20th Anniversary Edition
CLAMOR
Clamor is the annual literary and arts journal of the University of Washington Bothell.
Copyright 2026 Clamor. All rights revert to authors and artists after publication.
The views expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of Clamor staff or of the University of Washington Bothell.
Clamor 2026 Editorial Board:
Evelyn Frankforter
Sandra Kov
Dev Phung
Aundreah Jenkins
Amy Nguyen
Raymond Leung
Luis Javier
Devina Chandra
Bryan Henning
Ava Ladiges
Romina Dadvar
Leanne Machado
Pablo Mejia
Tiare Scholtz
Winola Tan
Shyamashree Acharya
Vani Chhikara
Vanessa Galvan
Kyra Henriksen-Green
Anqi Lei
Emma Lochmann
Faculty Advisor: Sabina Abd Livadariu
Coordinator: Manmeet Oberoi
Cover Image by Aundreah Jenkins
Cover Layout by Anqi Lei
Mailing Address:
Clamor UWB Literary and Arts Journal
University of Washington Bothell Box 358651
18115 Campus Way NE Bothell, WA 98011
Email: clamor@uw.edu
Website: http://clamor-journal.com
Estrella Wasankari
Audrey Yang
Nyssa Deshmukh
Joshua Habte
Amiya McLean
Cassandra Myles
Roswell Sass
Landon Van Bibber
Balter Wang
Sofina Trotter
Printed by Consolidated Press, 600 South Spokane Street, Seattle, WA 98134
We acknowledge the generous support of the Services and Activities Fee Committee, the Office of Student Engagement and Activities, and the Club Council at the University of Washington Bothell.
Visual Arts
The following works may contain sensitive content, including but not limited to:
Blood, Hate Speech, Homophobia/Transphobia, Mental Health, Misogyny/Sexism, Pornographic Content, Racism, Sexual Assault, Suicide, Violence or Self-Harm, OD/Drug Abuse, Animal Cruelty, Child Abuse, Ableism, Religious Indoctrination/Trauma
Reader discretion is advised.
A Word from Our Editors
Despite the divisive and often oppressive times we are living through, the artists of the University of Washington, Bothell and beyond have once again shown up in record numbers to create and submit art to our journal. The overwhelming number of submissions for this year’s edition of Clamor proves that there is still a strong need for honest and vulnerable art. For the past twenty years, we have been more than honored to provide a platform for the many talented artists at UWB and beyond. Please join us in celebrating this special twentieth anniversary edition of CLAMOR.
We’re incredibly grateful to everyone in our community who trusted us with their work for this twentieth annual edition. Inside, you’ll find pieces we connected with—work that stayed with us, along with a few favorites that each editorial team kept coming back to. This journal became a space not just to showcase art, but to listen to it, to sit with it, and to feel a little more understood through the work of people just like us.
This year carries the weight of its anniversary, and with it, the people who helped shape what Clamor has become, including Manmeet, our coordinator, and Sabina, our facilitator, whose expertise and knowledge remain an invaluable tool to us. Thank you to all who have been part of Clamor for the past twenty years—contributors, editors, coordinators, facilitators, and most importantly, the readers.
This isn’t about what you create or what it might turn into… It’s about making it in the first place.
Only Air as Mortar
L. Ward Abel
Oh, the old movies so old as to be architecture made on some exotic set of color sounds music words, eyes so close as to merge with mine with yours.
Architecture to enter, to be in large enough for a universe-sized mind the ceilings high rounded blue and black never touched though loved never part-of though conjoined only air as mortar.
Without embrace it becomes clear what can’t be restored like limestone cliffs layered with the living now-long-passed, still living asking “How long will we live?” in their old movies—but we— we can only read from a script of water and light and air and night. And water.
THE LAST SIP
Anzar
A coffee still warm, questions lingering, unanswered, like the fog at dawn, things that once belonged to them now stripped of meaning.
A love once warm like the steam from the coffee, now cold like the white freckles falling outside, settling quietly on the windowsill.
“Can you pass me some sugar?” He asked. The sweetness of how it all started. The love that used to belong to “them”— the dreams that were caves of shared secrets—now belong to none, the plans made—now long forgotten. Just like the white grains disappeared into the depths of the mug, when he stirred them in.
“I think my coffee is not strong enough—can you make it strong?” she said, adding a dash more bitterness to the once sweetness of innocence. Something that was once sweet turned bitter overnight. Questions that demanded answers, feelings long lost— a love once heavenly, now turned venomous— a love that once dreamt of rings, gowns, and cradles now slowly disappearing into the story’s footnotes— a tale that someone will eventually finish.
The coffee finished, the questions answered, a love once in bloom—now ready to wither. Nobody held it tighter, no grasped hands, no standing on knees for forgiveness, without despair, they let it go. No tears—just memories that were once unforgettable, now turning to a cup of finished coffee—slowly fading, like a cup that could one day be filled again— with something rich, something warm.
Khadeeja
Asia Ashley-Emerson
It was a silent death, Snapped under the trance of a simile. Too sharp for words or the hand too heavy for a single piece of wood.
Cedar split lips where graphite bled. Once, it created a silver cloud from memory, freckled stars from strokes. Each curve is now a shadow.
For days, it stayed there, a relic of thought, until touch sparked evocation. Oh, to be remembered.
There was no tool for its revival. Nothing sharp enough to yield it new But when passion strikes, so does innovation. So it began.
Teeth to log, Each nibble brought the edge closer to a point Closer to a new life. Mineral, salvaged by bone.
Now it glides across the surface, A living monograph on resumption. Now, it is moving. Now, it is alive.
Due Back Next Week
Evelyn Frankforter
I watch movies on a deadline. never spontaneous. They’re rented.
Who was that actor with the funny face? she seemed so free in that scene she said:
I want to be a lioness pouncing at game because it’s there convenient and begging me I feel like I’m waiting in lines, picking up old meat before it goes rotten.
And who knows if I’ll even have time to eat.
That movie in my mirror, stealing my breath pacing my room, moonlight-dim and disappearing before a reflection. Stalking for some moment, one that I get to choose.
Get to dream of being her.
An actress pretending she wants to be a lioness. Copy of a copy of me.
Poem for Poem Stone Chairs
Morgan Fu-Mueller
Listen to me.
The distance between a mind and a mind is as little as twelve thousand miles.
Sit down. Run your fingers through my grooves, still sharp and bleeding ink. The bones of your language. The flesh of mine. This stillness like marriage. Like a dream of brush kissing paper.
The distance between a pagoda and a skyscraper is no time at all. The mind is a square inch of cloudy glass. Dip your toes into it.
Language is a maze of funhouse mirrors. Weiyouyuantouhuoshuilai.
Reach your hand into the cold water and hope my hand grasps it back. How will you know it is my hand?
The distance between you and me is a winding arc of gutted geodes, spilling semantics into the breeze.
Do you read me? Do you read me?
