. I live with my siblings in a vast valley with hills. Our foundation is huge. We take up a lot of the valley. Wasps and ladybugs come to the valley.

It’s a nice place to live. The sun rises, and the bugs crawl on top of the soil. The soil is very fresh, and the farmer loves us with all his care. Being Squash is fun.

The Journey of Life Johnathan Ferriera

Your life is your life. Do what you want with your life. Good or bad choices.

It’s your life. You can do what you want with your life. Believe in your life.

You have life. You can use your life to create new life. Your life matters. Don’t throw it away. Your life is a journey you must complete. Once you have felt happy that you got to walk the journey of life, you will feel pride.

Survivor Johnathan Ferriera

I’m in a ghost town—no, more like a ghost world. Why do I bother to wander this Earth? There is no other life remaining except dogs and cats. How did humanity fall this far? It began with wars, then bombs. In fact, I barely survived. It seems like the dogs and cats are driven to kill. Wherever I go, they’re always hostile. Being the last human Is devastating. Without somebody to interact with, I’m surprised I’m even sane. I don’t know what to do, but I want to find out why I’m the last human…

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Madeline Longoria

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The End Madeline Longoria

The end could not really be the end; otherwise, the world would’ve been over a long time ago. The book would’ve closed, the credits would’ve finished…we’d be toast. Gone. No, I have come to the conclusion that the end is only the start.

Perhaps, before we dive deeper into the thought of the end, we have to think of the beginning. After all, it comes first.

How do we know something has started? Do we dream about someone telling us “your time has come” only to find out it is true? Is there a big sign on the side of the road pointing in the direction of something different? Or is the start simply just another thing humans have conjured up to make sense of the universe, not really having a place?

What is the end? Is the end the start of something new? How do we tell the two from each other? They are so similar, both so wonderful yet terrifying.

Is there a sign for that either? Or must we guess? Does this mean life is a guessing game?

But what happens once the day is spent and the cycle ends? What has happened to us? Are we stuck in the middle? Where have we gone? What happens next? Surely, we’d be gone once the end comes.

No, there is no end. “End” is simply a word with no meaning. It is as nonexistent but just as significant as the number zero. It makes us bigger and yet shrinks us at the worst of times. The lowest of times. The end of times.

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Giants Madeline Longoria

Philip chased after Lana, not wanting to let her out of his sight. To allow her to run away would be like admitting defeat. He couldn’t do that just yet.

Never in the thirteen long years that he had lived had Philip Gonzolez given up without a fight.

“Wait, please! We can fix this! We just need to get the magic staff back; then we’ll win. Really. This will all work out. I just need you first!”

She whirled around on her heel, and he took an instinctive step backward.

She looked frightening. “Don’t you see, Philip? Your stupid mistake got us into trouble again. You didn’t listen to me when I told you the word ‘no,’ and now see what happened. None of your crazy and dangerous stunts can get us out of this one. You made everything worse by trying to make it better, just like Cosmina said you would.” She shook her head, scolding herself. “Gosh, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I let my guard down. You’re just as bad as the rest of them, and I should’ve known.”

Philip looked to the ground, hurt. He was treading on thin ice, and if he didn’t say the correct thing, he would ruin everything.

“I’m sorry, Lana. Really. Not just because I might’ve put the whole world in danger but because I hurt your feelings. We’re in this together, remember?

We can try to fix this, can’t we? Just because they have the staff now doesn’t mean they’ll have it forever. We can get it back. You make the plan this time.

I’ll follow your lead.” His eyes were pleading, searching for a glimpse of hope in Lana’s eyes. He wanted to see the old warmth in them, but no matter how hard he searched, there was none.

“No, Philip. I’m leaving. I’m leaving, and I’m never going to come back. I’ve dealt with lies and people in general long enough. I thought you were different.” Her eyes teared up, and she looked away. “But I was wrong. You’re all the same.

It’s better if I just give up trying to understand people.”

She started to walk away, and Philip couldn’t move. He was rooted to the ground.

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“Lana,” he said, and then he yelled. “Lana! Wait, please! I’m sorry. We can fix this! Come back!” He still couldn’t budge. Perhaps it was for the best. She was gone. He’d ruined it. Now he had to go clean up his mess. To get his best friend back.

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A Midsummer Night’s Scheme Madeline Longoria

A flash. No! A crack. Not again! A shudder that seemed to sway the whole house on its concrete feet. Why was it always me who had bad luck? Then all was silent. Eerily silent. I looked around, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me or if they had failed altogether. I was surrounded by nothing.

