Driftwood Creative Arts Journal - Shortened Version

FROM THE EDITORS

Dear Reader,

I have been a part of Driftwood for three years – working as a staff member, assistant editor, and now, current co-editor in chief. Over the course of this time, I noticed that a majority of the submissions we received played with themes of memory, longing, and the disparity between our past and present. In other words, Driftwood’s contributors have been continually inspired by the phenomenon of nostalgia.

The journal you hold in your hands contains graduation photos and boyhood prayers. Our contributors have discovered the memory of loved ones in hummingbird flight and concretized scared moments in peels of clementine. Stages of life, friendships, roommates, hopes, loves — all these things that come and go – are captured again in still lifes and snapshots and stories about rosary beads and grandma’s house and rainfall. We hope these works of art make you smile like they made us smile. That they break your heart in just the right places. That they fill you with (you guessed it) –nostalgia

In the words of Jenna Rink in 13 going on 30 –

“Let’s put life back into the magazine. And fun and laughter and silliness . . . I think all of us wanna feel something that we’ve forgotten or turned our backs on. Because maybe we didn’t realize how much we were leaving behind. We need to remember what used to be good. If we don’t, we won’t recognize it even if it hits us between the eyes.”

Lastly, this journal would not be possible without the creative genius of your layout editor – Kylie Silkwood, the wisdom of Dr. Katie Manning, the hard work of our wonderful staff, and the loveliness that is my fellow co-editor: Jordan Stokes. Without her supports there would be no Andrew Hozier and there would be no Driftwood.

With love and light, Aliah Fabros

Dear Reader,

At the height of my historical fixation on the Titanic, I wrote a sloppy, stagnant stanza poem that I submitted for my 5th-grade poetry competition. I did not place. I wasn’t completely crushed by this face-slapping rejection because, for me, my fascination with stories and history and words alone is what made writing worth it. One compassionate judge scribbled two words on the back of my college-ruled notebook paper: Keep writing. So I did!

Over the course of a semester, Point Loma students have put together this special edition of Driftwood, made up entirely of student, alumni, and faculty work. It ranges from poetry, nonfiction, fiction, visual art, photography, and music—all tying together to make this wonderful creative arts journal. Driftwood, WRI2016, literary magazine workshop—the many faces of it—has been mine and others’ opportunity to keep writing. To keep reading. To keep underlining and highlighting all the words we can. I hope that anyone reading this journal can find their Keep writing—whatever that may look like.

This edition of Driftwood wouldn’t be possible without our amazing layout editor and glue of the journal, Kylie Silkwood. Thank you to Dr. Katie Manning for not only dealing with but encouraging our antics all semester. And lastly, a very special thank you to my lovely co-editor and academic rival, Aliah Fabros. This semester wouldn’t be what it was without Huevos Rancheros Tuesdays and you.

Toodles, Jordan Stokes

DESIGNERS STATEMENT

Driftwood: A Creative Arts Journal. A log of raw feelings, emotions, art, accidents, stories, and everything in between. It is a magnifying glass into the heart of its contributors, and perhaps a reflection mimicking the thoughts of its readers. It is a purposefully placed together decollage, meant to build a connection with each individual that may cross its path.

Your eye may catch onto my methodical rhythm which has been laid out for you in plain sight. My sign to you may be found through some photographs that fill the ins and outs of this journal; those of which are traced with a bright mark. Pay close attention, for these may spark a memory of your own; provoking a sensation of nostalgia, reflecting all that Driftwood has been described to be.

Design Editor, Kylie Silkwood

PAGE 59

First Place

PAGE 165 First Place

PAGE 91

First Place

Reyna Huff Borders

Sierra Hill

The Cat that Killed Itself

Milla Kuiper

Gone Friend

PAGE 114

First Place visual art

PAGE 68

First Place photography

PAGE 195 Directory

A Far Cry from Finished

Anika Poulsen

Lake Stevens

Tessa Balc

GENRE WINNERS

NONFICTION

First Place

Reyna Huff Borders

Second Place

Eden Bombino Chasing Gold

FICTION

First Place

Sierra Hill

The Cat that Killed Itself

Second Place

Amelie Nail Wildflowers

Third Place

Elaine Alfaro You Take the Leftovers

Third Place

Christabel Green Land of Wanes

POETRY

First Place

Milla Kuiper Gone Friend

Second Place

Tessa Balc Porcelain Sarcophagus

VISUAL ART

First Place

Anika Poulsen Lake Stevens

Second Place

Ashley Velazquez Hiraeth

PHOTOGRAPHY

First Place

Tessa Balc

A Far Cry from Finished

Second Place

Milla Kuiper

Muse

Third Place

Soren Schramm The Only Spiritual Encounter to be had in Your Life

Third Place

Jane Clark St. Rita

Third Place

Lilly Corcoran

Sapphire Applies Makeup

DRIFTWOOD

The Only Spiritual Encounter to be Had in Your Mid-Life

Soren Schramm

I went to visit my fathers grave. He was gentle and warm, listened to all I had to offer.

