Mosaic: Issue 001

MOSAIC

Supervisors

Professor Christen Barron

Editors

Alex Uribes

Caroline Lopez

Denisse Soto

Faith Hemming

Janelle Casarez

Jesus Rios

Jude Martinez

Kaylee Hernandez

Kelsee Crowell

Ruben Ramirez

Serenity Peralta

Veronica Pusateri

Professor Brittany Ham

Designers

Alex Plata

Amethyst Nava

Aramis Alaniz

Bryan Lopez

Christina Stuart

Emily Jimenez

Josiah Granado

Sebastian Rivera

Sonia Olivarez-Reina

Trinity Martinez

Yannett Ramirez

Mosaic is a student-led literary arts journal publishing fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and visual art created by undergraduate students at Texas A&M UniversitySan Antonio. The journal celebrates diverse perspectives, experiences, and creativity and offers students a space to express themselves as artists. Mosaic will do more than entertain; it will shape the culture of undergraduate lives on campus and will inspire students to write and create honestly and fearlessly.

Letter from the Team

Dear Readers,

Four months ago, we began work on this magazine as part of our Professional Editing and Design course. For most of us, this was the first time working on a project of this magnitude. Many weeks were spent learning editorial techniques, design principles, and software–in fact, we are still learning. Nonetheless, our work has finally come to fruition, and we are extremely proud to present to you the inaugural issue of Mosaic.

Careful thought has been poured into every page you are about to read. From the minimalist style to the ordering of submissions, we strove to provide the highest quality reading experience and ensure that all pieces could be properly highlighted. Special thanks to all of the students who shared their work with us. Their art is striking, and their stories are uplifting and heartbreaking. We are honored to have the chance to display their passion as artists and readers alike. Without their contributions, this magazine would not exist.

Special thanks as well to Professors Brittany Ham and Christen Barron. Their enthusiasm and guidance throughout this project have been integral to the team’s continued motivation and success, and we hope they take pride in the result.

And lastly, we’d like to give one more special thanks to you, our readers. You have been at the center of our work for the last four months. We are excited to finally share this work with you.

Sincerely,

The Mosaic Team Spring 2024

Acknowledgments

Mosaic would like to extend a heartfelt thanks to the following people who generously contributed their time and expertise to make this project possible:

Magazine Concept Development

Dr. Scott Gage and the students from his Summer 2019 Professional Editing course

Administrative Support

Dr. Katherine Bridgman and The Writing, Language, and Digital Composing Center

Dr. Katherine Gillen, Julie Hebert, and The Department of Language, Literature, and Arts (LLA)

Dean Debra Feakes and The College of Arts and Sciences

Spanish Language Editor and Proofreader

Dr. Elena Foulis

Proofreader

Jamie Garcia

Audry Traugott

Miriam

Miriam

Candelaria

Preciosa

Quetzalcóatl

Preciosa

Jenifer Garcia

Candelaria Nieves Perez

Débora Montserrat García Rivera

Kaitlyn G. Alejandro

Audry

Miranda Ortegon

San Antonio

Joe Ramon

Confessions

Stacy

Marilyn D. Garcia

Limas

Marilyn D. Garcia

Candelaria Nieves Perez

Untitled

Serpent

Au’Janai Phillips

Another Dimension

Au’Janai Phillips

Entering

Bobby Cano

Unspoken / Legacy / Pulse / Roots / Fireside / Home

The Star That Led Us There

Melanie Reyes

Bugs and Leaves

Athena Lankford

Water Spirals

Au’Janai Phillips

Amethyst Nava

Our Island

Melanie Reyes

Circles

Josiah Granado

Note to Our Readers

Undergraduate writing featured in Mosaic has been edited as lightly as possible to honor the artistic voices of our contributors. The opinions conveyed in Mosaic are those of our contributors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, staff, faculty, administrators, or the University.