Bouquet of Haikus
Gary
Norris
Lilies
Several lovely sails
Of radiant pigment drape
From a mast of leaves
Tulips
Petals overlap
Gold within a colored cup
Atop a stout stem
Orchids
In a graceful arc
Flutter soft vibrant petals
On pencil thin stems & You
Among these flowers
You are the more beautiful
In every regard
The Potter and t he Sceptic
John Grey
In my hands, a cup— not yet, but I feel it. You, on the other hand, see only wet clay.
Base coiled, rim pinched— again again again in my mind— still you stare at the clay.
I feel the kiln’s breath— a small sun in the corner of the studio— and watch the clay surrender to my intention.
I can sense it hardening. You are face to face with my hands and dollops of wet clay.
Now, the cup is fully realized. Its weight in my palm is mine. Coffee steams. Mm. Great java. Better for the making.
And you? Still shaping? Still soft? Taste my hands. Tell me what they’ve become.
I Visited You
Wondering if you felt my presence
I visited you today in the rain
Your infinite love for me poured out through the fence
Tears pooled in my eyes like water circling the drain
Plants grew from your grave beautifully through the years
Muddy sand, tall trees, and headstones built with clay
When the horn is blown, I’ll see you after all clears
Hand in hand, we will lock fingers and pray
Could you feel me standing by your side?
Sand in palms, 11 Al-Ikhlas in your name
Blew prayers onto the sand, looked up, and cried
Are you proud of the person I became?
Like a soldier at war, I’ll fight through it all
Just so I can fly back to you after the fall
Sukai Hydara
Nice Guys Finish Last
Luis Javier
He walks into rooms like they owe him applause. Says “I just tell it like it is” then wonders why it’s always so quiet after. Calls women “too sensitive” with the sensitivity of a brick. Explains their own lives back to them like he read their wiki page. He says he wants respect, but what he really means is obedience. Says he wants honesty but only the kind that flatters him. It’s honestly impressive how efficiently he empties a room. But if you listen closely, there’s a missed note. He grew up in a house where “love” was loud but never gentle. Where men won arguments and women survived them. Where apologies were myths.
Now he mistakes control for safety. Mistakes distance for dignity. Sets his standards like barbed wire and wonders why no one climbs over.
He chose to never need that which he truly wanted. He calls it preference. He calls it “knowing his worth.” But late at night, when no one is there to argue, he sits with a silence that does not fight back. And for a moment
Just a moment he almost understands why everyone left.
The day I stopped loving you.
Cisco Jimenez
I mourn the day I stop loving you— the day the world brightens again, and I can live in peace without thinking of you every second.
I mourn moving on from you, and learning to love again to love more deeply, more wholly, more than I ever loved you.
I mourn losing the person I am, the person I am right now— who loves you more than you’ll ever know. They will fade into the memories of a past long gone.
I mourn my future happiness, in a world without you. a world running parallel to the one we could have built together— a world I once loved to imagine, that will never exist.
When that day comes, I will no longer mourn you.
But the person I am today— the one who loves you with all his heart— mourns the day I stop loving you.
On Dia de los Muertes
Ann Howells
Weary of tricks, treats, and clanking bones, we choose instead the reconnection of Dia de los Muertos place papier maché skeletons—cock fighter in black suit and hat, tiny fisherman with bamboo pole—on our makeshift altar made colorful by hand-woven chals, plates heaped with favorite foods, framed photos. Selena adds Dos Equis and a deck of playing cards. I add Dad’s cherished briarwood pipe, pound can of Good to the Last Drop.
Sugar skulls weep with humidity.
Selena bakes; bread’s yeasty fragrance perfumes the house as it rises, airy and elastic in a buttered bowl. She weaves crowns of autumn flowers, places one on my head, one on her own. Her abuela casts an accusatory eye, does not like this, not one little bit: this gringa stealing her culture, her granddaughter’s betrayal. Selena places a gentle hand on her arm, whispers that we all lose loved ones. Generous of spirit, she understands—Father has been gone but a few months.
We light candles, share bread, speak softly in remembrance, pray.
Out of Office
Erik Keevan
My skyline RTO my commute Work From Home fax machine facsimile who owns our digital footprint? I send an email and own it no more, NFT my weekly calendar crowdfund my personal assistant’s medical debt I google myself and find out I don’t exist.
I put my hopes and dreams in a spread sheet, data visualize I’m not where I want to be I want to be ME, I think put another fungible token into a digital piggy bank, press A3 and dispense an iced tea throw it back up unless you pay $3.99 a month.
I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave a message I’ll be sure to name my first child after the beep.
Kelly Lock Blurred-Out Line Across Time
Got a lime?
Trudging thru mimes
Isn’t that a sign to misalign?
Every penny for a straight-up dime
Baby, roll the dice
Reveal your vice
Oh, that’s just me playing nice
Is that a crime?
Or on the very edge of a thin drawn-out line?
Blowing up mines in my head I escape to my bed
Shut-eye, nightmares for the wary Dress up, cause it’s about to get scary
Oh—no time left to worry
So, let’s hurry
Or—is that just me getting dreary?
Gotta learn how to act ‘fine’ When I ran out of time
Covered in vines
Other than that fairy-tale lie I sigh
Was this based on design?
Lemme rewind—NO…
Let’s just say, I just RESIGNED.
Bleeding Heart
Leanne Machado
I’ve taken parts of my organs and spread them around, hoping the smell of blood and decay will bring you closer to me.
Last night, I buried my heart in a ditch surrounded by blue trees and a slow-flowing river. Today, I woke up with it on my pillow.
I do not want it. I left it buried there so that it would make its way to you.
You can feel it.
Smell the blood and feel how it pulsates its dying warmth through the air. It has an intuition unlike my own. It has a charming voice. It grows older each passing day. It smells like sunflowers, mint, flesh, and grapefruit.
I tore it out of my body, watched the blood drool and bubble out of my chest, coating my hand and dripping down my wrist in all of my red, loving warmth. I picked the prettiest spot I could think of to leave it for you. It’s in the backyard of my home, where the trees become magenta as the sun sets. I know this spot well. I often look out upon it from my window, tucked in the warmth of my blankets.
Itshouldbeeasytofind.
You are supposed to pick it up, take it with you, and then on the rare occasion I might leave the safety of my home, you’ll give it back to me. But the spot has been untouched, untampered, and my bloody heart lays on my pillow, still beating softly.
I sigh in annoyance, taking the organ, shoving it back into my chest. My chest cries even though it has been restored.
I’ve moved to a different city. There’s a spot outside my window that I stare at often, with a tall tree that harbors a family of crows that greet each other every night and every morning.
I’ll try again.
I’ll bury my beating heart out there instead.
Payattention,please.
