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Table of Contents “Tiger” by Liya Chen ….. 3 “Circles” by Ted Davis ….. 4 “Pool Ball Planets” by Atticus Sauls …… 5 “Untitled” by Atticus Sauls ….. 5 “The Difference of a Second” by Rachel May …... 6 “ZZZ” by Rachel May ….. 7 “ballroom i” by Anna Cheng ….. 7 “Muffin Emergency” by Charlie East ….. 7 “Erased” by Angelina Chen ….. 8 “Foxy” by Sasha Kostenko ….. 10 “Throughout the Years” by Alex Bandong ….. 11 “Clown in D Major” by Max Feliu ….. 13 “We are all products” by Alex Bandong ….. 14 “Asra” by Sasha Kostenko ….. 15 “Frozen Time” by Margaret Velto ….. 16 “Listening” by Sanjana Chillarege ….. 17 “Camels in Sunset” by Sanjana Chillarege ….. 17 “thousand deaths” by Margaret Velto …… 18 “Bright Sunflower” by Sanjana Chillarege ….. 19 “1039 Miles Away” by Anonymous ….. 20 “Ocean” by Liya Chen ..... 21 “The Fish” by Madison Kadis ….. 22 “Untitled” by Kristin Draper ….. 23 “Feminine Choker” by Charlie East ….. 25 “Burned Bridges” by Kristin Draper ….. 26 Acknowledgements ….. 27


Tiger Liya Chen


Circles Ted Davis They say the

Sight of—

Now we return


To the same cement path, a dull gray

Is made of us--

Like the sky yet


Even more lost in the shades

Thoughts, the meaning we assign

Of complexity,

To the blue waters and skies of ambivalent gray

Like right and wrong and neither But perhaps somehow both

But we

Like a smile

Can’t continue in this shallow vein

And a silence

Amidst a quest in vain For bleached answers

Which commences another and another and finally, one

To numb the intangible pain

More, one more,

But it goes in a loop, a cycle

A Circle

The rise of a nation and the gradual deflation

I like them, the circles, like them

Oh! This is really some bad poetry!

Passively, not massively, nor passionately like the ultimate circle:

I think I can see beyond the ruse, though

The earth is a circle.

I often lose


Pool Ball Planets Atticus Sauls

Untitled Atticus Sauls 5

The Difference of a Second Rachel May Yesterday a woman just caught the train, And she happily found a pole to grab.

Suddenly the man shot to his feet,

Yesterday a woman just missed the train,

A gun gripped tightly in his hand.

And she reluctantly hailed for a cab.

The woman tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, This day was certainly not going as planned.

The woman wobbled as the train sped off, Then noticed an odd stranger on her right.

The woman’s eyes widened with shock

The woman jerked as the cab sped off,

As fear coursed from head to toe.

Then looked out the window to the night.

Finally the cab came to stop, And the woman hurried to go.

The stranger had a dark bag pressed to his chest, And a black hoodie pulled over his head.

The gun fired rapidly around the train,

Buildings passed and the woman sighed,

And the woman took cover under a seat.

If only she had caught the train instead.

The woman paid and exited the cab, Then walked with haste up the street.

The woman watched as the stranger glanced around

With watering eyes the woman began to still,

Before slowly unzipping his bag.

And with a final breath was dead.

The woman glanced at her watch and groaned aloud,

A billboard flashed: Train Gunman Caught. But the woman had already rushed ahead.

Her boss was going to nag.


ZZZ Rachel May I want to close my eyes and go to sleep. Oh? My alarm went off? Time for more sleep. I sit in class and wish I could just sleep. Eating lunch, but when can I go to sleep? Some free time to study. Let’s study sleep. Running on the trails, I run home to sleep. Did you say homework? I think you meant sleep. Finally my bed, I can feel the sleep. I close my eyes, and at long last I sleep.

ballroom i Anna Cheng in the much needed space of a breath: if you would dance with me, i would be very grateful. please dont leave me; for i am so very lonely.