That’s right, not a thing. I could see nothing but dark light all around. Dark light…I should’ve just stayed at home…this is a little too weird…

Before I take you any further, we have to rewind to a few days before. It had been the last day of school, which was totally awesome, and I was ready for an awesome summer! My teachers were done babbling nonsense in my ears all day, and I had epic plans involving a lot of TV ahead of me. The future was bright, and I was happy. Unfortunately, every time something goes great, it has to go wrong. So, only four days into summer vacation, I was shipped off to Maryland to live with my crazy aunt Camina to apparently “live life to its fullest” and other stupid things like that.

I know, it’s totally insane. Everything about it was terrible. I was living life right there at home! Also, Camina? What kind of name is that? It literally means “walking” in Spanish. Besides my aunt’s totally insane name, she is also pretty weird with her clothes. I mean, I get loving the medieval times and all, but wearing tights and a ball gown every day is pretty extreme, even for the most seasoned cosplayer. Her house also smells like the medieval times.

Actually, I take that back. It’s probably worse. It’s a mixture of pumpkin spice, citronella, and ginger because she’s obsessed with candles, and they’re always burning; 24/7. I’m afraid to turn on the lights there because they haven’t been used for so long.

Anyway, I had to leave immediately because of when my parents had bought the plane ticket for, so I was sent off that day with barely any time to pack and say goodbye. I was a little upset, but travel was fun, so I decided not to complain about it just yet. There would be time for that when I got back. The only thing I wasn’t looking forward to was seeing and living with my Aunt Camina alone. Her son, Philip, had graduated from Harvard a few years ago, and he lived in Germany now. I bet he was never told to “live life.”

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Magnolia Roth

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She Magnolia Roth

She is not a person, simply a being. She forgets as she goes along. She is destined to walk her path forever. She is not anything we can imagine; she just is. She walks her endless, muddy expanse but cannot remember why.

Prints in the Mud Magnolia Roth

Prints in the mud, footprints. Small feet in the mud, following me, stalking me. The small prints in the mud, following me, go on and on. I can’t remember when I made those small prints in the mud that follow me, follow me.

Opposed to the Idea Magnolia Roth

Deep inside, my brain is shattered; the change is too much. My heartbeat too loud. The fire that once lit the room around me is dying, slowly turning the room black. The torch of hope I hold can only illuminate so much. As we move on, weary and battle-scarred, the purpose that we once had withers. As at first, change is a monster, bloodthirsty and furious, can eventually become revolutionary, either good or bad.

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Molly Seely

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We Are the Phoenix Molly Seely

We are the phoenix Rising from the ashes.

The witches That they could not burn.

We are the life That grows After devastation.

The Earth that keeps on spinning The pages That continue To turn.

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Glass Hearts Molly Seely

The world is made of glass hearts, Breaking Breaking.

The combined weight Of all those jagged shards Should be enough To smother us; But still We breathe.

We breathe through the struggles The lies And tears We breathe And we Survive.

But surviving was never the goal.

It was always To live.

So we must stop hiding away Our glass hearts.

Protecting their fragility From the world.

For though we shatter, You cannot heal Until you break.

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Universe Girl Molly Seely

They were like the sun.

Giving warmth.

Sometimes burning.

She was the wind.

Fluid, free.

Feeding the sun’s fire.

She was the earth, too.

Nurturing, full of life.

Stubborn.

A steady foundation For the sun to shine on.

Also, she was ocean.

And river.

And rain.

She cooled down the sun When it overheated.

She was, too, the moon.

Smiling a secret smile to herself.

Glowing softly on the sideline As not to upstage the sun’s light.

The sun was but one thing.

All it had to do was shine.

But she was many.

Wind and earth and river.

Ocean, rain, and moon.

She fed and nurtured and cooled, Was steady and strong And upstaged.

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Sometimes, it was just too much.

She was living just for the sun.

Not for herself.

So, one day, She simply left.

Went off into the universe To be her.

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Rosetta Porath

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All I Wanted Was Wings Rosetta Porath

There was a bird. He could not fly. But all he wished was to fly. As time passed by, he did learn how to fly. But then he lost his wings. He wished for some wings, but instead he got rings. He kept asking and asking, but he just kept getting richer. In the end he was a billionaire, but he had no wings.