Cycle of Pursuit
Phineas Mallon
In the corners of my mind
Eating away
Out of reach by design
Just myself and the void
I give in to the soundless chase
I grasp nothing just one more time
Calloused and worn my knuckles run
Over infinity
I push flesh and bone
For no exchange in equal sum
I cannot fall anymore
Always in the opposite corner
My opponent shows no face
For it will not turn
The enticing drivel turns soft and warm
The latter remains in eternity
But I am
Faced with reality
With no option but
The lesser
And I sit
An eternity away from progress
Counting Cars On Lake Washington Boulevard
Joan McBride
Parked on the street, we eat hamburgers from Burger Mart. Dad’s hand trembles up to his mouth—catsup dribbles down his t-shirt—blue eyes track passing cars
and I keep count of sedans, U-Haul’s, sports cars, and SUVs.
I say—Dad, the white Ford truck and he smiles look, a Subaru, he smiles.
I trick him & say Pontiac he says nawnawnaw.
When I count twenty convertibles I drive him back to the rest home where he will recline in his automatic bed with a view of the parking lot to thrill at the coming and going of cars until lights out.
Amiya McLean Decalcomania
I saw an impression of you on a distant horizon, mired red-gold in the halo of my mind’s eye, something holy. Something more, a possibility that might sprout, leap from my hand bruised peach seeking heaven. But when the seeds dripped from my palm, a shameful thing smeared away into a twist of paper towel there were no wings on my back, only dead skin and sweat rolled down the knobs of my spine. Join the pile of myself that I’d stripped away, fingernail clippings and long hairs collected from the shower drain, animal pretending to be clean. Your heart throbs in my chest and the rhythm sounds like the truth,
like a whisper that can’t be unheard: I’m scared.
Cast in the penumbra, the outline of something that might be a girl, a wealth of inexperience a gaping hole.
The heart stutters when it recognizes you—it’s scared but that gilded wing might’ve just been muscle, and the illusion of grandeur another promise unkept. I flew close enough to distant suns to breathe their kiss, hoping, all throughout, that Aphrodite would raise her pretty head.
That it was just a dream and I would wake up to you
but the sun crested the horizon once more with only my arms to hold me calcifying on a rotten moor.
Your Gifts
Zach Keali’i Murphy
You’ve given the worst birthday gifts, and I’ve kept all of them. There’s the crocodileshaped keychain that hasn’t left my key ring. Its sharp, pointy tail has torn holes through the pockets of all my pairs of pants. Sometimes, the tail even scrapes against my thigh until it bleeds. Then there’s the faulty leaf blower that doesn’t blow any air. I didn’t have the heart to tell you it didn’t work when I took it out of the box. So when you go out to eat lunch with your friends, I take out the secret leaf blower from the corner of the garage and clean up the yard. And then there’s the abstract painting you picked up from the local art fair. You were so excited to show it to me. We decided to hang it on our bedroom wall. When the moonlight shines through the crack of our blinds, the painting looks like a pair of demented eyes. When I wake up in the middle of the night, I try not to look at it. It gives me nightmares. I always told you how cool I thought that painting was because I knew how much you loved it.
And here I am, hunched over at the side of your hospital bed. You were just crossing the street. I don’t know what all of these beeping machines mean, but they sound like they’re designed to make someone worry. I wish I could hear your voice right now. You look as beautiful as always, like a sunset following the departure of an afternoon storm. You’ll be alright. I know you will. You’ll always be alright, right? You have to be. You’ll be alright forever. Forever. I’m thinking about your gifts. I’ll never be able to get rid of them. Never.
Frosty Fest
Joy Nashaat
Winter fright
Frosty might
White, white, white
Look out the window,
It’s all snow!
When will the sun present its show
And melt all that
White, white, white
Wait, I see a light shining from behind the trees
Onto the land of slippery freeze
I miss the blue ocean, yellow sand, cherry blossoms, and dry land
Yet it’s all
White, white, white!
Frosted Heart
Manmeet Oberoi & Dev Phung
I’m not the one with the sacred moon the blue of dusk the heavenly sky a winters dream a night kiss locks me into an embrace a cold winter’s night no bluer than you became intertwined with red orange yellow colors that don’t harmonize with the water surrounding me They create warmth when all I desire is your cold touch caressing my frosted cheek around my neck an ethereal whisper tells me
I’ve no right to mourn a celestial reverie a transient dream my inaction turned our heaven into embers withering away memories burn into the sky like waxed leaves They have no place with dawn no place with you I wish this sight this moonlit shiver never leaves will return to my frosted heart
“Don’t Cry”
Dylan J. Parrish
“Don’t cry,” they tell him with the best of intentions.
“Don’t cry,” they tell him without feeling the tension that lives in the spaces between three-year-old wails— the faltering breaths wherein connection prevails.
“Can I help you feel better? Do you want hugs from your dad? Can we practice deep breathing?
Do you just want to feel sad?”
I am too-close acquainted with the way that it feels to repress your own heartsong serving others’ appeals.
“Don’t cry,” they tell him when the tears start to pour, when they’ve not yet addressed what he’s crying for.
I want him to imprint in his heart, mind, and bones that he’s safe in these walls whatever feeling he shows.
“Don’t cry,” they tell him, but it’s starting to stick, for now, when they tell him, his answer comes quick
A memory I’ll cherish ‘til the day that I die: my son told them, defiant, “Daddy says I can cry.”
Dear Kyoto
Destin Pong
Can you remember when rickshaw wheels gave way to rubber tires?
Or when silk kimonos, adorned with golden threads, unraveled to weave sweaters, trousers, shirts, and coats? Frost that lines temples, now also graces foreign inventions. Is it true that traditions fade under new lights?
Or is it that along neon streets, history hovers, humming a century-old tune beneath our feet?
That as skyscrapers rise and smartphones glow, the click-clack of wooden sandals still echoes lantern-lit streets?
As time continues to slip by softly, and shadows meet old friends. Kyoto, can you remember how it all began?
Secrets
Anvita Prabhala
Would you like to know a secret?
The world is out to get us
Would you like to know another?
I love it with all my heart
The sky sings to me in the morning
And the trees whisper to me at night
Water runs happily all around
And the sun will warm all of us alike
Though the people may be strange
As I know strange strangers are
My intuition tells me
They, too, hold love in their hearts
Sad horse
Alyssa Quach
Princess Diana took to the sea on the diving board off the coast of Portofino. She sat at the edge her one-piece was blue below her blue tides and folds
The hot water machine sings because it hasn’t got a soul at midnight to an empty kitchen alone awkward above a pleasant volume
When its song ends the room is barren again
A tumbleweed passes through
In the still of a dark open field, the sheep-herding dog slips out from the main house
Across the expanse it’s moving through overgrown grass, smushing a soft even rush
The dog is black, short fur, all skin
It happens upon a puddle in the silt path that cuts through the field, and the dog is staring into itself
Up on its hind legs, it takes out a small tube and applies mascara neatly to both eyes starting from the tip of the lash and working down
The father was less wise once she learned how to read street signs He bows the top of his head into her torso like a sad horse and says that he’s old now
Some eastern a.m. light ascends behind the high-rises and it is warming the pale blue skyline with hot orange
Don’t
Look Back
Artemis Rickey
[Butwhatwouldpeoplethinkiftheyknew?]