Muffin Emergency Charlie East There is a muffin emergency The muffins have fallen There are muffin chunks everywhere Dear god help


Erased Angelina Chen From the hands of an artist sprouted a beautiful sketch. It was a diverse drawing, people of all kinds gathered on a single piece of paper. Despite its originality, it was eventually forgotten about, left on a shelf to collect dust, the creator moved on to grander projects. The people made of graphite began to murmur amongst themselves. Would they ever be completed? Displayed? Marveled at? Over time, these thoughts dispersed. The people created a life for themselves, a society on paper. Gray lines moved and shifted, blowing off the dust as the people conversed. They discovered that new materials and objects could be made, but only with the sacrifice of graphite from a willing participant. Part of their body would need to be unraveled. They slept and woke as humans do, but they never felt hunger or thirst, and their clothes never sullied. They had a lot of time on their hands, alone as they were, forgotten graphite on paper. Without meaning to, they separated into groups. Common interest dictated their friendships, like they do for everyone. One group consisted of strong, stoic men made of straight, bold lines and slim, feathery females with hair shaded to look like clouds. They were beautiful, and had many ideas. The second group was full of scrawny figures, or extra plump ones, their forms full of erase marks, as if the creator was unsure what to do with them. These people were happy, for a time. But there is only so much you can do on a piece of paper. The first group, full of beautiful, complete people began to take a sneering tone at the second. They would turn their backs when a member of the second group tried to converse with them, and laugh with each other at the scrawled figures of the hastily drawn people. The second group, of course, did not like feeling inferior. Dissonance grew. “They shouldn’t sneer at us,” they said. “We were all forgotten; it’s not like their appearance has brought them to a better place than us.” Uncomfortable though the situation was, tensions were not overly strained. However, as more and more time passed, drastic changes occurred. Deciding that they deserved more suitable clothing and surroundings, the first group began a horrific tradition: they would unravel the lines that formed the figure of a member of the second group, and use the graphite to draw other materials, like a new dress, or a house. The second group, low in number compared to the first, could do not much to fight back. They tried to be vigilant, and stay on constant watch, but to no avail. 8

One day, soon after the unravelling began, something new happened. The paper was lifted from the shelf by the creator. The dust was gone with a breath, and the sketch was exposed to the creator’s critical eye. A candle burned near its death in the corner. The creator squinted at the sketch without recognition, and decided he would see further into it in the morning. He placed it on his desk. Everyone was jubilant, and for a moment, the people were united in their happiness. They would finally be completed! This did not last long. Skepticism grew in the first group. They gathered in a corner of the paper. “The creator has finally taken interest in us again, but we must not let that disgusting group of riffraff ruin it for us.” Everyone agreed. They could not risk the creator looking upon the unsightly second group and decide to discard the sketch. They had dreams of becoming a famous painting. They had vision. A plan was hatched, put into action. The second group huddled together protectively, waiting in apprehension. The first group descended on them like a pack of wolves on a carcass. They ripped line from rough line, dismantling and unravelling with a desperate ferocity. Until. Until nothing was left of the second group except mounds and smudges of graphite. Satisfied, the first group returned to their original position, excitedly anticipating the morning. When it came, the creator returned. He reached down and brought the paper up for inspection. He was disappointed. Full of smudges and figures that looked almost identical, the sketch was boring, unoriginal, and useless. Without a second glance, the creator balled up the paper, and tossed it into the bin by his desk.


Foxy Sasha Kostenko


Throughout the Years Alex Bandong throughout the years, i have

that you must try your hardest at everything and that honesty is always the best policy.

met people, made friends, and lost friends.

through all of these people, i have

when i was in 7th grade, i had a friend who was very loving and

grown (not height-wise) to become the

funny and crazy and

person i am today.

there for me when i needed them - that friend taught me that it is normal to love and be loved.

when i was in 6th grade, i had a friend who was generally outgoing and when i was in 7th grade, i had a friend who was crazy and

loud and crazy and never afraid to be themselves - that friend taught me

dauntless and independent and

that it is not bad to get a little rowdy and weird.

