Prisms: Spring 2017 | Volume 27

PRISMS A LITERARY ART MAGAZINE

Art by Luccionna Washington

SPRING 2017 VOLUME 27 St. Joseph Notre Dame High School 1011 Chestnut Street Alameda, California

STAFF MEMBERS Mary Carmen Reid

Editor-in-Chief

Rebecca Rochlin Anna Victoria Serbin Cristelle Hugo

Literary Editor Art Editor Layout Designer

Lucas Bayard Emma Courville Jenna Duran Sophie Freitas Guadalupe Hurtado

Emilia Kaldis Nina Kitapan Beatrice Levy Annemarie McGreehan Sanjana Ravi

COVER ART Nina Kitapan

ADVISORS Colette Gunn-Graffy Andrew McKee

INSIDE COVER DESIGN Luccionna Washington

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Paula Cekola Elizabeth Peláez Norris

PRISMS literary-art magazine, established in 1991, is a Signature Program published by students of St. Joseph Notre Dame High School in Alameda, California. Submissions may be turned in throughout the year. They are judged by PRISMS staff. As a “rainbow refraction of light,” PRISMS reflects the diversity of the SJND student body through different mediums and genres. Funded by St. Joseph Notre Dame High School, PRISMS is enjoyed and shared by our school community. Each SJND family receives a free copy.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 08

Mary Carmen Reid Universal Truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 09

Mary Carmen Reid I Am the Phoenix . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10

Rosemarie Compton The Hunted . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

Kayla Davis The Silent Man . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

Benjamin Yokota He Fades into Winter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Joshua Bernaldo This Is War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

Gabriel Gonzalez Back and Forth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Dmitri Gilchrist Dragon’s Den . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16

Jakob Marinos Flicker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

Emily Stehr Fairy Doors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

Beatrice Levy Letting My Hair Down . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19

Gina Bonardi Transcendentalist Lament . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20-1

Jonathan Yannantuono Ocean . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22-3

Julia Verdickt Broken Country . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24

Kayla Davis Hypebeast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25

Arren De Los Santos Torn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26

Sofia Reeves Afraid of the Dark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

Gabriel Gonzalez

In the Fog . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28

Nicole Bermudez What Does My Future Hold? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29

Benjamin Yokota Puzzle Pieces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30

Guadalupe Hurtado Abstract . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

Ian Fiorello The Thunderer Waltz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32

J.P. Sousa; Arranged by Gabriel Felix Close But Closed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33

Annemarie McGreehan Linking Pinkies . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34

Beatrice Levy Pop Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35

Annie Tran I Know A Girl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36-7

Benjamin Yokota Glass Half Empty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38

Lea Akima Duality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

Meagan Riordan A Depth at Which Most Will Never Swim . . . . . . . . 40

Mia Karlsrud You Fit Me So Perfectly . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

Guadalupe Hurtado We’re All Broken Together . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42

Jonathan Yannantuono The Woman P . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

Thomas Nilsson To Outshine the Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

Payton Dean Somewhere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

Sanjana Ravi Desolate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46

David Kresge That’s A Buck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

Leonard Kamau

Rain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48

Mia Karlsrud Valley of Wind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49

Chloe Molnar Whimsical . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50

Isabel DeGuzman Haiku . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50

Anna Victoria Serbin Metamorphosis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

Sophie Freitas Swirling Fruit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52

Anna Victoria Serbin Jungle Beat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53

Elias Macalino; Thien Pham; David

Republicano; James Republicano Unwritten . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54

Jenna Duran Ruthless Night Mother . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55

Hunter Hennigh For the First Time It’s Clear . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56

Nicole Bermudez For Once I Wish There Were Traffic . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57

Joshua Bernaldo Impermanence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58-9

Rebecca Rochlin Passing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60

AiLi Pigott Copper Hill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

William Anderer My House has a Wart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62

Mary Carmen Reid LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63

Richard Reid My Sestina . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64

Emma Courville Miles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

Mia Karlsrud

Breaking Free . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66

Azalea Koch It’s Going to Be Okay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67

Javia Anderson En Poco Tiempo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68

Ana-Francis Rivera Memory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69

Abigail McCue Procrastination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70

Diego Fernandez Makeup . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71

Samantha Schaffer All the Arts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72

Meagan Riordan Lavender and Dusk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73

Nina Kitapan Soul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73

Emily Stehr Fiddler in the Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74

Iriana Aranda After Hours . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75-77

Diego Salgues Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78-81 Star Dust . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81

Vivi McKee STAR Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 PRISMS Awards . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83

Dedicated TO

mrs. norris

Thank you for 26 editions worth of laughter, guidance, leadership, and brilliance. May the spark which you brought to PRISMS never fade.

Prisms | 7

Technology connects us and houses the opportunity to change the world; be the change you wish to see.

You are sitting at an airport. Your layover is two hours, or just enough time to respond to those emails festering in your inbox for weeks. Every outlet is taken, so you pull out your wireless USB charger for your ultrathin laptop; although it is exponentially quicker than any previous model, you sigh in dismay at your device warming up and tap your feet. In just a few seconds, you are plugged into the infinite universe of the Internet. Like an ancient supernatural entity, you now have the power to know exactly what goes on in every corner of the monitored world. Without realizing its potential, you grunt at your device as more spam barrages you as soon as you open your inbox. Another promotion, check, delete, another update, check, delete, an assignment from your boss, check, save for later. Tired, you pull out your iPhone to check the news for weather-related flight delays. Another bombing in Syria, a tsunami in Costa Rica, and an earthquake in California pop up immediately; depressed, you shut your phone and close your eyes. What could you possibly do to lessen the world’s suffering when you have dozens of late reports to write?

PRISMS welcomes you to the modern era, where technology breeds deep emotion and an enormous opportunity for positive change and empathy. Despite the millions of Facebook users and international access to the Internet, too many go hungry at the end of the day. We have the technological tools and creative means to spread awareness and catalyze activism to combat injustice, and we must use them..

PRISMS invites you to repost, like, or share this idea with everyone. Be the change you wish to see.

Mary Carmen Reid, Editor-in-Chief 8 | Prisms

Wide eyes fixated on the deluge of Googled results, Reassurement washes over my taut chest.

At least I’m not alone.

The results (all 9,828,346 of them) Are promising.

HuffPost has a version, Wikipedia, too, Two cents worth turned into a bank of discarded 401 Ks Parenting, losing loved ones, and the fleeting nature of happiness Reappear over and over again like a motif In this constantly augmented, edited, and disputed Book of Truth.

Death and taxes, I see now Are just easier to explain To kids And easier to accept By everyone else.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

UNIVERSAL TRUTH

Must be more than just “death and taxes” So I do my own research.

Prisms | 9

I AM THE PHOENIX Rosemarie Compton ‘17

I am the Phoenix I rise from the ashes With weights on my wings I fly Up from the dust and into the sky Ever changing and ever growing I am fire, and I am glowing My cycle ever changing My appearance rearranging I will continue to grow and continue to glow Until one day when I will fly slowly, I will start to fall below My wings heavy now With more weight and more years I lose my place and let out a few tears My fire smouldering Back into ash I am the Phoenix And I have crashed.

