Prisms: Spring 2016 | Volume 26

PRISMS A LITERARY-ART MAGAZINE

Spring 2016

Volume 26

St. Joseph Notre Dame High School 1011 Chestnut Street Alameda , California

PRISMS STAFF Editor-in-Chief: Grace Falkner Literary Editor: Rebecca Rochlin Art Editor: Aaron Ramos Layout Editor: Taylor Blumkin Foreign Language Editor: Mary Carmen Reid STAFF MEMBERS Lucas Bayard Sean De Leon Astrid Hernandez Cristelle Hugo Anna Victoria Serbin Jason Tran COVER DESIGN Anna Victoria Serbin INSIDE COVER DESIGN Emilia Kaldis ADVISER Elizabeth Peláez Norris ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Paula Cekola Rosario Greer Andrew McKee Mark Ritter

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 to Mrs. Norris in Room 10 throughout the year.

They are judged anonymously by PRISMS staff. Up to four submissions may be published per issue by any single contributor. As “a rainbow refraction of light,” PRISMS reflects the diversity of the SJND student body through different media, genres, and languages. Funded by St. Joseph Notre Dame High School, PRISMS is shared and enjoyed by our school community. Each SJND family receives a free copy.

Printed by Urban Art Lithography, 2331 C St., Sacramento, CA. Adobe InDesign CS3. Font: Times New Roman & Segoe Script. 9pt. 10 pt. 11 pt. 12 pt. 14pt. Brother Laser Printer HL-5140. Cover & Text: Titan Gloss 80#. Ink: Black and Four Color Process.

Perfect Bind. 800 copies.

TABLE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTION…...........................................................................................8 Grace Falkner TEMPUS FUGIT….............................................................................................9 Aaron Ramos HAIKU…...........................................................................................................10 Rebecca Rochlin CUPPA TEA…..................................................................................................10 Grace Falkner HIGH NOON.....................................................................................................11 Beatrice Levy LIKE DOVES.......................….........................................................................12 Ozi Amuzie ODE TO GARDENIAS.................................................................................…12 Jennifer Eggleston RUMINATIONS…............................................................................................13 Rosemarie Compton PURPLE.......................…..................................................................................14 Rebecca Rochlin DON’T LOOK BACK…..................................................................................15 Quinn Gilchrist MAP OF LOVE............….................................................................................15 Mika Phillips SUMMER SERENITY…..................................................................................16 Cristelle Hugo NOSTALGIA.....................................................................................................16 Eileen Rhatigan MY SUN.........…...............................................................................................17 Chris Gerlach WHERE I AM FROM.......................................................................................18 Victoria Geter MY PAST…......................................................................................................19 Cameron Gill THOUGHTS OF A FIRST GENERATION COLLEGE STUDENT................20 Michael Lee A PALING GLIMPSE....................................................................................…21 Augustus Moseley SPLIT….............................................................................................................21 Grace Falkner SAD MONKEY….............................................................................................22 Cameron Putterman

THE CHAMELEON…......................................................................................22 Sean De Leon GORILLA IN THE DARK…............................................................................23 Justin Pasion MEOW...........................................................................................................…23 Sophia Seiwald EL OLVIDADO.............................................................................................…24 Mary Carmen Reid METAMÓRFOSIS.........................................................................................…26 Mary Jane Howland LA ABEJA REINA.................................….......................................................27 Alexia Aranda WHISK AWAY...…............................................................................................28 Cara Freccero, Tania Ortiz-Rosales, Jessica Edwards WELCOME HOME….......................................................................................29 Grace Falkner FLASHING LIGHTS IN A RAINSTORM....................................................…29 Rosemarie Compton INGO...…..........................................................................................................30 Michael Lee ROGUE.................….........................................................................................31 Jason Tran MISSING PIECE...........................................................................................…32 Ysela Rodriguez DANDELION GIRL…......................................................................................32 Nina Kitapan THE LAST TREE ON THE PLANET...........................................................…33 Aaron Ramos FRUSTRACIÓN EN BLANCA….....................................................................34 Mary Carmen Reid PHOTO OF MY LIFE...................................................................................…36 Anna Victoria Serbin PHOENIX RISING...............................….........................................................37 Jason Tran I REMEMBER WHEN............…......................................................................38 Megan Riordan YOU MATTER…..............................................................................................38 Taylor Blumkin FOREVER I THOUGHT..........................….....................................................39 Beatrice Levy LA MEMORIA DE TI...................................................................................…40 Meredith McMurray

ROMANCE.......................................................................................................41 Samantha Obligacion SUNRISE….......................................................................................................42 Adamma O’Brien, Victoria Geter, Sophie Freitas ODE TO THE MOON.......................................................................................43 Fiona Picchi 12 WAYS OF LOOKING AT TREES…............................................................44 Rebecca Rochlin FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS.................................................................................…46 Katherine Cariño PIECE O’ CAKE............................................................................................…47 Sophia Reeves THE SPILL.............….......................................................................................47 Cristelle Hugo BALANCE....................….................................................................................48 Grace Falkner DANCING FLOWERS..................................................................................…48 Christine Hovermale CAPTIVE.......................................................................................................…49 Beatrice Levy BALLET..........................................................................................................…50 Francisca Chaparro LA FRESA............................….........................................................................51 Vincent Republicano HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY….......................................................................52 Michael Lee RAKV2.....................….....................................................................................52 Kaleb Cervantes KONA, HAWAII....…........................................................................................53 Francisca Chaparro ODA A LAS FILIPNAS….................................................................................54 Aaron Ramos TORRE EIFFEL.............................................................................................…56 Mary Carmen Reid CLOUD WATCHING…....................................................................................58 Aaron Ramos ODE TO THE SEA............................................................................................59 Meredith McMurray EL NIÑO .......................................................................................................…60 Arjun Kapur, Richard Reid

EL VIENTO...................................................................................................…61 Emily Stehr PARCHED.........................................................................................................62 Beatrice Levy SELF-PORTRAIT..........................................................................................…63 Justin Pasion LET THERE BE LIGHT................................................................................…63 Cristelle Hugo THE CREATION OF THE BEAUTY, THE FEARED, AND THE PROTECTORS…..............................................................................................64 Taylor Blumkin SABOR DULCE DEL HOGAR…....................................................................67 Jessica Marquez I’VE SEEN HER GROWN...........................................................................…68 Michael Lee BURNING FLESH.................................….......................................................69 Kayla Davis BARE BONES…...........................................................................................…69 Jason Tran COMMONPLACE.............…...........................................................................70 Anna Victoria Serbin PMD..................................................................................................................70 Chloe Molnar MY “AT-THE-MOMENT” CREDO.............................................................…71 Taylor Blumkin EL PRISIONERO..........................................................................................…72 Mary Carmen Reid RELIEF....................…......................................................................................74 Rebecca Rochlin LA MARIPOSA MONARCA…........................................................................75 Ysela Rodriguez THE WINDOW................…..............................................................................76 Toni Anderson A THANK YOU TO MRS. NORRIS…............................................................77 CONTRIBUTORS.........................................................................................…78 STAR SOCIETY OF CREATIVE WRITERS...................................................82 AWARDS….....................................................................................................................83

DEDICATION To Julia Park Tracey Poet Laureate of Alameda who has shared the magic of creativity with us

You’re stuck in an old public library waiting for your ride.

As your eyes wander about from your perch in an old velvet chair, they focus on worn tomes with titles you vaguely recall being mentioned by your English teacher, but you were never interested in reading. As you relax, you become mesmerized by your surroundings. Sunlight streams through the stained glass windows, giving the room a warm gold-green glow. The pillars morph into tree trunks and the carpet into grass. You spy figures hiding among the books, wizards muttering over shelves while searching for spells, a phoenix curling up around the central crystal chandelier that tinkles prismatic colors, fey floating about between the shelves.

Suddenly, a sharp honk breaks the trance and shatters the illusion, scattering fairies, wizards, and the phoenix into hiding. The tree trunks and grass shapeshift back into pillars and carpet once again. Your ride has arrived.

PRISMS welcomes you to the magic of the imagination. Let your mind expand your view and see the unseen hidden all around you.

Grace Falkner Editor-in-Chief

8 PRISMS 2016

TEMPUS FUGIT Time: Like a cloud, It is defiant, Tactile, Proud, Except to The digits of nature, Cradled away To a faraway land Unknown By those who Wish to know But never will, For time does Not bow down Nor sit still For ravenous curiosity, Rather it stands Like a rebel, Unhinged from The pompous eye But fastened In the most Austere of ways, Of itself Uncoiling the infinity, Like a soft velvet wire As scarlet as a mother’s love And as fiery as the brevity of its existence.

Aaron Ramos ‘16

PRISMS 2016 9

HAIKU Curious, it is To find what among the clouds Are simply figments Rebecca Rochlin ‘17

CUPPA TEA Grace Falkner ‘16 Linoleum Block and Ink

10 PRISMS 2016

HIGH NOON Like an eagle’s aerie Noon sits high above the day, Coaxing climbers up its eastern slope, Encouraging them with a neon sign flashing: “Eat Lunch Here!”

I like to savor noon from this height, Looking down in one direction To remember my morning, Then peering the other way to Catch sight of more day sparkling in the sun.

