Prisms: Spring 2015 | Volume 25

PRISMS A LITERARY-ART MAGAZINE 25th Anniversary Edition Spring 2015 Volume 25

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

PRISMS STAFF Editor-in-Chief: Natalia Layson Literary Editor: Serena Milroy Art Editor: Grace Falkner Layout Editor: Maya Rowell Foreign Language Editor: Janet Gonzalez STAFF MEMBERS Lucas Bayard Taylor Blumkin Perla Casas Bianca de la Cruz Quentin Fernandez Karina Leon Mary Carmen Reid Anna Victoria Serbin Jackson Sundheim Jason Tran COVER DESIGN Grace Falkner INSIDE COVER DESIGN Taylor Griffith ADVISER Elizabeth Peláez Norris ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Paula Cekola Carmen Davis Reid 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. 7 pt. 8 pt. 9pt. 10 pt. 11 pt. 12 pt. 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

Natalia Layson DEDICATION….................................................................................................9 DUSKING SKY…..............................................................................................9

Beatrice Levy NIGHT SKY….................................................................................................10

Emma Doud AETHER….......................................................................................................10

Lucas Bayard SLEEPING GIANT...........................................................................................11

Aaron Stanek DAY OFF HAIRY VALLEY….........................................................................11

Matthew Porter, Maximilan Peréz, Connor Waterloo BORGES Y EL GAUCHO............................................................................…12

Amy Wang TIGRE…...........................................................................................................12

Jessica Marquez TIERRA DEL FUEGO…..................................................................................13

Aaron Stanek BLIND TOUCH…............................................................................................14

Maya Rowell PATTERN OF TOUCH….................................................................................14

Jenna Ingram EL VIENTO…..................................................................................................15

Aaron Ramos WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD..................................................................16

William Homan REFLECTION…...............................................................................................20

Grace Falkner SMILE…...........................................................................................................21

Jessica Edwards GLASS…...........................................................................................................21

Karina Leon MIRROR…........................................................................................................22

Natalia Layson SELF-PORTRAIT..........................................................................................…23

Anna Victoria Serbin FRIDA KAHLO…............................................................................................23

Gianna DeGuzman

LANA DEL RAY…..........................................................................................24

Jason Tran HIBISCUS….....................................................................................................24

Isabel Reyes DUALITY…......................................................................................................24

Julian DeGuzman GUATEMALA...............................................................................................…25

Astrid Hernandez OLD CHILD..................................................................................................…26

Emily Sanchez CITY IN THE NIGHT...................................................................................…27

Devin Pham WHITE ON BLACK PERSEPOLIS….............................................................27

Justin Pasion SHE WANDERS…............................................................................................28

Karina Leon GARDEN….......................................................................................................28

Perla Casas ODA AL AGUA.............................................................................................…29

Michael Cuellar NUBES…..........................................................................................................30

Sean Obligacion CROOKED TREE….........................................................................................31

Alyssa Joyce CLOUD NINE...............................................................................................…31

Julia de Leon SNAPPED ROOTS…........................................................................................32

Ben Yokota BUTTERFLY.................................................................................................…34

Danielle Apilado HOPE….............................................................................................................34

Fiona Picchi DOG...............................................................................................................…35

Christine Hovermale BUTTERFLY AND FLOWER…......................................................................35

Amy Wang DEADLY SIN............…....................................................................................35

Jackson Sundheim LEE FAMILY…................................................................................................36

Mikey Lee

WHERE THE SEAWEED IS GREENER….....................................................36

Courtney Shojinaga LITTLE FISH................................................................................................…37

Manru Wu CANDLE….......................................................................................................37

Manru Wu EUFORIA…......................................................................................................38

Emily Sanchez OTRO INVIERNO SILENCIOSO................................................................…39

Astrid Hernandez DROPS OF JOY…............................................................................................40

Jessica Academia, Julia Courville FIRECRACKERS...........................................................................................…40

Sean de Leon ODA A LA MÚSICA.....................................................................................…41

Olivia Ballesteros THE FORGOTTEN….......................................................................................42

Rosemary Compton NEVERENDING WAR….................................................................................43

Janet Gonzalez ODA A LA ESCRITURA..............................................................................…44

Natalia Layson LA VENGANZA............................................................................................…46

Perla Casas PANDA..........................................................................................................…47

Sean de Leon GRAND CENTRAL RIVER….........................................................................48

Taylor Griffith HUSH….............................................................................................................48

Beatrice Levy LA LUNA MUERTA….....................................................................................49

Jessica Marquez MOON CITY….................................................................................................49

Amy Wang SKYDEWALK…...............................................................................................49

Julian DeGuzman CRYING ANGEL..........................................................................................…50

Grace Falkner RED CARPET KNIGHT…...............................................................................50

Ethan Shoefer

KAIROS CROSS…...........................................................................................50

Madison Halliday SKULL...........................................................................................................…51

Taylor Griffith HOPE ABANDONED...................................................................................…51

Maya Rowell MI BARRIO......................................................................................................52

Astrid Hernandez DEFINITION OF INSANITY.......................................................................…54

Hannah Karlsrud CRIES OF AGONY.......................................................................................…55

Janet Gonzalez IT’S A MONDAY…..........................................................................................55

Lena Reed-Petracek SILENT PONDERING….................................................................................56

Aaron Stanek FIGURE DRAWING.....................................................................................…56

Justin Pasion FROM THE MOON AND THE STARS….......................................................57

Amanda Quezada ON THE SIDEWALK...................................................................................…57

Alfonso Alonso THE BALLAD OF AIDAN…..........................................................................58

Karina Leon MAGNETS…....................................................................................................59

Rosemary Compton FOUR WAYS THE HEART WORKS..........................................................…60

Karina Leon DREAMING..................................................................................................…61

Monique Lupian PRIMARY SPLASH…......................................................................................61

Taylor Griffith EMOTION.........................................................................................................62

Lea Akima FLOATING THOUGHTS….............................................................................62

Cassie Vonnegut TEMPUS EDAX RERUM............................................................................…63

Quentin Fernandez I’VE GOT TIME FOR YOU….........................................................................67

Beatrice Levy

LA CASA DE MI ABUELO........................................................................…68

Alexia Aranda IF LIFE WERE LIKE CANDY…....................................................................69

Alfonso Alonso LUZ ROJA…....................................................................................................70

Mary Carmen Reid A WORLD WITHOUT CANCER................................................................…72

Victoria Geter ENDURANCE…..............................................................................................73

Perla Casas PROGRESS...................................................................................................…73

Garrett Monteiro IMPACIENCIA….............................................................................................74

Gabriela Espinoza YOU DECIDE…..............................................................................................76

Colin Karch AURORA…......................................................................................................76

Katherine Cariño DAWN…...........................................................................................................77

Beatrice Levy AFTERWORD…..............................................................................................78 CONTRIBUTORS........................................................................................…79 STAR SOCIETY OF CREATIVE WRITERS..................................................83 AWARDS…....................................................................................................................84

When the lovestruck Moon first laid her crater gray eyes on the brilliance of the Sun, she immediately gravitated toward him.