The creative work featured in Mosaic contains mature themes, imagery, and language that may be upsetting or distressing to some readers. If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org

Unspoken

AN INVITATION

Candelaria Nieves Perez

I wish I could write what it means to be me

In under 5 sentences with a theme

Have stanzas and grammar shape eloquency

Like a faja que no te deja respirar

I wish I hadn’t showed up late

To the academic conversation

Like the tía that had too many margaritas in last night’s celebration

I wish I had more to show

For all the living and paining that palpitates in me

My glory

Carried in 4 school backpacks,

Wrinkled uniforms

Summons for grandma drop-offs

An endless sea of smiles and smells

The scent of a well-lived home

I wish I had the accolades and titles

That get you through the door

My names speak of those who need me

Echoes of an unmade bed and an unkept floor

Here is what I bring

Como una madrina que les llena de atenciones

A well-loved mind and body

Grace in abundance

Historias y canciones

Como paletas de cada sabor

Poetry for your pockets

An invitation to come alive

A Good Place to Drown

Clydmica Haley

As a child, I found the perfect place to drown, or at least it can replicate the feeling of drowning. Here in this perfect place, you can experience the suffocation, the rotten scent, and the aching pain as you strain against the currents trying violently to pull you under. There are several steps, but the most important part is, as is true with most simulated deaths, location. Unfortunately for you, if you want the proper experience, you’ll have to make a trip to Florida. Louisiana will do in a pinch, but the rain there won’t hurt you in quite the same way. After entering Florida, ignore Pensacola. Instead find a pool; not a good pool, like the ones filled with tourists in Orlando or Hollywood Beach. Go to a small and understaffed neighborhood pool surrounded by a rusted fence. Even better if there is a lock at the entrance that was broken a week after it was opened and never changed. There should be towels that no one who works there ever remembers washing or bringing,

“You’ll start drowning before you realize you’re actually drowning, as is the norm.”

so you won’t need to bring your own. There might also be unbearably hot and sticky plastic lounge chairs made with thin strips of rubber that will cut into you if you fall asleep on them. You’ll smell the pool before you see it. The scent should remind you of your last doctor’s visit in its sterility. The water will look nothing like it smells, being covered in leaves, filled with cicadas and lizards, as well as housing at least one iguana that you can usher out with a pool cue. Go into the water, it will not be as cold as you expect. Swim to the middle of the pool, which will be deeper than you expect, and then wait. You’ll hear nature warn you before anything else: cicadas screeching, iguanas groaning, and seagulls crying, and then, suddenly and without warning, silence. It’ll take you only a minute before you realize that it’s not a lack of any sound, but the overpowering of one in particular: the sound of the wind. The wind will consume everything, and you’ll have about a minute before the pain settles in. Rain has two forms in Florida:

showers and sheets. During a hurricane, rain comes down in irreverent and gapless sheets. You’ll start drowning before you realize you’re actually drowning, as is the norm. The rain will push you down, the wind will make you tremble, and you will fight against the strong current emerging in the pool while you try to stay afloat. As the rain pours down your face with no space in between the pool’s waves, you will struggle to take in a single breath without also filling your lungs with disgusting water and insects. As you drown, your reality will become as blurry as your sight. There is no difference between rain, sweat, tears, and pool water amongst the tempest; the sound of your screams, iguanas, and wind are impossible to distinguish. The burning in your lungs and legs as you continue to swim against the rain and wind will be what grounds you deeper into the pool. Even after all of this dread, I recommend this for the best experience. So let yourself go; if you’ve come here to drown, then drown. Let your tears and screams become one with the hurricane and go under. Nature will decide when you can resurface.

Samantha Santos 2024

How It Begins

Audry Traugott 2023

did anybody see that?