I have lost all hope once again And my fire may never return again.

But then a spark I will not die I am the Phoenix And I will fly.

Reborn with fire Destined for life As it comes down to the wire.

10 | Prisms

With all my power And all my strife I am the Phoenix And I have come back to life

The Hunted.

Kayla Davis ‘17

Before you came at me with your warning call, I was oblivious to the extent of it all.

NaĂŻve to even the possibility of my own demise.

Then with the force of a whip you hit me so quick the sting of affliction, the heat of jealousy, the strain of misery evident in every ounce of my being.

As I lay there pondering about what was once life, The idea of living was now replaced by this unsettling fear of death that was now encompassing me.

This elaborate representation of agony that was spread across what was left of me.

This tenacious grip I held was quickly fading as I was drifting in and out, and in and out, and in and out of my briefly appreciated version of reality.

My question was why did you have to do this to me?

But the answer was clearly present.

For it was the preservation of your own life that you did this.

For it was strictly meant for your own benefit that you had to.

I mean, surviving was key, but I just happened to be unlucky.

Prisms | 11

The silent man 12 | Prisms

There he stood Scotch tape wrapped around his head His mouth Holding in place a chipped, cracked, heavy heart There was something unrecognizable In his eyes Like a message written In reverse Nonsense until somebody Held up a mirror But the mirror never came All he saw Were splintered reflections Some stray slashes at his knuckles And seven years of bad luck As his world splintered From around him As he fell into the Rabbit hole Down the doors Of deception Dragged Kicking and screaming Back into the fantasy Back into the dream Back into limbo He fell from Grace One mistake connecting around in the atmosphere The way needles connect to a magnet The way rats connect to a glue trap The way bullets connect to bone marrow The way choices connect to consequences The way oil rigs connect to the sea floor He flew His arms outstretched With ashy elbows and chimney bones His ears warm from the invisible fire He landed back into reality His reality Not ours We are still dreaming He has awoken And now he may continue life.

Benjamin Yokota ‘17

he fades into winter

fall. the last leaf is clinging on to the branch of its oak tree. to prove a point, he vowed to be the final one on the ground. waging war against the elements; the rain, drenching his orange and yellow body as if it had drained the green away. the wind, very nearly tearing his stem from an almost barren oak. stubborn. let go. murmured the foliage on the cement. unbothered, unrelenting the solitary blade said nothing. stiff, he remained a silent vigil continued. there were few instances where the last leaf almost satisfied the dissatisfied complaints of the foliage on the cement. boring. thought the last leaf. how could he sacrifice his beliefs for those of the populace? but how could he preserve them if he did not know where his beliefs lay? what is he clinging onto? the relevance of being “the� last one, a morphed perception of his truth? a view distorted, the horizons fade into nothingness. collapse. onto yourself. falling, not floating to the ground. nothing more than ideas now. no longer yourself, you make no sound as you are trampled. no crunches, no objections. and the oak becomes barren.

Joshua Bernaldo ‘18 Prisms | 13

Gabriel Gonzalez ‘17

THIS IS WAR 14 |14 Prisms | Prisms

I see the horror of war The clicks of triggers Pulls of pins Roars of screams Whistles of bombs, This is war.

I see the horror of war Gun in my hand Finger on the trigger Bayonet in my enemy His body through the blade, This is war.

I see the horror of war A dead comrade beside me A dead comrade behind me A dead comrade in front of me dead comrade inside of me, This is war.

I see the horror of war The flash of a muzzle A pain in my chest My back on the ground My eyes to the sky, This is war.

Back and Forth Score

Dmitri Gilchrist '20

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Prisms | 15

Dragon’s den

Like the entrance to hell, Sparks dance through the room The clang of hot steel echoes The Fire Crackles I stare into the fiery maw I see teeth of ember Tongues of flame And breath of cinder I reach in Grasping for something The heat engulfing my arm Like a hungry beast It tries to burn the arm that has entered Raising the heat more and more It reaches its limits Its emblazoned breath burning as bright as it can burn To no effect My arm remains unburned The beast relents Death is its gift to me Thin and Brittle Filled with potential It Screams as I dunk it in oil Its long and slender shape writhes in its new inky black cloak Although this coat is torn from it like a child’s innocence As they become an adult Back into the brazen maw Now more gentle The heat creeping its way through the body Then out from the fire, back into the oil And they ran across rough stone A new reaper is born of steel

16 | P 16risms | Prisms

Jakob Marinos ‘18

flicker

Emily Stehr ‘17

17 | Prisms Prisms | 17

FAIRY DOORS

Our local Fairy Door Facebook page directs its 1,200 followers to an online map freckled with hundreds of tiny red dots, which bleed out the supposedly secret locations of hidden fairy doors all around town.

Is this a good thing?

It spills the beans on a “ferry fairy” door tucked under a pier down at the boat terminal; a skinny green door in a tree trunk, approached by a front walk of fifteen minuscule white stairs; and the dentist office’s “tooth fairy” door.

So far the purple, acorn-embellished, weed-camouflaged entryway at the base of a phone pole near my house has gone undetected though probably not for long.

The website is a boon for rabid paparazzi hunting magical folk.

But to me, it feels unsettling. Sacrilegious.

What will come next—motion detectors?

Security cameras trained on the bitty portals, waiting to snag footage of an actual fairy slipping off to work?

Maybe live streaming, keeping round-the-clock tabs on the little intimacies of secret fairy life?

I for one do not think a camera exists that can record the feathered footsteps, the gossamer wings, the ephemeral bits of fairy fluff that clothe the denizens who live behind these Lilliputian doors.

Follow and map them if you wish, Facebookers.

You will never catch a fairy.

18 | Prisms

Beatrice Levy ‘18

Gina Bonardi ‘17

LET YOUR HAIR DOWN

Prisms | 19

TRANSCENDENTALIST

There was a child that went forth each day And the first object he’d look upon, That object he’d become And that object became part of him for the day, or a

certain part of the day, or for many years, Or for stretching cycles of years.

The fresh December snow falling on his heart, Giving it no choice, but to warm the frost apart The power of the pencil, its creations calling to his desire The first of many tools to fuel his inner artistic fire Then came technology his first step to the Internet, A cybernetic journey that he chose to never forget.

Through his early years he thought he had no home, For from place to place his family would roam He found himself traveling from the concrete jungles of Manhattan and the Bronx to the Jersey Shore, To the spinning world of traveling driving him to insanity galore Then the time came, a stable place was found, he packed his bags and left for the land of the sun.

In California he found a place of peace, beaches and an excess of fun Here he coalesced all the traditions he had learned - politeness, bravery, bluntness and honesty and a plethora more He grew into a better person but not yet the great ones as he had once seen before As he fell to the leniency and the freedom of the land

He corrupted himself possessing an excess of contraband Why he made this choice still remains unclear As he once held honesty and the law dear.