At the far end I see wispy bits of fog Hiding the sunset and the stars.

To get to those lands, I have to leave, So I make the plunge, Diving over the precipice and down the wild slopes Of afternoon and evening, Flying with the day.

Noon was just a place to pause.

Beatrice Levy ‘18

PRISMS 2016 11

LIKE DOVES To fly like doves we have to abandon our ways We must separate ourselves from the dark sword and hearts of stone We can fly with bright wings in the sky if we can relinquish the armor and live together in peace Ozi Amuzie ‘18

ODE TO GARDENIAS The sweet smell of honey surrounds you Like your favorite blanket Heavy like your eyelids before sleep Soft, delicate petals Ruffled like a woman’s dress Billowing in the wind White like a wedding dress Warm like a lace-gloved hand Embracing marriage Jennifer Eggleston ‘17

12 PRISMS 2016

RUMINATIONS My thoughts roll like waves in the water With varying frequency and pattern Some are small and nearly invisible Yet others are great tsunamis Affecting those around me Like a slight calming breeze Or a storm bringing chaos Sometimes I can control them And I can play in the waves But at other times I learn to avoid them Or else my life would be at risk The creatures wading in the shallow waters Are colorful and kind Yet the ones lurking in the depths Are dangerous man-eaters Sometimes they are at low tide Gently lapping at the shoreline At others they consume the coast They roll like waves in the water Yet they are just as lethal as the meaning within Rosemarie Compton ‘17

PRISMS 2016 13

PURPLE we started off as a bright, vibrant purple you, red and i, blue – we were one, we were young, we were new, we were hopeful. time ticked away, much faster than we had anticipated, like the turn of the seasons, the gift of change was against us. you made orange, i made green, no longer did the purple we once loved boldly stand out to proclaim our intimate union. we were once a blank slate, waiting to add more than just red and blue. we attempted a rainbow, but only ended up with rain. as the seasons turned once more, i noticed your red was a much softer hue, something pleasant, warm, and fresh, like the first delicate bloom of spring. my blue was still deep, stained with the red that separated us and never went away; you missed purple, as did i, but we were afraid of making brown as we did long ago. maybe we’ll start clean again, maybe we’ll start softer, and gradually get more and more effervescent bright closer until we are one.

Rebecca Rochlin ‘17

DON’T LOOK BACK Quinn Gilchrist ‘16 Pencil and Watercolor

MAP OF LOVE Mika Phillips ‘17 Digital PRISMS 2016 15

SUMMER SERENITY Cristelle Hugo ‘17 Photography

NOSTALGIA Eileen Rhatigan ‘17 Photography

MY SUN A storm engulfs the ocean, Frightening away all signs of tranquility.

The waves rise, crashing and Destroying the innocence of what once was.

Thunder crackles As the waters crash down from the heavens.

It erupts in a fury.

The winds howl, screeching, Almost drowning her out.

But then she smiles at me And a speck of light manages to break through.

The darkness recedes into the depths As the sun calms the winds, Silences the thunder, Softens the clouds, And flattens the waves.

The storm is gone, And I smile back.

Chris Gerlach ‘18

WHERE I AM FROM I am from a place where dirt and bushes gather I am from the proud African race I am from the “shape up and act right” crowd I am African-American I came from love I came from chaos I am from “stick out and not in” I am from the Bay Bridge and the cold days I came from love I came from chaos I came from the struggle of making enough I am from the long days and short nights I am from night jobs and strong coffee I am from city life and family gatherings I came from love I came from chaos I came from the bottom to the top I came from moments that will never be forgot I am from those moments that expand the family tree Those memories I have are what make me me Victoria Geter ‘18

18 PRISMS 2016

MY PAST My past was video games, Gaming down in the basement.

My past was fish sticks On Friday Munching on nonchalant thoughts Like potato chips with extra seasoning of freedom.

My past was desire and regret Saying too much, But also listening too much.

My past was uncertainty, The childhood pureness Ending not perennial after all.

My past was music, Telling its silent Wordless story.

A way to share my love With ai anata accompanying it

*love you

My past is here, inside the vast Electrical Ocean of the Internet Awaiting the green fluorescent bubble To come and hold me, And embrace the “Just stop it!”

“Just let him go!”

My past is here, hoping, Desiring adolescent Liberation from instruction.

The hope that a tenshi Will come and take me, Away to a different fantasy.

*angel

My past is only seven moments at a time, Fighting for the sweet, loving girl, A bolt of lightning not yet struck.

My past is here, But is not.

A mask of joy upon a mask of trembling All of which form the present, Because the past is the present Only a second ago.

Cameron Gill ‘18

PRISMS 2016 19

THOUGHTS OF A FIRST GENERATION COLLEGE STUDENT I am an only child.

I am an only child, with a dad who has lived in America since birth and a mom who immigrated to America on March 11, 1991.

I am an only child, with a dad who has lived in America since birth and a mom who immigrated to America on March 11, 1991, and I am their pride.

I am their son, their anak, their joy, their “I love you Mikey, but sometimes you just really piss me off.”

I am their love, and I am the first generation college student in my family.

Now, I’m not saying that in a bad way, but it has ups and downs: I’m their late nights because I’m the one keeping them up with my studying, I am their money spender; they’re paying for my school, SATs, ACTs, and college applications, I am their time, they have put so much of their lives into mine that I can socialize like my mom, but can become such a polar opposite that I become reserved as much as my dad.

I am their stress, because I’m stressing about their stress about my stress about my grades.

Some days, I feel that they’re against me, butchering me, lecturing me, checking over my shoulder just to see if I’m doing my homework… but I know they do this because they care. They want me to succeed.

Yet knowing all of this, it makes me see all the blessings. I see all that they have done for me as a future first generation college student: I have a bond. My parents and I have a close relationship so we have a mutual understanding of each other.

I have a friendship. My parents and I have such a close relationship that most kids my age don’t even get.

We have an understanding. They give up so much time for me that I am their product of success.

Now, as I go through this application process with them, it’s all of this combined – the blessings – the curses – and everything in between.

We’re all in this together until the end, when I’m holding my acceptance letter and that’s when we’ll realize – that WE, we made it together.

I am an only child, with a dad who has lived in America since birth and a mom who immigrated to America on March 11, 1991, and I am their pride and I am their success.

Michael Lee ‘16

A PALING GLIMPSE I do not need a glass eye; I would be taken for a fool If my face had a deep hole Or, rather, were opaque, as thick as a brick.

Well, I nonetheless obtained one: The milky concealer.

Covering the wounds my eye sustained, In the mirror, hesitantly, I looked.

I looked and did not look; what should be said?

I have one line of vision only.

The other view, more pristine than my eye could dream Never searches nor spies nor gleams nor sees.

Augustus Moseley ‘16

SPLIT Grace Falkner ‘16 Pen

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THE CHAMELEON I am the lily pad Gliding through the pond Or the pebble Bathing in rich soil.

I am the silhouette Hiding behind the waterfall Or even the star Glistening in the moonlight.

Some call me The element of surprise, A figment of the imagination, A grand illusion, Or simply an enigma.

Now you see me Now you don’t.

Where am I? © Am I here?

Am I there?

Find me.

Sean De Leon ‘16

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GORILLA IN THE DARK Justin Pasion ‘16 Linoleum Block and Ink

MEOW Sophia Seiwald ‘19 Pen

EL OLVIDADO El gusano se entierra clandestinamente Lentamente, se menea en la oscuridad El aire, pesado con descomposición, no le fastidia Baboso y mojado, el gusano excava la tierra Saluda a los escarabajos y hormigas Sus círculos húmedos se retuercen por las calles del barro El gusano es un trabajador de la tierra Sencillo y reservado, se recorre su camino a través del mundo Necesario pero no apreciado, el gusano se casa con la tierra A cultivar las plantas fértiles.

La tierra se pega a su piel mojada, Como una tira de cinta adhesiva Orgánico Lleno de vehemencia El gusano come lo muerto Y sucesivamente, Excreta vida.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

24 PRISMS 2016

THE FORGOTTEN The worm buries itself covertly Slowly, he wiggles in the darkness The air, heavy with decomposition, doesn’t bother him at all Slimy and wet, the worm carves the earth He greets the cockroaches and ants His damp rings squirm through muddy streets The worm is a laborer of the earth Simple and reserved, he makes his way about the world Necessary yet unappreciated, the worm marries the dirt To cultivate the fertile plants.

