Eleven RiversReview
Fall 2024-Spring 2025
The Eleven Rivers Review
Palo Alto College Student Arts and Literary Journal
Volume 10 | Fall 2024 - Spring 2025
The Eleven Rivers Review is an annual student-sourced publication that highlights the creativity of Palo Alto College’s diverse student community. Our name is an homage to the Texas rivers from which our campus buildings take their names.
The works selected for Eleven Rivers Review represent the views of the student contributors, not necessarily those of the Alamo Colleges. All selections are printed with the permission of the authors and artists cited. Copyright reverts to the authors and artists immediately after publication.
Acknowledgments
The Eleven Rivers Review would like to give special thanks to everyone at Palo Alto College who made this issue possible.
Dr. Robert Garza, College President
Patrick Lee, Vice President for Academic Success
Jennifer Scheidt, Dean of Arts and Sciences
Thomas Murguia, Academic Programs Director
Dr. Rosalinda Oritz, Chair, Fine and Performing Arts
Caroline Mains, Chair, English, World Languages and INRW
The PAC English and Fine Arts Faculty + Support Staff
The PAC Office of Student Life
The PAC Honors Program Faculty + Staff
The PAC Marketing and Communications Team
The PAC Writing Center Staff
The PAC Library + Poetry Archive Staff
The 11RR Team
Student Editors
Anthony Chavez
Marisol Garcia-Santana
Thorin Heim
Desiree Hernandez
Kayla Muzquiz
Nayab Nobahar
Lois Traynor
Faculty Advisors
ENGLISH
Dr. Christina Flores
Rita Ortiz
Ivana Vukmirovic
FINE ARTS
Karen Mahaffy
Hollow
The Silent Song
My Mother’s Son
Edge of the Universe
The Lonely Dog
Unshaken Together Untitled
Englewood 1:21
Modern Sheol
Opposites Attract
Daddy, Dad
A Letter from Timbercreek Road
To the Carnival
The Sound of Thunder
Coin Locker Baby
Tentacle Scorpion
The Clown Effect Pt 1
The Clown Effect Pt 2
Last Summer Yearning Inside Out
The Persona
The Final Descent Hellhound
Until We Meet Again Winter
the narcissist
Heart Life and Lungs
La Última Chica
I Am
La Antorcha de la Amistad
Two Universes
Moon Goddess Rising
Vuelo Sagrado
Cruz de Flores
The Morning After Fading Memories
The Make Up Serahim
Angels Do Not Exist
Lorena Rosales
Nayab Nobahar
Gustavo Daniel Chapa
Christina Tata
Austin Brower
Douglas Aabbad
Joslynn Moreno
Rafael Piña
Rafael Piña
Elizabeth Saucedo
JJ McKay
Jocelyn Castañeda-Muñoz
Grace Bowling
Robert Gomm
Rebecca Valdez
Lorena Rosales
Amanda Moltz
Yseña Rodriguez
Yseña Rodriguez
MoRanda Dawson
Stephanie Stewart
Brenda Gonzalez
Kimberly Mangano
Elizabeth Saucedo
Joelin Smith
Megan Richardson
Kimberly Mangano
Thorin Heim
Isaiah Flores
Joelin Smith
Kristine Martinez
Kate Cabrera
Christopher Rodriguez
Victoria Dieffenbach
Monica Torres de Mancera
Katherine Maiorana
Megan Richardson
Gerri Reynolds
Shadara Quinn
Elizabeth Basey
Nevaeh Payne
For Cassie,My Heart’s Companion
Amanda Richie
The paws that once would softly tread the floor, A pink collar, the softest fur she wore, Cassie, my heart, who loved me evermore.
Her Persian coat, like silk, I’d often adore, Her little body curled, beside my door, The paws that once would softly tread the floor.
Her love was only mine, and I implore, To feel her presence now, but nothing more— Cassie, my heart, who loved me evermore.
The sadness rushed, regret I can’t restore, A sudden loss, no time to brace for, The paws that once would softly tread the floor.
But in her kittens, sweet and gentle, pure, I find her spirit, still here, evermore— Cassie, my heart, who loved me evermore.
The best cat, with love that would endure, To cure the sadness, she was the cure, The paws that once would softly tread the floor, Cassie, my heart, who loved me evermore.
Reconstructed Memory
Elizabeth Alvarado
A Motherless Mother
Destiny Casares
I reach for you in moments I am weak, When lullabies fall hollow in the air. Your voice, once near, is now too far to seek, Yet still, I turn—I swear that you are there.
I hold my child the way you once held me, Your lessons stitched into my weary hands. Yet motherhood feels like a lonesome sea— No guiding light, no map upon the sands.
I speak of you in whispers, soft and low, Afraid that saying more might break my chest. Yet love outlives the hands that let it go, And grief, though cruel, still holds me like a guest.
So here I stand, a mother born of you, With all your love to pass like something new.
Blythe
Bridget Fanning
When I brought Blythe home, she did not exist yet.
The nursery was painted and little socks lined up in the top drawer
There were toys, some new, others well loved and passed down
But she did not exist yet.
I stayed up with her hours each night, and laid her in the bassinet
Glass bottles were cleaned and formula mixed with painstaking caution
Not too hot, not too cold, fed at the first whimper
But she did not exist yet.