But, alas, her shyness got the best of her, as she was a mere reflection of his light. A glow to his illumination. A silver to his gold.

Despite this, the Moon continued to yearn for her beloved while she avoided drifting too close and being burned. Admiring from afar, the Moon learned to enjoy being bathed in his incessant light and learned to share his radiance. At night, she was a vehicle for translation and did not blind creatures as the Sun did. She guided wanderers through perilous waters, airways, and roads.

And with the Sun’s light she returned it in a flood.

According to American novelist Edith Wharton, “there are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” While the candle provides the initial source of warmth and luminescence, the mirror spreads it, turning fervent fire into a gentle glow. But a mirror would have nothing to reflect without that first light. Similarly, the moon would be an empty orb floating through galaxies without the sun, just as PRISMS would be meaningless without its contributors. This silver reflection of heart and soul translates creativity to its pages.

Welcome to this special Silver Anniversary edition of PRISMS, which continues to shine through creative writing, art, and music.

Natalia Layson Editor-in-Chief

8 PRISMS 2015

DEDICATION

To

Paula Cekola,

SJND Music Teacher, whose silver notes provide the accompaniment to our words.

DUSKING SKY A dance is afoot in the dusking sky As Earth’s nighttime partner slips into place, Moved by a wind that breathes out like a sigh To greet the moon as she glides in with grace.

Moments ago crimson blazed overhead From javelinlike shafts spat from the sun Ripping wounds in the clouds that fiercely bled, They vanished, admitting nighttime had won.

Now dark-to-light boundaries are softly smeared Smudged by erasers that rub away bright, Leaving shadows all blurry and dog-eared ‘Til they are lost in the silk of the night.

When dusk pours down from a heavenly spout, Is dark seeping in, or light draining out?

Beatrice Levy ‘18 PRISMS 2015 9

THE NIGHT SKY The night sky Dark and alone Empty, yet full of stars The infinite barrier of our world Of dreams Resplendent and mysterious Precious and curious Emma Doud ‘16

AETHER The only space you know is your own A constant watcher in your heavenly domain And from your home Cruelty and bliss flow The only sight I know And yet your children I can see Blocking you Where is your grace?

A ray of fire Splits you in half As it travels without mercy The light from it steals your fame Tell me why you stay Protection is your life Why not turn your back on us?

None will survive Celestial blue Yet when you fade The glory is exposed The rebirth is equal In the midst of this extravaganza You lack our regard Lucas Bayard ‘17

10 PRISMS 2015

THE SLEEPING GIANT The sleeping mountain settles dead, but when comes dusk will not be afflicted anymore.

The mountain seems a giant, steady and enormous, but now he sleeps and dreams…

I believe that the sleeping mountain waits for the day of awakening, no?

Aaron Stanek ‘15

BORGES Y EL GAUCHO Amy Wang ‘15 Pen & Ink

TIGRE Ojos brillantes Como luz de noche Grandioso, valiente, y elegante Rayas negras Suave como un gatito de peluche Feroz por dentro Como un infierno Luminoso como un farol Admirado de mí Jessica Marquez ‘16

TIGER Bright eyes Like fire at night Grand, valiant, and elegant Black stripes Soft like a stuffed kitten Ferocious inside Like an inferno Luminous like a lantern Admired by me Jessica Marquez ‘16

12 PRISMS 2015

TIERRA DEL FUEGO Tierra del Fuego, Dragón del sur.

Corazón de hielo que traga todo.

Viento helado que viene de las alas del dragón purifica la tierra.

Tierra del Fuego, tierra cruel tierra helado, Tierra del Hielo.

TIERRA DEL FUEGO

Aaron Stanek ‘15

Tierra del Fuego, Dragon of the south.

Heart of ice that consumes all.

Frozen wind that comes from the wings of the dragon purifies the land.

Tierra del Fuego cruel land, frozen land, Land of Ice. Aaron Stanek ‘15

PRISMS 2015 13

BLIND TOUCH

A blind man walks along the beach. His legs sink into the warm sand; every pebble runs through his toes. The man breathes the fresh air as the salt tingles his nose. He doesn’t need a walking stick, for he is one with the earth, one with the beach. For once in his life he is normal; his sunglasses no longer make him different.

Listening to the waves and all the people, he starts to imagine his surroundings. In his imagination, there is a plethora of details— sand, ocean, people, seashells—all seen with his touch. Walking for hours and hours, the images in his mind expand and burgeon.

Every shell that cuts his feet, every wave that crashes ashore, and every laugh that children produce are meticulously fixed in his mind. There are no colors, but there is beauty. The blind man hopes never to leave.

Maya Rowell ‘15

PATTERN OF TOUCH Jenna Ingram ’18 Pen & Ink

EL VIENTO El silbido del viento llenó mis oídos, Como agua fluyendo en una taza.

Ojos cerrados, oí en el viento El aleteo del vaivén de palmeras Y olas azules lamiendo la arena de la playa.

Pero cuando abrí mis ojos, Volví a la realidad Donde el viento no era más que un susurro.

Aaron Ramos ‘16

THE WIND The wheezing of the wind filled my ears, Like water flowing into a cup.

Eyes closed, I heard in the wind The fluttering of palm trees swaying And blue waves lapping the sand on the beach.

But when I opened my eyes, I snapped back to reality Where the wind was nothing more than a whisper.

Aaron Ramos ‘16

PRISMS 2015 15

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD

The sand was sharp and the wind was savage. The Scorching Mother above gave no sympathy toward any of her children during the time of firestorms. Clarke had grown accustomed to the heat of her goddess’s wrath and rarely complained. The hot winds blew with harsh howls that seemed to mock this foolish journey. The angry weather, as persuasive as it tried to be, did not convince Clarke to turn back. Her walk continued through the sandstorm. Reaching the castle city of the old gods had become her stubborn determination. The Elders called it the old world, a city of Giants and ghosts whose hallowed screams still silently echoed.

Her thoughts constantly shifted like the sandstorm. She thought of home and her people who abandoned her; she thought of Elder Tommas, the closest person she had to a father, but mostly she thought of the wonders of the old city. These thoughts strangled her brain like a patient serpent. “Almost there,” she kept whispering. The words echoed as she walked, losing whatever meaning that was left in them until they were simple muscle memory.