The earth sticks to his damp skin, Like a piece of sticky tape Organic Full of passion The worm consumes the dead And in turn, Excretes life.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

PRISMS 2016 25

METAMÓRFOSIS Con alas anaranjadas y negras Vuela en el cielo como una hada Tan recargada como una tigridia Y tan ligera como una amapola Delicada y elegante Nacida de oruga Se transforma en un insecto exquisito Un momento mágico Contemplo con deleite Este día soleado Mary Jane Howland ‘18

METAMORPHOSIS With wings of orange and black She flies in the sky like a fairy As ornate as a tiger lily And as light as a poppy Delicate and graceful Born a caterpillar Transformed into an exquisite insect A magical moment I contemplate with delight On this sunny day Mary Jane Howland ‘18

26 PRISMS 2016

LA ABEJA REINA Dentro de su palacio de miel Habita la Abeja Reina Vestida de rayas del sol y de la oscuridad de la noche Sentada en su trono dorado Dirige a sus copiosos esclavos Mientras ella pone huevos Los zánganos cosechan el oro líquido Para asegurar las futuras generaciones Alexia Aranda ‘16 QUEEN BEE Inside her palace of honey The Queen Bee resides Dressed in rays of sunlight and the darkness of night Sitting on her golden throne She directs her many slaves While she lays eggs The drones harvest liquid gold To ensure future generations Alexia Aranda ‘16

PRISMS 2016 27

Score

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Jessica Edwards '16 Cara Freccero '16 Tania Ortiz-Rosales '16

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WELCOME HOME Grace Falkner ‘16 Tempera

FLASHING LIGHTS IN A RAINSTORM A hazard.

A warning.

A flash of orange light.

A car crash.

A rainstorm.

A dark cloudy night.

A child.

Two bodies.

Tears that burn bright.

An orphan.

A funeral.

A driver’s blurred sight.

Rosemarie Compton ‘17 PRISMS 2016 29

INGO 9:28 AM My parents woke me up. They said, “You ready?”

Puzzled, I looked over at my cousin, who was sleeping over, and glanced back at my parents.

They said, “We’re putting Ingo down.”

9:35 AM My parents and I made our way to the car, lifted my dog, Ingo, who had a malignant cancer on his upper left leg. My dad started the car and turned the radio on. My dad – my family was silent the entire car ride there.

10:42 AM My parents and I were in the office; everything was prepared already. My mom burst into tears. My dad put his shades on so we wouldn’t have to see him a wreck. And me? I asked to use the nonexistent restroom, just so I could get out of the room for a while.

Have you ever heard of the saying, “Things always happen in threes?”

In the office there were 3 types of syringes, 3 pieces of cloth tape, and 1 funnel to help the liquid flow more smoothly into his body.

In the office there were 3 types of syringes: the smallest was a dark honey color, the second was a clear liquid that looked almost gelled, and the biggest was pink.

One. They put the first shot in, I didn’t want to see which they put in first, but I started to tear up.

Boom. My mom was the first to go; she clutched Ingo and sobbed in his presence. “I love you,” she repeated, “I love you, I love you, I love you so much, buddy, thank you for everything.”

Two. The second shot went in, tears were streaming down my face.

I clenched my jaw and pressed my hand against his heart. It was still there.

Boom. My dad was the next to go. He kissed Ingo on the head and kept petting him. I still wasn’t looking.

Three. As I was finally looking, I saw that the last shot was the pink liquid. The thick, transparent liquid that held death in a bottle.

They pumped the last drops of it into his body and I pressed my

hand to his heart. His heart was slowing down. He didn’t die yet.

They had to pump another dose into him, and I wondered if that was a sign.

He died.

10: 56 AM My parents were hugging him one last time, and I just stared at the dead body that only looked like my dog.

11:06 AM Ingo started to get cold. My parents told me to hug him one last time, but I refused. I asked them to leave the room so I could be left with him one last time. The door closed.

Boom. I cried all that I could. All the tears that I’d held back from the first day we found out he had cancer finally flowed. I cried on his shoulder in hopes I was wrong and everything was just a dream. He never woke up.

November 22, 2015. My brother, Ingo, died on a casual sunny Sunday. And I miss him very dearly.

Michael Lee ‘16

ROGUE Jason Tran ‘16 Charcoal Pencil

MISSING PIECE It’s blowing. I feel it, but can never smell it. It blows the leaves. Lately that’s all I’ve been seeing: yellows… browns… reds... and blacks are all that are left. The once bright sky filled with singing birds used to make me happy. But all that is gone now. The world was always a glass half full, but now it’s half empty. All I need is a sign. A sign that everything is going to be okay, that life will continue in spite of what is missing. I look up and see the sky open up. The darkness fades a little and that’s when I feel it. The first drop, a drop of light, of hope, of new life. Winter was always my favorite time. The different smells. The rain was my favorite smell.

I don’t know what to do without the woodsy smell, the smell of the river, the smell of the world. Smell... elusive... gone....

Ysela Rodriguez ‘16

DANDELION GIRL Nina Kitapan ‘18 Mixed Media

THE LAST TREE ON THE PLANET there in the hollow distance, i see the last tree on the planet. he barely stands, naked, fragile, and broken, his wretched arms outstretched, as if screeching for help into the nothingness. without color nor meaning, he can no longer cry, the privilege of tears ripped from the soul by some unfathomable creature, leaving a husk without breath nor voice. before long, he will die – his death will be celebrated by all of the dead who will welcome their beloved with skeletal arms and empty tunes – and the guilty will sing an aria of death and inevitable sorrow.

Aaron Ramos ‘16

PRISMS 2016 33

FRUSTRACIÓN EN BLANCO Cuando cae la noche por el bosque desprevenido y el frío se infiltra en los cuerpos cálidos, el joven zorro se acerca hacia la orilla congelada. Sus patas, demasiadas grandes para su cuerpo infantil, brincan ansiosamente por la hierba crujiente. Levantando su hocico pequeña y mojada, el zorro huele una bestia inocente en la distancia.

Todavía inmaduro, el zorro echa un aullido lamentable, causando que marche el ciervo, revelando por un segundo su piel tostada, espolvoreado con nieve. Al zorro, no es claro si las manchas blancas son de la nieve o de la piel de la criatura majestuosa. Sin embargo, el zorro impulsivo sigue hacia su próxima comida, voraz y lleno de energía. La poca luz reflejada por la luna es suficiente para ver donde escapa el ciervo en la oscuridad del bosque verde y denso.

El zorrito se siente grande, con sus pulmones bombeando contra su corazón inmensa, y sus ojos enfocados en el premio que es el animal bronceado. Como un tigre sobre una cebra, el joven zorro se precipita encima del pobre ciervo, y hunde sus dientes en el músculo de su pescuezo. Oye sus gritos de desesperación, pero su hambre supera su compasión. Inmediatamente, el zorro puede sentir la sangre en su boca, pero no está satisfecho. Ojos como lagos claros y hondos, piel suave de nieve, y sabor ausente de su boca, el zorro llora. El olor salado de sus lágrimas le despierta de su ilusión, y continúa como siempre, persiguiendo lo que no puede probar, como la nieve besando la tierra durante el invierno, tocando, pero nunca penetrando el mundo natural. Tanto como la nieve quiere probar las emociones del bosque, sólo puede rodearlo como una manta.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

34 PRISMS 2016

FRUSTRATION IN WHITE As night falls upon the unconscious forest and the cold seeps into warm bodies, the young fox approaches the frozen banks of the river. His paws, too large for his immature body, scurry anxiously across the crunchy grass. Lifting his moist snout to the chilly air, the fox smells an innocent animal in the distance. Still immature, the fox emits a pitiful howl, causing the deer to flee, revealing for a fleeting second its brown and snowspotted hide. To the fox, it is not clear if the white spots are snow or a part of this majestic creature. Nevertheless, the impulsive fox continues towards his next meal, voracious and bursting with adrenaline. The few beams of light reflected by the moon are just enough to see to where the deer escapes into the darkness of the dense forest. The young fox feels important, with his lungs pumping against his immense heart, and his eyes focused on the bronze prize ahead of him. Like a tiger hunting a zebra, the fox pounces on top of the poor deer and sinks his teeth into its thick neck.

He hears the animal’s cries of desperation, but his hunger overcomes his compassion. Suddenly, the fox can feel the blood in his jaws, but he is dissatisfied. With eyes like deep, translucent lakes, soft snowy fur, and taste missing from his mouth, the fox begins to cry. The salty smell of his tears is enough to wake him from his trance, and he goes on as always, chasing what he cannot taste, like the snow kissing the earth during winter, touching, but never penetrating the natural world. As much as the snow desires to taste the emotions of the forest, it can only envelop it like a blanket.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

PRISMS 2016 35

PHOTO OF MY LIFE A cut photo is all that remains Only five people in it A space without anyone Cut pieces joined by fragile tape My three intimate friends and I Where did you go?

Frightening experiences Solitude of the mind and body Clouds lightened and darkened The wall was the work of negativity A chain that held An internal hell But once more the sun awakened The power of freedom captured me And my soul was liberated The cut photo is all that remains from a dark time I happily leave my memories of the past Slowly abandon my grudges against you Like a bird flying in the skies With my friends who await me A calm and gentle wind The storms of your lies don’t break me anymore A cut photo is all that remains The flames of your words don’t burn me Anna Victoria Serbin ‘17

36 PRISMS 2016

PHOENIX RISING Jason Tran ‘16 Mixed Media PRISMS 2016 37

I REMEMBER WHEN Meagan Riordan ‘17 Photography

YOU MATTER Taylor Blumkin ‘16 Tempera 38 PRISMS 2016

FOREVER I THOUGHT I saw you by mistake tonight, from a distance, laughter tumbling capriciously from your mouth, just like it used to do when we were friends forever.

Now forever is gone and your mouth smiles for someone else, offering the same million-watt grin, good for a hundred years or a thousand forevers, whichever comes first.