Coddled and and cosseted, Sheltered and Swaddled
My baby, my ducky, my little flower
Blythe did not exist yet.
Caught in a Rut
Benjamin Lehman
In the middle of a vast ocean, a captain and his crew stood hopelessly stuck on a large ship. The captain had no orders for his crew and only looked down at the waves overboard, paying close attention to the odd patterns the water went in. It flowed in strange, irregular ways, like the fractals within nature. Despite the strong currents of activity, the ship remained as still as a stone statue.
The captain resented the idea of being stuck out here, unable to finish a voyage. A cavalcade of restless thoughts pounded into his old, weathered head. Each thought cut in line to be heard, all overlapping with each other and becoming an incoherent ramble of ideas and useless anecdotes. The captain’s anguish didn’t stay confined in his skull, and the emotions bubbled up to his surfaces. A few crew members nearby noticed the despair on his face and all at once, came up to the captain as if to say something to him. Despite the moving of their mouths, all of their words fell on deaf ears. The once strong and fearless captain of their hopeful ship stood crookedly and with a posture that screamed, I’m helpless.
Looking back into the irregular, pale water, the captain removed all thoughts from himself and did the one thing left to do: do anything. Fish don’t think twice about jumping from stream to stream—it’s natural to them. The captain followed the way of the fish and jumped head-first off the upper deck and into the waves below, not saying a lick of words to his crew.
Time slowed down before the captain struck the cold saltwater. The air felt stiff, the birds overhead in the sky stopped flapping their wings, and the crew getting the emergency lifeboats ready stood lifeless. That made the plunge all the more shocking and difficult to handle. The water engulfed the captain’s body, filling his mouth and ears with the salt-poisoned drink. Despite the immense force this splash put onto his body, he didn’t stop sinking. He found himself flowing through an odd channel of sea life and seaweed. Taking a left, then a right, followed by another right, the water slapped him around like a slab of freshly slaughtered meat. The captain continued to hold his breath and blinked once to aid the burn of salt. Fresh out of the pitch-black darkness of his eyelids, a large, pale hole floated before him. All of this way and now he realized that the water among him was a guide bringing him here. He flowed right into the waxy walls of the canal and down a tunnel of unending light, a light brighter than the sun.
Before the captain could shield his eyes, he fell back onto his ship, out of the long canal and completely dry. His crew once again came up to him in
the same tandem movements as before, as if to ask if he was okay. However, this time their words were heard. The captain gently nodded his head in reply to them all and ordered them quickly to their respective stations, beginning to bark out commands with such ferocity and passion that none of his crew had seen before. Masts were lowered, the sail turned, and the wheel spun. Eventually, after a long battle with the mother that is nature, the ship began to sail on, no longer immovable.
Creeping Kitten
Jennifer Daschel
Rockport Elizabeth Basey
Mountains of Love: A Tale of Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl
Kate Cabrera
In ancient lands where mountains rise, Two hearts entwined beneath the skies.
Popocatépetl, a warrior brave, And Iztaccíhuatl, beauty gave.
Their love was pure, their bond so tight, But fate conspired to dim their light. A promise made, a war to fight, Popocatépetl left one fateful night.
Izaccíhuatl waited, heart in hand, Her warrior lost in a distant land. False news arrived, her love had died, She wept and wept; her spirit cried.
Her heart gave out, and she fell asleep, In dreams of love, her soul to keep, Popocatépetl returned to find, That his love had left this world behind.
In grief, he climbed the highest peak, To watch o’er her, his heart so weak. The gods took pity, and turned them both, To mountains high, eternal oath.
Now Popocatépetl stands tall, A smoking peak, a watchful call. And Izaccíhuatl lies in rest, A sleeping form, forever blessed.
Their love endures in stone and sky, A tale of love that will not die. For in the mountains, side by side, Their spirits soar, their hearts abide.
Patience is a Vice
Kayla Muzquiz
Welcome to my show
That nobody cares to know
You can go ahead and go
Because I’m waiting...
I am hated, I am jaded, often disassociated.
Waiting... and waiting...
I guess l’m a statistic
Who seems to go ballistic
“Maybe she’s autistic “
I’ll just be waiting...
They say “patience is a virtue,” but I’m learning that’s a construct.
As I’m treated like a taboo, I’ll be here waiting...
You see depending on the context
These issues can perplex
We’ve made it too complex
That’s why I’m waiting!
So I sigh...
And sometimes cry for you and I
Because we really do try
Yet are left here waiting...
Douglas Aabbad
Bridge to Heaven
Running Renee Garcia
I’ve seen myself come back alive in a mirror
In the midst of your arms
In the middle of my field, my softest bed was when your chest was near.
My arms awaited every fear
You took all that you loved from me
Something a little too good was here
Strains of my hair
My hand, too tightly
My screaming words of last week
And held onto my heartstrings
Said it’d hurt more if you couldn’t have it
A kiss, a solid one
Said my lip stain on your cheek was your heaven
Only listened to my mouth’s prayers
For they’d end off your days
You held me too close my breath running out
I’ve finally seen a mirror
My vision is an open field, it’s trembling
Now I’m running every chance I get.