Interstate 80 was the most direct way to the old world. The stone road would bend around the belly of what was once a great ocean but now a great hollow, then would straighten out into the inner city. The scenery had very little variety—nothing but sand and shriveled black husks of what might have been trees. Clarke couldn’t help but feel nostalgia for a time she had never lived. She didn’t even know what a tree looked like other than a charred spire.

The wind turned from a loud cry to a drawn-out whisper as the sandstorm finally passed. Clarke thanked the Scorching Mother for her mercy without really knowing why; the Mother worked in mysterious ways. Clarke found cruel humor in how the Scorching Mother gave pity on her trek, but not when she was abandoned. Elder Tommas was the only one who pleaded against her exile. Tommas loved Clarke as if she were his own child, but she was exiled all the same. As the city finally came into view. Clarke looked up at the Scorching Mother and saw Tommas looking back. *

“Get up.”

Tommas’s voice barely rose above a whisper, but the orphan girl shot up so quickly she almost smacked his nose. Luckily he backed away just as nimbly and gave her a smile and a light chuckle.

“Welcome back to the land of the living. You seem quite alert today.”

He walked from her sleep roll to the tent entrance and unbuttoned the leather flaps. The light was not as welcoming as Tommas.

“I know you were outside the tribe again. What did you take this

time?” he asked matter-of-factly.

The orphan girl regarded the old man like a gazelle regarding a lion.

“A book,” she whispered.

Tommas’s smile faded slowly to a frown. He gave her a deathly gaze, “What book?”

The girl did not meet his stare, “A...a picture book. But it has words too. I can make out some of them. It’s a story about a magical man who can fly and throw mountains and fight evil men who hurt women. I think his name is Clark man. Or super Clar-”

“Enough.” Tommas said coldly, “Get out of bed, there is work to be done. And return that book where you found it before others discover it. I don’t want anyone hurting you over this book nonsense.”

She nodded as if she were about to break her neck and quickly got dressed. However, she could not bring herself to bring the book back; the book offered a gift to the girl: a name. Clarke was a savior’s name and a savior was what she wanted to be. The book did not return to the rusting vehicle in which it had been entombed before. She had hidden it within her dress until later that evening where it joined a different tomb.

The western tribe of Ahiga watched over the long stone road from Hawk’s Peak. It would kiss the Scorching Mother every evening and embrace her every morning. The center ritual tent was crowded as the Elders told their story of the old world, a warning for all the tribespeople. They feared what lay beyond in the ancient stone cities past the great hollow.

The six Elders warned the young of these cities of stone and curses. Warnings meant to instill fear, to remind them of the forbidden flames that consumed the Giants. The tales of Elder Tommas always fascinated her even when she was a little girl. Stories of giants called Oosaa and Rasha who were brothers born of war between the Scorching Mother above and the cold ground below. These stories only sparked the most dangerous of the forbidden flames in Clarke’s young heart: curiosity.

“My children,” Elder Adams ended, “Learn from the mistakes of the Giants and their flames. Their sparks are the seeds of war. Knowledge only brings destruction and death, as you see with the world before us.”

All the children and the tribe’s people nodded and muttered in agreement with the Elder’s tales. After all, who knew more of the land’s history other than the Elders? All except Clarke, the orphan girl, who had done the unthinkable.

She asked the Elder “Are you sure?”

There was a silence that washed over the tribe that not even the dead could match. Clarke immediately regretted her decision to speak out of turn, especially to an Elder.

“Am I SURE?” Elder Adams howled. “An orphan girl who has barely passed her sixteenth summer asks if I am sure! OF COURSE I AM

SURE!”

Out of defiance, or fear, Clarke yelled back at the wailing Elder; “Then prove it!”

The Elders collectively gasped at such a heathen claim. “I am an ELDER!” Adams was screaming, “Our tradition is proof enough!”

Clarke began to stand up in protest against the Elder, and as she did, the book revealed itself.

This book broke the stunning silence of the tribespeople. Screams of swearing and disbelief swirled through the crowd. Elder Adams pointed a long bony finger at this affront of a child. “So, is this your new god now that you bring before us? Tell me child, how readily did you forsake your own people?”

“Adams, please,” Tommas protested. “She is still young in learning the ancient ways, don’t d-”

“You know the penalty for such a crime! I knew even on the day you took that wretch in that she was not one of us!” Elder Adams regarded Clarke coldly, “And you never will be. As you are a child I will be merciful with your punishment; you shall be…”

Elder Tommas interrupted, “You don’t truly mean to do such a thing to a child! Please, Adams, I beg you to let me take her punishment.”

Adams ignored Tommas’s plea and continued, “You shall be banished.”

Clarke, who was already standing, gazed at the Elders in such a primal way it made Elder Adams squirm a bit in his spot. She turned with damp eyes and began her walk. Clarke did not run, as she did not want to give the thousand staring eyes the satisfaction. She heard Elder Adams speak up far behind her, “Burn the book, let it be destroyed before it poisons another of our youth.”

As she walked into the darkness while the Scorching Mother hid within the earth, she looked back and saw the smoke of the tribal fire turn from white to black and to white again.

After the incident, Elder Tommas returned to his tent ashamed and heartbroken. He loved the orphan girl; she was the child he never had.

Now her stubborn pride had forced her away from him. As he moved the leather flap, Tommas saw Clarke packing provisions. There were many other questions he had swimming within his mind, like why did you say such things to an elder, and why didn’t you get rid of the book, but this was the only question he could manage to say,

“Where will you go?” Tommas asked.

“I am going to see the ruined city.” Clarke did not look up as she packed, “I need to see it for myself.” Tommas stepped toward her sullenly.

Clark turned to him and finally met his gaze. She knew Tommas was old but he looked as if twenty more summers had passed him. He hugged her with such force that she was momentarily startled. She broke into tears and

hugged him back. Clarke was gone by morning. *

Clarke, now standing at the edge of the city, looked up at the stone spires and scorched metals. Impressive was her first thought, but impressive was an understatement. These towers were so tall it looked as if they were fighting the Scorching Mother for supremacy of the sky. As far as Clarke knew, they did. The burnt and twisted metal hinted of such a battle.

Perhaps they still stood as a reminder of those who defy the Scorching Mother.

As Clarke continued to walk into the stone graveyard, poles stuck out of the earth all over the place. Maybe the Giants planted these here in the hopes that they would grow into their great towering counterparts.

Clarke’s neck became sore from viewing all the wonderful sights of the decaying ruins of a dead city. One decaying ruin struck her particularly.

It was relatively small compared to the others but appeared much more beautiful. Rows of steps led to its entrance as stone pillars gave it support. Clarke noticed it was one of the few buildings that was named. “Salt Library,” she said to herself as she read the broken stone title. Clarke’s forbidden flame got the better of her and pushed her inside the building.