I watch you, your lips wiped clean, no longer flavored with our private jokes, our shared food, our whispered secrets, our songs belted out wildly in the car.

Lips that have forgotten the day when I taught you to whistle.

Tonight, from across the crowd, from the other side of forever, I caught the sound of your laughter and rolled it around in my mouth, tasting something so familiar, tasting something so remote.

Why don’t your lips remember?

Why can’t my lips forget?

Beatrice Levy ‘18

PRISMS 2016 39

LA MEMORIA DE TI Me acuerdo La playa tranquila La luna brillante Un beso dulce Esa noche Tú y yo bailamos en las nubes El mundo era nuestro Y tú eras mía La luz de la luna iluminó nuestro amor Tú que iluminaste mi corazón Encendiste un fuego en mí Hasta que fuiste robado de mí Nada más que un recuerdo Una noche en el pasado Pero cada día Me acuerdo Meredith McMurray ‘17

THE MEMORY OF YOU I remember The quiet beach The bright moon A sweet kiss That night You and I danced on the clouds The world was ours And you were mine The moonlight lit up our love You lit up my heart You lit a fire in me Until you were stolen from me Nothing but a memory One night in the past But every day I remember Meredith McMurray ‘17

40 PRISMS 2016

ROMANCE Darkness Blankets of black surround me.

They cover each of my crashing waves, Eddying into my currents and my vast body Stretching to my shores.

I sway. I roll.

Lost to the blinding shadows of the night‌ Until she appears.

The Moon, my love.

Her rays of white light suddenly shine, Slicing through my deepest waters.

I see her Floating in the sky, a celestial body.

The color of the clouds and the brightest stars, The purest beauty.

She guides me, protects me.

The Moon, my love.

I yearn for her, Wanting to touch her flawless face, My darling Moon.

I can feel her Pulling at my waves, pulling at my tides, pulling at my heart.

But I am here, Plunging into the depths, Drowning in my own loneliness.

And she is there.

In the sky hanging with the stars, Bathing the world with her light.

My angel up in the heavens, She is the Moon, my unattainable love.

Samantha Obligacion ‘17

PRISMS 2016 41

Score

Sunrise Adamma O'Brien '16, Sophie Freitas '18, Victoria Geter '18

Andante (play 2nd time only) Flute 1

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42 PRISMS 2016

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ODE TO THE MOON Oh Moon so fair and bright Why dost thou hide behind the scorching light of the sun Like a rabbit hidden from a predator Thou art the wisest and most knowledgeable of the sky For the sun is greedy and ignites the atmosphere Consuming the precious life of the stars and planets But thou art kind and generous to this life Thy light may shine cold like icicles in the winter Yet it is also as fair as sterling silver And as precious to the wolves as gold is to greed For their longing voices call to thee Like a child to their lost mother Loud and whining Now come gentle moon and spread thy fair light For the world is waiting patiently For the sun’s wise sister to pull the ocean’s tide With a grasp so firm that thou may find power within its midst For that is thy job To caress the land with an element so strong that people will wish to tame it People have tried in vain to conquer thee They stuck thee through with a silver spear Bearing the name of their homeland and the color of their triumphs They have disturbed thy face with feet from other lands And landed upon thy surface with alien contraptions Yet despite this cruelty thou hast remained gracious Spreading thy light across our lands All I ask of thee now is to stay in the sky And overlook the life beneath thee with thy shining face once more For if thy light ever fades, dark shall consume the land But with thy presence life shall go on And the prayers of many will rise up to the heavens and reach thy ancient ears Hear me now oh Moon, Queen of the sky Come swiftly this night And outshine thy greedy sibling in the sky Fiona Picchi ‘18

12 WAYS OF LOOKING AT TREES I To a child, A tree serves as a hiding spot For a last-minute decision.

II A tree is the base For a house Built by the boy and his father.

III A stupid cat Allows itself to get chased up into a tree, With no desire to get down on its own.

IV Such interesting shadows These old oaks cast Upon a sunny day.

V The beauty of a tree Is something we don’t quite understand, but maybe that is what it prefers.

VI As it changes color season to season, As its leaves fall, then grow back, We know time is leaving.

44 PRISMS 2016

VII We are lucky enough to witness the cycle of a tree, Yet not its whole life, Whereas they have been watching us grow From the very first day.

VIII The girl kept climbing All the way to the top, As if she never wanted to come back down.

IX They say trees are the oldest and wisest of us all, For they have been alive the longest, And have seen everything, The poor things.

X The trees set the example Of what it means to be Strong, tall, and powerful.

XI The tree outside my bedroom window Looks lovely this time of year, And it will forever stay As long as my appreciation stays with it.

XII Where I find that tree, I find my childhood.

Where I find my childhood, I find happiness.

Where I find that tree, I find peace.

Rebecca Rochlin ‘17

PRISMS 2016 45

FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS Recuerdo los globos Volando por el viento como pájaros El aire silbaba por los árboles Un arco iris en el cielo Recuerdo la tarta Glaseada elegantemente El sabor bailando sobre la lengua Con rastros de fresas jugosas Recuerdo las caras Cantando canciones de celebración Los rostros brillaban como velas Nada podía hacernos daño Recuerdo mi niñez Volando por el viento como un pájaro Dulce como un pastel Intocable Katherine Cariño ‘17

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I remember the balloons Flying through the wind like birds The air whistled through the trees A rainbow in the sky I remember the cake Elegantly frosted The flavor dancing on the tongue With hints of juicy strawberries I remember the faces Singing songs of celebration Faces shone like candles Nothing could hurt us I remember my childhood Flying through the air like a bird Sweet as a cake Untouchable Katherine Cariño ‘17

46 PRISMS 2016

PIECE O’ CAKE Sofia Reeves ‘18 Pastel and Watercolor

THE SPILL Cristelle Hugo ‘17 Photography PRISMS 2016 47

BALANCE Grace Falkner ‘16 Tempera and Watercolor

DANCING FLOWERS Christine Hovermale ‘16 Digital

CAPTIVE slowly it starts. a rhythm of ebbs and flows that crescendo into crashing waves hits me it flows through my veins makes me stand up forces me to tap my toes to unseen syncopations it slowly works its way through my body makes me move my hips suddenly i’m dancing i cannot contain myself it consumes me and i become immersed in its beat melodies fill my soul and i feel whole again when i reach the end of the song i am left longing for more then new notes begin and i am swept away in a whirlwind of emotions as the music becomes part of my body Beatrice Levy ‘18

PRISMS 2016 49

BALLET the only time the body leads the mind and the mind follows aimlessly a rest for the brain and play for the soul a rush of movements that runs through the dancer like a current of electricity surging from the heart there’s an ease and a flow a balance of athleticism and grace a fluidity of variations not one step unintentional the feet turn away for the heels to kiss a silky black leotard a white skirt effortlessly hugging the waist with arms of sleek ribbons she is quite simple and pristine with hair pulled back in a twisted knot wearing tough shoes that cut and blister used for a soft and beautiful effect to elongate the body, to enhance the performance placing each finger and arm position with precision an assortment of moves to blend into a complete phrase a very difficult dance one that calls for endurance when mastered it magically transforms like a caterpillar achieving its destined form a sentimental and natural feel a physical representation of art choreography being the colors and the dancer the canvas together creating a vibrant masterpiece Francisca Chaparro ‘17

50 PRISMS 2016

LA FRESA La fresa salta con anticipación en una salsa de fruta. ¡Olé! Saluda a sus amigos, la piña y el mango.

Invitan el jalapeño y la cebolla a la fiesta Bailando mientras un diluvio de jugo de naranja Los inunda alegremente.

Vincent Republicano ‘16

THE STRAWBERRY The strawberry leaps with joy into a fruit salsa.

She greets her friends, the pineapple and the mango.

They invite the jalapeño and the onion to the party Dancing as a rainstorm of orange juice Deluges them with excitement.

Vincent Republicano ‘16

PRISMS 2016 51

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY The wilting, dead rosebush shouted your name, and I went back to it.

I cut one of the roses, put it up to my nose, and smelled it.

It smelled like us.

Michael Lee ‘16 Score

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KONA, HAWAII Recuerdo claramente las islas de arena limpia y fina y como la arena corría por mis dedos El viento caluroso me tomaba unos mechones de pelo mientras el sol me daba besos en mis hombros y brazos mis pecas saludaban las nuevas manchitas del sol Las olas componían una sinfonía de palmeras susurrando visitantes y turistas jugaban en las aguas cristalinas Recuerdo con mente clara vacía de preocupaciones y problemas solamente concentrada en mi respiración y mi felicidad en ese momento Francisca Chaparro ‘17 KONA, HAWAII I remember clearly the islands of clean and fine sand and how the sand slipped through my fingers The hot wind picked up a few strands of hair while the sun kissed my shoulders and arms freckles welcomed the new spots on my skin The waves composed a symphony of rustling palm trees visitors and tourists played in the crystal waters I remember a clear mind empty of all worries and problems solely concentrating on my breathing and my happiness in that moment in time Francisca Chaparro ‘17

PRISMS 2016 53

ODA A LAS FILIPINAS Demasiado cálido, Demasiado árido, El aire me tocó Como un beso distanciado – Una fricción repulsiva – Compartido por el suelo Que se quejó Bajo cada uno de mis pasos.