Veronica Pusateri

i can’t get out of my body. my senses are numbed by hyperfixations: my socks are the wrong color today. i stare into the orange before i peel it. i rip at it, so violently the peel rips to pieces and i split the fruit with my thumbs and i bite the wedges off each half, and i don’t put it down until it’s gone— just remnants of white rind in my hands and juice,

sticking to my arms and my face and stinging the cuts left in my mouth by so many words unuttered. i leave the peel where it fell. i wash my hands and face, so careful to rinse the taste of power from my mouth. taking care to scrape the peel from underneath my inelegant fingernails. i stare into the mirror until something to hate appears. my socks are the wrong color today.

Judgment

Sydney Biggs 2024

Empty Spaces

Audry Traugott

2023

Cultura Positiva

Miriam Perez

2023

Mariposas Azules

Miriam Perez

2023

Francisco Guzman Sampayo

Tiffany M. Valentin

Life: 1944

Born in Monterrey, Mexico. Viajé a San Antonio a los 19 días. Mis padres trabajaron en los fields, picking vegetables. Mi Madre, Servía en la casa con la mujer, on the farm. Donna, Texas: Escuela un ladrillo en una pared Unfinished. No English. My Brother taught me stutters and phrases. May I go to the bathroom? Lost.

Esconderse en el baño hasta que termine. Espera. 5th grade. 16 Last year. Education lived. Learn as you go. Ignorance be damned. I learned English from Boys’ whispers and BBs Pop, pop. Pound the dirt Jump, Hide, Run Branches Green, Disappear

At 17, I moved to San Antonio, Texas. I met your grandmother. Pablos Grove Park. Through a mutual friend Name changed Camargo Park. The memory remains. Fue una double date con mi amigo con otra chica. We didn’t like our dates. We switched.

In 1963, I moved. Labored in fields, California to Ohio. I wrote letters to your grandmother for a year.

On the first date: A film.

The West Side Story 1964, we got married November 27th in court December 5th in the Catholic Church Heartbroken, I lost her on June 16, 2020. I will only live till September 13, without her.

Death: 2020

La Muerte

Preciosa Quintanilla 2023

Quetzalcóatl

Preciosa Quintanilla 2023

Leyes

Jenifer Garcia

Leyes que prometen la paz y tranquilidad de ciudadanos

Mienten

Por lo menos a los que son Mexicanos Americanos

Los que tienen familia que llegaron como ciudadanos de otro país

Esas mismas leyes prometen y se aseguran de rompernos la tranquilidad

Al contrario

Nos roban de felicidad y familia

Colorful

Samantha Santos 2023

Las Atravesadas

Candelaria Nieves Perez

Somos las atravesadas

The rain-makers

Truth-takers

Our skin, our flags

Our accents, sirens

Our hands, disarm We love hard

Carving out space

For the de-classed, de-homed Náufragos de la Sociedad

Our God loves all Que creias

That I would not, could not call out Your hypo-creed

Dust your history off my shelf

I wear mine like a crown

A Mayan queen

Soy terca

Prepárate

I fire up passions

Transforming oxygen

Con mi existencia

Armed with vision

I will preach, teach Break your master’s tools

Shatter the house

Unapologetically

Porque soy y somos

Las atravesadas

Cultural Theft

Débora Montserrat García Rivera 2023

May

Kaitlyn G. Alejandro

We often sat at the Sonic in our small town, greedily slurping our shakes and dipping our fries in the tangy ketchup. We would sit there for hours staring at the passing cars, sliding down slides too tiny for our eighteen year-old bodies, laughing as we dumped the sand that had breached our beat-up Converse. Summer had its warm grasp on the pleasantness of May, but it was chilly that day. We had just finished field day, the second activity in our week of senior activities. The day before, we’d had the senior walk-through. As we sat at our red-netted metal table, about half of us were glued to our phones; the rest watched the unmarked cars flashing red and blue. “He just barricaded himself in there,” I read aloud, straw in my mouth as I hunted for the Oreo in the bottom of my shake.

phones. Red and blue danced in front of Sonic as the children ran and played.