Resiliency Is Me!
Kayla Muzquiz
No time for check ups, kudos, or praise. Life has definitely taught me how to phase
In and out of this enduring maze. I will sustain hope inside my future gaze!
So much for being by my side, So much for that precious vow. I should have known from the start; I should have seen there was an end. Now I see you with open eyes, And know that it’s really you that you love.
Though our love faded, I stayed by your side. I miss the look in your eyes when you gave me your vow. While we may have come to an end, now I get a fresh start.
Bloom
Edith Coronado
Enpolymorphia MoRanda Dawson
Unwell Entity
MoRanda Dawson
Sallow, ribcage bending in, out, I can’t stand, enough of this.
Fatigue creeps towards my door — Her shadow reaches beneath the gap, To grip my ankles and drag. Has Sloth tasked me to be her latest disciple?
Tiresome registers herself under my name —Signature dilapidated in mold—
Tending to Ghosts Destiny Casares
I set the table for two, though only one chair is filled. The other remains a quiet ache, a space I refuse to erase.
Some nights, I hear you in the hush— the rustling of curtains, the hush of wind against the windowpane. I answer anyway.
I plant roses in the yard, as if the earth could carry my sorrow, as if roots could weave you back to me. The petals fall, red as memory, soft as the dreams where I still hold you.
Grief is a mother too— tucking me in at night, holding my hand in the morning, never letting go.
Lesser Key
Devon Miller
There was this guy –I knew him, a bit. He kept to himself, muttering nothing in back comers of empty cars.
You could hear him crack his bony fingers over keening wind and screaming steel.
Dream Eater
Jacob De La Garza
Social Battery Depleted
Jacob De La Garza
Miss My Dad
Bridgette Ellis
In my dream, Dad, you lived a different life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was manageable.
You slept on a mattress on the floor, simple and clean. A window above your bed let light trickle in each morning.
Your grandkids knew you in this dream. They woke you, one by one, sitting on the edge of your mattress, crawling up as you opened your eyes and smiled.
They saw the good in you. And I, across the room, watched you together, unable to help but smile.
Yes, in this dream, you were still frail and weak, but you had a home, and you were safe with me.
I miss you, Dad.
Devon Miller
The surface dances as the sun dips past the cliffs across the water. Smoke wafts around and fills the camp as the catch roasts.
The old men find their places around the fire and strip the bones with dirty fingers.
Amistad
confliction
Thorin Heim
my hopes and dreams have been neglected left under the bed to collect dust and rot away occasionally taking them out only to look at just to hide them away much to their dismay
they are mine and mine alone to do with as i please to shine them up brightly or leave them hidden for the sake of ease
only i can drag them out for good and dust them off indefinitely the strength lies deep within my soul though it may be easier to revive them separately
this life would be much easier if i wasn’t so afraid of failing everything i attempt so instead they have decayed
Dream
Kristine Martinez
I saw in my sleep Lush green jungles and rivers. Childhood dreams come true.
Untitled
Mary Lance
It is Finished
Fe Gutierrez
There stood the Lord as cries for freedom grew, The mob chose Barabbas, he stood so still.
With sorrow deep, yet grace and mercy true, He bowed before the weight of Heaven’s will.
No protest left His lips as shouts arose, The same who praised Him now condemned His name. Yet love still shone as mercy only knows, “Forgive them, Father,” whispered through His pain. His purpose is clear, to heal the broken soul, To bear the weight of sin upon the tree.
His blood poured out, His body bruised and whole, Yet through His wounds, He set the captive free.
“It is finished,” last He breathed that day, And love eternal washed our sins away.
Just Jocelyn
Castañeda-Muñoz
There was nothing but a girl, Just a girl in a cold room with an unknown woman and a sheet of paper. Just a girl outside a courtroom waiting to know a solid answer. Just a girl feeling all eyes out on her, with her hands over her stomach and tears down her face. There was nothing but a woman. Just a woman, hands over her face, trying to figure out what’s going to come next.
Just a woman before a judge, fighting for rights. Just a woman hoping she can tell her daughter they’ve made it. There was a girl. There was a woman. There was hope.
Cardinal
Icess Prieto
Little Red Bird, what do you see?
Do you see the lovely clouds on the horizon when there is sun out? Are there babbling brooks, Majestic mountains, and scenery that would make any man weep?
Or maybe you settled your nest in the city, neon lights illuminating your feathers as they stretch along a starry canopy.
Little Red Bird, you fly away from home. Flying far, and far until I can’t see you. Your chirps were hard to hear over the phone. Though I know you are happy.
But I will miss you, we know this is good for you. Little Red Bird, fly.
But I will miss you, we know this is good for you. Little Red Bird, fly.
Not Yet Ashely Abrego
Our eyes were glued to the sky as polluted clouds began swirling, forming circular rings around the sonic boom that had just visibly pierced the ozone layer. Balls of fire reigned through the opening with low guttural roars, and the screams of the world crescendoed into death’s familiar song.
“Mommy, what’s happening?” My daughter clung to my shirt, “Not yet!” Her eyes filled with fear and realization.
“Shh, no, not yet.” Almost as tall as me, I carried my first baby and stroked her beautiful brown hair.