Wishes Won’t Always Come True Rosetta Porath

I wish I was tall, but I am small. I wish I could see, but there’s no such glee. I wish I was smart before I should start. Now I have wishes that won’t come true even if I swim with the fishes. Wishes and wishes that will never come true.

Rosetta Had a Lil’ Bug Rosetta Porath

There was a lil’ bug, and he fit so nicely in a rug. Everywhere I went, the bug was sure to go. It followed me to school one day and made the children shriek, “Eww!” That was the day he was smooshed.

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Taylor Cox

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Untitled Taylor Cox

She was adopted by the trees and raised by forest. A girl who has eyes as green as grass, hair as brown as the bark on a tree, and a personality like wildflowers. She’s mysterious and full of secrets. She’s Emily, Emily Evergreen.

Halloween Taylor Cox

Spooky and eerie, that’s Halloween, you have to love it, because it means eating candy!

Untitled Taylor Cox

All twelve-year-old Arya Caddell wants is revenge on the mysterious people who killed her parents. They are the Darkstalkers. As the ones who take countless lives in the dead of night, it will be a dangerous journey for Arya.

The Darkstalkers think she is weak because of her losses, but little do they know that makes her all the more stronger.

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Zoe Dubois

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Do You Have a Choice?

Zoe Dubois

Happiness may be a choice, But it often doesn’t feel like one.

Maybe you can decide to choose happiness, But…how?

How do you say no to Fear, hate, anger, or whatever?

I don’t know.

I’m asking you.

You. How do you feel happiness when rage Is surging through your veins?

What’s the secret?

How do you find good in the worst things?

But…what’s the secret?

I don’t know.

I’m asking you.

You. Sometimes it may feel like the end of the world So how do you choose to be happy in those times?

If happiness is a choice, why is it hard to pick it?

I don’t know.

I’m asking you.

You. Maybe one day I’ll know, Or maybe I’ll never know.

Maybe one day I’ll find the secret to choosing happiness.

But I’m asking you about this.

You.

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Fly Zoe Dubois

I watch the leaves turn golden, And then fall…

Things are changing And I know I must move on.

I have waited for this time, With some grief And some joy.

And now it’s time To spread my wings and fly.

Fly… I am ready For this new time.

Snowy wings soaring up, And everyone is off in a flash.

I am flying Like everyone else.

Flying…

To somewhere new.

Will I like it? Will I know what to do?

Flying…

Free through an infinite but finite sky.

I am free!

Perhaps this is what I’ve always waited for, To fly somewhere else.

To be someone new.

To try something different.

But something inside makes me sad.

I will never be exactly who I used to be.

I’ll be someone different.

Maybe that’s a good thing, But I find it hard.

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I loved being young, But maybe it’s time to move on?

I like the feeling of flying.

But what if I can’t hold onto everything That was important to me when I was younger?

Will the things that I find important change with me?

But I like being a little older, I can do more, But somehow, I feel some sadness inside.

But I will try to enjoy this, Time of flight.

I soar on…

Soaring…

With ease and grace.

Maybe this is always what I was meant To do.

And I was just waiting, For the time to express this.

Things may change, But I know one thing.

Do you?

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The Search for Something More…

Zoe Dubois

Part I I looked for a long time. I remember being just a young child when I began my search. I vividly remember when my mother told me the story that made me search. I remember this day as if it was yesterday.

Part II One warm, cozy October day, my mother and I gathered close to our warm firelit fireplace since I was shivering. My mother gathered me close in her lap. We had sat there together for a long time, holding our hands up to the warm fire, feeling and enjoying its warmth.

“Mama,” I remember saying, “tell me a story, please.” I looked up at her with pleading eyes. My mother couldn’t resist. She smiled down at me.

“All right,” she said, “get close.”

I did. I snuggled close and buried my face into her shoulder.

She began. “Once, in a deep village, there lived a magical creature. It was called a Mirron. It was said to hold answers and hold what each human was searching for.” I stared at her with wide eyes.

“Really?” I had asked.

“That is what the story says,” she replied, and then she continued on. “Some searched for the Mirron, but no one known ever found it. But one day, a young girl set out in search of it. She traveled for ten days. Once she thought she caught a glimpse of the Mirron, but when she turned around, she couldn’t see anything. Each day she wandered farther from the place she belonged, and the farther she traveled, the weaker she felt, the more hopeless she got.

As far as it is known, the girl never found the Mirron. She tried, but she didn’t.

She spent a while trying to find it, but she felt so hopeless, she quit.”

“Mama, is this a true story?” I asked, my eyes bright.