It reflects poorly on us, our image,
Our perfect white-picket existence
No daughter is worth the consequence
Test the limits of her forgiveness
A death that only serves the living
A life lost lustre- hollow, diminished
[Butwhatwouldpeoplethinkiftheyknew?]
Shame is our great family tradition
A privilege gained without permission
A love turned black with superstition
Rotted trees, and dreams, refuse fruition
[Butwhatwouldpeoplethinkiftheyknew?]
Eurydice’s lover will always look back
In every lifetime. In every story. How could he trust her soul was intact
When we are powerless in the shadow of authority?
One must imagine Orpheus happy.
Roswell Sass
Egg-bound Silence
Krista Sawyer
hushes melt upon my tongue
saran-wrapped stillness keeps me fresh
speechless seconds, thickened substance peel the membrane from my brain fingers trapped in webs of yolk radiate my discomfort away
calcium carbonate vocal cords
throat-bound voices buried alive
oral cadavers fall between gaps of paralyzed teeth
seismic shocks shaken, not stirred silence seeps from fragile facades
(un)scripted moments swap between hands crack and we’ll be unappealing
curling edges
crushed body, morning coffee saysomething,anything!
R. James Sennett Jr.
tiptoes painting the floor but not whitewashing the mood of the moment. rich color shouts— life fleeing— barely perceptible, initially, then running with all haste to a finish line too polite for truth.
When
May I Go?
Caleb Short
Stars shone, cloudy-white like the eyes of the heavens within the death-green puddle, in groups of sevens.
The duck slumped like a brown hat of mine gazing from the clay and into the starshine.
A feather drifted from unknown heights, from beyond years of bygone nights.
The fellow pitifully quacked, the air reeked of plaque.
The pool quivered, the duck shivered.
He finally asked: “whenmayIgo?”
Castle Above the Sea
Aysha Siddiqui
Water hits rock
At the shore below
I watch the clash and fade
Droplets landing on my face from the impact
A leaf lands near my foot
The wind is fierce tonight
Lighting the air with discontent
A battle of wills between the branches
Cold dew and crisp air
Dark clouds roll above
Making angry noises
Or maybe that’s the creaking of my bones trying to escape
I’ve never been one for unrestraint
I hold the edges of my existence close
Even as pieces try to escape
I fear it is not enough
Not even a day like this
I’ve been spoiled, and reality before me
Lays flayed open waiting to be judged
The windows are open
Curtains and hair billowing
I feel alive now, one foot out
The other lingering in a fickle moment between choice.
Samiha Sohail Good Woman
Is the basis of everything
Birth, Life, Death, Love
That is in the hands of the
Good Woman
Is a stubborn weed to be pulled out
That does not fit with the environment
Yet the universe would not exist without the core of its mantle
Her mouth is a switch
It is controlled by Mount Qomolangma
Good Woman does not attempt to scale it
Death is cold and everywhere
She gets an uncomfortable warm feeling
Good Woman
Is lucky to be with Him
He is of great help
In her hands lay a seed only He can produce
Good Woman
Is the root of the tree
Is the navigator
She blows the seed in whichever direction He wills
Around her neck is a rope of twisted fiber
That coils itself around her feet
Good Woman
Is to blame for the shortcomings of the child
Her rose-colored lenses
Extend to the rest of her body
And her child, which is merely an extension of Good Woman is the blood in our veins, the capillaries in our eyes.
Notes of Sea, Sky, and Shore
Cora Thomas & Adam Lafayette
KukutaliPreserve,nearLaConner,WA
C=Cora,A=Adam
C A swan of clouds stretch across the sun-streaked sky
A Brim, pebble, barnacle, murmur, and crest the madrona blossoms
C Blackberry flowers and dips in the shadows
A Is it the weight of light or darkness that holds us against the moss?
C The cry of the eagle comes first and then wings of wind
A Lost in the salal the roots strangle the spring
C Worms rise with the sun and settle to the bumbles of bees
A Lament, gulls scowl the horns of trembling tides
C Do you live behind the fingernail moon?
C White as clouds like your hair turned streaked and scattered the sky
A From the shipwreck of sound the bard builds the isle, destroys his instrument, and worships the silence
C Lupine on the shores of salt, dreams of alpine whispers
A Clams pipe at my footsteps
Behind the Barre
Catalina Videla
The silver screen of mist lifted, unveiling a world, every inch feathered and seamless, in which I danced ceaselessly, my arms curving into wings of longing.
A world, every inch feathered and seamless, exceeding the body’s burden. My arms curving into wings of longing, fluttering behind bars of narrowing definitions.
Exceeding the body’s burden, I emptied myself out, piece by piece, each step lighter, fluttering behind bars of narrowing definitions: the perfection of a body splitting down the middle.
I emptied myself out, piece by piece, each step lighter as the vacant cavities shone under stage lighting, needing the perfection, my body splitting down the middle, gathering up the fallen pieces, gluing them back together.
As the vacant cavities shone under stage lighting, needing my salvaged limbs, the strings untorn, I limped away at last. Gathering up the fallen pieces, gluing them back together, I tried to arrange a better pattern, but it was no longer.
What Remains in the Void
Balter Wang
In the space of the void lies the land of memory. Flowers grow, tree still stands— the cherry blossoms, the leaves, or both— reaching for the edge of the space.
In the space of the void, silence was the only sound until the land hummed, the flora whispered, the tree creaked, a song of resistance, reaching for the notes of remembrance.
In the void where things are meant to be forgotten, yet It still stands: tattooed flowers on the inked land, A tree with fallen colors Reaching for the chance of tomorrow.
Celina Yu embroidery thread ball
The Basics
Huina Zheng
Since I was little, I’d hear my grandmother scold my mother, saying she brought bad luck upon the family by getting her period on her wedding day. Less than six months later, my father died in a highway accident. Back then, I didn’t understand what “difference between men and women” meant, nor did I know what “menstrual blood” was, but I already knew it was something unclean, the source of misfortune.
When I got my first period, I learned not to say the word outright. You called it trouble, or bad luck. It wasn’t to be seen or spoken of. Pads had to be hidden in black plastic bags. Grandma said that during those days I couldn’t enter the ancestral hall, or pay respect to our ancestors. A woman’s underwear mustn’t hang where men walk beneath it, and never near the family altar. So many can’ts. They clung to my adolescence like paper talismans plastered across my body. Funny, for a girl who could never memorize her multiplication tables, I remembered every rule perfectly. I also remembered every word Grandma used to curse my mother, and the way she looked at me afterward. Outwardly, I obeyed. But I hid used pads under Grandma’s bed, in her pillowcase, at the back of her wardrobe. While nodding sweetly, I rebelled in silence, wondering if these unclean things might bring her the misfortune she so feared.