“This doesn’t look good guys,” I said as a helicopter flew over the metal roof of Sonic. “I think that something’s wrong.”

The woman sitting at the table next to us looked up from her phone. “My husband is a Border Patrol agent, he’s texting me right now.” She explained the situation, quiet enough that the running children wouldn’t overhear.

“If we had been playing in the sand, it surely would have swallowed us whole.”

Minutes flew by, and we noticed some private school children playing on the playground, supervised by what looked like mothers in deep conversation. Frio County ambulances rushed past the playing kids, red and blue lights from San Antonio EMS and Police followed suit. Medina County ambulances flooded our small town streets, and our own county’s ambulances rushed back and forth in front of us. Our shakes melted as we stayed glued to our

That day, the cement floor of Sonic was the only thing that kept us grounded, a reminder of reality. If we had been playing in the sand, it surely would have swallowed us whole. I had been in contact with my parents the whole time, telling them what I knew. When my mom told me to head to a safe place, we watched Sonic’s familiar figure recede as we dodged ambulances storming the streets. Red and blue.

Red and blue.

Sirens echoed in our ears for months. “Whoa an ambulance bus,” I remember texting my mom. But it was a while before she responded. It flashed red and blue.

Self-Portrait

Carolina Coutino

Their World

Audry Traugott 2021

The Hill

Miranda Ortegon

One of the first things I remember is you talking about the hill. Even throughout these past two years, I still remember you mentioning the hill. The way you would light up when talking about it would warm my heart, but you said you weren’t ready to show me. You said, your father took you to this place, so you hold it dear. I remember waiting patiently and dreaming of what it looked like…Was it all that you described it to be?

I also remember when you finally told me you were ready. Your voice was shaky and nervous, but ready to let me in. My heart burst with joy, but curiosity filled my mind. We snuck my car through a quiet, dark neighborhood. I remember you told me to turn the car lights off so we wouldn’t alarm the residents, or else we might face a terrible fate.

We parked the car a ways away from the hill, which was slightly alarming, but I trusted you. We walked quietly up to the hill. The only sound we could hear was our feet hitting the jagged ground. I remember my eyes trying to adjust to the darkness, while also trying to not trip on anything…Until I saw it.

I remember it so vividly. What was once a pit of darkness turned into an array of blinking lights—as if they were waltzing with one another. A photo could never encapsulate its true, untainted beauty. It made sense why you were so hesitant to show me.

I looked at you and I saw the fear in your eyes. What I once did not understand made so much sense to me that night. It wasn’t just some hill—it was your heart being put on full display. This was vulnerability in its most pure form. You were just as pure. And the hill was just as pure. Untouched, organic, and real.

San Antonio DIY

Joe Ramon

Confessions on Chavaneaux Street

Sebastian Rivera

Bryce found himself dumbfounded, again, as he was walking down Chavaneaux Street. Traveling down the worn stretch of broken asphalt from his home in southern San Antonio, the young man planned to wait near the hidden exit to Mission Park for his best friend, Matías.

Particularly inseparable, these two boys from broken homes thrived as one. Since preschool they made the best of their shitty situation by using Matías’s cunning and Bryce’s strength. They had accomplished much in those years, and had kept that unity as they grew more into men.

But now, in the summer near highschool graduation, Bryce found himself anxious for what the future held for them. Matías was gonna go places, he thought. Matías was no longer gonna walk along a road that held backstreet racing every night. He would never be awakened by gun shots and divorceable marriages. They would never sneak into the park to fish, find weird plants, or nurse the wounds stabbed into them by life’s hand. After all, he was the bruiser of their relationship, someone Matías could rely on for when the world wasn’t having any of his talk. He would miss his talks.

While his friend excelled in education, Bryce had been curbed by his disposition and dyslexia. Passable grades can only get you so far, except for diplomas. The May heat would not be a good excuse for the sweat his anxiety cursed him in. If this was one of the last times he would see his best friend before he left this nowhere street along Loop 410, he needed to tell him the truth.