Mientras estaba sentado allí en la Tierra rota, No pude evitar preguntarme Por qué la tierra Abrazaría A la gente de esta tierra, Los labios del aire Transformando.

Una sonrisa suave Para la gente.

Y la garganta del suelo Zumbando Un himno agradable Para la gente… ¿Por qué para la gente?

Pero en ese momento me di cuenta Que esas personas no eran sólo gente, Sino que eran sus niños – niños de todas edades – Y la tierra y el aire eran sus padres Sólo ansiosos sobre mi llegada Como yo.

Y con esta comprensión, Nací del aire y de la tierra, A través de las raíces que me habían esculpido de adentro hacia afuera, a Un universo cálido y rociado.

Aaron Ramos ‘16

ODE TO THE PHILIPPINES Too hot, Too dry, The air touched me Like an estranged kiss – A repulsive friction – Shared by the ground Which grumbled Beneath each of my steps.

While I was seated there on the Shattered earth, I couldn’t help but wonder Why the earth would Embrace The people of this land, The lips of the air Transforming.

A soft grin For the people.

And the throat of the ground Grumbling A pleasant anthem For the people…

Why for the people?

But it was in that moment that I realized That these people were not just people, But that they were children – children of all ages – And the land and the air were their parents Only anxious of my arrival Like me.

And with this understanding, I was born of the air and the land, Through the roots that had carved me from inside out, into A warm and dewy universe Aaron Ramos ‘16

PRISMS 2016 55

TORRE EIFFEL Torre de Amor, torre de calorEspera, ¿no hace viento sobre Paris?

Tú abres tus redes de hierro Imbuidos con los caprichos de amantes perdidos Para abrazar a los corazones ciegos.

Sí, el amor es ciego Siempre buscando, en vano, un santuario En los sitios donde se congregan los amantes del mundo. ¡Ay, Torre de Amor!

Eres un mausoleo de una época pasada De artistas, músicos, y escritores jóvenes Un trasto inútil del romance entre hombres y mujeres anhelantes Como edificio, eres impresionante. ¡Ay, Torre de Amor! ¡Oye cómo cantan elogios en tu nombre!

Eres como un altar de los enamorados; Atraes a las almas apasionadas.

Vienen a ver tu belleza y a expresar Sus sentimientos con himnos extranjeros Pero hay un mensaje resonante En cada canción. ¡Ay, Torre de Amor!

Los fugaces, desesperados viajadores piden una ficha de su visita Para que puedan guardar sus días Sin olvidarse de las emociones sentidos en tu presencia.

Un talismán, como en una pulsera reluciente Que desean llevar, Reconociendo las experiencias vivaces del corazón.

Aunque soy ciego y cojo con amor, ¿Me darías un tal talismán?

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

56 PRISMS 2016

EIFFEL TOWER Tower of Love, tower of heatWait, isn’t it windy atop Paris?

You open up your walls of steel Impregnated with the whims of lost lovers To embrace blind hearts.

Yes, love is blind Always seeking, in vain, a sanctuary In places where the lovers of the world flock.

O, Tower of Love!

You are a mausoleum of a past epoch Of artists, musicians, and young writers A useless scrap of romance between wistful men and women As an edifice, you are impressive.

O, Tower of Love!

Listen how they sing praises in your name!

You are like an altar to the enamored; You lure passionate souls.

They come to witness your beauty and express Their sentiments with foreign songs.

But there is a resounding message In every song.

O, Tower of Love!

Desperate, fleeting travelers seek to purchase a token of their visit So that they might guard their days Without forgetting the emotions felt in your presence.

A charm, like on a small glittering bracelet They seek to wear, Recalling the vivacious experience of the heart.

Although I am blind and lame with love, Would you give one such token to me?

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

PRISMS 2016 57

CLOUD WATCHING I remember one particularly overcast afternoon in the Bay Area, Cold and grey, just like a London day, Necessary to layer like the sky: There was the discord of cars fumbling like an unpracticed band, There was a frigid air wheezing on my cheeks, And the view – that crystal view – of my neighborhood, Lacy, ice-stricken, Detailed like a Monet…

I remember this image so well, So seemingly mundane, So monochromatic…

But it has been forever frozen in my memory, Because of the unexplainable following events, So beyond definition that they escape the permanence of words.

Silent and evasive, the dense concrete of cloud above me Erupted (I would not have noticed if it were not for A single touch of rain beckoning me to look up), A blinding blue breaking through veins, then clusters, Slowly, as if it had all the time in the world, Yet knew it was being watched, Teasing the world with its unmistakable beauty Until, among the blue wreckage, there were distinct grey blobs Tinged with reckless orange as fiery as adolescence.

Those characters were nameless but with purpose, So hazy, so distant, Yet so detailed all at once, An orange interposed so gracefully upon a blue So clear and so perfect, Like an impossible ocean, An empty slate for the imagination, But already with infinite potential Teeming at the seams of the grey-stitched clouds.

Enamored of the majesty of that ethereal image, I was delivered from that present glacial state –

Devoured by normality – To a weightless plane fixed in time Past, Free falling through the air, Past the clouds that had watched my life, My soul, and every part of my being, And I, dumbfounded (falling), Stared back, unable to speak Too absorbed in its heavenly presence, Only able to observe (falling), But admire the memories Transcripted in my being But projected on the sky outlined In blue-orange fabric…

All the memories Made too clear (falling) Cloud Watching.

Aaron Ramos ‘16

ODE TO THE SEA When the sea wakes up In the morning, The wind Billows through His hair.

The sun Sets a fire in His eyes.

His soul is Bright, Liberated, Clear.

The shore Calls out And asks for A kiss.

The sea Obliges her and Kisses the shore

But only For a minute.

The sea slips away, Slowly, Quietly, From the shore.

She knows that He will return soon, With kisses For all Eternity.

She smiles To herself, Because she knows He can’t Stay away.

Meredith McMurray ‘17

Score

El Niño Arjun Kapur '19 Richard Reid '19 Largo

Cello swung

Piano

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©

3

EL VIENTO Un viento sopla Lentamente, primero.

Baila a tu alrededor.

Tú sabes que está ahí, Pero no es amenazante— Todavía.

Estás ciego al peligro Que vendrá.

Espera, Como un león acechando su presa.

Se abalanza.

Te envuelve En un pavoroso susurro.

Sus palabras siembran una duda Profunda dentro de ti Y cosechan odio y miedo.

Los susurros se transforman en gritos.

Te desgarran el alma De tu cuerpo.

Y un dolor Como un cuchillo A través de tu corazón Se levanta dentro de ti.

Hasta que ya no te conoces.

Tú no eres tú.

Tú eres el viento.

THE WIND A wind blows Slowly, at first.

It dances around you.

You know that it is there, But it is not threatening— Yet. You are blind to the danger That will come.

It waits, Like a lion stalking its prey.

It pounces.

It envelops you In a terrifying whisper.

Its words sow doubt Deep within you And harvest hate and fear.

The whispers become screams.

They tear your soul From your body.

And a pain Like a knife Through your heart Rises within you.

Until you no longer know yourself.

You are not you.

You are the wind.

Emily Stehr ‘17

Emily Stehr ‘17

PRISMS 2016 61

PARCHED Arriving at the path, I stretch my legs for a dawn run.

My shoes make a tacky paste out of clods of damp dirt that shimmer weakly, christened with a misting of what we droughters desperately call “precipitation.”

The vague wetness has silently materialized from the last tattered ribbons of the night, which now flutter away as the drowsy sky stumbles from blackest ink to charcoal to lead to soft dove gray to an abrupt metallic pink.

Emboldened by these magenta shafts, the puny rain girds itself for a flimsy finale, spitting once more upon the trail, lamely spraying the trees, then fleeing.

Reflexively, I look upward.

I ruefully scan for clouds, knowing full well that the rogue puff that brought these feeble droplets is already long gone.

I give a last toe-pat to the ground’s stingy excuse for mud, and suddenly I’m running, legs strong braids flying eyes following the gauzy steam that rises from leaves where apologetic infinitesimal scrawny raindrop impostors melt back into the thirsty air.

The path twists and dries in the rising heat, until my shoes have no memory of dampness, and only raise dusty dervishes with each soft footfall against the baked earth.

Mile after mile I run, but I cannot escape the bone-dry landscape or the arid breeze that scorches my throat.

I finish, panting and parched.

Beatrice Levy ‘18

62 PRISMS 2016

SELF- PORTRAIT Justin Pasion ‘16 Charcoal

LET THERE BE LIGHT Cristelle Hugo ‘17 Photography PRISMS 2016 63

THE CREATION OF THE BEAUTY, THE FEARED, AND THE PROTECTORS There was only darkness. Nothing more than a void of infinite nonexistence. Yet from this nothingness, came two sisters. These sisters were Myla the Owl, known for her wisdom, and Tyla the Bear, known for her courage; they lived in perfect harmony among the darkness. Over time, Tyla became bored with this darkness.

“I wish to have a job. I wish to care for something,” she said, hoping to get wisdom and advice from Myla.