My mother never said a word about what I did. But now, when she calls, she keeps reminding me: when my daughter starts her period, I must teach her “the basics,” which, of course, are anything but basic. She goes on and on, while my attention drifts toward the TV, where the male and female leads flirt under soft light.
Right after I hang up, my eleven-year-old daughter comes home and says her best friend got her period today. I stare at her, tongue-tied, before finally asking, “How do you know?”
She shrugs, casual as can be. “She told me.”
Then she starts listing, like reading a report card, the names of classmates who have already gotten theirs. So ordinary. So light. As if she were born without the concept of shame. As if menstruation were nothing more than another A on her exam.
Gahm-sah-hahm-nee-dah
Madeleine Bae
Tin Foil, Mod Podge, Newsprint, Gesso, Acrylic Paint, Hot Glue, Wooden Low-Rise Table
Screen Print
MaKayla Badger
Whispers of the Past
Akhila Bourampeta
Watercolor and Pastel Pencils on Watercolor Paper
KωaKωati∙buks
Julian Carrick
Mixed Media
Idolize Joyce Cha
Acrylic on Canvas
Unblurred
Vani Chhikara
Digital Photography
For Dug
Marissa Gubbels
Oil Painting on Panel
Self portrait
Bryan Henning
Charcoal and Indian Ink
El Lleó de Barcelona
Adrian Olivas Hermosillo
Digital Photography
Merits of Witchcraft
Aundreah Jenkins
Digital Illustration
Autumn
Marta Korniichuk
Ikebana
Golden Reflections
Ava Ladiges
Digital Photography
In Outer Space
Raymond Leung
Digital Mixed Media
Evergreen
Alex Liao
Calligraphy Ink
Bird
Gerald Liu
Digital Photography
City Nights
Toby Limberis
Digital Art
Soulbound Sydney Lok Mixed Media
Pitcher Plant
Elena Meshinchi
Ceramic Pottery
Rooster in the Garden
Chandramathi Murugadass Watercolor on Paper
our afterlives phase through
Art
Amy Nguyen
Digital
Radiant
Jennifer Nguyen
Digital Illustration
Crimson Fragmentation
Manmeet Oberoi, Dev Phung, and Joseph Gacula
Digital Photography & Poetry
Bing Wu’s Ascent
Diana Popescu
Digital Illustration
Sun’s Fading Light
Digital Photography
Anoop Prasad
the Curtain
Behind
Vitoria Ramos
Collage
Pretty Blemishes
Heidi Ryu
Digital Illustration
said & done
Tiare Scholtz
Digital Photography
Nightclub, from the series Neon Nightlife
Starry
Lillian Senzek
Acrylic on Canvas
Gator Damage
Selenia Stock
Costume & Special Effects
Valentine 2026
Andrew Grant Stone
Linoleum Block Print and Wet-On-Wet Acrylic on Paper
Space Needle
Sofina Trotter Pen on Paper
Botanica surrealism
Digital Photography
Cedrick Tsongo
Emerald Tyson-Adams Mixed Media
Balter Wang
Digital Photography
In Search of Life
Estrella Wasankari
Digital Collage
Tengu Suerte (Self Portrait)
Vincent Zink
Digital Illustration
Biographies
L. Ward Abel
L. Ward Abel’s work has appeared in hundreds of journals (Rattle, Versal, The Reader, Galway Review, Sand Hills Literary Review, Worcester Review, Main Street Rag, others), and he is the author of four full collections and eleven chapbooks of poetry, including Green Shoulders— New and Selected Poems 2003–2023 (Silver Bow, 2023), and The Teller’s Road (Bottlecap, 2025). He is a retired lawyer and teacher of literature, he writes and plays music, and lives in rural Georgia.
Khadeeja Anzar
Khadeeja Anzar is a student and writer who explores themes of memory, place, and quiet emotional landscapes. Her work often reflects on absence, identity, and the spaces people leave behind.
Asia Ashley-Emerson
Asia Ashley-Emerson is a writer, artist, and facilitator from Chicago whose work explores interiority and resilience. She is an Imagining America Publicly Active Graduate Education (PAGE) Fellow, a national fellowship that supports publicly engaged scholars and artists committed to community-based research and creative practice. Through writing, workshops, and event curation, Asia creates immersive experiences that invite discovery and collective liberation. Her poetry investigates how the expression of lived experience can nurture human connection, often blending music, images, immersive art, and gastronomy. Her work has been featured in Hugo House’s Chapbook, Clamor Literary Magazine, and on her website at www. AsiaAshley.com.
Madeleine Bae
The way to a person’s heart is through their stomach, I find communion through food within my family. I find it’s a time where all physical sensations are being met and comforted while also sharing the history of culture. Being born first generation to both immigrant parents, I have always felt a disconnect with my Korean heritage while also being heavily westernized. I work through processes of grief and exploration of my heritage through my pieces of work to hopefully feel more connected and share that connection with others.
MaKayla Badger
MaKayla is a Marketing student at UW Bothell who hopes to find a career at the intersection of art and business.
Akhila Bourampeta
Akhila Bourampeta is a pre-med student at the University of Washington, majoring in Biology, with plans to pursue an MD. Alongside her academic work, she has a strong passion for visual art, especially sketching and painting. She has participated in various art competitions, including advancing to district-level judging in the National PTA Arts Recognition Program and being selected for the Creative Kids Virtual Art Exhibition. Akhila also enjoys teaching art to children by helping them explore creativity through shading, sketching, and color theory. She loves combining her love for science and art to share stories and create moments of joy.
Julian Carrick
Julian is a member of the Makah Indian Nation in Neah Bay, Washington, he has a passion for cultural art. He has been singing and dancing native songs since he was five years old.
Joyce Cha
Joyce Cha is a sophomore majoring in Health Studies, previously studying Biology. She creates art primarily through sketching with reference images, using it as a way to express emotions and explore her skills. Drawing helps her feel grounded and confident, and she often returns to it to process personal experiences. Joyce’s work reflects her interest in identity, self-expression, and the ways visual art can communicate feelings that are difficult to put into words. She continues to develop her artistic practice alongside her academic pursuits, focusing on projects that combine technical skill with meaningful themes.
Vani Chhikara
Vani Chhikara is an undergraduate studying Interdisciplinary Arts at UWB and is an emerging visual artist whose work explores moments of quiet emotion within everyday environments. Through her work, she seeks to create images that feel intimate, reflective, and grounded in lived experience.
Evelyn Frankforter
Evelyn Frankforter is a Seattle-based writer and artist. Her work frequently focuses on memory, guilt, and deeply flawed characters. She is currently working on her debut novel. For inquiries, contact her at EvelynFrankforter@gmail.com. Or on Instagram at @evefrankforter.
