The SunLit Spring 2020 by Samohi Literary Magazine

the sunlit SPRING 2020

poetry•prose•art•photography

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Claire Kovac

EDITORS Claudia Sherman Cristina Marban Camila Sigbaum Stella Faas

STAFF Ava Pertrile Dorys Cardenas Maya Barrett Phoebe Huss

SPRING 2020

the sunlit poetry•prose•art•photography

the student-run literary + arts magazine of santa monica high school SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA

EDITOR’S NOTE: SunLit. It’s our name but also our mission: to illuminate and bring to full color the work of student artists and poets, writers and photographers, the talented voices of Samohi. There hasn’t been a literary magazine at Samohi for half a decade. The challenges of building the magazine from scratch—gathering a team of editors and staff, soliciting submissions, editing, designing the layout, and publicizing—have been, honestly, exhausting. But when we started receiving the exceptional pieces that make up the magazine you hold (virtually) in your hands today, I realized the struggles have been more than worth it. Art is needed now more than ever. In this whirlwind pandemic that has swept us off our feet in a storm of uncertainty, art is what grounds us. Art, whether written word or visual, is a direct pathway to our souls, and paging through this magazine, I sincerely believe that, like I do, you will feel the message of hope that reverberates through every piece. I am incredibly impressed with the extraordinary creativity in this issue. This magazine would not exist without the brilliance of each contributor. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who made this possible. Thank you to my parents, our faculty moderator Ms. Faas, and our wonderful editors and staff. Welcome to the inaugural issue of the SunLit. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. —Claire Kovac, Editor-in-Chief

contents AUTHORS 3 Claudia Sherman A Love Letter to California

8, 11 Rachel Leivn Rain The Bird that Stayed 14 Genevieve Nevius Dream Chasers 24 MJ Hanssens Lost Ones 27 Stella Faas Varying Shades of Plain 28, 31 Rachel Levin Contrast To the Tune of Pangea

ARTISTS 2 Claudia Sherman 5, 29 Shaun Morgan 6, 22, 25 Jackie Oram 8 Ella Ragsdale 10, 12, 23 Sofia Yaron 26 23 Camila Sigbaum 30 Ella Joyce

31 Sadie Lovett Flyaways 32 Claire Kovac Starlight on the cover: artwork by Jackie Oram

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7 Claire Kovac La Lune

CLAUDIA SHERMAN

a love letter to california CLAUDIA SHERMAN

When I was younger, I failed to recognize the beauty of the place I lived in. I was caught up in resentment for those who had snowy winters and rainy days more than once every three months. It wasn’t until very recently that I learned to appreciate California. I read Jack Kerouac’s On The Road in eighth grade, and that book fueled my obsession for all things beatnik. Through that obsession, I learned about Allen Ginsberg. I devoured his work, reading and rereading all of his most iconic poems. Last summer, I visited San Francisco, the city that Ginsberg, Kerouac and the rest of the beats all called home. The city was Ginsberg’s muse. San Francisco was also the birthplace of the hippie movement, home to bands like The Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane that I adored so deeply. It was obvious to me why so many creatives would be drawn to such a place: it bled culture. the sunlit

My appreciation for the state I live in grew exponentially through the art and writing that San Francisco had to offer. It was once difficult for me to appreciate my own hometown, something I can’t begin to fathom today. I now think I live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. When I was younger, Los Angeles was where I lived and nothing more. I never took into account the history and diversity of the city; how every neighborhood felt like a different part of the world. I failed to appreciate the beaches and the mountains, the art and the countless films that have come out of this city. I was introduced to Joan Didion through the opening quote of Lady Bird, a movie that instantly became my favorite. Reading about California through Didion’s eyes opened mine. Her ardent love for California made me feel more connected to my home than I ever did before. The way she described Los Angeles in “Santa Ana Winds” felt real. It was the only account of the city that was gritty and true and it felt like the city I knew rather than the Hollywood dreamland everyone had previously spoken of. Didion made me realize that what I thought was disdain for where I lived was truly just affection in another sense. That I truly did love where I live, I just hadn’t seen anyone else who loved it the same way as I did. I loved the real LA. Not the celebrity’s playground full of movie stars, but the gritty LA that Didion described. Didion once said “You have to pick the places you don’t walk away from.” Although I don’t see myself living in California for the rest of my life, it’s not a place I would ever walk away from. 4