Perhaps his father’s early and permanent departure had left its mark Or too many of his relationships had fallen to the dark But he did not fret, for he knew he could still make things better From his mother he drew strength and compassion From his father he drew drive and determination And for the sake of his younger brothers he made himself out to be a better man than he knew he could ever become.

As the fire of his life raged on, the family he dwelled with was still at peace 8 years and counting he could always come home to this friendly unity of sweet release Here he had friends.. he was accepted and guaranteed to fit in A land of beauty that would always bring his face to a grin It was a community with the ability to house and bring forth great men Which is why the boy felt like he had failed yet again These became a part of the child, who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

Jonathan Yannantuono ‘17

LAMENT

Prisms | 21

OCEAN Devourer of Men and Cradle of Tranquility, Consuming the unlucky ones With her massive hands While sustaining life In her watery depths She is the Ocean, The large and boisterous Madam Grandiose She whispers solace to weary hearts Her screams draw life from many She is Old and young Soft and thundering Meek and mighty Beautiful and terrifying Never truly one or the other The burn in my eyes as she embraces me Is nothing To the sting of my toes on her hot dusty back Her salty tears cool my burns and make it hard to breathe

22 | Prisms

She separates brother from brother and sister from sister In angry fits, hissing and screeching As her wide arms push them apart She is The fear of many The joy of others Her contrary temper matched by none Home of Life, Taker of Many My comfort Keeper of my memories Joys and fears of the past Home away from Home When I stand at the tips of her fingers, she tickles my toes Giving back the memories she keeps As I rest in her stinging embrace she runs her fingers through my hair Her arms rock me to sleep...

Like a baby Julia Verdickt ‘19 Prisms | 23

broken country Kayla Davis ‘17

24 | Prisms

I was never an athlete, I never knew what I read, But with my Yeezys on my feet And a Supreme beanie on my head, I’m killing this fashion game, Flexing on all of those who dress lame I am a hypebeast I cop the most exclusive drops.

From Margiela to Alexander Wang, I rock the most expensive tops.

I am part of the Bape Gang.

But these thousands I spend, Are so I can pretend I am a hypebeast I conceal my true colors, I dress to impress Not myself, but others.

It is this truth I must profess, These clothes are my pride, And my insecurities they hide.

HYPEBEAST

I am a hypebeast

I am a hypebeast Arren De Los Santos ‘17 Prisms | 25

Torn Another page tears from a notebook, Discarded.

This is where creativity dies in the graphite, Pressed against the paper flesh of the brain.

Impulses of sight and sound are only snippets of the masterpiece but the entirety is just out of reach.

Brain full but fingers numb, Empty words fall flat against a page, Like insects on the windshield of the soul.

In these ways we try to take imagination and boil it down until only the essence remains, We press it into pages and pray that it will write itself into brilliance.

The words are meaningless.

They are lifeless on a lined page.

The ripping of another page tears at the binding of consciousness, Crumpling flashes of inspiration.

The ideas had once felt so right, But now they are empty and false, As though the letters have regressed into nothing more than scribbled shapes of a diseased mind.

There is the realization that the words are never good enough, But it is so easy to put a pen to paper, Writing everything and nothing all at once.

Yet once again, we have forgotten that this page will be torn out as well, All in due time.

26 | Prisms

Sofia Reeves ‘19

AFRAID OF THE DARK ...

My entire life I’ve been afraid of the dark.

It’s the void that mocks me The void that stalks me The void that freezes me The void that teases me, and I’m still afraid of the dark.

My entire life I’ve been afraid of the dark.

The uncertainty of it The eternity of it The absolution of it The destitution of it, and I’m still afraid of the dark.

My entire life I’ve been afraid of the dark.

That it can be everywhere That it can be nowhere That it can hide things That it can misguide me, and I’m still afraid of the dark.

My entire life I’ve been afraid of the dark.

It’s the thing that shields me It’s the thing that yields me It’s the thing that protects me It’s the thing that respects me, so I’m no longer afraid of the dark.

Gabriel Gonzalez ‘17 Prisms | 27

In the fog Nicole Bermudez ‘17

28 | Prisms

I peer into The night like smoke That illusion That miasma Ineffable What does my future hold?

I sit alone And I wonder If the darkness Of the night sky Remembers me What does my future hold?

The moon, aghast Looks down on me I look down, too Because I doubt Within my soul What does my future hold?

I succumb to sleep Thousands of wisps Pulling blackness

Over my eyes Comfort blankets What does my future hold?

In dreams, I walk Through false forests Amongst golden lyres Six-stringed starlings Cacophonous What does my future hold?

The moon forgets The fortress falls Surrendering The sun, angry Envelops all What does my future hold?

I lie awake Alarm screaming The sun blinding But I am calm As I wonder How will my future change?

Benjamin Yokota ‘17

what does my future hold?

I lie awake And I put down A cracked tablet I walk to the Dusty window What does my future hold?

Prisms | 29

PUZZLE PIECES

We were both two puzzle pieces, But over time our edges wore out.

Soon the curves that were meant for connection, Became incompatible all around.

I tried to alter the corners So we could fit each other again But yours became much shorter, And mine lost a side and an end

30 | Prisms

Our borders were disfigured So much there was no fix And then that’s when I figured We’re better off like this.

Guadalupe Hurtado ‘17

Abstract Ian Fiorello ‘19

Prisms | 31

The Thunderer Waltz J. P. Sousa

Score Waltz Tempo

Flute

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8

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32 | Prisms

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arranged by Gabriel Felix '18

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close but closed Annemarie McGreehan ‘18 The man with the mustache and sunglasses and hat All bundled up in his woolen gray jacket Intent on his work, focused on his findings What is he doing What is he hiding A mere five centimeters away from his screen Keeps his belongings very close to him, indeed So as to keep his work private Which begs the question What is he doing What is he hiding The machine reads Dell and has a scratch on the side The device is attached to a long cord, seemingly stretching worldwide.

The couple in the corner

oblivious To the mysterious man and his ~unknown~ findings Makes me wonder What is he doing What is he hiding…

The wall says Booktique! with an arrow pointing left Which happens to be in the direction of the man in the woolen vest My eyes fall upon him and his machinery And it so happens He is looking right at me And so I ask the Mysterious Man with the Mustache: “Sir, what are you doing?

What are you hiding?” … He pushes in his chair and leaves.

Prisms | 33

LINKING PINKIES

Such power.

I have the whole world at my fingertips as my phone instantly translates its binary code of 10101010101 into a universe of meaning... calculus homework solutions, global warming scenarios of the next 25 years, archives of every battle ever waged, the complete genome of Oryza sativa.

Yet sometimes my fingertips do not really care about calculus or Oryza sativa, and I put my phone in my pocket -the whole wide world, hidden.

Such power.

Then you and I, we walk over the hills or down to the beach, talking, looking at things that have no screen linking pinkie fingers, and translating our own binary code of XOXOXOXOX into a universe of meaning.

We have the whole wide world at our fingertips.

Such power.