Morgan Fu-Mueller
Morgan Fu-Mueller is a Psychology/LEPP double major, an artist, a writer, and a prolific yaoiposter. He works at the Writing Center, on the CROW Board, and with panache. His work is about love and fanwork, in all forms and disciplines. You can find him on Instagram @gaming. phd.
John Grey
John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident recently published in Shift, River And South and Flights. His latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. He had work upcoming in Rush, Writer’s Block and Trampoline.
Marissa Gubbels
Marissa is a 22-year-old interdisciplinary artist and aspiring voice actress based in the Pacific Northwest. With an artistic style rooted in realism, she creates art that has a positive and emotional impact on others. As a recent graduate from the University of Washington, Bothell with a BA in Arts, she channels her love of music, art, and storytelling as a visual effects artist for concert stages. Whether painting animals, creating visuals, or giving voice to characters, she centers her work on empathy and connection. Outside of art, she enjoys figure skating, traveling, and time with her dogs, Juno and Periwinkle.
Bryan Henning
Bryan Henning is an undergraduate student at University of Washington, Bothell, studying Interdisciplinary Arts and Media & Communication Studies. He is an artist working to build his portfolio and expand into more creative mediums and endeavors. In his free time when he isn’t making art or music, he enjoys hanging out with his cat Mochi and exploring Seattle with his friends.
Ann Howells
Ann Howells was raised in Chesapeake Bay. In 1979, she moved to Texas, where she edited Illya’s Honey for eighteen years. Her most recent books are: So Long As We Speak Their Names (Kelsay Books, 2019) about Chesapeake Bay watermen, and Painting the Pinwheel Sky (Assure Press, 2020) which are persona poems in the voice of Van Gogh. Two chapbooks were published through contests: Black Crow in Flight, Editor’s Choice in Main Street Rag’s 2007 competition and Softly Beating Wings as the 2017 William D. Barney winner (Blackbead Books). Ann’s work appears in many small press and university journals. She is a multiple Pushcart nominee.
Sukai Hydara
Sukai Hydara is a Gambian Muslim writer whose work moves through grief, love, and becoming. She writes about memory, family, and the ways people keep going after change. Sukai is a CSS major at the University of Washington, Bothell.
Luis Javier
Luis Javier is a big nerd who likes nerdy stuff. Please send him your favorite album at your earliest convenience so that he may judge you intensely.
Aundreah Jenkins
Aundreah Jenkins is an illustrative designer living in Western Washington. She has been featured in multiple art journals and is set to graduate from the University of Washington in Spring quarter. She primarily illustrates digitally, but occasionally utilizes photography and other traditional mediums.
Cisco Jimenez
Cisco Jimenez is a senior Environmental Studies student at UWB who is passionate about protecting the environment and creating a sustainable future. They are also a young adult cancer survivor and advocate for others facing similar challenges.
Erik Keevan
Erik Keevan is a writer, poet, and digital artist living in Seattle, WA. Erik serves as the chair for HWA Seattle, President of Gamut literary series, and writer for the Victorian horror troupe Phantasmagoria. His work has been featured in Horror Tree’s Trembling with Fear series, Clamor Literary and Arts Journal, was a finalist in Quillkeeper Press’ Chapbook contest, and won the 2025 Camp Crypticon writing contest for best horror story. He is currently in the second year of his MFA in Creative Writing and Poetics at University of Washington to make sure he becomes sufficiently pretentious. Find his work and more about upcoming reading events at www.erikkeevan.me, or on Instagram at @ekeevan.
Marta Korniichuk
Hi, my name is Marta Korniichuk, and I’m majoring in Accounting at UW Bothell. I enjoy bringing beauty to spaces through the art of flower arranging. Creating and taking care of flowers has always been a way of expressing myself.
Ava Ladiges
Ava Ladiges is a creative individual with a keen interest in literature and photography. She enjoys both forms of expression in her free time and uses both as an emotional outlet. She draws much of her inspiration from nature and growing up in the Pacific Northwest. In her free time, Ava enjoys reading pieces from authors who inspire her, such as Ottessa Moshfegh and Peter Heller.
Raymond Leung
Raymond Leung is an undergraduate student at the University of Washington, Bothell, majoring in Interdisciplinary Arts with minors in Visual & Media Arts and Creative Writing.
Alex Liao
Alex Liao, a UW Bothell student with an intended major in mechanical engineering, started drawing as a hobby three years ago. He drew “Evergreen” as part of a drawing series for an Introduction to Drawing class at UW Bothell.
Toby Limberis
Tobias Limberis is an illustrator that specializes in digital and pencil art. He has a strong passion for visual storytelling in the form of comics.
Gerald Liu
Gerald takes photos of birds (Instagram: @geraldliuphoto).
Kelly Lock
Kelly Lock is an aspiring Biochemistry/Biomedical Scientist with the flair of an Artist.
Sydney Lok
Sydney Lok is a graduating senior at the University of Washington, Bothell, pursuing a degree in Media and Communications and Digital Media arts. While she specializes in film and photography, sculpture and presentation has allowed her to go beyond the bounds of reality to express and encapsulate her worldview in fantastical ways as well as explore her creativity.
Phineas Mallon
Phin is a senior at UW Bothell, graduating with a degree in Interdisciplinary Arts. Phin is a Washington native, growing up just south of campus. Phin has always enjoyed writing and the outdoors and looks forward to starting a professional career in the coming year.
Leanne Machado
Leanne Machado is a cosmic and speculative horror-fiction writer who loves creating horror out of the average world. She is constantly inspired by video games (particularly indie), horror novels, her dreams, and mundane objects of her everyday life. She is published in University of Washington Bothell’s 2025 Clamor Literary and Arts Journal.
Joan McBride
Joan McBride’s poems previously appeared in Rattle, Raven Chronicles, Sky Island Journal, Nightshade, and Clamor. She holds a MFA degree from Spalding University. Joan is a retired elected official from state and city government and lives in Kirkland, Washington where she served as mayor and married her wife.
Amiya McLean
Amiya McLean is a Seattle-based author/artist who has been writing poetry in her Notes app since she learned about emotions in middle school. She has since upgraded to using metaphors and parallel structure through lots of practice. In her free time, she likes taking portrait photography, reading, and working on her novel.
Elena Meshinchi
Elena Ruhieh Meshinchi is an Iranian-American ceramic artist who lives and works primarily in the West Seattle area. She makes organic work, both wheel-thrown and hand built, that explores themes of balance and flow. Her body of work has been exhibited in several studios and events, including the juried West Seattle Art Tour this past September. When Meshinchi isn’t making pots, she enjoys teaching classes, reading books, and hanging out with her cat.
Zach Keali’i Murphy
Zach Keali’i Murphy is a Hawaii-born writer with a background in cinema. His stories appear in Raritan Quarterly, Reed Magazine, The Coachella Review, Bamboo Ridge, Another Chicago Magazine, The Vassar Review, FOLIO, and more. He has published the chapbook Tiny Universes (Selcouth Station Press). He lives with his wonderful wife, Kelly, in St. Paul, Minnesota.