SHAUN MORGAN

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JACKIE ORAM acrylic painting

la lune

CLAIRE KOVAC I am an incandescent bracelet

Crescent shaped, made of opals I shine

Reflecting the light of anotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s face The woman who wears me Has skin as dark as coal Her dress glitters,

Embroidered with miniscule diamonds They catch the light just so

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rain

RACHEL LEVIN A heavy boot digging into gravel Tv static A rrrrrip of velcro Smushing a paintbrush in sticky paint Sprinkled sugar Wood crackling in a fire A whisper of sshh Time whistling by

Mother natureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s generosity A droplet of dew Freshness Green Life Home.

ELLA RAGSDALE

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SOFIA YARON “zentangle” ink on paper

the bird that stayed RACHEL LEVIN

To the abandoned sacred beasts who hide in their closets afraid to be found To the abounding holy things who walk past the doorway who donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t make a sound

Why are you so afraid of them? the little monsters all around They do their best to hide their magic but sometimes it comes out

Then you can watch in wonderment theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re growing something from the ground Rethink your quick decision and wonder what, in them, you heard

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SOFIA YARON

“the path,” acrylic painting 12

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dream chasers GENEVIEVE NEVIUS

Saywer watched bombshells rain down through the night air. They made the air vibrate with energy and when they hit the ground Sawyer could feel it in his bones. Ahead of him soldiers were blown away like sand in the wind. Everyone was running and shouting. All Sawyer could think was, I’m going to die. Bullets bombarded the ground next to Sawyer and he lurched into motion, stumbling down the hill in front of him. His pace was a cross between a lope and a jog. Suddenly Sawyer was falling, falling over someone’s body. He felt like throwing up. He looked up. The battlefield seemed to him like an anthill, little insects running around aimlessly. Sawyer’s commander had come up with a carefully thought out plan: to form a triangle of soldiers and plow through the enemy’s troops, going from the inside out. But what his commander hadn’t known was that more enemy 14

troops were coming in from behind. The plan had shattered into a million pieces of chaos. Sawyer had gotten lost in the crowd of men, fighting for survival. His troop had been exposed and vulnerable from the minute they had set out from the main camp. Out of the corner of his eye Sawyer saw two figures moving rapidly with purpose toward the center of an open field. The field was pockmarked with bombs and smoke wafted through the air. Going anywhere near there would be suicide. Sawyer watched as the two soldiers limped toward their death. “Stop!” Sawyer yelled. But he couldn’t be heard over the rattle of machine guns. “Stop, you’re going to kill yourselves!” Sawyer couldn’t tell if the two were friends or foe but he didn’t care. I can’t bear to see one more death. He pulled himself up and started sprinting, yelling all the while. Sawyer kept his eyes on the sky in case his own death sentence was hurtling down. Instead he saw a bomb flying straight at the two men. They stopped and looked up. And started laughing. The tall soldier punched the other in the arm as if the other had made the funniest joke in the world. Sawyer was within 50 feet of them. His legs began to fail and his heart was pounding in his ears, louder than the ricocheting bullets. 20 feet. The bomb was about to destroy the two men. The tall one looked up. 10 feet. “Move!” But the men didn’t move and death kept coming and Sawyer grabbed onto the soldiers. the sunlit

Suddenly, the three men were gone. Simply swallowed up by the air. It seemed as if they hadn’t even existed at all.