What lay within shocked her more than the loving embrace of Tommas. This building was filled with books! Thousands and thousands of books simply lying scattered across the floor and sitting on the shelves.

Clarke felt a happiness she did not know existed as she began to tear up.

Now she had all the books she could want, maybe one to prove to the Elders that they were wrong to exile her. She walked dreamily to one of the shelves while practically tripping over all the books scattered around.

She hummed sweetly to herself as she studied the titles sitting on the shelf. History of the World immediately caught her attention. Clarke quickly opened the book and skimmed through the pages and discovered what truly was the face of the old world. She closed it and held the tome in front of her, as if meeting her groom to be.

“This will show the Elders,” she thought. “This will give me my home back!”

At that same moment, the sound of the Mother’s thunder echoed through the hall as Clarke’s thought of home splattered the book’s cover with a new crimson color. Her lifeless body crumpled over her new prized possession and buried it beneath her chest. From the balcony, a squatter holding a 32 caliber rifle, who was protecting his campsite, muttered “Damn scavengers!”

William Homan ‘15

PRISMS 2015 19

REFLECTION Grace Falkner ‘16 White & Black Charcoal

GLASS There’s a glass wall between us That we’re too scared to break.

The thought of getting cut Is more scarring Than any physical wound.

We can abandon the pieces Once shattered.

We have good reason To leave them behind.

But we stress over every crack and crease, Afraid of the noise From crashing restraints.

Afraid of what lies Beyond barriers.

Afraid of never reaching Each other.

Afraid of drowning In our own freedom.

SMILE Afraid.

Afraid of breaking A smile can be This fragile limit.

Genuine Afraid of breaking.

False Afraid.

Sad Anything you want it to be Karina Leon ‘15 Some wear their smile as a mask So they can be strong for others So they can hide Hide their secrets Hide their pain Strong masks make strong people So bear the pain Bear the sorrow Bear this insane mystery of life Stay strong And smile Jessica Edwards ‘16

MIRROR looking into the mirror she cracks, she hurts, she cries facing the reflection, she cracks her knuckles, loosening up air bubbles and stress the mirrored image hurts her eyes with light too bright shining from the sun the reflection makes her cry with heaving sobs finally finding the beauty she could not see yesterday Natalia Layson ‘15

22 PRISMS 2015

SELF-PORTRAIT Anna Victoria Serbin ’17 Tempera

FRIDA KAHLO Gianna DeGuzman ‘15 Digital PRISMS 2015 23

LANA DEL REY Jason Tran ‘17 Digital

HIBISCUS Isabel Reyes ‘16 Acrylic

DUALITY Julian DeGuzman ‘15 Photography 24 PRISMS 2015

GUATEMALA Guatemala, tierra sagrada importante a mí Mi corazón se llena de canción y late por ti Corazón tierno y amoroso Corazón benevolente y glorioso Hoy te lo entrego a ti Guatemala, llena de belleza inimaginable Tu Cristo Negro divino y fascinante Milagroso señor de Esquipulas Rodeado por millones de peregrinos Me arrodillo a tus pies y te adoro, mi Dios Detrás del vidrio me bendices Guatemala, tierra adorada Mi tierra santa Te amo Astrid Hernandez ‘16 GUATEMALA Guatemala, sacred land important to me My heart fills with song and beats for you Heart tender and loving Heart benevolent and glorious Today I give it to you Guatemala, filled with unimaginable beauty Your divine and mesmerizing Black Christ Miraculous Lord of Esquipulas Surrounded by millions of pilgrims I kneel at your feet and worship you, my God Behind the glass you bless me Guatemala, beloved land My holy land I love you Astrid Hernandez ‘16

PRISMS 2015 25

OLD CHILD San Francisco, You are a child.

You are dirty and poorly educated, You smell like a bowl of old soup You have much to learn, my child.

Oh, San Francisco, Although you are spoiled I love you.

You have life and hot blood running through your veins I love you.

You’re naughty and tricky—but your tenderness Fills my soul.

That’s why I love you.

You have much to learn, my child…

You are dependent on me And I on you.

I love you.

Emily Sanchez ‘15

26 PRISMS 2015

CITY IN THE NIGHT Devin Pham ‘16 Colored Pencil

WHITE ON BLACK PERSEPOLIS Justin Pasion ’16 Chalk

SHE WANDERS At home she paints Pictures of her future.

Her mind wanders, Sketching a world She doesn’t know.

Her mind wanders Without her.

Alone she paints Pictures of her window.

Karina Leon ‘15

THE GARDEN Innocent clouds mask the surface Alluring yet maleficent in nature Beauty Unable to comply with our desire For tranquility Endures Through distressing rains And summer sun Flourishing in spring The garden deceives Perla Casas ‘15

28 PRISMS 2015

ODA AL AGUA Corre por los bosques lleno de sol y vida un ser enorme sin límites Baila con la tierra salta por el aire con pura energía y se siente como una manta sobre el mundo El cielo llora lágrimas claras creando su ritmo por la noche y un espejo del mundo por el día Michael Cuellar ‘16

ODE TO WATER It runs through the forests full of light and life an immense being without limits It dances with the earth it jumps in the air with pure energy and it lies like a blanket over the world The sky cries clear tears creating its rhythm in the night and a mirror of the world during the day Michael Cuellar ‘16

PRISMS 2015 29

NUBES Soy el protector de los rayos perjudiciales del sol, El proveedor de la sombra, Un momento de alivio en tu paseo refulgente y radiante.

Soy la representación de tus pensamientos, de tus ensueños Un reflejo de tu alma.

Existo en formas variadísimas para retratar tus emociones internas.

Si estás angustiado, no soy nada, Soy simplemente una nube; Si estás jovial, soy un ramo de flores; Como una nube, soy ubicua, Pero como espejo, muestro solamente lo que quieres ver…

Sean Obligacion ‘15

CLOUDS I am the protector of the harmful rays of the sun, The provider of shade, A moment of relief on your effulgent, radiant walk.

I am the depiction of your thoughts, of your dreams A reflection of your soul.

I take on various forms to portray your inner emotions.

If you are distressed, I am nothing, I am simply a cloud; If you are jovial, I am a bouquet of flowers; As a cloud, I am ubiquitous, But as a mirror, I show only what you want to see…

Sean Obligacion ‘15

30 PRISMS 2015

CROOKED TREE Alyssa Joyce ‘15 Photography

CLOUD 9 Julia de Leon ’18 Pen & Ink

SNAPPED ROOTS

He hated those trees. They were already growing there when we packed up our false sense of belongings and left Gila River. I don’t remember a thing about it, and the brother that would never live was still forming, but Mother insisted the house was fine. But, God, he hated those trees. Whenever I would ask, he’d insist the whitefolk had their opinions formed about the Japs and our cherry trees. I told him about George Washington. He didn’t care. We lived with cherry blossoms blowing through the air by our windows. He looked at their pink downpour disdainfully as I peeled away the petals trying to get to the center. I would look back at him and he would always be too absorbed in his thoughts, his memories, and his demons; never would he meet my gaze.