Bryce has wanted to be more than a friend since well before freshman year. Despite his bravery, he was terrified of ruining the one good relationship in his life. Bryce resolved to beat this fear as he saw his friend walking along the lack of sidewalk to Mission Park. Short and wearing glasses always broken, Matías was the smaller friend of the duo. Despite his natural demeanor, Bryce trembled like a hunted fawn. Matías looked up to him concerned as he reached the spot, before the bigger teen shouted along the roar of traffic. “I don’t want to live unless I’m by your side, but I can’t stay the way I am with you.” The choir of cars along Loop 410 grew quiet. “Please, can we be more than friends?!”

Seconds felt like years before Matías smiled, a rare sight for Bryce. As he knew in that instance that his feelings were shared as well.

Sunwomen

Carolina Coutino 2022

Serpent Realm

Daniel Morales 2019

Entering the Metaphysical

Daniel Morales 2020

Roots

Section 04

48 Dad

50 grandparents

52 Agua Fresca

53 Limas 55 Cosecha

art visual art

Aramis Alaniz

Why must you be

The way you are

Your selfish desire

To be so selfless

Bones aching in pain

And muscles stiff with fatigue

A time bomb in your chest

Ticking away with each passing day

Is the food you put on the table

Worth more than the life you give

You say it is being a man

I say it is suicide

All I can remember

From the times I did see you

Were your tired eyes

And your pointless lectures

That a man does this

And a man does that

That a man must be this

And a man must be that

Does being a man

Mean to die for those you love

To be a stranger to your son

To never be there for the little big things

Does being a man

Mean to never cry

To never show emotion

Besides anger and pride

Middle ground for you

Is a fairytale

Your word is law

Absolute

While mine is lost in the wind

Incoherent breaths

Too tired to hear And too stubborn to listen Perhaps the scars of the past Have forged you to be this way But must you be the one That kills my Dad And must I be the one To cause your end.

grandparents

Krystyn

Stacy

i don’t remember the first time i met my grandparents, but i cannot remember a time without them.

i remember early morning outings to mcdonalds for flapjacks at 6 a.m. with my grandpa.

i remember being six years old, sitting on the front porch sipping coffee with my grandparents listening to the sounds of nature and the chickens and goats they used to keep.

i remember going to the beach with my grandparents and building sandcastles with my grandma because i was too afraid to get in the water;

i remember going to dairy queen on the way home from the beach and getting the star-shaped popsicles to eat on the 5-minute drive back to their house.

i remember the water park that my grandparents would drive us to even though it was out of town and they lived in a coastal city.

i remember going to see the wind farm that was between our house and my grandparents’ house with them—one time we even got to touch a windmill (i was too scared though).

i remember feeding the chickens with my grandpa in the mornings and bringing the eggs inside to my grandma;

i remember the incubators that they would raise chicks in.

i remember the kids’ room at my grandparents’ house that i spent so many hours in, playing with barbies and building blocks.

i remember the different dogs (penny and callie) and cat (roxy) that my grandpa convinced my grandma to get—they eventually grew on her.

i remember the poster that i made with my cousins and sisters during our “no parents allowed weekend” with our grandparents.

i remember our go-to donut shop in my grandparents’ town that made the best kolaches in the world (they have since closed down).

i remember how my grandma used to play solitaire before bed (a ritual i have since stolen);

i remember them teaching me how to play mexican train dominoes.

i remember the swing set in the backyard and the trees that they let us climb on like monkeys.

i remember all of this, although i know that they do not.

i also remember the time i realized that my grandpa probably shouldn’t be driving anymore; he almost ran into a fence on the way home from sonic one night

i remember how devastated my grandpa was when his dogs passed away

i remember when the trees in the backyard that we used to play on were cut down

i remember when my grandpa started asking the same questions over and over again

i remember how my grandparents couldn’t come to my graduation

i remember playing dominoes with them and they forgot some of the rules

i remember how my grandma broke down crying because she missed my grandpa, but he was sitting in the other room

now i remember too much and they don’t remember enough, and one day i will forget all of this, and then no one will remember it, and it will be like it never even happened.