Sawyer felt a jolt and landed hard on the ground. He lay struggling with each inhale. His ears rang with the leftover sounds of the battle but above it all seagulls cried. Coarse grass rubbed against his face and the sand beneath Sawyer came into focus. A cool breath of sea breeze soothed his hot neck. Sawyer rolled over and stared at the sky. Instead of the smoky blackness of a war night he saw a brilliant blue. The kind of blue you could stare at for a while. Suddenly, everything came rushing back: the field, the bombs, the suicidal soldiers. Sawyer jumped to his feet, looking around like a feral dog. Everything was quiet until out from the grass came a sarcastic voice. “Oh. Great.” The blond soldier stood up, revealing his spot in the grass. “He tagged along.” The soldier offered a hand to a figure in the grass and his tall friend clambered up. “Calm down, Liam. It’s fine. He won’t even remember this later,” the tall guy chided his shorter companion. Sawyer looked back and forth. The men’s uniforms were tattered and bloody but they were standing in this strange place as casually as two friends discussing the results of a college soccer game. Sawyer’s brow furrowed with confusion. They were talking as though he weren’t standing right there. The seagulls screamed again, laughing in Sawyer’s face at his bewilderment. 16

“Still. It’s annoying. He took up most of our energy.” Liam rolled his eyes as he said it. He reminded Sawyer of a bratty teenager and Sawyer now saw that under the blood and dirt Liam was barely an adult, at least five years younger than Sawyer himself. “What is going on? We-we died. I saw-” Sawyer looked around helplessly and threw his hands in the air. “Where are we?!” Liam, completely ignoring Sawyer, turned and walked away. Over his shoulder he called to his companion, “C’mon Noah, let’s go.” Noah beckoned to Sawyer as he started after his friend. Liam was almost at the edge of the cliff. Sawyer walked a little closer. He could hear the sound of crashing waves against the cliffs and He could hear imagined dagger sharp rocks lying bethe sound neath shallow water. This guy must have of crashing a death wish, Sawyer thought. First the waves against bomb, now this? “Wait-” Sawyer faltered but Noah the cliffs waved away his protest. Liam walked closer and closer to the edge until, to Sawyer’s dismay, he walked off into mid-air and fell, without a sound. When Noah began to follow it was too much for Sawyer. “Hold on,” he shouted, “What’s going on here? Please, just tell me what’s going on!” “Sawyer, it doesn’t even matter. You’re going to forget soon anyway. C’mon, we’re running out of time.” It was like Noah was speaking a different language. Sawyer could not understand. the sunlit

Noah grabbed Sawyer’s bloodied sleeve and pulled him towards the edge. “No! Stop!” Sawyer’s ragged voice cracked as he yelled desperately, to anyone, “Help! He’s trying to KILL me! Stop!” Noah pushed Sawyer over the edge and he fell through the air in slow motion. Everything was He fell turning, the sky, the cliffs, the menacing through the waves, and Noah falling a few feet above air in slow him. Sawyer scrunched his eyes closed and waited for the bone-crunching rocks motion below. Instead he landed hard on a white linoleum floor. This time, in what seemed to be a futuristic convenience store. The aisles were packed with strange items and the fluorescent lighting irritated his already growing headache. While Sawyer swayed and fought to keep from vomiting, Noah landed next to him. Not missing a beat, he got up and strode down the cereal aisle with the confidence of a general. Sawyer looked around at the small store. Every surface was some type of slick metal material. Flaws seemed unacceptable in this new, strange place. Monitors lined the upper corners showing news, weird products, and footage of people doing impossible stunts on what Sawyer assumed were hoverboards. “Hoverboards don’t exist,” Sawyer said to himself. He shook his head and drifted down aisles and aisles of strange fruits. Fruits with orange skin and blue spikes. Giant purple melons. Vegetables that looked like carrots but were translucent and white. 18