The way that life with Annie seems to slip into the simple joy of just looking at each other— in the way only a married couple can.

The mornings with pancakes, waffles and Saturday cartoons, glasses of orange juice in sippy cups. Bedtime stories read by a green lamp, wearing footie pajamas with dinosaurs on them. Going to soccer games and gossiping with parents on lawn chairs as the children run into one another— their heads too large for their bodies.

As the sparrows played high above us he asked me why I held onto the feeling of missing something, when it was so clear to him the fullness of it all. I laughed out of spite. Looking at the vase of daffodils, the marble slate. You fool, I am missing something.

Just a few steps away someone had left the peels of a clementine. I held the folds of the shape in my hands and blessed them. Laying them at the place where I prayed.

Leftovers

Soren Schramm

It’s September

And the figs smell

Of rotten promises

Squishing beneath my feet.

I sit on the bench

Watching the sailboats

The hands pulling them

Tried and knotted.

I sneak a smile at a baby

And think of throwing rocks

At the mother who sits on her phone

Scrolling through garbage.

Maybe I’ll split a cigarette with him

We can talk about wanting something

Just beyond our reach,

Something we can’t name.

RUAH

Josiah Roberts

Portrait of Christ as the Father in a Korean Zombie Film

Katie Manning

A Review of Train to Busan (with spoilers)

1But this sacrifice seems so unnecessary! you think. Did the Powers-That-Be just decide that this made for the most exciting end? When he knows he has to die, he spreads his arms, thinks of your face, and gives himself up1 so you can walk into what’s left of the world, singing until you meet again.

The Cross

Laura Shull

Porcelain Sarcophagus

Tessa Balc

The ripened day spills into the ever-present cyclical flood

For what feels flies above When what flutters falls I find everything and nothing

Absence in a hue of rouge Impermanent tomb hold me

While I find my face in the flower

Taking into consideration the tender nature I may possess Only in time might I inherit The temperament of a tree

Katie Jane Clark

Onwards

Blake Anderson

At the end of a rope

Braided by Syrian royalty

And Mexican gunrunners

She is perched at the edge of the bed

A crooked spine

And eyes like decadent football fields

Sit in opposition

The dotted protuberance peeks through

Black tattered curtain

Like glandular snare drum

Drowning in oil

This is how I leave

Her moon tearing free

From her orbit

From her liminal charade

To watch cities dilate

Dead is the pathetic propitiator

Dead is the pro bono crony

Dead is the use for carpool lanes

An empty mind as a monument

To a healthy heart

Uninspired and overstimulated

By insouciant peninsula

Dodging blonde indifference

Wrestling with strange memories

And hopscotching across

A nostalgic minefield

Halfway hoping

To find you

In the same condition

I find myself

Tired Wings

Josiah Roberts

It is good to fly together. For the wind rips and to become extended wing— to act as one colossal beast upon the sky, to break skies in front, protecting those behind, to fall back within the flock and glide on filtered wind— there you find the power, the bond of give and given.

But it is good to fly alone. For the wind still tears your withered wings, and though no answer given, you will know the achievement of despair.

You will know the solitude that stretches beyond the sky. You will know the endurance of self-reliance— the ache for another.

Muse

Milla Kuiper

Nostalgia

Amelie Nail

Creeps in from the cobwebs of my mind. Memories I’ve long since set aside in place of arrogant newcomers.

Finds its way into my heart, Oozes through my bloodstream, Becoming the only consolation I cling to in desperation.

Trickles into my fingertips, Forcing them to search for images My exhausted brain can’t recreate.

Retracts its way up to my eyes, Filling them with love and sorrow at each blessed memory That hit me like a forgotten wave on a black ocean.

Runs down to my lips, Which quiver so hesitantly while my brain contemplates If crying is the best way to surrender.