Agua Fresca

Marilyn D. Garcia 2023

Limas

Marilyn D. Garcia 2023

Cosecha

Candelaria Nieves Perez

Un pedacito de mi corazón. A little piece of my heart, As an offering.

I see the arch of my father’s back in the fields. I feel his calloused hands. I taste the fresh fruit from the valley. Cosecha de su sacrificio. Fruits from his sacrifice. Now that he has gone from this world, His voice has blended into mine. Blurred lives and the continuance of legacy. The crisis of identity is solved. I know who I am, my purpose and flavor. I have no time for more existentialism.

I am eager to share with the world, to be more than a bridge or a border. I am the missing puzzle piece. Connect your story with mine, Let us exalt our Mestizaje! Your pieces don’t fragment you. They build you. Build you. Elevate you. Time travel with me. Envision it with me. We cultivate.

With our hands first, our words next, and our hearts throughout, Always throughout. The seeds are fertilized. The tears have done their job. Aquí tienes la cosecha. Here is our harvest! Taste it with me.

Fireside

Section 05

Crawl

The Eagle Was Unmoved

visual art visual art

Untitled

Christina Stuart 2023

Nectar

Madison Gutierrez

The metal cage gleams in the hot Texas sun. Bright wings flap back and forth, searching for a way out but never quite finding it. My mother pays for sugar water in the same plastic cups that trap them under this heat in the first place. I’m too young to understand the irony of paying to feed the housed birds, so I stretch my arms out, feeling their claws dig into my skin and scratch at my scalp.

My mother puts a camera in front of me, and I smile as more birds descend upon me. Their eyes peer into the camera, but their tongues head for my hands as nectar drips down my fingers. The claws feel deeper than they were before. I try to shake them off, but three equals one of me.

It feels hot.

The sea of feathers suffocates me, and the humidity in the air coats my throat. The cups are empty. Beaks keep searching for more a liquid under the surface that’s sweeter and more greedy than the water we paid for. Sharp objects pierce thin flesh. Hues of red fill the cage, and the screams of one animal intertwine with the cries of another.

I don’t think there’s anything else I can feed them.

Rigid Rocks

Au’Janai Phillips 2017

Another Dimension

Au’Janai Phillips

2017

Crawl

Christina Stuart 2023

The Eagle Was Unmoved

Bobby Cano

It was a day like any other: the day the Owlet died. It was killed by the popular Eagle, with its chest puffed up in pride.

At the funeral days later, the birds stood in silence, while others sobbed and wept over this act of senseless violence.

The Owlet, wisest of them all, had so much to teach and share to its families, friends, and neighbors, who all grieve in despair.

The birds wanted to take action against the Eagle, as beloved as he was vile. But some birds loved him blindly, surpassing empathy for the slain child.

Some stood with the Owls with wings locked in solidarity, while others cowed to the Eagle in spite of his barbarity.

Among the once peaceful birds did quarrels begin to flare as the phantoms of that day caused their emotions to lay bare.

Back and forth, back and forth. No answers were found and no action was taken to solve the Eagle problem that had left them all so shaken.

Thus, the Eagle was unmoved empowered by devotion, inaction, and fear. He readies his talons with a sickening grin, to bring another day of tears.

The Star That Led Us There

Melanie Reyes

Do you remember the long road we drove on every summer?

The morning sky was filled with stars. Soon, the sun would slowly rise. The streetlights shone so brightly, reflecting in our eyes. The car bumpers smiled at us, saying, “Have a safe trip!”

Our music echoed off the 80 mph speed limit signs. Trailers and race cars passed us way over the speed limit. We admired their bravery.