Beatrice Levy ‘18

101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

10101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXO XO

34 | Prisms

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX10101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101

101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

pop art

Annie Tran ‘18

OXO XOXOXOXOXOXOX10101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101

Prisms | 35

I KNOW A

I know a girl made of starlight She came to me one winter’s night Her eyes were my brother’s Her hair was her mother’s But her smile was no other’s

I know a girl made of sunbeams She held me close when she had bad dreams Her lips would quiver in the night And as she tried to take flight I held her arm and said “it’s all right” I know a girl made of moondust She dropped her fork to the ground in disgust She gagged at the spinach As our relatives grimaced I agreed, but it can’t be encouraged I know a girl made of skylines She picked out the backpack with gold designs I sobbed like a fool On her first day of school As she desperately tried to seem cool I know a girl made of glaciers Who tugged and pulled at her braces “The dentist is evil!”

Came the cry most primeval For she felt her fate was medieval

36 | Prisms

I know a girl made of rainfall Who at eight discovered soccer and softball My heart was aflame And I made sure that I came To each and every one of her games

I know a girl made of wonder In storms she would count down the thunder I would taunt her, “You’re scared!”

“Not true,” she’d declare My pride and joy: the girl who dared I know a girl made of light years Who sat in the backyard in tears She looked at me with dismay I asked if she was okay She said “Daddy, I’m gay.”

I know a girl made of fireflies Who looked at me with my brother’s eyes She’d be fearing my reaction To the nature of her attraction As she walked off, I saw her smile from satisfaction.

I know a girl made of river stones She was drowning out fear of the unknown She held her mom’s hand The room seemed to expand Mother of my child, explore another land.

I know a girl made of sorrow We sat in silence until today was tomorrow Her soul left a gap and Though the room had blackened Something beautiful had happened

I know a girl made of snowbanks And sometimes I think about all my mistakes I should have been there I should’ve proved I care I should have come home when I said I would.

I know a girl made of splendor And I wonder if I’ll ever comprehend her Every night she disembarked I slept alone in the dark While she froze time in the park

I know a girl made of buttercups I found her, stained red, in the bathtub Her wrists were a mess And I collapsed from distress Together in loneliness

I know a girl made of seafoam And one night I was scared, she hadn’t come home And when she crawled home at two Her bloodstained tights were askew She sobbed while I screamed “What’d they do?”

I know a girl made of starlight She left me that summer’s night.

Her eyes were my brother’s Her hair was her mother’s But her smile?

It was like no other’s Benjamin Yokota ‘17

I know a girl made of daydreams Who lied and said it wasn’t how it seems Even though she was older I asked if I could hold her She wept with her head on my shoulder I know a girl made from winter Whose mind and soul seemed to splinter As she shook in the night It would fill me with spite My joy, fighting the hardest fight

GIRL

glass half empty

As I’m still trying to pick up the pieces something else breaks.

Unconsciously hunched over.

Trembling.

Sweat sticks to my body.

A never-ending burden.

The pain permanently ingrained.

Fingertips impure.

Scars to relive the regret.

Living an existence picking up The shards of a glass half empty.

Lea Akima ‘17

38 | Prisms

duality

Meagan Riordan ‘17

Prisms | 39

a depth at which most will never swim She had the depth of the ocean in her heart And he was just a boy.

He observed her waves and listened to the sound of her crashes.

As he sat in the sand before her, She waited with welcome waves, And her creatures sang to him In an attempt to fascinate him to come into her timid waters.

But, he was afraid of swimming.

He stood to walk closer to her, But he was yanked back Then realized that he was tied to a lovely swaying palm tree behind him.

She enticed him to climb and find his way to the top Where he bore a grin and threw his fist in the air, For he felt like a success.

When he looked over the waters and onto the horizon, He remembered the beauty of the waves and the sounds that she created with her creatures.

As his feet swung below the leaves, he held on tight and wondered what would happen If he Just Let Go.

40 | Prisms

He was afraid of swimming and seeing no end to the depths of water she held, Made him nervous for what he was about to do.

He untied the knot around his ankle and when he loosened his grip He Just Let Go His body passed the branches which he held.

He thought about how letting go would break his fear of the ocean, which was her heart and her eyes. Swimming at a depth at which most will never swim would allow him, ultimately, to feel her love which only one will now ever know.

Mia Karlsrud ‘18

you fit me so perfectly Oh, white Vans, I love the way you slip onto my feet, The way you crease when I leap You fit me so perfectly.

I love the way you mold to my toes, The way you match all my clothes You fit me so perfectly.

I love the way you squeak

when I skip, The way you bend when I trip You fit me so perfectly.

I love the way you burn in the sun, I’m glad I have two and not one Oh, we are just meant to be.

Guadalupe Hurtado ‘17

Prisms | 41

WE’RE ALL BROKEN TOGETHER What is a self reflection without a little bit of sarcastic inflection To look inside your soul and only see a festering infection Every day is a different chance to make your mark on this earth So why is it everyone spends all their time beating on their self-worth Why is it everyone likes to think they’re the hero of the story Pushing themselves to embark on an adventure for glory Someone whisk me away from this whirlpool of narcissism These beautiful and unique people and their overzealous pessimism Everybody has an undecided hatred ready to spring on their world of unsuspecting victims If I have to watch any longer I swear I’m gonna explode with a series of unrelenting aneurysms Each time I see a problem resolved Each time I see an action absolved In its stead flows more spite and unnecessary anger New problems with no reason to hold logic’s anchor Sometime when I close my eyes I see worlds of possibility A world with people filling their hearts with integrity A world where everyone makes those small efforts That bring you through your emotional deserts This world is full of selfish and cynical and blind and broken men and women But I’ll be damned If I don’t still admire every single one of them Jonathan Yannantuono ‘17 42 | Prisms

Thomas Nilsson ‘17

the woman p

You mean the world to me, undoubtedly you are proud of me.

You provide for me, with all that you can do for me, without question you do what’s best for me even when you are tired of me.

You have an incomprehensible love for me your heart is filled with care for me I cannot thank you enough for being the greatest woman anyone can be.

Even through the rough times for me, we were able to make it through the turbulent sea.

When Sophie and I needed another key, through the split of L and P you still showed that love to me, and made it more comfortable for me.

When the deadly sickness that starts with a C infected your breast, you still provided for me.

Pain and love couldn’t stop thee from the care and motherly love for me.

I cannot fathom your job for me, and I love you more than me, and I thank thee for having me.

Prisms | 43

TO OUTSHINE THE SUN I’m indistinguishable against you, The sun burns and casts me to one with the dirt.

Everyone is blinded by the glow, The magnificent glow that shines in you.

I’m nothing.

Not even a shadow appears where I lie, The light touches everything.

And yet I see you scared of me.

I see you run as the moon tries to eclipse you.

You worry that I may steal your light.

I have to wonder How it’s possible for the sun to be threatened by a flower, By a weed, That only begs for more light to be cast upon it.

And yet I understand The sun only burns so bright because it knows it will burn out, And the light touches everything because it knows the dark follows it, And so here I stand tall, A weed, To exceed you.