Catches me off guard, Like an enemy asking for forgiveness, Begging for the very solace they sought to destroy:

A passing scent

Rests in your mouth like lavender and honey, Tosses you effortlessly back into a single moment One you never thought could have so much meaning.

Dry must radiating from stacked vinyl records

“Your dad’s favorite”

Bittersweet cinnamon and sugar that never left the oven

“Your sister’s baking again”

Scorched dust embedded in the crevices of the pavement

“This’ll stop the bleeding”

I’m at the mercy of my soul But rue of my mind.

It makes my heart yearn for something more, But there’s only dust.

Untitled

Karissa Devich

My Dirty Heart will be Your Home

Milla Kuiper

I’ll love you like a home like a crow loves a nest harvesting beautiful things that remind me of you and bringing them back

I’ll build us a house of silver foil, rusted tin, crumpled burrito wrappers, and coins squashed by many passing cars

I’ll color it with cooking all your favorite smells coffee, and garlic, and salt, and garden earth sticks to my apron

I’ll hang it by the door before we go to bed in the hollow in the dirt packed walls lies some grand philosophy about the honor of a humble life

I’ll root it out for you like a mole in the garden

it’s a sweet thing but eats what good we planted

You are Your Favorite Comedian

Jaden Goldfain

I’m not sure anyone else notices when your laugh cuts off, movie lines making the air soft and fuzzy again, and I love this movie, but your mirth got shoved under the couch cushions, covering its mouth with the fabric to stifle its giggles, and this just won’t do.

I murmur your joke back to you, and joy unsticks from your lungs, shimmering out into the living room, and our friend smacks your arm with a “shh!”

I trace hearts across your other arm, and all is well.

STAFF

Sofia Lo Piano

Kate Williams Jordan Stokes

Amelie Nail

Caitlin Callahan Rachel Lemmen

Katie Manning

Lily Damron

Naomi Norton

Eden Bombino

Isa Darisay

Not pictured: Kyra Hartigan

Bella Jones Mia Carpenter

Madison Smith

Aliah Fabros

Kylie Silkwood

Olivia Dilfey

DIRECTORY

ELAINE ALFARO

Page 50

Elaine is a fourth-year multimedia journalism major. As an aspiring journalist, she loves the art of storytelling and getting to know new places and people! When she’s not working on articles, you’ll usually find her reading books, spending time with friends or running on Sunset Cliffs. Contact Lainie for any general editorial inquiries.

BLAKE ANDERSON

Page 75

Blake Anderson is a psychology major who enjoys reading good books, playing good music, eating good food, and lifting heavy weights. He also likes sitting in the sun for hours without sunscreen.

GRIFFIN ANDERSON

Page 89

TESSA BALC

Pages 57, 68

Tessa Balc is a junior Political Science major, originally from a suburb of Chicago, IL.

ASHLYN BENNIE

Pages 92

Ashlyn Bennie is a freshman general psychology major from Beaumont, California. She has a passion for hearing peoples’ stories, learning Spanish, and creating visual and musical art. She loves to hang out at the beach and hike in the mountains.

GRACE BERRYHILL

Page 161

Grace enjoys creating these faces. She is obsessed and cannot stop. She is unable to make any other kind of art besides this face giving an extreme side eye. She also writes lyrics to music occasionally.

SAMUEL BOLSTER

Page 26

Samuel Bolster is a computer science major who writes poetry when stuck with a surplus of emotion. He also really likes cats.

EDEN BOMBINO

Page 78

Eden Bombino is a junior journalism major who loves live music and mystery novels. She wants to teach English to high school students and inspire future readers and writers.

CONTRIBUTORS

Elaine Alfaro. Blake Anderson. Griffin Anderson. Tessa Balc. Ashlyn Bennie. Grace Berryhill. Samuel Bolster. Eden Bombino. Victoria Bustria. Caitlin Callahan. Grace Chaves. Jane Clark. Meghan Coley. Lily Corcoran. Karissa Devich. Carson Dillon. Makenna Givens. Jaden Goldfain. Christabel Green. Maura Griffin. Brynlee Grose. Sierra Hill. Reyna Huff.

Milla Kuiper. Rachel Lemmen. Katie Manning. Emma McCoy. Amelie Nail. Anna Novelo. Rylee Osborn. Bettina Pedersen. Anika Poulsen. Josiah Roberts. Zebbie Ross. Soren Schramm. Laura Shull. Annika Sood. Jessie Taylor. Amelia Tsering. Ashley Velazquez. Austin Villarreal. Kate Williams.

SPONSORS