unapologetically herself - that friend taught me that you can be friends with (almost) everyone.

when i was in 6th grade, i met a friend who is somewhat quiet and incredibly intelligent and kind and

when i was in 7th grade, i met a friend who is very funny and

easily confident and unconfident at the same time that friend taught me

relatable and chatty and

that failure isn't an option and food is always a motivator.

always trying to make sure you are okay - that friend taught me that some people will always be there for you.

when i was in 6th grade, i met a friend who is brutally honest and reserved and funny and

when i was in 8th grade, i had a friend who was always laughing and

always up to listen to me talk - that friend taught me

was funny and so happy and


was a light in my life - that friend taught me

nice to everyone and anyone - that friend taught me

that happiness is a key to life.

that no amount of food is ever enough.

when i was in 8th grade, i met a friend who is weird and

when i was in 10th grade, i met a friend who is blunt and

funny and crazy and

caring and funny and

beautiful on the inside and out - that friend taught me

very, very talkative - that friend taught me that it is okay to ask for help.

that sometimes you just need an emotional support horse to get you through. when i was in 10th grade, i met a friend who is weird and when i was in 9th grade, i met a friend who is so sarcastic and

loving and smart and

funny and weird and

never, (under most circumstances), afraid to be themselves - that friend taught me

not afraid to speak their mind - that friend taught me

that trying new things enhances life and it is always okay to be yourself.

that it is not bad to stand up for what you believe in. i will not go through everyone, and when i was in 10th grade, i had a friend who was protective and

i will not name anyone, but hey, if you know, you know.

funny and caring and tried to act like a mother to me - that friend taught me

throughout these years at CA, i have changed and

that some people come into your life for a reason.

had new experiences and grown as a person.

when i was in 10th grade, i met a friend who is funny and i hope you have too.

quirky and devoted and


Clown in D Major Max Feliu


We are all products Alex Bandong we are all products of our parents--

some are the best type of people,

some are raised to be outgoing,

wearing their orange obey hoodies and their steven universe cheeseburger backpacks and

some to be reserved, kept to themselves, not giving a shit what anybody else thinks. some to be cynical, others, to be loving. we are all products-yet still our own people, we are all products of our environments-and, frankly, some are raised in a wealthy, white collar family,

there will never be another

others are brought up as blue collar workers,

person like you or

some are raised to be truthful, caring people,

like your grandfather or your

others, to be ruthless and selfish.

sister or your best friend; so we must all learn to

we are all products of our society--

be the best type of people we can be, to

most of us try and conform to it,

be loving and cynical and outgoing and reserved,

trying to be extroverted and loved by all and all at the same time. wearing neutral colors to blend in;


Asra Sasha Kostenko


frozen time Margaret Velto tick

and mend


the soul


and mind


the pain


the soul


thinks of


the pain


it felt


think of

in time

the time


you felt



in time

the time

you heal






you heal


and mend




and mind



Listening Sanjana Chillarege

Camels in Sunset Sanjana Chillarege 17

thousand deaths Margaret Velto nobody mourns the girl

they mourn the ones

who has died a thousand deaths

who are physically gone,

because nobody knows she's gone.

the ones buried six feet deep, but never the mentally gone,

they mourn the crashes

the ones who died from everyday life, like

and the shootings

the girl who has died a thousand deaths.

and the hangings and the burnings,

the girl who has died a thousand deaths

but they ignore the deaths

hides behind the smiles that reflect

of the girl right beside them

the burning sun and blind them

because she always seems so alive.

to how the smile is never full, the eyes are never shining,

they talk about suicide

the cheeks are never rounded.

like it's a dirty word, like it's a sin,

nobody saves the girl

like their actions don't influence how

who has died a thousand deaths

the girl who has died a thousand deaths

because nobody thinks she needs saving,

hopes a thousand and one is the killing

so nobody mourns the girl

that finally takes her.

who has died a thousand deaths because nobody knows she's gone.