Payton Dean ‘19 44 | Prisms

SOMEWHERE everyone has a somewhere and goes there when they’re stuck in nowhere. everything has a something and relies on it to get them through anything. anyone can be sad, but how do you stop? when you are stuck between help me and let me help myself never cry in public always have a smile on never make a rude comment always be yourself. don’t loud nosy smart talk be yourself but don’t. everyone has a something and wants to show what it is. everything has a somewhere and goes there when they are stuck.

Sanjana Ravi ‘18 Prisms | 45

David Kresge ‘17

desolate

46 | Prisms

That’s a Buck I’m on the court, And we’re down by two Time is running out, But we know what to do Five, Our big man gets the rebound and dishes it out to me Four, I’m making my way up the court like Moses through the Red Sea Three, Now there’s only one man standing between me and my destination Two, I blow past him and make it there, easy navigation One, The ball comes off my fingertips as I take it to the rack The ball is still in the air by the time I make it back The buzzer has sounded and all I feel is sweat Swish! That’s right. The ball goes through the net.

Leonard Kamau ‘19 Prisms | 47

rain

I gently open my eyes.

Turning in bed to look outside my window where a momma bird comes to feed her babies.

Getting out of bed, I can hear the raindrops start to trickle on my tin roof.

It hasn’t rained since last winter.

The old pine wood paneling gives me a splinter as I walk over to the stove where the rusted coffee kettle sits.

Waiting for my coffee, I watch the rain pour onto the porch just outside my door.

I see something in the distance.

It looks like you.

So I snatch the old rain coat that you left here last winter and head out into the farmland.

I can feel the gushy mud seep in between my toes, but I don’t care.

I smile, I sprint to you like this was it.

You were here to stay.

I jump into your arms and rejoice, then cry when you say you’d be gone in a day’s time.

You come and go just like the rain and the weather.

It was just last winter when it rained and it was just last winter that you were here.

So, rain please come again, because now you’re gone and the only thing I can hold onto is clouds and that old rain coat, that you left here last winter.

Mia Karlsrud ‘18

48 | Prisms

valley of wind

Chloe Molnar ‘19

Prisms | 49

haiku

You mount a brown bear bravely blazing a new trail of white, blue, and red Anna Victoria Serbin ‘17

Isabel DeGuzman ‘19

whimsical 50 | Prisms

I am perched on a leaf, Watching my life flash before my eyes.

I am a caterpillar Longing to be a butterfly.

I want to feel the sun baking on my freshly formed wings, As I fly across the dimly lit sky.

I long to see the mist trickling in And the waves break over the soft sand as I pass by.

What if I don’t become a butterfly?

What if my wings break, And I fall instead of fly?

But what if I do fly?

What if my wings stretch over the horizon, Falling and rising in tandem with the sun?

How will I know if I can touch the sky If I never have the courage to try?

Encouraged, I jump off my leaf And fly high above the sky.

I don’t know how high I’ll soar, But I don’t stress.

I am finally a butterfly, And I am ready to explore what I possess.

Sophie Freitas ‘18

metamorphosis

I want to live my life to the fullest, but I am terrified of the future.

Prisms | 51

swirling fruit Anna Victoria Serbin ‘17

52 | Prisms

Jungle Beat Score

James Republicano '18 Elias Macalino '18 Thien Pham '18

Moderato

David Republicano '18

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Prisms | 53

UNWRITTEN

A pen and a paper Writing, thinking, painting a picture Ink flows from the pen and stains the Paper in mindless loops and swirls In my eyes, that’s a bit like me I’m still writing my own story.

Some chapters in my life have closed, Others have just begun The writing doesn’t stop The book has yet to be finished For right now, I’m just a girl Pen and paper in hand Figuring out what else to add Jenna Duran ‘19

54 | Prisms

ruthless night mother We know how deep the blade does seep for you you cry I spy don’t lie just die goodbye I wait till dark to see what you will do then send my friend to do your due so sly you will not hide for dark will rise you fool a chant a scream not one be hush and still ‘tis sad you earn this fate with hate so cruel beware your stare for I will strike at will but why you ask why die you ask don’t fret for I the Night Mother will wade through your soul you then must fade and wilt with one regret to see the day that called for your great toll when dawn won’t hiss you hear Hail Sithis grow and scare will gripe with guilt to show, We know Hunter Hennigh ‘17

Prisms | 55

for the first time it’s clear

Nicole Bermudez ‘17

56 | Prisms

7

for once i wish there were traffic

the engine of your car hums as you drive us down the routine path that we take to get to my house. racing against the setting sun, green lights sanction our passing through intersections, through time itself. i use the songs playing from my phone to keep track of how many minutes have passed, how many minutes we have left. i hate green lights. i look out the window to let my eyes wander, only to see the phrase “objects in the mirror are closer than they appear” only that isn’t the case because the distance that is about to be wedged between us isn’t measured in space but instead time. my eyes then wander to the parallel lines that separate the lanes as they will eventually separate the unparalleled presence you have in my life because I can’t drive yet and I won’t see you for what I think will be a lifetime. as we near my house, every moment we shared in your car replays in my head arrive. your car leaves and the engine hums leaving me uncertain and numb. if only time had been in a gridlock, maybe then i wouldn’t miss you.

Joshua Bernaldo ‘18 Prisms | 57

impermanence

she twirls around on her tiptoes in her bright white dress until she is a billowing cloud of ruffles and frills. her braided pigtails flap behind her, tied off with pale pink ribbons that accentuate the vital flush in her skin. the tips of the grass are lightly coated with the morning dew, and all she can see is a long stretch of green. the sun is just barely visible - it peeks out from behind the mountains, daring to boast its radiance upon the land before him. he watches her dance, her sauntering moves getting more elaborate with each turn. he wonders why she is all alone, why she is up so early, why she is even dancing. he sees from the corner of his eye that she has suddenly jolted to a halt, as if she has run into an invisible wall. suddenly a dark cumulonimbus cuts across his vision, and he can no longer see the white dress, the pigtails, the smile. he frantically searches for her, hoping she isn’t left alone in the dark. he fights against the clouds, forcing his light through the dark gray mist. but all he can see is an endless mass of sky. he waits. he wonders if she waits, too. for something, for anything, for him.

time passes. how long, he knows not. he catches glimpses of the earth below him: a bustling metropolis, a barren field of harvested grain, a tiny village, a whole lot of blue water. everywhere he looks, he cannot find the girl. he cries, his tears dooming coastal cities. he rages, his fury causing tremors across the earth. he hides, his light never reaching places that need it most. he is silent. he waits‌ a little boy takes his first steps. his father reaches out just in case he topples over his clumsy, chubby feet. a dog races around the boy for encouragement. his mother comes outside and smiles when she sees her son fall flat on his face. she swoops down to pick him up, kisses his cheek, and sets him back on his feet. this time, she demonstrates. she twirls around on her tiptoes in her faded, fraying overalls, her short blond hair catching occasional puffs of wind. the grass needs to be cut, she thinks to herself, but all she sees is only what matters. she stops twirling, sits down, and beckons the boy to try again. the sun smiles and resumes his rotation.

Rebecca Rochlin ‘17

Prisms | 59

PASSING PASSING

Walking, driving, running away?