“No one really knows,” my mother responded, “but I don’t think so. I mean, how could such a thing exist? Do you want me to continue?”

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I nodded. She talked on. “Next, an elderly man searched for the last days of his life. He searched for ten years. He never sighted the Mirron at all; he died of old age ten years after he started searching.”

I looked up at her. “Did anyone find the Mirron?” I asked. I couldn’t keep my curiosity to myself anymore.

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” my mother teased.

I listened on. “Mama!” I cuddled close in her lap as she finished. “Why did so many people look for something that wasn’t real?”

My mother turned to me, and I was surprised to see tears falling from her cheeks. “Because they didn’t know it wasn’t real,” my mother’s voice wobbled.

“Who knows, but it could be real.”

I wasn’t convinced. Ever since I was young, I was mostly always told that things in stories were pretend. What?

But I took this story to heart, and as I grew older, I remembered it.

Part III The breeze blew past. Was I taking on something ridiculous? Was this meant to be? Was I shooting too far? Was I searching for the impossible? I let go of being perfect, or being sad, or everything that I wouldn’t need. I never knew, but I continued on. It was hard. My hair flew around before me, and sometimes I couldn’t see. Sometimes, I could barely hear; I heard nothing except the whirling, whistling wind. Sometimes, I could barely feel myself from the cold. Sometimes, I wanted to give up. But I didn’t. I searched on for this magical being. The Mirron was the thing I had always longed for, and I had to find it! I just had to!

I journeyed on. Sometimes I felt blind. Sometimes I felt deaf. Like I was just walking straight into a world that could not be seen.

I looked for a few years. I wandered on and on. One night, I felt very helpless.

I lay under the stars, enjoying the beauty. However, I could not feel happy. I felt I wouldn’t be whole until I found the Mirron. I just wouldn’t! I stared at the stars once more and then at the nearby lake. I glanced into it, hoping to see the Mirron. But I didn’t.

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Part IV I grew older. Soon I was an adult. I searched. I looked everywhere for the Mirron! Everywhere! From the Sahara Desert to the glimmering forests to the beautiful oceans. At first, my mission was to be happy. At this point, I’d forgotten all about that. Now, the mission I had was to find the Mirron! The Mirron was where the answers I wanted lay. If I found the Mirron, I’d be happy.

It all lay with the Mirron. Right?

So, I kept going. When I began the journey, I didn’t know how difficult this would be. I knew the Mirron must be a thing. But the longer I waited, the more I grew unsure. Was I searching for absolutely nothing or something that never existed at all? I was doubtful. I closed my eyes and thought hard.

And then I was taken away to somewhere else. Somewhere I had never been.

I stared across the beautiful, crystal clear water and stared again at the beautiful sight. It was a bird.

It had the most beautiful feathers of gold and white. Its feathers shimmered beautifully in the moonlight.

I turned to the bird. “Hello?” I asked, a bit unsure of who or what this bird was.

I heard some words just appearing in my mind. It was strange. Unlike anything I’d ever heard before.

“Hello,” I heard a beautiful musical voice call out. I looked at the bird. Was the bird talking to me? Was I hallucinating?

“Who are you?” I asked in shock. I heard words appearing in my mind again.

“You know who I am. You have been looking for me. You have found me.”

I stared into the bird’s eyes. I gasped. “The-the M-mirron?” I stammered.

It looked into my eyes, and I felt completely understood. All those years I spent feeling incomplete, feeling lonely, feeling empty, were gone.

The bird nodded its large head. “I am. I live not where anyone looks for me. I live in you. You have been looking for me. I live inside of everyone. But I can only be found when you look inside. You have everything you have wanted inside you all along. You have been searching for yourself. You…”

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Zohair Qadri

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The Bone Zohair Qadri

It was a warm and sunny day at the beach. I was chewing on my clean, white bone while I was playing with my owner. My owner called me to play fetch, so I left my bone on the sandy beach blanket. Once I finished playing, I trotted proudly to my bone. My bone wasn’t there. I looked and looked through the crowd of people, but it was nowhere to be found. I energetically dug through the sand and looked in the water. When I looked up, I saw it. I saw a mediumsized German shepherd like me. He was chewing on my bone so hard I thought he would crack it. I charged the other dog and bit his neck as if it were a chew toy. The other dog was stunned and slapped me with his heavy paw. The slap did no harm. I chewed, he howled, I ripped, and he cried. He quickly dropped the bone and ran off into the distance. The crowd looked at me in terror because they knew the bone was mine and would always be mine.