I could climb in those branches whenever I wanted. They could support me. I could hide from the judgment that I never heard.

I can remember hiding from my feelings. Hiding from myself. Hiding from the boy across the street. Why the hell did he have to be so good-looking? Hiding when he wanted to say hi. Hiding from judging eyes. Hiding was always what I did best.

My mother pruned the trees. She helped to tend those trees, cultivating them beyond my father’s knowledge. Somehow, she seemed at ease, clipping away, in serene silence. She shaped carefully, without end. She never talked. She just trimmed away, without eye contact, without conversation. She was suspended in her world, and I watched from mine.

I could climb in those branches as high as I wanted. I made my own limits. Ascending to the tune of my mother’s radio. Looking out on the entire neighborhood. The only cherry tree for miles.

Looking to the house across the street. And there he was. And there I was. And that’s when the branch broke. When I awoke, I was in bed with a makeshift cast and hot tomato soup at my bedside. It was not ramen. It was not miso. It was not remotely Japanese. I stared into the red of the soup. I want to be a real American. I want to be Frank Sinatra. I want to be James Dean. But I don’t want to be white. I just want to be a real American.

Sometimes, I could hide from my sadness. Sad that I felt ignored. Sad that I could not seem to allow the world to allow me to allow myself to be myself. I was able to hide within the rosy leaves of our family’s tree. I remember sitting there, as my parents quietly painted over the walls in the room at the back. Ads went up for his furniture. His toys. His clothes. His food. His bottles. My brother.

Their son. Their family of four. He would’ve been an All-American.

He would’ve grown up and married another Japanese woman. My

earliest memory didn’t even have a name. The flowers kept falling.

Wilting. My mother shed tears. My father didn’t. He just stared at the trees.

It was one of those summer days, cold to my keepers from Arizona, boiling to my pampered Californian standards. I brought in the paper: “Soviet Union Launches Satellite Into Space.” A crane pulled up in front of our house. A white man, a greaser, got out and asked for my father. My father heard and stepped out. I could see a silent argument between the two. They stared with malice, hating one another before they knew each other’s names. They were born to hate. Their very eyes dropped bombs of hatred. Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima, it didn’t matter. It was hatred.

I stood there. I watched as the white man ripped our family’s trees from the ground. Dirt flew up in clouds. As the crane continued to tug on our roots, my father solemnly put his hand on my shoulder.

We watched together. The greaser, his cig dangling haphazardly in his mouth, began to load the first tree into his truck. My mother, her hands shaking, sat down near our new color TV and watched The Ed Sullivan Show. I considered joining her, but the silence in the house prevented me. We kept watching as he pulled out the second tree.

The greaser casually breathed smoke out from his weed. We listened to the snaps and cracks of our tree’s branches. My heart raced, quivered, the feeling crystallizing, stagnating in the center of my chest. I blinked, gulped down in a mouth devoid of spit.

The greaser loads the second tree into the truck. My mother laughs at something on TV. The final tree. The tree tilts. I could see the boy across the street, watching the trees getting pulled out from the earth. Dust and dirt continue to pile up, clouding the window.

The final tree is loaded into the car. The greaser flicks his cig onto the grass. The boy across the street stays outside.

My father turned to me.

“See, the trees blocked our view.”

I agree. They did.

Ben Yokota ‘17

PRISMS 2015 33

BUTTERFLY Colorful wings Like a painted canvas Smooth, light, fragile Like the petals of a flower Quiet on the outside Imaginative on the inside In free flight Independent Like me Danielle Apilado ‘16

HOPE Tethered to the ground A bird without wings Vulnerable and broken Wishes to fly Touch the blue crystalline sky New hope The tether is cut loose And it disappears In the blink of an eye Fiona Picchi ‘18

34 PRISMS 2015

BUTTERFLY AND FLOWER Amy Wang ‘15 Acrylic

DOG Christine Hovermale ‘16 Digital

DEADLY SIN Jackson Sundheim ‘15 Photography PRISMS 2015 35

LEE FAMILY Mikey Lee ‘16 Tempera & Watercolor

36 PRISMS 2015

WHERE THE SEAWEED IS GREENER Courtney Shojinaga ‘15 Acrylic

鱼儿 你们形状各异 栖息在深海里 你们怡然不动 海面波涛汹涌 你们嬉戏追逐 不顾深海的黑 游吧，自在的鱼儿 在无边无际的大海 游吧，可爱的鱼儿 哪怕还没有目的地 Manru Wu ‘15

FISH You have diverse appearances Inhabit deep sea You are cool as a cucumber While there are great waves in surface You chase and romp Never care about the darkness in seabed Swim, footloose fish In this boundless ocean Swim, lovely fish Even without a destination Manru Wu ‘15

蜡烛 一根蜡烛 温暖而明亮 它燃烧自己 为我们照亮夜路 它默默无闻 为我们引领方向 它朦胧微弱且并不起眼 却为我们点亮了每个角落 Manru Wu ‘15

CANDLE A candle Warm and bright Burning itself To illuminate the dark road Silently point out the right direction For us Thin and inconspicuous It lights up every corner For us Manru Wu ‘15

PRISMS 2015 37

EUFORIA Tal vez ahogarse es una cosa buena Es un mar maravilloso, aleación de emociones convirtiéndolas en peces que te guían como una madre a tu lugar sagrado sumergirse entre las olas de cadencia, dicción y energía es fenomenal más temprano que tarde te tropiezas en ese paraíso submarino Tal vez ahogarse es una cosa buena Emily Sanchez ‘15

EUPHORIA Maybe drowning is a good thing It is a marvelous ocean, an alloy of emotions converting them into fish that guide you like a mother to your sacred place to submerge yourself in the waves of rhythms, diction and energy is phenomenal sooner or later you will stumble upon that undersea paradise Maybe drowning is a good thing Emily Sanchez ‘15

38 PRISMS 2015

OTRO INVIERNO SILENCIOSO

Camina hacia el banco. Es una senda estrecha y cubierta de una manta de nieve. Mientras camina, pasa por enormes árboles de pino. El aroma embriagador le llama la atención mientras respira profundamente. Copos de nieve descienden de los cielos.