I know where I’m going Thousands of destinations, But I recognize yours every time I see it everyday Same time Late afternoon I’m not good with faces, But I know your name You don’t know when I come, But you know when I leave The sound of metal, Something drops, I leave it for your sister, your brother, your parents, You Look at me and Thank me Because one day I won’t exist None of my kind will And it will be all your fault Who am I? Answer: mailman AiLi Pigott ‘18

60 | Prisms

Copper Hill

William Anderer ‘18

Prisms | 61

My house has a wart

Meandering towards the cherry red wood paneling of my

front door, I spotted it.

A blemish, symmetrical and indiscreet, protruding from

the otherwise sanded surface of the roof.

It’s like a wart, I thought to myself.

The incandescent roof blistered in the sunlight, Popping up pustules of plastic imperfections.

As I approached, my vision shifted and focused, like a

video game transitioning into hyper kill, And the once conspicuous wart transfigured into a tunnel

of pregnant rays extended from the sun.

Peeking through the trees of my past, I slipped down the canal, into my house And realized that the wart not was not a wart at all, But a beckoning finger, Like an enticing witch’s talon Calling me towards home.

It was a lighthouse penetrating thick swatches of stormy

mist, Inviting me to explore the innards of my abode, Pulling together my desires and innocuous thoughts like a final stitch on an elaborately woven garment.

Oblivious to its magnificence, I entered through the

conventional door of life, sat under the skylight,

and basked in the literal sunlight of the grace that

life had gifted me.

What a gift life is, but for some reason, all I can see is the wart on my house.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

62 | Prisms

love Let love’s lost labour scar and rot Beneath a kingdom torn and lost Let loose the beast known not to man Bequeath him with its promised brand.

Let doves with wings true canny and bright Bulge in sight with dread and fright Loose away they’ll burn the night But heart’s content they will suffice.

Richard Reid ‘19

Prisms | 63

My Sestina

We live like there’s no tomorrow We are wild and carefree people Living our lives to the fullest each day Doing what we want and feeling free People think we are insane but it’s all part of life Not caring what other people have to say about us People watch and stare at us But we don’t care about the opinions of other people We party till noon and sleep during the day Who cares because this is our life Each day is a new adventure, who knows what will happen tomorrow Life is meant for living and being free We may make mistakes but we are also free Everyday is a new day and a new tomorrow Exciting new adventures spice up life Seeing and meeting new people And enjoying each day and enjoying us Not knowing what will happen the next day Your life could change in a day It may happen tomorrow We question, will it change us?

We have the choice to be held back or be free Our lives could be changed by a person Or an occurring event in life Live like tomorrow is the end of your life Enjoy all that we have, celebrate us Celebrate ourselves as teens, wild and free There will always be the next day Live in the moment and not worry about tomorrow Be yourself and be not afraid of people

64 | Prisms

Encourage friends, family or random people To be the best version of them each day To not worry about life Or the problems of tomorrow To forget about our problems and focus on us Don’t be afraid to be free and live life Don’t worry about other people or the coming of each day Live in the moment of us and forget about tomorrow.

Emma Courville ‘19

miles

I can see for miles.

I sit and breathe.

A mellow breeze passes by.

I disconnect from the world of hums, words, melodies and beats.

Staring into the July sky of wispy golden clouds.

I run my fingers over my bare skin.

The air tells me that it’s crazy to believe in silly things, and that all of my friends will move away.

I take a sip of lemon tea from my mug, warming my insides.

I shiver as I think about the infinite possibilities of our destinies.

Some people are handed theirs on a silver platter, but I will find mine in the field, where my secret self grows like the corn.

I can see for miles.

Mia Karlsrud ‘18 Prisms | 65

Breaking Free

66 | Prisms

Azalea Koch ‘17

I am delighted to talk to you Since I have never heard from you There are those times where I don’t know what is happening I will never know who you are And you will never know who I am Because you cannot fix what you made Go ahead and be happy that I am talking to you But always remember you are going to be the one that leaves Once again I’ll be left Because of you that is my fear Being left from someone that I will always love and care about That fear will always haunt no matter what someone says I hear is every day from someone I love and it’s still here You are making me have these mixed emotions That I can’t get to leave But I know deep down you are a good guy and not a bad one I always have that thought but I know one day I might see You are always the bad guy but for now you are my dad, And I forgave you too easily when I knew I shouldn’t have Javia Anderson ‘17

It’s going to be okay

You can think we are okay I can think we are going to be okay But in reality it is not so okay

Prisms | 67

en poco tiempo 68 | Prisms

Ana-Francis Rivera ‘17 En Poco Tiempo la deslumbrante luz del sol tapará tus preocupaciones dejándote con una sonrisa, igual que cuando eras niña.

En Poco Tiempo las flores florecerán facilitando el encuentro con tu paz interior y dejándote volar como una paloma hacia una brisa suave y fresca En Poco Tiempo el vaivén de las olas y sus susurros despertarán tu alma invitándote a bailar al ritmo de tu corazón En Poco Tiempo la felicidad llegará como un regalo de la naturaleza.

Si logras ser uno con ella, llegarás a comprender el esplendor de la vida.

memory Abigail McCue ‘19 Cold.

Same location, same place I hope we remain this way as we grow old.

Unlike many stories that have been told, This one never bores me as it unfolds.

Two girls spent their day Down in Half Moon Bay. Senses filled with the smell of ocean Skin nipped by the chilly breeze, Alone you were left to freeze.

Together we were so warm.

One blanket held us together.

Like the memories from that day, We were Warm.

Prisms | 69

With due dates approaching The page remains blank Waiting to be filled.

Time is ticking.

The rough draft with no marks No effort in correction Proves to be of no use.

Time is ticking.

Pen meets paper Introductions are attempted Paper is scrapped.

Time is ticking.

Light bulbs flash Pieces connect Thoughts develop.

Time is ticking.

The page count rises While brain power slows Not up to par.

Time is ticking.

Midnight is nigh As sentences conclude Download, Open, Upload.

Time is ticking.

Websites steadily load The document is sent A sigh of relief But... 12:01 Diego Fernandez ‘17

Makeup

Samantha Shaffer ‘18 Prisms | 71

All the Arts Score G = Goat Skin C = Cymbal A = Acrylic Bucket B = Big Bucket T = Table

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Lavender and Dusk Nina Kitapan ‘17

Soul Emily Stehr ‘17

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Fiddler in the moon Iriana Aranda ‘19 74 | Prisms

after hours Diego Salgues ‘20

The wind cut into Hal’s face as he rode off into the night. Hal knew that feeling of sharp pain turned to numbness as he rode farther and farther away on his bike. It was the type of pain that reminded him he was alive and not six feet under the ground. Hal was grateful that he was alive.

Hal rode at night because he felt safe in the dark. Ten years ago, he had operated in the war doing “Black Operations” away from the fight. While everybody was fighting on the battlefield, Hal and a couple other men would creep through the side streets of Saigon and sneak into government official buildings. Their instructions were to take the “sensitive information” needed and to leave no witnesses behind. The local newspaper often read the mysterious deaths of civilians that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hal never read the news. Hal learned to accept his actions because he never got to see the faces of his victims; the darkness hid them.