Frantic chaos swarmed like hornets all around us. I held my breath, to slow the panic and my heart that was ricocheting off of my chest, terrified of the pain we were all about to endure. We watched a meteor crash in the distance, and with it, a blinding white light surged towards us. Nik pulled us in tight while holding our son. This was the beginning of the end…
Her eyes opened to a solemn world and blinked repeatedly to separate the film that must have formed when they were closed. She found herself standing in the middle of a quiet little neighborhood with one-story homes that all looked the same, the lawns perfectly cut like a 1950s suburb. The air was coated thick with stillness, and a low hanging fog covered the ground. There were other people there, but not as many as there should have been. Some walked around aimlessly, while others just stood there looking at the sky, like they must have been when they died. All of them moved with a slowness that seemed unnatural.
A memory flashed that took her knees out from under her. The last thing she had seen was her son’s small hand disintegrating as he gently brushed her cheek. Her screams cut through heavy silence and made nearby strangers break their upward gazes. They watched her uncontrollably sob while she rocked herself back and forth there in the middle of the street.
“My babies, no, not my babies!” she cried repeatedly. A hand lightly touched her shoulder, giving her nervous system a jolt. She looked up through swollen eyes.
“Excuse me, Miss,” an elderly woman, her skin a freckled creole brown and her eyes a melancholy blue, leaned in and cleared her throat. “Hello, m’names Alice.”
“I’m Candace.” she said out of habit. “Where are we?”
“This is purgatory, dear,” Alice stated matter-of-factly.
“Where are my babies?” Her voice quivered; she was afraid to know as she recalled the time in Sunday school when Father Pat explained to the class that God would deny the unfaithful to enter the gates of heaven, even a child.
“S’pose they’re up there,” Alice pointed a hooked finger towards the sky. “I haven’t seen no children here.”
“But… I didn’t baptize them.” Tears quickly welled up. Guilt-ridden, this thought started swallowing her, bringing her back to recede into the dark, empty waters that swelled in her just a few moments ago.
“Now, isn’t that silly?” Alice’s tiny, wrinkled hand caught her chin and lifted it up. “If sins were really real, well then I’m not sure why I’m still here. Ya understand?” Her eyes darted back and forth, reading Candace’s face. And something in the way Alice spoke gave her the strength to get up. “There ya are. Now, follow the main road till you find the street name of your childhood home. You’ll know which way is right; go on.”
Alice had shooed her off towards the end of the street before she could ask any more questions and Alice returned to stand there and sky gaze. She wandered down the main road for what felt like hours, but the position of the sun never changed, and the sky was dreary. Oak trees and hanging moss lined the sidewalk on both sides of the road, giving the illusion she was in a tunnel. Finally, Berryhill, the street she grew up on, she took a right. About halfway down the road, standing outside on the porch of a white-paneled house, stood her husband. Their eyes met, sorrowful but relieved.
“Hey, love, I’ve been waiting for you.” He pursed his lips together, close to tears. They entered the cookie-cutter home together; the house smelled of Pinesol, and the walls were filled with family pictures. Down the hall in the living room, a projector played old memories, but somehow from the
perspective of others. Candace sat there on the navy-blue shag carpet and watched the birth of her children and her wedding day through the eyes of her husband. Her old life displayed like a sad movie.
The bright red corded phone hanging on the dining room wall began to ring. Candace and Nik, eyes wide, exchanged a look of knowing and raced to the phone. They picked it up and shared an ear to the handset.
“Hi Mommy, hi Daddy, we miss you!” Two angelic voices sang through the receiver, and all of a sudden, everything was okay.
Mia Moore
Joslynn Moreno
Hollow Lorena Rosales
The wind hitting the inside of a dead tree
The sound it makes I know it’s
Hollow
The empty plastic bottle you dropped on the floor
We knew it was
Hollow
The pipes that sit waiting to be bought at a hardware store
They are
Hollow
While my love for you is unwavering, your heart is just like the
Pipes
Bottle
Dead Tree
Hollow
Alas she knows it not
The water weeps
Her soul speaks
Filling in where her body is weak
The words come later
Emotions felt later
So she sings a song
Of her sorrows and feats
Unknowing
She speaks
Where once a disconnect
Words are said
Her tune and melody
Become her remedy
For what she can’t feel
Her soul reveals
The water carries her song
The notes and tunes
When she is clueless to the truth
La la la la
Hmm hm hm hmm
Her silent song reaches the ears of a merman
He hears a voice speaking to his soul
La la la
Hm hm hmm
He felt the world around him was fake
He faced a disconnect
Yet it never showed on his face
He hid his loneliness and vowed to become strong
Without anyone and would never hear anyone’s song
Yet in a cruel twist of fate
He heard a song he sung before
Something he couldn’t ignore
Something twisted in his soul
A call to go home
La La La
Hmmm mhm mhmm
The waters tune
Comes true
My Mother’s Son
Gustavo Daniel Chapa
While speaking has never been my strong suit, writing seems to be a great tool within my arsenal. Beginning at a young age, I’ve had much difficulty with communication. Difficult times where I would stumble, stutter, and mispronounce words. My literacy has provided me with the ability to adequately deliver my message without my elocution damaging it. The issue is when your mind goes a thousand miles per hour, you can’t say things fast enough and that’s where the mistakes lie. When I write, it’s like I have all the time in the world to say exactly what I want. In essence, it is my own personal script where I’m able to deliver a message that isn’t broken down, mumbled, or hard to understand. Being literate has granted me a route to show my true colors. Without it, I’m not entirely sure I’d have the sheer capability of understanding who I am or what my intellectual capabilities are.