Still in a daze, Sawyer turned after Noah, who was heading up to the cashier. He felt something turn in his stomach as he gazed at his metallic surroundings. Something wasn’t quite right about this place. Even Liam and Noah seemed unsettled, hands resting on their rifles. Sawyer walked in circles. Passing fruit, pastries, canned goods with strange pictures on them; fruit, pastries, canned goods; fruit, pastries… Around and around. He felt his stomach growl. Looking toward the cash register, Sawyer spotted Noah and Liam fighting over which cereal to buy– Lucky Charms or Cocoa Puffs. The cashier stood inside a plexiglass enclosure. From where Sawyer was standing he could see right under the cashier’s desk. Holstered on the bottom of the desk was a small revolver. The cashier’s hand hovered next to it, hesitating. He seemed thoroughly spooked. He was shaking and fidgeting with his name tag. The gears in Sawyers brain turned slowly, trying to process all of this bizarre information. “Hey. Heyy.” Liam waved his hand in front of the clerk’s face but stopped suddenly when he noticed the barrel of a gun staring him straight in the forehead. The cashier’s hand trembled and his eyes darted around apprehensively. “Ah, shit-” swore Liam, dropping the cereal. In a low, dangerous voice the cashier said, “Get out of my store. Now.” “Woah, woah. We just want some food-” This agitated the clerk even more. “I don’t know what you are but you appeared in my store, in bloodied clothes, with rifles! Don’t tell me you just want food!” the sunlit

Noah jumped into the conversation, cool and composed as ever. “Listen, sir, we don’t want to harm you…” Sawyer rounded the end of the canned food aisle and saw the revolver pressed against Liam’s head. A little vein popped out of the cashier’s forehead. Sawyer took a step without looking and tripped, catching himself at the last second. The world slowed down and he saw his rifle falling to the floor, his hand trying and failing to catch it. The loud clatter filled the store, alarming the store clerk. He turned, back soaked with sweat and pulled the trigger on instinct. The bullet flew out, cutting through the air. Sawyer looked down. Why am I not dead? His eyes widened; the bullet had stopped at his chest, perfectly parallel to the floor. It made a little indent on Sawyer’s old uniform. In the plexiglass box the cashier fainted and the gun tumbled out of his hand. In the shocked silence, a fly buzzed over from the produce section. “Don’t move!” Noah whispered in an urgent voice. But before he knew it, Sawyer had closed his hand over the bullet and he felt his eyes grow heavy. From beneath his drooping eyelids he saw Liam running toward him in anguish, screaming something that Sawyer couldn’t make out. That was the last thing Sawyer heard as everything faded to black. Sawyer heard birds chirping. His familiar gray sheets felt soft on his legs and he could feel the warm sun on his eyelids. His eyes fluttered open slowly. The room was still 20

and Sawyer could see dust floating past the river of sun. Outside the window shone a bright blue sky, making Sawyer smile. As he sat up, rubbing his eyes, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Sawyer glanced down and noticed some dried blood on the sleeve of his pajama shirt. Must have gotten a bloody nose, Sawyer reasoned. He raised his hand to feel for dried blood on his face but was confused when none presented itself. At that moment, Sawyer realized his other hand was clutching something cold. Slowly, he opened his hand. Lying in his palm was a small bullet, the kind that might come from a revolver of some sort. Sawyer gasped and whispered a name underneath his breath. “Liam...”

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JACKIE ORAM acrylic painting

SOFIA YARON “still life” acrylic painting

CAMILA SIGBAUM

“an immigrant’s journey” pencil sketch

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lost ones MJ HANSSENS

Mirrors reflecting, mirrors covered in blank, mirrors above the sink of the bathroom below the floor is seeping, under the weight of water dripping from a bath tub filled with toys toppling over. It came down the stairs looking like something no one had seen before The Duck used by a boy who stood on the steps with His backpack, His gelled back hair, His cap on slightly crooked, His cane leaning against the railing. He was gone.

The Duck watched. The bubbles billowing through the open window to the boy getting on the bus to somewhere. Anywhere. Abandoned toys, shampoos, soap bottles, deodorant, as He styled his hair in front of The Duck cold in the water, under the mirrors. Watching.

The walls brighten. It is lifted and dusted, to reveal a new face. Tiny nose, feet, and hands, identical to the first boy. A new show for The Duck.