One day, Hal and his men got captured. The men were killed but there was a special “rehabilitation” program for infantry leaders like Hal. They put him in a room with white quilted walls and the lights started to flash. At first it wasn’t that bad, but the lights Prisms | 75

seemed to flash forever until Hal almost tipped over into insanity. The day he left was a month before the end of the war. There was a P.O.W exchange amongst the “commies” as the U.S referred to them and the good ol’ boys in blue. Once back on home turf, Hal was “honorably” discharged; left with nothing from the war. Hal hated to think about that time in his life so he started biking, it was a way to run away from his past.

As Hal rode on farther into the night, the streets became less busy. It had gotten so dark that he could barely see what was in front of him. He never rode with bike lights but now he was wishing he did. This wasn’t the darkness he liked; he wasn’t in control. He felt an ominous presence in the darkness. Hal looked behind him and saw the darkness diffuse into a mist. The mist lingered around him for a block or so until suddenly figures started floating out of the mist. Hal thought for a minute that maybe he recognized who was in the mist and then it hit him. The people coming out of the mist were adorned in Vietnamese garments and had long black hair like the women Hal remembered seeing back in the alleyways he had snuck through.

The people coming out of the mist were his victims.

They were the night; his victims had become the constructs of a space Hal had once felt in control of.

Hal peddled as fast as he could to escape the wrath of his victims. He could see something in the distance because it was extremely noticeable in the 76 | Prisms

night. A single flickering street light lay on the corner of an intersection. The light got brighter and started to flash like the ones in the white quilted room. Hal started to panic; he was blinded by the light and as he looked away, he couldn’t escape the flash. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his neck. The pain cut down his spine into his lungs and then to his lower back. He screamed but nothing was heard in the night. Hal fell off his bike and into the middle of an intersection. He fell flat on his face and broke his nose and jaw. Hal turned around to see the faces of the shadow people that were chasing him one last time but they were gone. They had left him to die a slow painful death and the only thing they left him was a knife, covered in blood. The knife then vanished into the darkness.

Hal came to the realization that the torment he had been running from his whole life was not external but internal. He couldn’t run from his past and bike away from his victims; the scarring was mental. Nowhere was it safe, whether it was in the light or in the dark. Even though the war had made him transparent, Hal shed a tear with what little emotion he had left. Still in the middle of the intersection, a puddle of blood started forming around Hal as he lay there motionless. He then turned his head and saw a light coming towards him. The light got closer and brighter very quickly.

Never in all of Hal’s life had he been so relieved.

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contributors Lea Akima ‘17 likes to express herself through many different mediums of art. She hopes you thoroughly enjoy her angsty middle school poetry.

Javia Anderson ‘17 began to get interested in writing during her first semester class, Creative Writing, with Ms. Yoon, and has been writing stories ever since. She would like to thank you Ms. Yoon for her support.

Iriana Aranda ‘19 has been doing art since she was 7 years old. Her piece, Fiddler in the Moon, is a dedication of her love for the moon.

Josh Bernaldo ‘18 gets his feelings about boys and all his other troubles out with poetry.

Rosemarie Compton ‘17 wrote “I Am The Phoenix” with her mental illness journey in mind, hoping to rise like the phoenix whenever depression and anxiety take her down. She took up poetry as an art form to express her inner demons.

Isabel DeGuzman ‘19 likes to express her emotions and feelings through her artwork. Her scratchboard piece of a butterfly, Whimsical, conveys her excitement for her favorite season: spring.

Arren De Los Santos ‘17 wrote his poem, “Hypebeast” out of frustration of the fact that he is a “brokeboi” and cannot afford all the clothing brands he adores.

Jenna Duran ‘19 has been an avid writer since she was young. She loves bringing words to life on the page and is excited to share her work with the SJND community.

Gabriel Felix ‘18 has been composing his own music since 5th grade for career purposes. Making an arrangement to The Thunderer by JP Sousa gave him experience in writing a classical style of music.

Giselle Fong ‘19 has loved to draw ever since she was in preschool and has been drawing ever since.

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contributors Sophie Freitas ‘18 has written poetry throughout her high school career. Her poem “Metamorphosis” was inspired by her experiences during her freshman year.

Ms. Gunn-Graffy is a faculty adviser to PRISMS. She loves playing with words and her little dog, Finn.

Cristelle Hugo ‘18 is the head layout editor for PRISMS this year and has had a passion for the arts ever since she was young.

Guadalupe Hurtado ‘17 has been taking photographs since her freshman year of high school. She takes pictures of every place she visits.

Leonard Kamau ‘19 ‘s favorite sport is basketball. His poem “That’s A Buck” is a reminder of his nine years playing basketball.

Mia Karlsrud ‘18 started writing poetry when she was a freshman. Her poem, “Miles”, reminds her of hikes she took with her grandparents over Palisades Lake.

Azalea Koch ‘17 enjoys drawing and expressing herself through her work. Her piece Breaking Free shows her interest in mixing digital art with photography.

Beatrice Levy ‘18 has been writing poems since she was in the 2nd grade. Her poem “Linking Pinkies” reminds her to be grateful for time with friends, away from the many stresses of life.

Annemarie McGreehan ‘18 has been a participant in the arts since a young age. Her poem “Close But Closed” is representative of all the unanswered questions in the world that inspire her to keep searching.

Mr. McKee is a faculty adviser to Prisms. He loves writing, type and design and enjoyed watching this year’s book develop under the artistry of Cristelle Hugo and the guidance of Mary Carmen Reid.

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contributors Thomas Nilsson ‘17 has always been a mama’s boy and this poem is to show his appreciation for her constant love, support, and care.

Quinn Owyang ‘18 loves narwhals and hopes that you do, too.

AiLi Pigott ‘18 loves incorporating hidden meanings in her poems. Her poem “Passing” was inspired by her English course, where she studied the social effects of blue-collar jobs.

Sofia Reeves ‘19 once told her teacher that she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Now, she writes stories and the occasional poem like “Torn”.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17 is delighted to be this year’s Editor-in-Chief. An avid environmentalist and lifelong debater, Mary Carmen is eternally grateful for the opportunity to lead such a wonderful staff in the production of PRISMS. She will be attending UC Berkeley in the fall to study Nutritional Sciences.

Rebecca Rochlin ‘17 is the head English editor for the 2017 edition of PRISMS. She enjoys discovering student talent and exploring individual expression by means of the various arts.

Diego Salgues ‘20 has loved books and movies since he was little. He believes that stories speak to people individually, which is the beauty of telling them.

Anna Victoria Serbin ‘17 is this year’s art editor for PRISMS. She adores finding new and interesting reads, and loves admiring art in museums and in the streets.

Emily Stehr ‘17 has been involved in photography since her sophomore course with Mr. McKee. She is very passionate about the way in which her photos, including those in PRISMS, are able to communicate the beauty of her world and the things she loves most in an artistic manner.

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contributors Julia Verdickt ‘19 is a novice when it comes to writing poetry. PRISMS has given her a chance to explore writing poetry and experience something new.