Mientras besan sus mejillas sonrosadas, su lengua captura el sabor del invierno. Hace su camino hacia el lago que tal vez conocía.

Ahora se ha convertido en una pista de patinaje. Se quita el guante y las yemas de sus dedos bailan lentamente por la superficie lisa, permitiendo que la frialdad del intenso frío penetre su mano caliente. Por fin llega al banco y se sienta sobre él mientras mira a los niños patinando. Los ve reír pero no oye nada; desea oír el sonido de sus risas y el toque de sus patines deslizando sobre el hielo.

Inhala profundamente una vez más y suspira mientras se acerca otro invierno silencioso.

Astrid Hernandez ‘16

ANOTHER SILENT WINTER

She walks toward the bench. It’s a narrow path and covered in a blanket of snow. As she walks, she passes by enormous pine trees.

The intoxicating aroma captures her attention as she inhales deeply.

Snowflakes descend from the heavens. As they kiss her rosy cheeks, her tongue lightly captures the taste of winter. She makes her way towards the lake she once knew. Now it has become an ice rink. She takes her glove off and the tips of her fingers slowly dance across the smooth surface, allowing the intense chill of the cold to penetrate her warm hand. Finally she arrives at the bench and sits on it as she watches the children skate. She sees them laugh but she can’t hear a thing; she longs to hear the sound of their laughter and the touch of their skates gliding over the ice. She inhales deeply once again and sighs as another silent winter approaches.

Astrid Hernandez ‘16

PRISMS 2015 39

FIRECRACKERS Colorful lights dance through the moonlight.

Red, White, And blue.

Twinkling sparks chatter in the darkness.

Snap, Crackle, And pop.

Sean de Leon ‘16

40 PRISMS 2015

ODA A LA MÚSICA Incesante y relajante, Tu historia no tiene final Capturas, creas, inspiras Orejas, corazón, y mente Con cada ritmo Expresiva, Fluyes en el aire Traes paz Sin música, ¿Qué melodía llenaría el mundo?

Olivia Ballesteros ‘15

ODE TO MUSIC Ceaseless and soothing, Your story has no end You capture, you create, you inspire Ears, heart, and mind With every beat Expressive, You flow in the air You bring peace Without music, What melody would fill the world?

Olivia Ballesteros ‘15

PRISMS 2015 41

THE FORGOTTEN For the ones who cannot cry Who cannot scream Who cannot try.

For the ones who have passed on Who have gone away Who have carried on.

For the ones who are in despair Who are cut off from justice And are beyond repair.

For the ones who have failed Who have done good Yet have not prevailed.

We thank you for your valiant deeds Your loving hearts Your hopeful pleas.

We thank you for your honest ways Your faithful shield Your wonderful praise.

We honor you all through the night And make you shine In golden light.

Rosemary Compton ‘17

42 PRISMS 2015

NEVER-ENDING WAR Shattered dreams Of a meaningless life Engulf my lifeless soul Ready to overcome dregs of me Tears flow from my face Cold steel touches my skin Addiction overpowers me As all the pain fades It’s the only sense I have To make me feel alive The scars show The battles I have lost The lingering light of the world Has yet to turn into pure darkness And the voices of concern Have yet to go mute I live a battle That I’m forced to fight Consumed in a Never-ending war Janet Gonzalez ‘15

PRISMS 2015 43

ODA A LA ESCRITURA El rectángulo, Claro, suave Puro Intacto Ruega conocer la oscuridad Palabras brotan desde la punta de la pluma Vacilante al principio Curvilíneas Voluminosas y oscuras Ganan confianza Llenan la página vacía Se conectan juntos en fuerza Gritan sin sonido Susurran sin labios Pero juntos son demasiado fuertes Rápidamente, la pluma de la creación Las reduce a manchas Las encadena con líneas rectas Silencia los gritos Censura los susurros Imploran a regresar a la luz Sucias Degradadas Oscuro, áspero El rectángulo permanece Natalia Layson ‘15

44 PRISMS 2015

ODE TO WRITING The rectangle, Light, smooth Pure Untouched Begs to know darkness Words sprout from the tip of the pen Hesitant at first Curvy Voluminous and dark They gain confidence They fill the empty page They link together in strength Scream without sound Whisper without lips But together they are too strong Quickly, the pen of their creation Reduces them to blobs Chains them with straight lines Silences the screams Censors the whispers They beg to return to the light Defiled Degraded Dark, rough The rectangle remains Natalia Layson ‘15

PRISMS 2015 45

LA VENGANZA Una daga ensangrentada Aguda con la injusticia Sangre moviente que gotea de la punta El regusto agridulce del éxito brutal Espejo demoledor que refleja el oído indecible Una explosión de furia que no puede ser contenida Perla Casas ‘15

REVENGE A bloody dagger Sharp with injustice Innocent blood dripping from the edge The bittersweet aftertaste of brutal success A shattering mirror that reflects unspeakable hatred An explosion of fury that cannot be contained Perla Casas ‘15

46 PRISMS 2015

PANDA Cabeza redonda Como una bolita de arroz Gigante, gordo, suave Como una nube Negro Por fuerza Blanco Por paz Hecho de día Y de noche Adorado de mí Sean de Leon ‘16

PANDA Round head Like a ball of rice Giant, fat, soft Like a cloud Black For power White For peace Made of day And of night Adored by me Sean de Leon ‘16

PRISMS 2015 47

HUSH

GRAND CENTRAL RIVER Taylor Griffith ‘15 Photography

Night falls Usually so softly that no one notices when it happens.

Sometimes the hoot of an owl gives it away, Or sometimes it’s just a whisper or a sigh.

Night falls And I am frightened.

Trees grow fingers, the wind mumbles And scratchy dry leaves scatter like mice.

Night falls And I am comforted.

Moonbeams push back the shadows Showing me night flowers, fireflies, and dew.

Night falls And I am inspired.

Sleep comes and I dream of tomorrow Coming out of the womb of the night.

Beatrice Levy ‘18

LA LUNA MUERTA Jessica Marquez ‘16 Tempera

MOON CITY Amy Wang ‘15 Acrylic

SKYDEWALK Julian DeGuzman ‘15 Photography PRISMS 2015 49

CRYING ANGEL Grace Falkner ’16 Acrylic

RED CARPET KNIGHT Ethan Schoefer ’17 Digital

KAIROS CROSS Madison Halliday ‘15 Digital

SKULL Taylor Griffith ‘15 Photography

HOPE ABANDONED Bam! Man down.

They scream and shout.

More blood in the streets.

Red is everywhere; Time is running out.

The police won’t help us.

Who will save us?

No one.

We are alone.

Everyone ignores us.

There is sadness in our hearts And nothing in our souls.

For we have lost hope, Trapped inside a bomb of despair.