JACKIE ORAM acrylic painting

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SOFIA YARON “portrait” digital drawing

varying shades of plain STELLA FAAS

I don’t think anyone likes their name. It traps us. Tells us who we’re supposed to be. Yet without a name, we feel lost in the world. What is my place? My name is Stella. I think it’s bland. Common. Plain grey. It just means star. Not chosen for something or after someone. It’s just Stella or Stel, if you like nicknames. Stella Bella. Stellbell. Bella. Ella. L. LB. Ladybug. Daisy. Emory. Daisy Emory. Day. Stella Artois. I have an abysmal amount. Of nicknames that is. They’re my secret identities, alter egos, superhero names. I’m someone else under each name. Like costumes, I put them on for different occasions. Older sister. Loving daughter. Goofy friend. Section mate. I have so many to choose from like what kind of sandwich should I eat today. Too bad I’m usually given a plain old peanut butter.

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contrast RACHEL LEVIN

Two tragedies, side by side In one they laughed, in one they cried Two towers, made of soft wood One of them fell and one of them stood Two books, perched on a shelf One filled with knowledge, the other with wealth Two stories, written in prose One of a sailor, the other his home Two companions walk down a trail As they grow old, their legs grow frail Two tragedies, now grown and glad Neither quite happy, but no longer sad

SHAUN MORGAN

tivoli, italy the sunlit

ELLA JOYCE

to the tune of pangea RACHEL LEVIN

i hear a piercing white ringing in my ear how maliciously mechanical the white noise wailing of a million machines

i bet before we beat down the brambles and the world was still wildlife and wonder that the only terrible noises were the screeching, sorrowful seabirds and the wind

flyaways SADIE LOVETT

The flyaways They come and go

Fly with them Then come back home

You can be a flyaway Or not Be who you want to be Be all youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got the sunlit

starlight CLAIRE KOVAC

Slam! Kate shut the door and bounded down the steps into the cool night air. Binoculars bouncing around her neck, she swung up into the tree, climbing higher and higher, closer to the sky. When she reached the top, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. The breeze carried the scent of bark and leaves, and dewy grass from the park across the street. But there was something else. A certain electricity in the air, a whiff of something whimsical. She took the binoculars from her neck and focused them on the stars above. There was Orionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s belt, and the Big Dipper. Following the line of stars she found Cassiopeia. The two brightest stars were probably Venus and Mars. And close to the horizon â&#x20AC;&#x201D; She inhaled sharply, almost falling out of the tree. Who was that?

She peered at the deserted house next door. The house she had always thought held so many possibilities, but had never found anything in, that house. No one lived there. But that didn’t make any sense; she was pretty certain that right now, there was a figure on the roof, looking up at the stars too. Suddenly, as if sensing her presence, the figure turned and looked back at her. Big brown eyes in a face outlined by braids stared at her. For a moment they held each other’s gaze. Then the girl’s face broke into a huge smile. “Hi,” the girl whispered. She motioned for Kate to come to her. Warily, Kate looked around. Then, despite all her misgivings, she slowly stepped onto the fence dividing the two houses, and jumped onto the neighboring roof. “I’m so glad you came!” the girl said earnestly. “I was hoping you would be out here.” Kate was puzzled. How did the girl know her? “Oh!” exclaimed the girl. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Aria!” She stuck out her hand. Kate found her voice and returned the gesture. “I-I’m Kate.” The two girls grinned at each other. Despite the fact that both knew almost nothing about the other, there was something that drew them together. Kate pointed to the cluster of stars right by the horizon. “That’s the Pleiades. It’s so rare to see them.” The girl nodded. “It seems like a sign!” They lay back on the roof, and chatted into the night. Sometimes one would cry out and point at a star, and they the sunlit