“Well, why don’t you first create a home for these children you dream,” Myla replied.

And so she did.

Tyla reached into her mouth and pulled out one of her loose teeth and threw it into the darkness. This became the moon. Then she reached for one of her golden eyes and plucked the iris right out — leaving her with one blue and one golden eye — and threw that into the darkness as well. This became the sun. However, Tyla was not as careful with the sun as she was with the moon; as a result, she caused the sun to drip its golden rays downwards.

Myla turned to Tyla and advised, “You must create a home for these children of yours to run and sleep.”

And so she did.

Tyla became so engulfed with joy at the thought of caring for something, that she began to weep. As her tears fell downward, an ocean was created. After seeing the ocean she realized that her children would be unable to run and sleep on it; so she grabbed two handfuls of her own fur and dropped them down into the ocean. This created the earth.

“Now that there is a home, you must create its keepers,” Myla declared.

And so she did.

Tyla blew a breath of life into the void around them, and from that void emerged four creatures. Olive, a deer; Vera, a coyote; Juno, a hummingbird; and Aemilia, a mountain lion. These four creatures, along with Myla and Tyla, were to be known as the Mothers.

Myla reminded, “Tyla, you must make sure to give these Mothers roles for the new world.”

And so she did.

Olive was assigned as the oracle and Vera, the scribe. Tyla then turned to Juno and Aemilia.

“Juno,” she announced, “you shall have the task of creating and protecting all that is light and filled with joy in the world; and Aemilia, you shall have the task of creating and protecting all that is dark and feared in

the world.”

Myla then sent Aemilia and Juno down to earth to begin their newly acquired tasks. However, she did not forget to tell them that they must avoid the areas, known as the lava pools, where the sunlight drips.

“Now, it is time to create those children you have dreamed of,” Myla mentioned to Tyla.

And so she did.

Tyla blew her breath of life down towards the earth. From this breath, all the different types of creatures were born. And life was good.

As time went on, so did life. All of the Mothers enjoyed watching the earth and its creatures grow, especially Tyla. Yet one Mother was not satisfied. Vera became bored and tired of her work as the scribe and began spending more and more time where the creatures lived.

One day as she was wandering through the forest, she noticed Aemilia standing near the lava pools.

“Why are you standing so close to the dripping sunlight?” she asked.

Startled, Aemilia responded, “Oh, well I’m only trying to protect the other creatures. You see, I’m planting foul-tasting plants all around the pools so no creatures go near them.”

“You...” Vera didn’t know what to say, “You are trying to protect the creatures?”

“Well of course! I love all! The beautiful and the feared.”

Right away, a plan to suppress her boredom came to Vera. “Aemilia,” she asked, “do you enjoy being the mother of all things feared and hated?”

“I enjoy it quite a lot!” Aemilia said with an ear-to-ear grin; however, her smile soon faded and her answer soon changed to a tired, “Well, not really.”

“I truly wish to be just like Juno,” she started, “You know, creating such beautiful and joyful things, being so loved and admired for it. I wish we could switch tasks sometimes, but— ” “Then why don’t you?” Vera interrupted.

“Oh, because Mother Tyla would be furious!”

Shaking her head, Vera reassured her, “And why would you think that? Mother Tyla only wants what is best for you and only wants to see you happy. Are you saying that your own true happiness would not bring her her own?”

“I never looked at it that way,” Aemilia said.

Vera smiled back, “Of course not!” Then she proceeded to tell Aemilia the plan.

Aemilia would raise the lava pools a little bit higher so that the lava would begin to tip out and cover the land. Once it covered the land,

the lava would destroy any of the creatures that Juno had created and Aemilia could then take Juno’s task.

And so she did.

Aemilia raised the pools. The lava spread quickly throughout the world and covered everything except the mountains. When the lava flood came to the mountains, it could not consume them all, thus causing the creation of cliffs and waterfalls.

Juno immediately realized that all her creations were being taken away by the flood and hurried to find Tyla and Myla.

Once approached, Tyla was furious. “Why would Aemilia want to kill all of my children?” she screamed, “I must stop this now!”

And so she did.

Tyla and the rest of the Mothers, minus Vera and Aemilia, rushed down to the earth. Tyla rid the world of the lava and went to find Aemilia.

“Why have you done this to all that you loved so much?” Tyla asked once she found Aemilia.

“I was just so unhappy, Mother Tyla,” Aemilia responded, beginning to weep, “I wanted Juno’s tasks and this was the only way I could have them.”

Tyla started, “What a selfish thing to do! Because you have done this, I must shun you from my children. From now on, you will go and live in the most isolated part of the forest. However, I shall give you the task of Keeper of the Lost.”

“You are right,” Aemilia said with a sigh, “What I did was truly selfish and I shall accept my punishment.”

Aemilia then turned away from the Mothers and began her journey to the isolated part of the forest. It is said that when one dies, one’s spirit follows the same path Aemilia took, when she was shunned, to her new home, where they may finally rest.

As the Mothers looked on at the destruction that had occurred, Olive began to speak.

“I see this happening again and again, my fellow Mothers. To stop this pain from reoccurring, Tyla, you must create protectors for this world of yours.”

And so she did.

Tyla took the remnants of the cooled lava flow and began to shape new children. Once satisfied with her creations, she blew her breath of life into the lava formations. These became the first humans.

This group of new children, the Sasia, were then given the task of Protectors of the Forest and the World. And as time went on, so did life.

Taylor Blumkin ‘16

66 PRISMS 2016

SABOR DULCE DEL HOGAR en Guadalajara una receta pasada de generación en generación las frutas del horno huelen dulces como la miel de los dioses caras rubias y rosadas como los pétalos de rosas en el jardín de mi abuela galletas redondas cantan con sabor tan deliciosas tan sabrosas bendiciones de México Jessica Marquez ‘16

SWEET TASTE OF HOME in Guadalajara a recipe passed down from generation to generation the fruit from the oven smells sweet like honey of the gods faces golden and pink like the petals of roses in my grandmother’s garden round cookies that sing with flavors so delicious so flavorful blessings from Mexico Jessica Marquez ‘16

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I’VE SEEN HER GROWN It was the girl with the lemon yellow hair who smiled at me so brightly, it made me smile.

It was the girl with the eyes as blue as the crashing ocean, they sparkled when her eyes met the sun.

It was the girl with the soft velvet skin who danced and showed no care in the world.

This was the girl I met over the summer: lively, full of love, always finding a way to bring her smile into our lives.

Why were boys so cruel to her?

It was the girl with lemon yellow hair who smiled at me so dully, I wondered what happened.

She never told me.

It was the girl with the eyes as blue as the crashing ocean, only to realize tears greeted her every night.

It was the girl with the soft velvet skin that bruised too easily from the boy she said she loved.

It was the girl who died; I never saw her smile again.

This was the girl, I didn’t recognize.

It was the girl whom I re-met over the weekend: Her hair was like a mermaid’s, Her smile glowed even whiter, Her eyes were now recognizable and shone like sapphires, And her skin had learned to love her imperfections.

It was her, whom I met over the weekend.

We haven’t talked in forever, but in four days, we finally understand each other.

I love her.

Michael Lee ‘16

BURNING FLESH Kayla Davis ‘17 Acrylic

BARE BONES Jason Tran ‘16 Pen and Watercolor

COMMONPLACE Anna Victoria Serbin ‘17 Pastel

PMD Chloe Molnar ‘19 Pastel and Watercolor

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MY “AT-THE-MOMENT” CREDO They say our generation is one that is addicted to tiny glowing screens. We are like zombies. We muddle through the routines of our day, not even thinking twice about things, until we can finally come home to the comfy, cozy castles we call our beds and sit down with our computers and surf the web. I like to think I’m one of the zombies or one of the mindless or one of the technologyaddicted or one of the brainwashed, because everything I believe in and know I learned online. I’m not talking about learning things that don’t matter; I’m talking about learning things that are important now. Some of these important things I’ve learned are: No means no and you better have consent.

Love your body and your mind.

Nature is a beautiful, peaceful place.

You don’t need a house with a white picket fence to have a home.

Equality for things like gender, sexuality, and race is needed now.

Slut-shaming and just judging people by their looks or reputations is never an okay thing.

The things I’ve learned may seem a bit farfetched, but they’ve helped me realize who I am and what my values are. So for that I say “Thank you, Internet. Especially you, Tumblr.”

Taylor Blumkin ‘16

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EL PRISIONERO Sabes que?

Estoy harta de la nueva era de gratificación instantánea Donde el trabajo sincero está mal visto y el número al lado de mi lista de amigos es lo que determina mi autoestima.

Nuevos productos siempre salen Prometiendo la mejor versión de mí misma a través de una pantalla sucia proclamando “Sí, se puede!” pero si no lo puedes pagar, “Pues no, no puedes.”

Me siento atrapada por las redes sociales.

El constante temor de ser criticada se bambolea sobre mi cabeza como una nube a punto de exprimir cada última gota que ha estado sosteniendo. ¿Mis emociones?

Pensaba que no existían aquí.

Es una cárcel que promete liberación; la misma red que me atrapa me constriñe Es una trampa psicológica. ¿Deseas más amigos? Aprieta un botón. ¿Quieres sentirte mejor sobre tu apariencia?