Growing up, my stay-at-home mother was often utilizing any online writing lesson plan that she could get her hands on and assign it to me so it would help sharpen my literacy skills.
At seven years old, completing these writing worksheets felt absolutely meaningless to me. I whined and whined at the thought of having to write an essay about “The Best Day Ever!” It had always felt so pointless to me. Almost twenty years later, I come to the realization that Mrs. Dina Chapa was right! She realized that although practicing reading, and writing wasn’t as fun as Nintendo and Xbox, it’ll one day bring the same reward.
Mom would often chalk each boring assignment up as “fun.” I’m not sure what kind of fun my mother had back in the 80s, but 7-year-old Gus and Mom didn’t have the same idea of fun. Mom would say, “Hey, let’s sit down and do this fun activity!” Me, being a juvenile, gullible little piece of life, I believed that Mom really meant it when she said it was a fun activity. Unfortunately, Mom had no idea what fun really meant and because of that, she really did set me up to be the best student that I could be.
You tend to really appreciate the struggle of learning to read and write when you realize how the perseverance made you into a better person. Mom really did not have put the extra effort sitting a stubborn and whiney sevenyear-old down and have them do writing assignments, but she did exactly that. As much as I probably fought her on not wanting to complete these “fun” writing activities, I’m certain that it did me more justice than playing Mario Kart for 12 hours straight. Albeit not the greatest childhood, my mother assured that I was not going to be falling behind in school.
Fifteen years later, I am proud to say that I take pride in reading and writing for more than my own self interest. Yet, these tendencies were all pieces of the puzzle no matter the degree of selfishness and immaturity, and I’m proud to look back and laugh at it. Looking back at everything, I truly wish I would’ve understood the assignments and what they would have provided to me had I taken them more serious at the time. As I mentioned, my mother made sure that she sat me down and worked through whatever assignment it was. I never did mention that I gave the best effort on any of them. Regardless of it, I live to tell about the tale. I live to work towards optimizing every new opportunity at hand, whatever that may be.
Edge of the Universe
Christina Tata
And here I sit, At the edge of the universe. I watch the planets dance and look out at the void under my feet.
The stars whisper to each othermy sins, regrettable. My acts of good karma, forgettable.
But I sit here and reflect because the world did not end when I lost you. And the world did not begin when I found her. And the world did not end when I lost me.
I watch careful for the birth of new galaxies, Praying for the me of another universe.
The Lonely Dog Austin Brower
I sit alone, watching
As people walk by Waiting for my owner
Looking at the sky
Sitting on the deck
Come rain, come sun Bound by this collar
Not allowing me to run
My owners bark Feels worse than winter’s bite When I have to sit alone All throughout the night
Weakened by this chain
While other people play I haven’t seen my owner All throughout the day
Unshaken Together Douglas Aabbad
I’ll pave the way for us, my dear, With steady hands, I’ll hold you near. Honest love, I’ll stand my ground, Through every storm, you’re safe and sound.
If I could act on love so true, And show the faith I’ve built for you.
We’d never let a moment fade, With you, my heart is not afraid.
Untitled Joslynn Moreno
Englewood 1:21
Rafael Piña
The solution of the cowards is to don the coat & leave when your worries become irrelevant.
Life is anything but humdrum, you haven’t lived Life is suffering, it’s all the species knows.
When you conquer the monster, what do you do next? Where do you go? Joy is as real as God, an eternal life is your escape & delusion for your victorious plight.
I lament for those who pass by with smiles. Denial is a cure for fear, but illness is better than a piece of candy after the medicine.
This environment is cancerous to the poet. I seek distress, I seek suffering.
Maybe God exists in other expressions…
God in the short breaths when you cry… God in the steps of the desolate, cold night walk… I still refuse to acknowledge.
Modern Sheol
Rafael Piña
Daddy,Dad
JJ McKay
Daddy’s arms are my first gentle hold. Lil’ girl, come here. Genuine warm embrace. The pine trees are tall. Daddy is taller in my hand. “I’m gonna tickle you lil’ girl!” I giggle.
Ouch! Pain from my owie. The tears are dried with a hug and kiss. The long talk, with advice I didn’t know I would need.
He taught me to be my own person, but as a teen I knew it all. I didn’t need Dad. Leaving him to serve my country, like he did. I became a Soldier, a Wife and a Mother.
Home now. Dad was there and the cancer. He seems smaller and frail now. The long talks, the good advice, the memories Daddy, I hold you now and will until the end.