Ben Yokota ‘17 enjoys writing, acting, falling into brief but powerful nihilistic crises, and drawing. His poem “What Does My Future Hold” was created while sitting in his room, avoiding studying for physics, and symbolizes young opportunity and formation of one’s identity.

star dust Vivi McKee ‘19 Prisms | 81

STAR SOCIETY

The Star Society of Creative Writers is a privileged membership organization of the SJND community.

Membership is offered to students, alumni, and faculty whose creative writing has been published in PRISMS. Each member receives a star pin to wear at graduation.

Caroline Abellar ‘04* Jared Alokozai ‘11 Alfonso Alonzo ‘16 Lucy Álvarez ‘05 Alexia Aranda ‘16 Ernesto Arévalo ‘10 Jose Ávalos ‘08 Yesenia Baires ‘09 Olivia Ballesteros ‘15 Fernando Barragán ‘12 Eric Baskett ‘13 Michelle Bautista ‘93 Jacqueline Belloso ‘13 Jessica Blomstrom ‘06 Ariana Braga ‘10 Tia Brown ‘11 Zoe Byrne ‘06 Danielle Campbell ‘06 Natalya D. Caraballo ‘07 Catherine Carino ‘xx Crystal Carrillo ‘12 Cynthia Carrillo ‘08 Perla Casas ‘15 Kedron Diane Casteen ‘06 Erik Castillo ‘14 Tracy Castillo ‘10 Natasha Chacon ‘06 Daniela Chaparro ‘14 Sophia Chaparro ‘09 Rosemarie Compton ‘17 Claire Connacher ‘11 Michael Cuellar ‘16 Ann Dam ‘06 Oliver Dam ‘10 Jo Anne C. Dantoc ‘05 Justine C. Dantoc ‘07 Bianca de la Cruz ‘15 Omar de la Cruz ‘11 Natalie De Leon ‘07 Danielle Diaz ‘05 Justin Dimig ‘06 Thomas Dinh ‘14 Emily Dobrzanowski ‘10 Emma Doud ‘16 Nigel Duniven ‘13 Christopher Duong ‘10 Jessica Edwards ‘16 Crystal Estrada ‘12 Rachel Falkner ‘13 Jackie Favela ‘06 Diego Flores ‘06 Gabriel Flores ‘10 Martin Franco ‘08 Tia Gangopadhyay ‘11 Axel Garcia ‘13

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Victoria Geter ‘18 Gemora Givens ‘09 Guadalupe C. Gonzalez ‘13 Kimberly Gonzalez ‘14 Rebecca Gonzalez ‘12 Dalton Green ‘14 Casey Greer ‘12 Alyxandria Guzman ‘07 Lydia Hall ‘14 Katherine Hanover ‘14 Desiree Harris ‘13 Gabriela Hinjosa ‘13 Lynnea Jawad ‘15 Lena Jennings ‘14 Patricia Jimenez ‘09 Jonathan Kachiu ‘10 Colin Karch ‘16 William Keane ‘14 Amelia Khoo ‘14 Kate Lassalle-Klein ‘12 Natalia Layson ‘15 Karina Leon ‘15 Beatrice Levy ‘18 Robin Levy ‘13 Adrea Lino ‘04 Gabriela Lippi ‘08 Marisela Loza ‘07 Danielle Maddix ‘08 Ryann Malicdem ‘14 Megan Manning ‘10 Giuia Marinos ‘14 Alexa Martinez ‘14 Peter Matarrese ‘06 Amanda Matoon ‘14 Chris McClintock ‘10 Allison Meins ‘09 Priscilla Mena ‘05 Rocio Molina ‘08 Annie Mooney ‘11 Joanna Mooney ‘06 Teresa Mooney ‘09 Carlos Mora ‘14 Jeonimo Mora ‘11 Martin Moreno ‘07 Paulani Mui ‘06 Karina Myers ‘13 Sean Obligacion ‘15 Allegra O’Donoghue ‘04* Mary Onglatco ‘11 Kim Owens ‘05* Tiffany Palmer ‘11 Fiona Picchi ‘18 Jeremy Poggio ‘04* Christany Poggio ‘07 Micael Priest ‘05* * Charter Members

Marissa Quinones ‘14 Jennifer Quintanilla ‘06 Aaron Ramos ‘16 Christian Ramos ‘05 Jordan Rausse ‘12 Jessica Reader ‘05 Barry Reed ‘44 Isabela Reid ‘14 Mary Carmen Reid ‘17 Katherine Riley ‘10 Renato Rocha ‘07 Carlos Rodriquez ‘14 Maya Rowell ‘15 Emilio Sanchez ‘14 Emily Sanchez ‘15 Cesar San Miguel ‘11 Oscar San Miguel ‘14 Jonathan Schuitema ‘14 Kenn Scullin ‘44 Courtney Shojinaga ‘15 Lily Smith ‘09 Gabrielle Soria ‘06* Aaron Stanek ‘15 Sarah Su ‘10 Jackson Sundheim ‘15 Jarod Sutton ‘15 Jesse Swatling-Holcomb ‘09 Lorena Tabares ‘08 Allison Tuazon ‘11 Imani Todd ‘12 Sara Torres ‘04 Nneka Umeh ‘08 Jenna Vacca ‘13 Kelley Villa ‘10 Mirella Villalpando ‘09 Amy Wang ‘15 Alexander Weyand ‘01 Harrison Wilkes ‘03 Michael Williams ‘02 Norman Xie ‘09 Jessica Yalung ‘05* Jonathan Yannantuono ’17 Alessandra Zambrano ‘13 Francesca Zambrano ‘10 Dulce Zamora ‘89 Faculty and Staff: Susan Beck* Martha Carpenter Dempsey Lynn Kane Meza* Elizabeth Pelaez Norris* Robert Williams Honarary Members: Mary Rudge. Poet Laureate of Alameda 2002-2014 Julia Park Tracey, Poet Laureate of Alameda 2014

AWARDS Excellence Award

2015

- National Council of Teachers of English

Best Photographer Award - Julian DeGuzman - American Scholastic Press Association

Outstanding Theme: Best Bilingual Selections - American Scholastic Press Association

2014; 2016

Superior Award

- National Council of Teachers of English

Golden Seal Book Award

2013

Superior-Nominated for Highest Award Finalist

2013; 2009

Most Outstanding Private School

2013; 2005; 2003

First Place with Special Merit

2002-2016

- Artists Embassy International

- National Council of Teachers of English

- Literary Art Magazine of the Year - American Scholastic Press Association - American Scholastic Press Association

POETS LAUREATE Sarah Su High School Poet Laureate of Alameda 2009-2010

Karina Leon SJND Poet Laureate 2014-2015

Tia Gangopadhyay SJND Poet Laureate 2010-2011

Aaron Ramos SJND Poet Laureate 2015-2016

Robin Levy SJND Poet Laureate 2011-2013

Jonathan Yannantuono SJND Poet Laureate 2016-2017

Amelia Khoo SJND Poet Laureate 2013-2014

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