One thing was guaranteed: Four gas station stops was our limit. We had a budget to keep in mind and no time to waste. We had to follow the road.

We made our last gas stop and felt the weather shift from sticky humidity to cool, dry wind, which told us when we were close.

It was a desert, but we were entertained. The plateaus and windmills made up for the boredom. It was so dry and filled with tumbleweeds. I remember the sand dancing with the wind as we headed deep into the road after so many hours. The sun beamed its extra-hot rays on us, but we weren’t bothered by it.

The journey didn’t end there; we still had two hours left. There was more coming. It was the scariest part. We never did anything wrong, but our palms started sweating when we passed Border Patrol. We smiled at the cameras, saying “cheese” to ease our nerves.

I think we look great in those photos every time.

When storms arose, we knew we were less than an hour away. It could be rain, lightning, or a sandstorm. We watched movies until we passed Mother Nature’s anger. Only then would we finally make it to the outskirts of the city.

We knew where we needed to go, not because of the signs but because of the star that led us there, shining so brightly on the side of the mountain.

It was our home.

The Sun City. El Chuco. El Paso.

Bugs and Leaves

Athena Lankford

I stepped out of the car, my legs aching from the drive. The blasting AC in the car was a stark contrast from the dry heat, which enveloped me and beaded my forehead with sweat. My little sister and I ran down the stone walkway and into the outstretched arms of our aunts. We took turns; I hugged Tía Olivia first, and then I pulled away to embrace Tía Juanita. Juanita’s breath smelled of mints as she whispered, “Hola mija, I missed you so much.” She held onto me as tightly as she could. Her arms were weaker than they used to be.

We walked into the house and the floor moaned and complained under our combined weight. There were a few fans scattered throughout the living room that wheezed air into our clammy faces. My sister and I turned to each other, perhaps reading each other’s minds, and made a quick decision. It would be better to spend the day outside being explorers than to sit around the living room on those sticky leather couches and having to peel our skin from them every time we wanted to get up. So she and I raced through the living room and kitchen, unlatched the screen door, and jumped down from the hard, concrete patio. We immediately began foraging for acorns, seeds, and ladybugs. The large trees around the yard provided shade for us as we searched and searched. Eventually, my aunts came out to join us. They wore large, bright yellow hats as another futile attempt to scare away the sun. The door was open behind them.

“Mija,” Tía Juanita said to me, “La comida está aquí.” I didn’t know much Spanish, but the word comida was familiar to me, and I remembered what it meant as the smell of Bill Miller’s fried chicken wafted out from the kitchen. The delicious smell invited me inside, but my sister and I were having too much fun to end our journey. “Just five more minutes,” we pleaded. They agreed, and we continued working on our collection of bugs and leaves.

Ten years later, I would wish I could go back to that frail little house, which has now been repainted a garish green. I would miss those clingy leather couches, which were probably donated or buried deep underneath a heap of trash somewhere. I would hug my aunts again and take in how fresh their breath smelled, how their soft, cottony nightgowns felt against my skin, and how their wrinkled arms held onto me. Maybe I would not let go this time. “Just five more minutes,” I would plead again.

Water Spirals

Au’Janai Phillips 2023

Playground Love

Amethyst Nava

She stands on her feet and takes a stretch from sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench. With her arms in the air she inhales deeply. “Breathe,” she says to herself. The paved road of the park swirls onto the patches of grass like a game board map. The picnic table she sits on is one of the few scattered across the front entrance of the park. The air is still humid from the morning shower, and the sun is hanging in the sky, adopting an orange hue to carry the remaining clouds. It is almost sunset, half past five. She can feel the grass squeak against the rubber soles of her shoes as the damp remains of the morning dew cling to the earth. With twenty-eight more minutes left, she plays another game with herself to skip over time. How many birds can she spot in one minute? Can she correctly guess the color of the next passing car? She plays these games until twenty more minutes remain. Doing whatever she can do to kill what time is left, she combs her fingers through her hair and uses the camera on her phone to check her appearance. A mother walks by with her son hand-in-hand. He breaks away to run to the red playset, which has been worn out by years of use as shown by the paint chips revealing the foundation of metal.