Saca una foto y mira como las alabanzas llenan tú bandeja de entrada.

Pero no me digas que soy perfecta tal como soy cuando tú editas cada manifestación de ti mismo.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

PRISONER You know what?

I am sick of the new age of instant gratification Where hard work is frowned upon, and the number next to your ‘Friends’ list is what determines my self-worth.

New products always coming out Promising the best version of myself through a dirty computer screen proclaiming “Yes, you can!” but if you can’t afford it, “Well no, you can’t.”

I feel trapped by social media.

The constant fear of being criticized totters over my head like a cloud about to squeeze out every last drop it’s been holding.

All of my emotions?

I thought they didn’t exist here.

It is a prison that promises release; the same net that catches me constrains me It’s a psychological trap You want more friends? Click a button.

You want to feel better about your appearance?

Take a picture and watch the praise flood your inbox.

But don’t tell me I’m perfect just the way I am when you edit every single manifestation of yourself.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

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RELIEF let go, nothing more can be done, it’s over, finally breathe in, breathe out – it’s much easier now without the heavy weight over my heart; slow down my cheetah of a heart, let the wind wash over my despondent mind and soul maybe I’ll be able to sleep, to dream, to imagine, to not fret; it’s finally over the blissful smile people love never leaves my face – it’s natural now. unclenched hands, loose in my walk, calm in my talk I haven’t a care in the world, I feel free, I’ve found my center, I’ve found my peace.

Rebecca Rochlin ‘17

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LA MARIPOSA MONARCA De Michoacán Viene la mariposa monarca Con alas anaranjadas y negras Llega revoloteando sus alitas, Posándose ligeramente en las rosas Acariciando el cielo mismo con su radiante belleza Nacida para volar, La mariposa monarca baila con el viento Nunca dejando que el aire la retenga Vuela determinada Persiguiendo sus sueños Ysela Rodriguez ‘16 THE MONARCH BUTTERFLY From Michoacán Comes the monarch butterfly With her orange and black wings She flutters them, Alighting hesitantly on roses Caressing heaven itself with her radiant beauty Born to fly, The monarch butterfly dances with the wind Never letting the air hold her back She flies resolutely Pursuing her dreams Ysela Rodriguez ‘16

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THE WINDOW The view is gorgeous this time of year. A crisp breeze flutters through the distant trees, weaving a joyful tune, making the leaves dance in a merry autumn ballet; a final spectacle before they leave me behind to make way for the new generation. The moonlight shimmers over the woods, glinting off every slight dip and distortion, throwing the sashaying leaves deep into the shadows of the chorus, then back into the spotlight for an all too brief solo. Soon the winter winds will return. I can already feel the chill signaling the impending final bow and farewell of my dearest friends. The dancers do not seem to notice, nor do they ever, still leaping and spinning, jubilant as the day they were born.

The clearing is not yet cold enough to freeze over, but the rugged grass has begun to conquer the soft spring carpet. Even the most tenacious of them will be gone when the winds come. The stars shine softly, beckoning me into their cosmic reality. Orion is slowly sliding across the sky, his bow pointing the path to heaven across the dark infinity. As some friends leave, others return.

If I lean far enough forward, everything is perfect: the moon kisses my cheeks, the wind rustles my hair, carrying the scent of dirt and pine and frost. I can see all my friends waving at me, the grass swaying gently, leaves playing a percussion rhapsody as they greet me; even the stars twinkle their hello.

If I sit back even an inch, the illusion is shattered. The air is dank and stale, the room black as pitch. The bars swim sharply back into focus, sneering at my attempt at happiness. These bars entrap my body and soul, sealing me inside this concrete bow with nothing but my own shattered dreams; a constant reminder of who I was, and who I will always be. Despite my own joy, I always feel hate. Despite my bliss, I always feel pain. Despite my many friends, I am always alone. I am lost in the infinity, a broken soul who has journeyed too far off her path. My only hope, only wish, only dream lies in the window. A wish that someday I will overtake my friends on their final bow. Orion will lead me to heaven. I will watch my friends follow their cycle of life from the stars. I will be able to dream.

Toni Anderson ‘18

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A THANK YOU TO MRS. NORRIS Mrs. Norris, who started PRISMS in 1991, will be retiring this year after 34 years of teaching at SJND, so the staff would like to extend their thanks.

Mrs. Norris is as magical as the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, but ten times as stylish! Her infinite patience, dedication to the arts, kindness, and eye for detail make her one of the most valuable and rare books in the library of poets and teachers in the world. Truly a rare gem, Mrs. Norris is an inspiration, a role model, a fashion icon, and a loving mentor to all who know her. ¡Gracias, sra.

Norris! ¡Le echaremos de menos! -MCR

Mrs. Norris has been a great friend and mentor throughtout my high school career. She knows when to really push her students to succeed and when to let go and have a little fun. I don’t believe SJND, or myself, will be the same without her. ¡Gracias por todo, sra. Norris! No quiero decirle adiós, entonces voy a decir “hasta luego”. -TB

Mrs. Norris will forever be an icon at SJND. Known for her Spanish raps, immense love for poetry, and dedication to her students, Mrs. Norris is a legendary teacher and friend. -JT

The best Spanish teacher I’ve ever had, Mrs. Norris will always be remembered. I will miss the dammit doll, the ultimate Shakespeare raps, and of course, “¡bonitas manitas, tengo yo, HUH, bonitas manitas, tengo yo!” -RR

Mrs. Norris made me feel welcome to PRISMS this year, and though I have never had her as a teacher, I can see the passion and zeal she has for everything she is involved in at SJND. This, along with her witty personality and fashion-forward style, is what makes her a much-loved member of the Pilot family. We will miss you! -CH

Mrs. Norris is one of the most determined and magical teachers at SJND. Her dedication to her students, poetry, and PRISMS have helped make her a beloved teacher to many people, even if we’ve never directly had her for a class. -GF

Mrs. Norris is an absolutely extraordinary teacher and friend who I shall never forget as I make my way to senior year and beyond.

Mrs. Norris keeps every student she has, or once had, in her heart, and her warm presence fills the SJND community, a presence that I have no idea how we will go on without. From learning prayers in Spanish to crafting poems in class, Mrs. Norris is one of those few and rare human beings I feel grateful to have in my life, and someone many students and teachers at SJND indeed must think of this way as well. -AVS

CONTRIBUTORS OZI AMUZIE’s Like Doves is about learning to live in peace with others.

TONI ANDERSON’s short story The Window was written from the perspective of outcasts.

Speaking of writing, she is in the midst of writing a novel!

Although ALEXIA ARANDA’s poem La abeja reina is about a queen bee in all her glory, she finds fairies much more enchanting. Tinkerbell, where are you?

PRISMS Layout Editor TAYLOR BLUMKIN’s goal with her art is to portray what the world around us looks like through the lens of mental illness. She conjured up the magical designs in this book.

KATHERINE CARIÑO has quite the fondness for giraffes.

During the Fall of 2015, KALEB CERVANTES performed a percussion piece for four metal ladders called Rung Again. His composition is inspired by many of the rhythms, technical skills and textures found in this piece. Along with many of his own original ideas, this piece for snare drum is a masterful solo.

FRANCISCA CHAPARRO feels magic when she dances because she can step away from life for just a while. She would like to live in France for a year.

ROSEMARIE COMPTON wants to be developmental psychologist because she loves helping people and learning about the mind. She feels magic in nature when she is among the flora and fauna.

KAYLA DAVIS contributed her art piece Burning Flesh.

PRISMS staff member SEAN DE LEON uncovers the mysteries and magical abilities of the chameleon in his poem The Chameleon. Sean finds magic in his mind; it is where his imagination flows and his gears shift.

While JESSICA EDWARDS, CARA FRECCERO and TANIA ORTIZ-ROSALES were exploring the cavernous confines of the band room closet, they came across some whisks, paper plates, cups and various utensils. This discovery gave them the inspiration to compose their novelty percussion piece Whisk Away, which is played on a table with all items ultimately thrown away.

JENNIFER EGGLESTON is an SJND cheerleader whov enjoys all things glitter and glitz!

A proud redhead, Jennifer wrote Ode to Gardenias, a poem as delicate and pure as the flower itself.

PRISMS Editor-in-Chief GRACE FALKNER’s art work Split dives into seeing beyond what’s on the surface to find the truth. She finds dragons of any kind fascinating and amazing, whether they are guarding their hoard or crunching on knights.

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Sunrise, a collaborative piece by SOPHIE FREITAS, VICTORIA GETER and ADAMMA O’BRIEN, is a relaxed and calm piece based on the Christmas song Carol of the Bells. The three flutes interact with one another in a round with harmonizing parts that pull the entire piece together.

While CHRISTOPHER GERLACH keeps active with sports, he finds magic in playing the clarinet, preferably with a Pegasus in flight.

QUINN GILCHRIST’s Don’t Look Back was inspired by two of her favorite songs. Her cat, Zelda, likes to sit on her shoulders. She loves dragons because they are like dinosaurs but breathe fire.