An excerpt from A Letter from Timbercreek Road
Jocelyn Castañeda-Muñoz
In a home brimming with laughter and warmth, the walls were adorned with a cheerful white paint, playfully accented by vibrant blue and red dots that seemed to dance across the surface. Each stomp on the dark green carpet sent a shake through the house, as if it were joining in on the fun, joyful energy of family gatherings and cherished moments. Large trophies the height of a six-year-old lined the shelves, gleaming reminders of past victories, while storage bins added a small reminder it was not a game room, and the risk of things dropping and spilling were still there. In the corner, a cozy twin bed, draped with soft quilts, inviting the cousins to rest after their over achieved 3-star worth rounds of Just Dance 4. It was a place of shared laughter, where they would collapse, breathless and grinning, recounting their favorite and overplayed songs of Kesha and Bruno Mars. This vibrant space was not just a room; it was a canvas painted with the colors of memories.
The front yard is where most of my memories replay, the hanging glass windcatcher that was found at the flea market years prior can be heard with each kiss of the wind. Of course, I’m sure the small nylon rope connecting all of it together was on its last few days, and with one more shake it’ll snap. In front of the porch, right in the center was a big tree, with a trunk the size of a car and branches that you can sleep on. One of the unlucky branches was tied around by an old swing made of weathered wood and fraying rope, swaying uncertainty in the breeze. Its once white paint had faded, revealing splintered edges that were covered with electrical tape to create a barrier but somehow failed, posing a threat to unsuspecting riders. The ropes, worn thin with age, slowly untangled as time passed, and seemed to strain under the weight of even the lightest child, whispering a warning with each creak. Its unsafe condition cast a shadow over those fond memories of swaying so high I thought I’d touch the moon. Each hesitant push brought a thrill mixed with anxiety as the thrill of play clashed with the reality of potential danger.
The home on Timbercreek is not just any home, it is where my earliest memories were created, where my family was together one last time. It’s been ten years now since we departed from the house, and every time I look upon it, my heart grows heavy. Just as Edward Abby, author of “The Great American Desert” and graduate of the University of New Mexico, writes to warn the people away from his cherished land, I write this so the home can know it is loved and beautiful with its imperfections. Though it may seem like an old,
sad home, it is still my home, no one else will take that away from me. Just like the poison ivy and the bugs under the staircase, they protect what is theirs, and themselves from danger. I want to protect my home from any danger it may face. No matter how much I would like to scare the people away from the beautiful wood built home, erase the thought of strangers entering my space, filling the air with new memories, and erasing any sense of childhood that I built within those walls, I know I just need to sit and hope the next family loves and cherishes the small imperfections of the home, just as much as me.
To the Carnival Grace Bowling
The Sound of Thunder
Robert Gomm
Where do you go when you hear thunder rumbling?
Do you hide under your pillow shivering in fear?
Or do you sit with glee at every grumbling?
To your commands, the thunder won’t adhere, So don’t sit frightened, as fear portends stumbling.
Tentacle
Lorena Rosales
All the marvelous things, living in you, vibrant blue waves tumbling the sandy shores, the sounds and scenery it’s what you do. But you have a dark side, oh there’s much more.
What’s so terrifying? That sea creature, the ugly beast with the long tentacles
It’s a beast with quite flamboyant features. We fear you, as some fear a pentacle.
But is there any truth to your being? Or maybe we are all being deceived Sailors fear you by only believing Haunting tales leave plenty misconceived.
We will still dip our feet in the blue sea
While you’re living (or not) completely free.
Scorpion
Amanda Moltz
The Clown Effect
Yseña Rodriguez
The Clown Effect Pt 2
Yseña Rodriguez
humbled with ragged breathing, my heart forming tremors in my chest. How did it get there? I was running so fast. So far away, I could see it staring at me. It’s large eye, completely emotionless, devoid of reflection until you were too close, and it was too late. Lacking an understanding of everything around me but an inky blackness, it stared at me.
I can still get away.
A determined spark shoots into the sky behind it, wiggling against the memory of wind. It explodes to life, sizzling with gunpowder, and seconds later, the sound of its arrival meets my ears, just as loud as I remembered. The creature is shrouded in the fireworks’ shadows, illuminating its unmoving silhouette. Yet still, it seemed to get closer to me.
Get away, now.
I could feel it reaching out to me, but my body stood still. My heart raced, my legs tensed, my stomach churned, all of me urging, screaming, to move. But nothing happened. My feet were sinking into the sand, my toes barely wiggling. The whispers were getting louder. The only other noise was the explosive colors from an irreplaceable moment looping behind it. I wouldn’t let it toy with me, not this time. Not again.
I screamed at it once I could feel its tether. There was a falter in its strength and I pulled my legs out from the depths of the sand and bolted in the opposite direction. Turning around, I saw green and blue shapes dancing impossibly in the air. The tall length of my shadow captures the floor, but nothing but an inky nothingness rests beneath it. I turn towards the light. It looked so real. So warm and inviting. But, something about the shining light was wrong, it didn’t seem to stretch along the walls, or cast any shadows besides one long dark figure on the floor from ahead of me.
She sang to me, her voice calling out. Ragged breath while my eyes flit around, I search for an exit. A distraction, an advantage, anything signaling escape. That is, until, a low set of shaking footsteps rumbled everything around me.
When it finally stilled, it looked up at me. And I could see my reflection. It spoke to me in her voice, “I just wanted to remind you.”
Yearning Stephanie Stewart
Inside Out
After Lana Hechtman Ayers
Brenda Gonzalez
Intelligence feels like a fading memory.