She looks down at her phone, which reads fifteen more minutes left. Why did she show up so early? What does she do with her time now? She breaks from her thoughts when she hears a big laugh; her head turns to the playground where the laugh came from. She reminisces about the joy of swinging upside down on monkey bars, the blisters on her fingers, and the Band-Aids on her knees. Her feet take her to the empty swings on the right side of the slides. Her legs touch cold metal and her knees bend slightly; her feet are now closer to the ground than the last time she sat here. She raises her shoes and kicks off the wet grass. She swings low, becoming familiar with the loss of gravity, and then revs up a swing that causes her to get a tickle in her stomach. Swinging until her hair swirls into a mess and the sun sets, she forgets about the date planned (and the fact that he didn’t show up). She loses herself in nostalgia until the sun is no longer in sight, and there are only stars left in the sky.

Our Island

Melanie Reyes 2024

Circles

Josiah Granado

It’s funny how some memories can’t be recalled Until a certain sight brings you back to it all. It’s funny how our youth and blissful ignorance Can make us see beauty where others see the opposite.

See the house at the corner with the blue and the white With the cracked driveway and the flowers outside?

That’s the place where I spent the first years of my life. Where I took my first steps and spoke for the first time. And twenty years before that My daddy did the same,

And my grandpa grew up just five seconds away.

That’s three generations this neighborhood has raised. That’s three generations but the houses haven’t changed.

And outside this home

There’s an overgrown alleyway Where strays roam

And like to fight, play, and copulate And beside this home

There’s a faded stop sign

With a bullet hole through the O, but don’t

Pay it no mind.

Instead direct your eyes to the dangling power line Where tennis shoes hang steady, bleached by sunshine

That’s the mark of a child who had a good time

That’s the mark of a child with black hair and brown eyes.

And if you drive by at night

You might find strobe lights

Passin’ through and arrestin’ fools

For doin’ things you’ll probably

See on the news

Better stay in or you might get questioned too.

And you prolly noticed there’s graffiti tagged along these fences: The territorial art of underserved adolescents. Those who’ve become numb to “inevitable” consequences. The type of statistics that parents use to teach lessons.

The usual:

“Stay in school Don’t do drugs

And pray to God every night ‘Cause if you don’t

Then you might get twenty-five to your life. Belts and chanclas better keep you right Don’t make me have to slap the shit out your fucking face tonight”

But I promise you this neighborhood is not as bad as it seems, Or at least not as bad as it once used to be. Maybe Before my time you had rampant felonies, But many years have passed to put some of the violence at ease

So when you go to sleep at night, Don’t be scared.

And when the bass rocks your bed frame, just Try not to care.

And when the music blastin’ from your neighbor’s yard’s harrasin’ Your Monday night sleep, Sing along or close your ears.

It’s funny how some memories can’t be recalled Until a certain sight brings you back to it all. It’s funny how our youth and blissful ignorance Can make us see beauty where others see the opposite Ain’t it funny…

Amethyst Nava

Aramis Alaniz

Athena Lankford

Au’Janai Phillips

Audry Traugott

Bobby Cano

Candelaria Nieves Perez

Carolina Coutino

Christina Stuart

Clydmica Haley

Daniel Morales

Débora Montserrat García Rivera

Jenifer Garcia

Joe Ramon

Josiah Granado

Kaitlyn G. Alejandro

Krystyn Stacy

Madison Gutierrez

Marilyn D. Garcia

Melanie Reyes

Miranda Ortegon

Miriam Perez

Preciosa Quintanilla

Samantha Santos

Sebastian Rivera

Sydney Biggs

Tiffany M. Valentin

Veronica Pusateri