Bright Sunflower Sanjana Chillarege


1039 Miles Away Anonymous It was just a weekend But the time we spent together Was only about 12 hours But I remember it all very clearly When the bus broke down You fell asleep On my shoulder Quiet, perfectly still We were the last ones off. We wandered the streets together Looking at the sights Perusing merch we knew we couldn't afford Entering maybe a few too many stores Buying cheesecake, breakfast, and a stale hot dog The whole world was better with you And on the final night After a stutter and a pause I hugged you And that was it Our normal lives returned And we're 1039 miles away


Ocean Liya Chen


The Fish Madison Kadis At dawn the pelicans can always fly high Often searching for glistening grown fish In the winter days trying to get by For a summer day brings a better dish Yet fisherman like to catch in the light Disregarding the rhythm of the sea Men only seek money of the bite To hopefully return with a bounty Coming home tired in the dead of night On a trek to see his favorite three May fisherman share the gifts of life So selfish not caring what’s right They’re always filling their bellies with glee Why do pelicans live in strife?


Untitled Kristin Draper She smiled and spoke like she wasn’t changing the fabric of the universe With every shaky breath Her hands clenched against the table Earthquakes in her heart thrumming through the core of the earth Shaken but strong

She wielded her voice like a sword Cold silver sliced into my stomach But I couldn’t bring myself to care Because the tears in my eyes were worth it To


for the first time

She breathed life into ink smudges and typewriter keys Wrapping me up so completely in her essence That my lungs gave up and I breathed in something purer than oxygen My head felt too light and a bit hysterically I thought I’m a hostage But I couldn’t think of somewhere I’d rather be than locked In her phantom embrace

She closed her eyes and let her fingers fly across her computer Like something otherworldly had possessed her with something so crucial That nothing mattered but Getting the words onto paper But when she grinned in my direction I knew That she was the one in charge, that she was pulling stanzas from her own soul 23

She bumped our shoulders together in the abandoned hallway Music floating through our empty spaces She tied endless string to our pinky fingers And looked at me like I had something to offer her Like I could

Command symphonies of Natural disasters/ Bring the world to a halt When I swallowed/ Control armies With nothing more than a whisper

She smiled and she was everything


Feminine Choker Charlie East


Burned Bridges Kristin Draper I stood among the wreckage of the life I burned to the ground Ash coated my throat but I was still breathing more deeply than I ever had before I wiped the soot of my face and grinned There has always been an alluring beauty to chaos And this destruction was the sweetest addiction of them all I took a baseball bat to all the times I pretended I had a crush on boys Smashed them until my hands ached and it still hadn’t felt like enough I knocked over the walls that prevented me from speaking My first free sound was a relieved laugh I crushed my shame under my foot because It wasn’t mine to begin with, and it broke so perfectly So, with burns on my arms and a pile of matches at my feet I faced the rest of the world head on Because they couldn’t destroy me if I got there first I was an open wound, but the sting felt heavenly I remembered the day I lit that first fire I was told to keep quiet, to stay silent My eyes glinted in challenge Because I’ve never been good at being told not to do something I stood among the wreckage of the life I burned to the ground And thought about how this land would make a good foundation To build upon in the future But for now I reveled in the broken shards and rubble I’d caused 26

T3 Editors: Charlie East, Mohala Kaliebe, Sasha Kostenko, Cate Pitterle, Madison Swyers, Margaret Velto Officers: Mohala Kaliebe, Lucy Daley, Evan Ehrhardt Faculty Advisor: Mr. Urioste Cover design by Sasha Kostenko Cover image: “Tiger� by Liya Chen Future officers: Sasha Kostenko and Madison Swyers


Profile for CA Lit Mag

Literary Magazine: Spring  

T3 Editors: Charlie East, Mohala Kaliebe, Sasha Kostenko, Cate Pitterle, Madison Swyers, Margaret Velto Officers: Mohala Kaliebe, Lucy Daley...

Literary Magazine: Spring  

T3 Editors: Charlie East, Mohala Kaliebe, Sasha Kostenko, Cate Pitterle, Madison Swyers, Margaret Velto Officers: Mohala Kaliebe, Lucy Daley...

Profile for calitmag