My favorite hands bring me the worst anxiety.
Food is too much work, even when it’s good.
Was my imagination bonded to my innocence? They both left when I remembered.
Altruism was not the choice I wanted to make.
I had a flare for the mysterious, but I’ve learned to be very dull.
Imposter smiles have me question my own.
My birthday used to be black, now it’s an anxious gray.
Grays are beautiful, until they color my life, or we talk about morals. The disfluencies of my brain tend to leak to my mouth.
The Final Descent
Elizabeth Saucedo
Until We Meet Again
Megan Richardson
May the stars grant you safe passage home.
Where the river carries you out to sea.
To the brightest inferno that never scorches.
Among the strongest tempest that never withers. And cherish the world far beyond our reach.
Wait for the embrace of the many as you rest within the arms of the First. From the time of your birth to the time of your death.
Ground yourself to the earth of your brothers and sisters.
Where you rest in peace with Ethereal among the missing.
Until we meet again at the edge of Eternity.
Hellhound
Joelin Smith
Winter Kimberly Mangano
You can be cold beyond measure
You can be ruthless
You are patient, more than a man could ever be
You are more beautiful than any woman
You are Demeter’s agony and Persephone’s rebirth
And yet, you can kill a man more torturously than fire
All with a smile on your face
You are vicious, my dear Winter
You are cold and calculating
And yet, I would not have you
Any other way darling,
Because a phoenix must have its pile of ashes
Just like a fire must have its spark
Because how would we know the heat of life
If Death did not wrap us in its cold embrace
So, my darling angel,
Do not fret when others hate your intense chill
Or the pure white dust you leave in your wake
My dove, ice can be just as passionate as fire
Just as Death is as sweet as life itself
Heart Life and Lungs
Isaiah Flores
La Última Chica
Joelin Smith
I Am
Kristine Martinez
I am toxic – generational curse.
I am both a loaded needle and gun.
I am lost and abandoned- stolen purse
I am the consolation prize you won
I am drowning – dog paddling the river
I am surviving the world that we know
I am sending a message - deliver.
I am what you buried that chose to grow.
I am training, -like Muhammad I’ll fight.
I am seeking better versions of me
I am risen from the dark-nights moonlight
I am a phoenix, set ablaze and free
I am hoping to heal one another,
I am sister, daughter, friend- mother
Universes Christopher Rodriguez
Two
Moon Goddess Rising
Victoria Dieffenbach
She was made of shifting tides, woven from echoes of all she’s survived. A puzzle of memories pieced together, some sharp, some soft, some too heavy to hold for long.
She has burned before, a heart once reckless with love, offering too much, asking too little. But the flames did not consume her— they shaped her, polished her into something luminous, a woman who knows her worth before anyone else can name it.
She does not chase— not love, not money, not fleeting approval. She attracts.
With presence, with certainty, with the kind of magnetism that makes people lean in, hoping to stay within her orbit.
There were days when she doubted, when the weight of expectation pressed too heavily against her ribs.
She has lost, she has waited, she has stood at the edge of change, wondering if she had the strength to step forward again.
But she is not one to stay still.
She moves with intention now, each step a declaration of self, each choice a brick in the empire she builds.
Katherine Maiorana
Cruz de Flores
The Morning After Megan Richardson
The morning after my death
Time had left without me
And I missed everything I had done
But mostly everything I didn’t get to
I missed my mother’s soft embrace
And her whispers as she read bedtime stories to the five of us
And the Sunday morning waffles she made for us all, laid heavy on my tongue
I missed the long walks on the beach with the sand at my feet while my sister walked at my heels yapping about her day
I missed my brothers and their brooding stares when I said something stupid I missed their obnoxious noises from the living room while they played their video games and rudely told me to go away
So why had I been so selfish?
I had somehow done worse to them then I did to myself
How could I say I missed them when I gave them away so easily?