We can’t leave The spiral of poverty.

Maya Rowell ‘15 PRISMS 2015 51

MI BARRIO Cada madrugada Amanezco sintiendo fría Corazón destrozado Llena de temor Sudor escurre de mi frente Me dan escalofríos cada vez que Oigo el aullido de una sirena de policía Mientras lentamente se Desaparece como un susurro Miro hacia el cielo y empiezo a rezar Señor mío, ruega Por todos los que sufren a las manos De la violencia y concédenos la paz Oigo los disparos fuera de mi ventana Astrid Hernandez ‘16

52 PRISMS 2015

MY NEIGHBORHOOD Every morning I awake feeling cold Heavy hearted Filled with fear Sweat trickles down my forehead I get chills every time I hear the wail of a police siren While it slowly Disappears like a whisper I look up towards heaven And begin to pray Lord, pray For all those who suffer at The hands of violence and Grant us peace I hear gunshots outside my window Astrid Hernandez ‘16

PRISMS 2015 53

DEFINITION OF INSANITY She holds her hands to her sides, knees to chest and eyes shut tight because from monsters she hides; If a definition of insanity is what you want, look out at the world, look far and wide.

Bombs touching down around her head, Iraqi soldiers falling dead, four kids crowd in a tiny bed, the Middle East is drenched in red Knuckles clenched, bones white.

What do you have left if you refuse to fight?

Gunshots heard across the sky, one man escapes, an unhealthy cry; Across the world their stories are draped, journalists killed, women raped.

Is this what ISIS believes in?

Do the ends really justify the means?

Destroying their land and killing their kin?

Or are these soldiers just human machines?

Brainwashed and told to fight with a grin?

This is insanity.

Hannah Karlsrud ’17

54 PRISMS 2015

CRIES OF AGONY Drowned by the fumes terrorizing the land, Syrian civilians run amok through the streets.

Screams of victims fill the air, Pupils contract, burn blind, Strong men shake.

Cries of children are heard for miles.

The hospital, a cemetery, Aisles of the dead, Rows of victims Of a chemical attack.

Janet Gonzalez ‘15

PRISMS 2015 55

SILENT PONDERING Alone, I ponder, in the silent morning.

Around me, shadowy figures lurk in the dark.

The wind blows my gaze to a desperate man, Frigid, starved, forgotten by society.

In the distance, a baby cries, Abandoned by a working mother.

Poverty condemns them to silence.

Alone, I ponder, in the silent morning.

Aaron Stanek ‘15

FIGURE DRAWING Justin Pasion ’16 Charcoal

FROM THE MOON AND THE STARS Amanda Quezada ’17 Pen & Ink

ON THE SIDEWALK

He said nothing; he did nothing. He just looked ahead where cars drove by. Each night he walked a while on the street.

He sat in the same spot at the same time and did nothing. He did not think; he just looked. It was all he did every night.

One rainy day, he sat near the street watching cars pass by.

The lights of the buildings illuminated the streets but were covered by black darkness as well. All of a sudden a strong breeze carried a petal of a flower aloft and caught his attention. He did not know what flower it was or why it was so fascinating. But he knew one thing at that moment; he felt life in the petal. In that instant, everything around him was transformed. The sky changed from black to blue, the sun rose and the buildings changed into trees. His perspective, his soul, and his life changed. He could suddenly see, feel, and do the unimaginable.

Alfonso Alonso ‘16 PRISMS 2015 57

THE BALLAD OF AIDAN The first time sitting next to him On old stone steps at night, He took and held my hand by whim.

I pushed him down in spite.

I saw him wear a goofy smile.

He handed me some crayons.

“I’m bored,” I said to him, the while I broke them in his hands.

“I like you,” said he, kicking a rock.

He turned to me, eyes bright.

I looked at him, unable to talk.

He asked, “Are you all right?”

I sat there silent, watched him leave His heart broken, I knew.

He said what I could not believe: “I am in love with you.”

We’re older now, and I’m alone The halls, I greet him, “Hi,” Remembering how years have flown As I get no reply.

Karina Leon ‘15

58 PRISMS 2015

MAGNETS We get closer and closer And eventually connect.

We linger for a moment And then we deflect.

Our personalities, our dreams, Our past connections.

We avoid and we hate.

And go separate directions.

It was perfect for a moment.

Yet perfection does not last.

And given any time, The past is the past.

It haunts, it nags, It prevents a new start.

Like magnets to each other, It propels us apart.

Rosemary Compton ‘16

PRISMS 2015 59

FOUR WAYS THE HEART WORKS I Our beginning And our demise.

The heart is a requirement of living, but living is not a requirement of the heart.

II On those infatuated days, The heart is willingly given In hopes of receiving another’s In return.

III There are dangers in valuing Someone more than your own heart.

The economy is fickle.

IV Through the infinite miseries Of this finite life, The heart optimistically Beats.

Karina Leon ‘15

60 PRISMS 2015

DREAMING Monique Lupian ‘15 Photography

PRIMARY SPLASH Taylor Griffith ‘15 Photography

EMOTION Lea Akima ‘17 Digital

FLOATING THOUGHTS Cassie Vonnegut ’18 Mixed Media

TEMPUS EDAX RERUM (Time Devours All Things)

It was high noon, as he stood there, gazing above the skyscrapers. A giant among men in his own right, maybe even a god.

What a funny thing to call an eighteen year old. Or was he eighteen, he could not remember. Gleaming in his pristine, white lab coat he strolled down the busy Tokyo boulevard. Even with the hustle and bustle of the street, he began to recite the creed of Five: The universe has a beginning, but no end. — Infinity.

Stars, too, have their own beginnings, but their own power results in their destruction. — Finite.

It is those who possess wisdom who are the greatest fools. History has shown us this.

You could say that this is the final ultimatum from God to those who persist.

And he was one of those who received that ultimatum. It was his talent, his curse. He had seen it all. He would live it all. What began as a petty joke about time travel turned into a bet, which in turn created an accidental discovery. Now he found himself as the Time Traveller, a slider between timelines of different worlds, a man who not lived but repeated. But he was not one of the only ones who wished to conquer the unthinkable, for a certain “world order” was making its moves.

He saw him, a six foot two brute sporting a tattoo of a pyramid with an eerie eye and the ancient watermarks of The Olympians. The word illuminatus was tattooed across his forehead. Their eyes soon met, and for a moment time seemed to stop, but then came the outburst of aggression as the the hulking man pushed and shoved his way towards the Time Traveller.

The man in the white labcoat turned and bolted through the crowd. “Not again,” he thought as he dashed across the sidewalk. He found himself at an intersection, planning his way of escape.