would eagerly peer through Kate’s binoculars. And other times they lay in silence, content and happy in the way only old friends can. It seemed as if they had known each other for years, not minutes. They laughed and smiled, pondered and wondered, and enjoyed the night. Sometime between when the moon had faded to a wisp and the sun had yet to rise, a piercing cry echoed across the neighborhood. Aria stiffened and stopped in the middle of her sentence. Her wide brown eyes that had sparkled only moments before were now darkened with fear. “Kate, I have to go.” She already seemed distant, worried about some far off thing. But when she turned to Kate, the distance was gone, replaced by a tone full of urgency. “I have to go. I—” She faltered. “I don’t know if I’ll see you again. But can you do one thing?” She pressed a stone into Kate’s hand. “Keep this safe.” Full of questions, Kate opened her mouth to speak, but Aria was already slipping away, climbing down Aria was already the drainpipe and vanishing into the night.

slipping away, climbing down the drainpipe and vanishing into the night.

When Kate woke up the next morning, she wondered if it had all been a dream. That Aria and the night stars were just a figment of her imagination. But when she looked down, and saw her fingers still curled around the stone, the memories flooded back. Where was Aria? Was 34

she safe? Why had she been at the house next door? Kate pushed off her covers and pattered across the floor. She reached the window nearest the house next door and looked out. But any trace of Aria was gone. “Hey Kate,” her mom said, surprising her. “We wanted to let you sleep in.” She wrapped her in a hug, and it was only then that Kate realized how late in the morning it was. When Kate finally traipsed into the kitchen, she was met with a feast. “I made pancakes!” her sister Lyra exclaimed. “Here, grab one.” Kate started in on the pancakes, Aria and the stone forgotten for the moment. “What were you up to last night?” her father asked. “Josloogingadatars,” she explained, her mouth full of food. After breakfast, she crept back upstairs. Opening her closet door, she settled into her hideout; a pillow at her back and blanket under her feet. She reached under the blanket and felt for the stone. Still there! The tension in her shoulders relaxed and she puzzled over what to do. Should she search for Aria? Should she wait? What was she supposed to do with the stone? Maybe she should go next door and check it out. “Kate!” She jumped up, startled out of her reverie. It was just Lyra, calling up from downstairs. “Yes, coming!” she yelled. She felt around for the the sunlit

stone, eager to hide it. Oh no! The stone was cracked, split in two. It must have broken when she had jumped up. “Ugh! The one thing I was supposed to take care of!” She shut closet doors all the way in order to hide better while she searched for the pieces. Whaa—? Something strange was happening. The pieces of the stone were glowing! They looked like bits of a star. The cracked bits of stone had something outlined on them, something that let the light shine through. Frowning in puzzlement, she opened the door of the closet again. The stones ceased to glow. But when she closed the doors again… Light once again emitted from the stones. This time she looked closer. The outlines… they looked like — Numbers? “Kate!” her sister called again. “Just a sec!” She hurriedly grabbed a notebook and pen and jotted down the symbols. 34.1184, -118.3004, 20:00. She jumped out of the closet and rushed downstairs. She would contemplate the stone later. Twenty miles away, on the crest of a hill, inside a white building topped with three huge black domes an old man stood, holding a stone almost identical to Kate’s. Adjusting his glasses, he studied the stone one last time and smiled. Then, turning around, he took quick, sure footsteps to a door hidden in the shadows of the circular wall. He held up the stone, fitting it in a barely visible indent that was carved into the door where a doorknob should be. Holding his breath, he watched as the door slid 36

open. He hurried inside, marveling as he stared up at a telescope used only once every one-hundred-and-thirteen years. Behind his spectacles, his eyes twinkled as he started the preparations. Soon, he knew, the celestial event of a lifetime would happen. The Council of Thirteen would arrive from their respective countries, and they would wait in this room, wait for the last piece of this astronomical jigsaw to fall into place. All it would take was the arrival of one girl.

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NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS FOR ISSUE 2 We publish poetry, short stories, photographs, drawings, and paintings. Send all entries to samoliterarymagazine@gmail.com Submisson Guidelines and more at our insta: @samohisunlitzine We look forward to seeing your work!