I let one self depriving action destroy and end my life
I let others push and prod till there was nothing left of me
Nothing but a ghost
The morning after regret filled me
Why had I not changed my mind sooner
I should have known the consequences to my actions
It laid heavy across my families guilt stricken faces
My decision, plain as day plagued splotchy and tiresome eyes
Voidless speckles along pale as bone flesh and worn thin frames
They hadn’t showered or eaten in days
My brothers—as strong and steady as mountains, cried for the first time
They wailed like newborn babies for the return of their annoying little sister that would never come home
My sister, who hadn’t spoken a word since, clung to mother’s side like a moth to a flame, the only sound a whimpered cry, for her younger sister she’d lost
And my mother, so hollow and broken,
So full of life even when it came to raising the five of us on her own
I’d never seen her without a smile
Not until now
She’d lost her baby, her youngest, her last, the one she couldn’t protect from the cruelty of the world
I did that to her
To them
I wished for a swell of sadness to fill me
But how could I wish for rain to touch me now
When I’d escaped from it then
Why couldn’t I have wanted this when I was a being to be touched
The morning after I had been gone forever I realized how much I wanted to stay
To be held again
To be loved again
To be alive again
I wanted to go back
To live it all for one second longer
To tell them they couldn’t have saved me
They had started questioning themselves
Like what if I had done this
Or what if I had known
Or had I been the cause
I wish I could tell them they couldn’t have saved me
Only I could have done that
But I didn’t
The morning after I killed myself
All I could see once the lights blinded me
Was a life thrown away
A life lost to time
A life that was once mine
It flashed by in the lights of time
So on the morning after when the lights finally turned to twilight
I saw how much life was around me
Everyone’s but mine
I’d given up so much to end the pain raging inside me
I made up my mind to quickly
I had waited till the morning after to realize I was so in love with living
That I couldn’t take back my decision
Time doesn’t forgive an ending like that
It was like an ocean with no waves
Or a pond with no ripples
Nothing could disrupt the flow of it not even death
Time didn’t know how to stop for anyone
Time didn’t know the prospects of life and death
It just ticked away on its own accord
Just like it had done the morning after my birth And the morning after my death
Fading Memories
Gerri Reynolds
The Make Up
Shadara Quinn
Jolting awake from a loud pop, the air immediately felt odd. The same storms raged on outside, but something inside was different. “Ari...” My right-hand man, Goose, gripped my shoulder and whispered near my ear. I gave him a nod and we sat as still as possible. Wind knocked the heavy rain outside against the computer lab windows nearly cancelling out the loud moaning from the undead outside. The Rec center that we secured ourselves in had always seemed sturdy when I was working here, and the events from this past year have really proved that. Muffled cries rang out, shattering the silence around us.
“PLEASE. PLEASE HELP!”
I looked over at Goose who was already looking at me. His left eyebrow was lifted as his gaze was serious. Goose was always quiet, but I could read his expressions easily. I stood up, “We need to close wherever they came from and secure it.” He gave me a nod and crawled off to the direction of our emergency stash. It was rare that we ever needed to tap into it, but this wasn’t the first time. That first time was tough to handle. We hadn’t known that the breakfast bar’s door was loose. That’s how the creatures got inside. But it was easy to get through due to there being ten of us. But now it was only Goose and I. If only Tarina hadn’t…
“You ready?” Goose looked down at me with concerned eyes. It was as if he knew something that I didn’t. Matter of fact, he always knew something that I didn’t. His sixth sense never steered us wrong. Depending on the circumstance, it was warming. This time it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I nodded at him and he nodded back. He handed me a handgun and I secured my knife on me. It was go time.
Goose flashed me the computer lab key before he locked the door behind us. I took a deep breath in and just listened. The only movement that was heard was crying and shuffling downstairs on the first floor. I looked at Goose to make sure he was ready. He gripped his axe tightly, “Now or never, Ari.” I nodded and we slowly made our way to the stairs. Looking over the railing there wasn’t much to see but the bathroom hallway. Goose slid in front of me and made his way over our secured stairwell. He helped me over as
not to disrupt it. I suddenly felt exposed. There was nothing really standing in the way from someone harming us.
We carefully crept down the blue steps, looking in every direction. If Goose looked right, I was looking left. If he looked up, I was looking down. It was just automatic, but that’s why we worked so well together. The moans outside were louder on the first floor. We did our usual dance of checking our surroundings until we got to the food service area where the sobbing inside grew. You could smell the difference in the air. The blood and rain intermingled. It was hard to miss. “Please... Ari, please help.” Sat with her back against the half-wall that food orders used to be taken at was Tarina. My chest rose and fell quickly and it was getting hard to breathe. All I could do was stare at my best friend. Goose raised an eyebrow at me and I put my hand on his shoulder. He gave me a nod, squeezed my hand, and walked over to the breakfast bar’s door that led outside, securing it again.
…
My best friend looked up at me. Her eyes were losing the mischievous twinkle they always held with each passing second. I broke down, kneeling in front of her, “I’m sorry, Tarry. I should have gone after you. I should have begged you to stay. I never should have let you go out there knowing you’ve never had to before. I’m so sorry!” She reached out to me and I squeezed her limp hand. Her kind, warm hands were unusually cold. Her tone became more and more dull. She looked so different from how I’ve always known her. It wasn’t right. In my heart I knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. We were supposed to be grumpy old ladies together that took over the world. But that world that we planned for is no more.
“I love you, Ari. We’ll be best friends in our next life again, right?” I laughed and nodded, smiling, “Yeah, Tarina. We’ll always be best friends in every life time. We’ll be sisters in our next life! I promise.” Tarina wailed, her voice becoming distorted. I sat and held her close for as long as I could. “I’ll take care of you next time.” I placed my handgun to her temple as she was groaning. Tears fell from my eyes like the rain banging on the windows outside, begging to be let in. “I promise we’ll be better next time. I love you, Tarina.” My best friend squeeze my hand for the final time before the bang of my weapon silenced us inside.
Angels Do Not Exist
Nevaeh Payne
>>> [Compile Dataset; > (‘subject’) to (‘Man’)]
>Man is not; (‘Wings’)
>Man is not; (‘Divine’)
>Man is not; (‘Halo’)
>Man is not; (‘Sex’)
>Man is not; (‘Undefined’)
Dataset = Angel
Execute Angel.Exe?
>>> [Delete Dataset; (‘Angel’)]
>>> [Compile Dataset; > (‘subject’) to (‘Man’)]
-Error, Dataset does not exist_-