Chandramathi Murugadass
A small town girl now doing my masters in computer science. I love arts and crafts. It’s one thing that helps take my mind off from the world and go into a parallel dimension which is more colorful and creative. I love how the colors blend with each other in a myriad of ways.
Joy Nashaat
Joy Nashaat is a poet who writes from emotion and experience, creating work that resonates through shared feelings.
Amy Nguyen
Amy Nguyen is a senior undergraduate at University of Washington, Bothell, majoring in Media & Communications with a minor in Visual Arts. They make digital art in their spare time, all with a dash of bright purple.
Jennifer Nguyen
Jenn is a digital illustrator and WEBTOON Canvas Creator of “BitterSuite ” who has been an artist for a decade. COVID gave her a chance to discover the digital art world and led to getting her first drawing tablet. She drew digitally on and off for years, sometimes taking yearlong breaks due to artblock. Skipping to college, she reignited her love for digital art and has been inspired to become an artist that her younger self would look up to.
Gary Norris
He is a hiker and a writer, a photographer, and a fool, but most people call him Gary. Though a fool he may be, he thinks at times it takes a fool to change the world.
Manmeet Oberoi, Dev Phung, and Joseph Gacula
Manmeet Oberoi is an undergraduate student at UW Bothell, majoring in Culture, Literature, and the Arts. They enjoy writing literature and reading novels and have long desired to become a literature teacher. Dev Phung is an undergraduate student at UW Bothell, majoring in Interdisciplinary Art. They enjoy making art and writing poetry in their spare time. Joseph Gacula is an undergraduate student at UW Bothell, majoring in Applied Computing. In their free time, they enjoy video editing, playing video games, and listening to music.
Adrian Olivas Hermosillo
Adrian Olivas Hermosillo is a 21-year-old business student at the University of Washington Bothell who enjoys documenting the world through photography. His goal is to travel more of the world and experience new things.
Dylan J. Parrish
Dylan J. Parrish is a software engineer, poet, and photographer. After a fifteen-year hiatus from poetry, he has returned to the craft with a focus on family, emotional vulnerability, and moral witness. His interdisciplinary work explores the intersection of verse and image through his Instagram project, @stanzas_in_stillframe.
Destin Pong
Destin Pong is currently a student studying Business Administration at the University of Washington Bothell. As an amateur writer, he enjoys expressing his personal experiences on paper, using words to transform everyday moments into vivid reflections that invite viewers to see the world through new eyes.
Anvita Prabhala
Anvita Prabhala is a fourth-year undergraduate psychology student at UW Bothell. She is very fond of the written word, and writes both poems and short stories in her free time. Most of these works have underlying themes involving relationships between people and cycles, both stagnant and changed.
Anoop Prasad
Anoop Prasad is a Master’s in Computer Science & Software Engineering graduate student. Beyond technical work, he enjoys photography in his free time, and loves giving others a window into his perspective on the world and its beauty.
Diana Popescu
Diana is an IAS major dedicated to spending her free time drawing, writing, exploring nature, and watching shows. She enjoys creating original characters inspired by mythology and culture, often blending storytelling with visual art. Driven by curiosity, she’s always exploring new stories, ideas, and perspectives.
Alyssa Quach
Alyssa Quach is a writer, journalist, and dancer. She studies literature and urban design at UW Seattle.
Vitoria Ramos
Vitoria Ramos is a queer poet, writer, medievalist, and capricorn. She is currently pursuing an MFA in the Creative Writing and Poetics program at UW Bothell. Vitoria often writes about the body as another body in nature. She finds inspiration in the world and beyond.
Artemis Rickey
Artemis likes their cats, music, and sleeping in. They’re almost always thinking about Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, or the end of capitalism.
Heidi Ryu
Heidi Ryu really liked to draw since she was young and currently wants to pursue art. She is in her first year at UW Bothell and loves all kinds of mediums of art! She started an art account last year on Instagram to show others her work and processes and would love to work with traditional art more!
Roswell Sass
Roswell Sass (they/them) is a UWB senior who enjoys poetry and digital art. They like literature studies and environmental conservation, and aspires to be a librarian. If they had a character motif, it would probably be fish.
Krista Sawyer
Krista Sawyer (she/her) is a fiction writer whose work explores the intersection of psychological fiction, magical realism, and “whimsical horror.” Writing across both poetry and prose, she is particularly interested in formal experimentation and the ways narrative structure can shape emotional experience. She is currently an MFA candidate in Creative Writing and Poetics at the University of Washington Bothell. Her work has appeared in Silly Goose Press, Hyperfocus Horror, and The Corvus Review, among many others. As a queer writer, she is committed to centering voices and experiences often excluded from dominant narratives. Her Instagram is @krista_corinne.
Tiare Scholtz
Tiare Scholtz, born and raised in Hawai’i, is a senior at University of Washington Bothell studying Interdisciplinary Arts. She enjoys other creative practices and hobbies, such as dancing and crocheting. She hopes to work in video game design after graduation.
R. James Sennett Jr.
R. James Sennett Jr lives, works, breathes and chases his muse in Louisville, Kentucky. His poetry has appeared in numerous publications for which he is grateful.
Lillian Senzek
Lillian (she/her) is an artist, writer, bassist, and silly goose whose work often draws on her experiences as a queer neurodivergent person and/or her love of bright colors. She completed her B.A. in Psychology in Winter 2026 and plans to attend graduate school with the end goal of becoming some sort of therapist... But for now, she’s pursuing her childhood dream of creating a graphic novel! She also does freelance work and can be reached at lillian.senzek.art@gmail. com while she’s in the process of making her online portfolio.
Aysha Siddiqui
Aysha Siddiqui is a junior at UW Bothell. She loves art, poetry, and nature.
Caleb Short
Someone who likes gardening and games.
Selenia Stock
Selenia Stock is a UW Bothell student pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Gender, Women, and Sexuality Studies. Cosplay is a hobby that Selenia has enjoyed for several years and is a creative outlet that allows her to dive into multiple mediums.
Andrew Grant Stone
Andrew Grant Stone is a lifelong Washington resident, artist, and an alumni of UW Bothell (2013).
Samiha Sohail
Samiha Sohail sincerely believes in the power of visual art and literature to deconstruct Eurocentric views on sex and gender within her own community and to highlight new perspectives. She identifies herself as a Muslim member of the Indian diaspora.
Cora Thomas and Adam Lafayette
Cora Thomas and Adam Lafayette are poets inspired by the mountains and rivers of the Skagit Valley, taking their journals with them on hiking adventures. Their work has been featured in regional publications and they have worked to strengthen literacy and community through the Skagit River Poetry Foundation.
Sofina Trotter
Sofina Trotter is a student who creates ink/graphite drawings. Her work often features architectural subjects and uses techniques such as pointillism or scribble shading. She is primarily a musical artist but occasionally explores visual and textile-based art alongside her music practice.