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When Disbelief Pays Back Zohair Qadri

There was this one old house in my neighborhood. It was always a mysterious house. The other kids in the neighborhood would call it haunted and would scream and run away from it if it made a small noise. Some older people who lived in my neighborhood for a long time said that there was a clown who lived there whose name was Georgy. I believed in no such thing; to me, the house was just mysterious. It had old, cracked wood and was a faint gray and black. At least three windows were broken, and the doors would fall down after a windy day. Nobody really lived in the house, not that I know of.

One day, I decided to go inside the house. I opened the door, ready for anything to jump at me, but no. There were only mice scurrying out of the half-broken kitchen cupboards and the fireplace. The couches were gray and scratched, with the cotton being forced out of it. I walked toward the kitchen, trying to turn on the faucet, but like I expected, it did not work.

After exploring the kitchen, I slowly walked to one of the bedrooms. I looked under the bed to look for treasures, but I saw two glowing lights of yellow with black slits piercing each of the lights. Then, suddenly, the lights jumped at me! I was terrified, but it was only a black cat. I climbed onto the bed to tie my shoes after the cat untied them. As I was lifting my foot onto the bed, I felt at least ten skinny and slimy sticks grabbing my feet.

I looked down, finding that they were actually hands! I jumped off the bed in fright, but the hands pulled me harder and harder. I was being dragged beneath the bed, knowing I would be eaten by the one and only Georgy.

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A Change of a Lifetime Zohair Qadri

The loud race cars screamed past me, making my hair blow back. I was in the pit lane getting gas and new tires. In less than two minutes, my gas was filled and my new tires were drilled into the rims on my car. I screeched down the pit lane at an average of 60 miles an hour. Once I entered the track, I shifted into second gear, then third, then fourth. I gained fourth place out of twenty drivers. Once I shifted to eighth gear, I was in second place. I gripped the wheel and pushed on the gas. Me and my opponent were wheel to wheel. My opponent pushed me into the marbles. I drove into the marbles and bypassed my opponent. I was in first place, and there was only one more lap left. All I had to do was keep my lead. Then it happened: my opponent pushed me off the track at the last second and left me flipping on the track. I lost the race, and my career would be over.

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Wordslingers and Inspirators

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Zoom Burst Isabel Geerer

In this time of tumult I love 916 Ink’s adaptability attending this virtual class together gives us a sense of normalcy I’m grateful that these kids are so helpful with this Zoom business “Be patient with technology” is our golden rule I hate when I sound like a robot We all laugh when I read that line glitching in the voice of a robot my face twitching like MTV’s Max Headroom I wish we could come back to the classroom already I learned not to freak out when things don’t go as expected I count myself fortunate chide myself for complaining about being imprisoned with my in-laws longing for my own family and friends they are only a phone call away so many are going through So much more than I am We are more resilient stronger than we ever thought possible In this time of tumult

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Re-claiming 10th month of Covid, 2020 Lynn Belzer

We drop onto the trail from the asphalt hill.

It resembles a dark, damp mountain path, a terrain I sink into for the next few hours Early December, temperature in the 40s, promising to turn into another spring day.

2020 appears to be another drought year.

Dozens of Canadian geese are settled onto the lake, their long black necks, white strapped chins, heads turned toward the south, honking softly.

Scents of green, musty and musky, shadows, sunlight penetrating the scant fall leaves, burgundy, yellows of 14, 18, and 24 karats, more valuable than jewels or gold. They rekindle my passion for hiking and nature. They help me reclaim myself.

The sun also assists and the sky and the clarity that is here today, on this short respite from my home.

I ramble with ease. Strong on the inclines, quads loosened, I’m enjoying my heart’s lightness. My face relaxes, eases into a smile.

Lacking its usual rainfall, the lake is low.

I view the bike trail across it, longing for rides, now that the fallen boulder is cleared, Continued on next page

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now that I am strong enough to return to my bike, pedal long distances, own the freedom I have yearned for all year.

I could spend days in this woodsy country, joined with my awareness that I have not lost myself, even though on most COVID days, I remain a lone stranger.

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THIS BOOK WAS PRODUCED IN PARTNERSHIP WITH

WITH MAJOR SUPPORT FROM

AND FUNDED IN PART BY

The Albert and Elaine Borchard Foundation

The Sacramento Office of Arts and Culture, with support from the City of Sacramento.