CAMERON GILL states, “The first part of My Past emphasizes how my youth was very childish and unconcerned, but once I started to grow up, some things got harder. Ultimately, the second half of the poem expresses the wonderful or troublesome times I’ve faced in relationships with people close to me and far away.”

Did you know that MARY JANE HOWLAND goes sailing a lot? Perhaps that’s why she admires the gracefulness of the Pegasus as it glides in the air while she glides on the sea.

CHRISTINE HOVERMALE learned to hang a spoon on her nose when she was three.

Wow! PRISMS staff member CRISTELLE HUGO’s photographs emit auras of beauty and enchantment. She is captivated by the elegance and majesty of Pegasi. Pegasi? Really?

EMILIA KALDIS’s drawing, featured on the inside cover of PRISMS, depicts several planets in space. Emilia feels magic when she is with her pets or surrounded by nature.

NINA KITAPAN’s Dandelion Girl portrays a sense of mystery and wonder. She’s a lefty - and proud of it!

ARJUN KAPUR and RICHARD REID’s El Niño is named after the storms we are supposed to be having this year in California. It starts off a little bit jazzy before it transitions into the storm. The cello part brings out the chaotic lower tones, painting a perilous picture. The piano helps develop the cello part with riffs and fast-paced arpeggios. By the final line, the two instruments merge together in unison to end the piece in tragic harmony.

MICHAEL LEE favors spoken word poetry. He keeps a journal in which he logs his thoughts and feelings that fuel his creativity.

BEATRICE LEVY is a naturally talented poet. Her works this year in PRISMS hone in on the beauty that lies in the details of everyday objects or experiences. When she is not running or writing, Beatrice enjoys cooking and singing.

JESSICA MARQUEZ procrastinates a lot. She needs a magic wand to get her work done.

Abracadabra!

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MEREDITH MCMURRAY’S poem La memoria de ti and Ode to the Sea were inspired by “hopelessly romantic dreams.” She admires unicorns because they are pretty, and she likes pretty things. Don’t we all?

Avid gamer CHLOE MOLNAR’s PMD was inspired by the Pokemon Mystery Dungeon series. Her piece depicts characteristics of no less than four generations of this series.

Impressive!

AUGUSTUS MOSELEY is very quiet, but when he speaks, everybody listens. Still waters run deep.

FIONA PICCHI’s poem Ode to the Moon was inspired by a wolf’s yearning for light.

When she’s not writing, Fiona volunteers at the Oakland Zoo as a Teen Wild Guide.

MIKA PHILLIPS’ Map of Love illustrates the complex relationship between a girl and boy. The maps depicted within the figures symbolize the many pathways of life. Mika feels magic at concerts and, of course, at Disneyland. Yo, Mickey!

Performed in a reverent manner, CAMERON PUTTERMAN’s slow paced and slightly jazzy melody soothes the listener and brings to mind a respectful time for prayer and reflection. The pace and dynamic of Sad Monkey are all-important elements of “feeling” the piece.

SAMANTHA OBLIGACION’s Romance was inspired by the classic painting, The Great Wave off Kanagawa, where the unyielding waves speak of an unconditional yet unattainable love.

Wildly talented JUSTIN PASION is the artist behind Self-Portrait and Gorilla in the Dark.

In his free time, Justin enjoys swimming. His favorite mythical creature is the hydra because it looks cool and demonstrates supreme power.

PRISMS Art Editor and SJND Poet Laureate AARON RAMOS’ poems in this edition reflect significant parts of his Filipino culture. He sees magic in words that can make any ordinary subject come to life.

Art is a piece o’ cake for SOFIA REEVES. PRISMS Spanish Editor MARY CARMEN REID’s Prisoner is modeled after the inner workings of the teenage mind while it comments on the influence of social media. She enjoys watching riveting documentary films, empowering young women, and baking glutenfree confections. Yum! VINCENT REPUBLICANO feels magic on the baseball field. And he loves Teen Wolf.

Picture this episode: Teen Wolf in the Field of Dreams.

EILEEN RHATIGAN captured a gorgeous shot of a storm in Point Lobos, which she titled Nostalgia. She enjoys all things Harry Potter because it is a timeless classic that always excites her, even after the thirtieth time re-reading all the books. You’re not alone, my friend.

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MEAGAN RIORDAN photographed I Remember When, a snowglobe which was a gift from her aunt. Everything that she learned about photography was under the instruction of Mr. McKee in thirty short minutes when she was in seventh grade. Remember that, Mr. McKee? PRISMS English Editor REBECCA ROCHLIN’S poems are all incredibly personal and written with heart. She finds phoenixes fascinating because of their grace, which she would love to have.

SOPHIA SEIWALD loves to knit. But can she knit and read Harry Potter at the same time?

That would be a magical feat!

PRISMS staff member and cover artist ANNA VICTORIA SERBIN was inspired by a cut photo she found years after the end of a friendship to write Photo of My Life, and she decided to compose Commoplace based on observing the intricate combination of glass and cloth. She feels magic when she is united with her family from Brazil. She can wink perfectly without straining her nose and challenges you to do so too!

EMILY STEHR will always have a soft spot in her heart for Harry Potter. Harry’s magical adventures plunged her head-over-heels into her love for reading, writing, and storytelling.

Plus, there are some amazingly profound life lessons in those books.

PRISMS staff member JASON TRAN is an artist, but most importantly, he is an impeccable fashion icon. His artwork The Bare Bones was inspired by the physical layers of the human body.

YSELA RODRIGUEZ envies the immortality of vampires. And she believes in love.

Eternal love. Till death do you part. Not me!

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STAR SOCIETY OF CREATIVE WRITERS 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 or has won an excellence award outside this community.

Students must also have been published in PRISMS. Each member receives a star pin to wear at graduation.

Caroline Abellar ‘04* Jared Alokozai ‘11 Alfonso Alonso ‘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 Zoë Byrne ‘06 Danielle Campbell ‘06 Natalya D. Caraballo ‘07 Katherine Cariño ‘17 Crystal Carrillo ‘12 Cynthia Carrillo ‘08 Perla Casas ‘15 Kedron Diane Casteen ‘06 Erik Castillo ‘14 Tracy Castillo ‘10 Natasha Chacón ‘06 Daniela Chaparro ‘14 Sophia Chaparro ‘09 Rosemarie Compton ‘16 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 Thong 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 Martín Franco ‘08 Tia Gangopadhyay ‘11 Axel García ‘13 Victoria Geter ‘18

Genora Givens ‘09 Guadalupe Carolina González ‘13 Kimberly González ‘14 Rebecca González ‘12 Dalton Green ‘14 Casey Greer ‘12 Alyxandria Guzmán ‘07 Lydia Hall ‘14 Katherine Hanover ‘14 Desiree Harris ‘13 Gabriela Hinojosa ‘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 Andrea Lino ‘04 Gabriela Lippi ‘08 Marisela Loza ‘07 Danielle Maddix ‘08 Ryann Malicdem ‘14 Megan Manning ‘10 Giulia Marinos ‘14 Alexa Martinez ‘14 Peter Matarrese ‘06 Amanda Matoon ‘14 Chris McClintock ‘10 Allison Meins ‘09 Priscilla Mena ‘05 Rocío Molina ‘08 Annie Mooney ‘11 Joanna Mooney ‘06 Teresa Mooney ‘09 Carlos Mora ‘14?

Jerónimo 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 Michael Priest ‘05* 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 Megan Riley ‘11 Renato Rocha ‘07 Carlos Rodriquez ‘14 Maya Rowell ‘15 Emilio Sanchez ‘14 Emily Sanchez ‘15 César 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* Alessandra Zambrano ‘13 Francesca Zambrano ‘10 Dulce Zamora ‘89 Faculty and Staff: *Charter Members Susan Beck* Martha Carpenter Dempsey Lynn Kane Meza* Elizabeth Peláez Norris* Robert Williams Honorary Members: Mary Rudge, Poet Laureate of Alameda 2002-2014 Julia Park Tracey, Poet Laureate of Alameda 2014-

AWARDS PRISMS 2015

*Best Photographer Award - Julian DeGuzman American Scholastic Press Association

PRISMS 2014

*Outstanding Theme: Best Bilingual Selections American Scholastic Press Association *Superior Award National Council of Teachers of English

PRISMS 2013

*Golden Seal Book Award Artists Embassy International

PRISMS 2013 2009

*Superior-Nominated for Highest Award Finalist National Council of Teachers of English

PRISMS 2013 2005 2003

*Most Outstanding Private School Literary-Art Magazine of the Year American Scholastic Press Association

PRISMS 2002-2015

*First Place with Special Merit American Scholastic Press Association *Excellence Award National Council of Teachers of English

PRISMS 2010 2011 2015

*First Place Award American Scholastic Press Association

PRISMS 1998-2000 1996

*Bronze Award for Outstanding Achievement Merlyn’s Pen: The National Magazine of Student Writing

PRISMS 1997

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

Amelia Khoo SJND Poet Laureate 2013-2014

Tia Gangopadhyay SJND Poet Laureate 2010-2011

Karina Leon SJND Poet Laureate 2014-2015

Robin Levy SJND Poet Laureate 2011-2013

Aaron Ramos SJND Poet Laureate 2015-2016

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