Cedrick Tsongo
Cedrick Tsongo is a Congolese artist currently based in the United States for his studies and has a particular interest in visual art, especially photography. Through his work, he wants us to think deeper about the language behind each of his projects, whether it’s tight to emotions, faith, selfinterpretation, and/or abstraction. Indeed, he encourages us to see intersectionality as a whole to understand humankind, and explore the limitless possibilities of our own creativity. By creating his own language through art, he gives us the space to think deeply about our sensibility toward aesthetics and symbolism.
Emerald Tyson-Adams
Emerald Tyson-Adams is a multi-disciplinary artist that enjoys working in many mediums such as digital and film photography, video, creative writing, analog and digital collage, as well as installation art. She is always looking for ways to reimagine the world, change her viewpoints, and learn through visual mediums and written communication.
Catalina Videla
Catalina Videla is a senior majoring in Creative Writing and minoring in Dance at the University of Washington. When she is not absorbed in a book or writing stories and poetry, she enjoys spending time outdoors and finding inspiration in nature.
Balter Wang
Balter is currently a senior student in UWB who enjoys photography and photo editing.
Estrella Wasankari
Estrella is an artist who specializes in collage work. She enjoys working with the magazine medium and combining images together to form a new narrative. She likes to collage images of life and nature.
Celina Yu
Celina Yu is an alumni of UW Bothell.
Huina Zheng
Huina Zheng holds an M.A. with Distinction in English Studies and works as a college essay coach. Her creative work has been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and other literary journals. She has received multiple nominations, including four Best of the Net and five Pushcart Prize, and one for Best Small Fictions. She lives in Guangzhou, China with her family.
Vincent Zink
Vincent Zink is a Queer, Washington-based digital artist with a heavy interest in fantastical and historical art and fashion around the globe.
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107. Rayyan Salem, Letters Unsent, Creative Writing
108. Rob Sienna, #1714: Loving Life Assiduously Heals a Wounded Heart, Creative Writing
109. Esmeralda Simon-Hernandez, Duplex: Settling for Steeping, Creative Writing
110. Samiha Sohail, Sewing Kit of Silk and Flesh, Creative Writing
111. Samiha Sohail, Rice, Creative Writing
112. Jerimiah Stilley, Burden, Creative Writing
113. Andrew Grant Stone, Valentine 2021, Visual Art
114. Nikki Susanto, Catching Up, Audio Art
115. Winola Tan, Departure, Visual Art
116. Ashley Tsang, Eternal Bloom, Visual Art
117. Cedrick Tsongo, Hot Air Balloon, Visual Art
118. Cedrick Tsongo, Silent witnesses, Visual Art
119. Emerald Tyson-Adams, Heavenly Miscommunication, Visual Art
120. Emerald Tyson-Adams, The Cage of Transactional Identity, Visual Art
121. Jonathan Chibuike Ukah, The sacrament, Creative Writing
122. Jonathan Chibuike Ukah, My Sister Lives in the Sky, Creative Writing
123. Jonathan Chibuike Ukah, Someone Will Remember Me, Creative Writing
124. Aleksandra Uspenskaia, To be Loneliness, Creative Writing
125. Catalina Videla, Reaching, Creative Writing
126. Catalina Videla, Birthday Wishes, Creative Writing
127. Mariela Videla, Between Colors, Creative Writing
128. Sofiia Volokitina, Saving me, killing me, Creative Writing
129. Annika Weber, Wolves, Orcas, Otters, and Grandparents, Creative Writing
130. Aaliyah N. Winter, Pandora’s Heart (Under My Bed), Creative Writing
131. Audrey Yang, Their Echo in My Hands, Visual Art
132. Myo Zaw, Towering Needle, Visual Art
133. Vincent Zink, Temper, Visual Art
Celebrating Twenty Years
In honor of our twentieth year anniversary, these pieces were personally curated by the editors of the Clamor’s 2026 edition as our sincerest appreciation to all of those who have contributed to our previous journals. Thank you all for your continuous support and engagement. Your passion for visual art, creative writing, audio, and video art has always driven us to make Clamor possible, especially in times like these, where we face many unprecedented challenges.
It is our hope that you in the audience will find these works to be as enchanting as we did!
Jonathon Friedman, Fermata, Creative Writing (2007)
Rodney-Dean Smiley, Flavor of the Month/Pick Your Pleasure, Visual Art (2007)
Jessica Lee, Expectations, Creative Writing (2008)
Joann Comerford, Executing a Work of Art, Visual Art (2008)
Crystal Sackman, With You, Creative Writing (2009)
Emily Lee, Portrait of a Town with Boats, Visual Art (2009)
Cate Foster, Conversation, Creative Writing (2010)
Sebastian Aryana, Iron Tree and Stairway, Visual Art (2010)
Amanda Martin Sandino, Gardner of Xibalba, Creative Writing (2011)
Harmony Gonty, Gazing, Visual Art (2011)
Cora Lee Thomas, When I am Gone, Creative Writing (2012)
Shahrzad Mahmoudi, Star, Visual Art (2012)
Breanne Anderson, Looking at a Road Map, Creative Writing (2013)
Dana Doran, Fall, Visual Art (2013)
Heather Miles, Haunt, Creative Writing (2014)
Marinna Ewing, Vanishing Existence, Visual Art (2014)
September Thorlin, Ghostwriter, Creative Writing (2015)
Jonathan Matteson, Untitled #7 – FUSIONS, Visual Art (2015)
Sin Wu, Illogical, Visual Art (2016)
Corbin Louis, Rag Doll, Creative Writing (2016)
Rania Elshamma, Her, Creative Writing (2017)
Senglong Ngor, Reflection Of Innocence, Visual Art (2017)
Katherine Cole, Collectively Listening, Creative Writing (2018)
Beza Ayele, College - Collage, Visual Art (2018)
Mariam Khodr, Privilege, Creative Writing (2019)
Linh Hoang, Tiger’s Nest Monastery, Visual Art (2019)
Kiana Dolam, My Favorite Color Was You, Creative Writing (2020)
Vivan Mak, Silkworm, Visual Art (2020)
Abigail Mandlin, I Gave My Innocence to a Psychiatrist, Creative Writing (2021)
Samira Rodol, Tiny Moments, Visual Art (2021)
Nicolette Natividad, Hanahaki Disease, Creative Writing (2022)
Zhewen Chen, Dreaming of being back home, Visual Art (2022)
Anja Marlene Hanson, Seeing alone, Creative Writing (2023)
Tiffany Marie Miller, Don’t pick me up, Visual Art (2023)
Elisa Balabram, Absence, presence, absence, Creative Writing (2024)
Natalie Alvis, Unraveling II, Visual Art (2024)
Rajbir Singh Sandhu, Things That Should Last Forever, Creative Writing (2025)
Aundreah Jenkins, Seeds Marked for the Cosmos, Visual Art (2025)