“If I turn left, I will find myself at the skyscraper for the 45th time and if I turn right, I will end up at the gardens for the 67th time…”

He felt a tap on his shoulder as a chill ran through his body.

He never got caught at this point, but as the Law of Infinite Possibilities states, anything is possible.

“This is it,” he thought, “It’s all over…”

“You okay, Okarin?” said a familiar voice.

He turned around to find a young woman, not much younger than he was.

“Oh Mayuri,” he said with a sigh of relief, “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was walking to the Cafe when I saw you run by and I was wondering if everything was all right...”

“THEY’RE ON TO ME!” he exclaimed.

“What?” she asked “Who are they, Okarin?”

“The Organization, the ones I kept telling you about!”

“The Organization?!” Mayuri exclaimed. “I thought you were joking since you kept on talking about how they were bent on world domination, and blah blah blah.”

“This isn’t the time for blahs and silly noises. One of them saw me and—”

“Hey, after him!” commanded the ruffian from earlier as a surge of one, two, no five, thugs gave chase.

“Damn, we gotta get out of here!” yelled Okarin as he grabbed Mayuri’s arms.

The sound of car horns blasted through the air; the complaints and shouts of bystanders didn’t faze the pair. The hunt was on.

“Ok-a-rin, what did you get yourself into?” Mayuri yelled.

“Time Travelling!” he yelled back.

“Time Travelling!” she cried out. “Isn’t that impossible?!”

“Nothing’s impossible with everything I’ve seen.”

And the yelling went back and forth as they sprinted through Tokyo. Turn left, turn right, up the stairs, down the stairs, they ran.

The city was their Labyrinth, and the thugs the Minotaur. Across the street, over the fence, the two didn’t know where to go. But, as noble Hector, tired of running through Troy, stood his ground against the onslaught of Achilles, so too did the Time Traveller and his companion finally stand off against the brutes. The sun set over them, as the pair found they could run no more. They found themselves confronted by six men, with the leader stepping forward and saying:

“The jig’s up, Time Traveller. We’ve heard rumors of your leaps through time and the boss upstairs doesn’t want anyone messing with our plans. I will ask kindly: Give up, there ain’t nowhere to go.”

“Is this what fate has brought me, is this the ultimatum spoken of?” Okarin thought.

For this was not the first time, and possibly not the last he was in a situation like this. He had lived through it countless times, just in different places: the feeling of adrenaline pumping through

his blood from being chased, the loud horns of the cars suddenly stopping in the middle of the road to let him pass, and of course, the cornering. It consumed his mind to re-live these countless moments, and this time it snapped. Maybe this was the threat from God to those such as himself.

“I’m tired,” he said. “I’m tired of all the running, the yelling, the standoffs, I’m tired of it all!”

“Okarin!” Mayuri said as her friend lunged towards the brutes thinking maybe this time, this time, he could change fate.

He pressed his knuckles against one of their faces. A crack resonated from his fists, just as David had taken down Goliath. He turned around, extended his left leg and kicked the next.

“Why haven’t I tried this before?” he thought to himself.

It felt easy enough; he had the upper hand, he thought. Another went down before the scientist. But not even cunning Brutus could have foreseen the aftermath of the Ides of March, as Okarin saw a furious punch drive into his stomach.

“Maybe that’s why I haven’t tried,” he gasped, as everything went black.

He woke up to find himself and Mayuri pinned to the ground.

With the street lamps dimly lighting the alleyway, he heard the thug with the tattoo look down at him.

“Pitiful, first I ask you kindly to come with us, and this how you answer back?”

“It isn’t like you were going to treat me any better if I went with you barbarians,” Okarin slowly answered back.

“Shaddup,” the man replied, “Oh, and I’d like to return the favor,” as he proceeded to kick Okarin in the face.

“No! Stop it!” yelled Mayuri.

The tattooed man turned and stared at her.

“And what is she still doing here?”

“We don’t what to do with her, sir,” a grunt replied.

“Don’t know what to do with her?” the leader replied sarcastically. “Dump her into the bay like all the other witnesses!”

“Yessir!” he replied.

“Okarin!” Mayuri yelled as the men begun to drag her away.

He watched for a second, dumbfounded and dazed, blood running down his face.

“What did she just say?” he thought to himself.

And then everything rushed back to him. “No,” he screamed as he tried to get up.

“Hey, watch it!” the man pinning him down said.

“NO!” yelled the Time Traveller as he gathered all his

strength to get up.

He pushed up with all his might and soon found himself standing up.

“Hey, stop him!” one of the thugs called out.

But it was too late for them, as Okarin rushed towards Mayuri, tackling the thug holding onto her.

“I’m sorry Mayuri, I’m sorry for all of this.” he said, as they bolted through the city streets. But Time, the Devourer of All Things, got the better of them. They stopped. The yelling from behind was getting louder and louder each second, and Okarin knew this was going to go on through the morning.

“Mayuri, I’m going to fix all of this.”

“What do you mean?” she replied, “How?”

“I’m going back.”

“Towards them? They’re going to kill you!”

“No, I’m going back a few hours,” he said as he slowly pulled out a strange gizmo. “I thought maybe this time that things would change. I gotta find a way out of this.”

She wanted to speak against this, thinking maybe he could get out of this. But she understood, knowing the man before her was stubborn enough to have built a Time Machine.

“Okay, take care, Okarin,” she said as she hugged him.

“I will,” he said, as a smile appeared on his face.

A bright flash of light appeared as Okarin left, not for a where but for a when. He soon found himself gazing above the skyscrapers.

“Here we go again…”

Quentin Fernandez ‘15

66 PRISMS 2015

I’VE GOT TIME FOR YOU Every night, somewhere between the drop of my eyelids and the start of my dreams, a secret crack opens like a hiccup in time and I sleep right through a mysterious …pause.

In that pause, eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds pour through the crack and spill into my watch, recharging it with exactly enough time for tomorrow.

In my dreams, I imagine God tossing in a few extra, So that when someone I love asks, “Do you have a sec for me?”

I will always be able to say, “Yes, I’ve got time for you!”

Beatrice Levy ‘18

PRISMS 2015 67

LA CASA DE MI ABUELO Días cálidos y noches frías Los grillos cantando en la oscuridad.

Los árboles mecidos por el viento Las estrellas alumbrando el camino.

El agua en la alberca Reflejando la luna, Los zancudos y sus zumbidos.

Las risas de mis tías Los chistes de mi papá, Las noches pasadas En casa de mi abuelo.

Alexia Aranda ‘16

MY GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE Hot days and cold nights Crickets chirping in the dark Trees swaying in the wind The stars lighting up the path.

The water in the pool Reflecting the moon The mosquitos and their buzzing.

The laughter of my aunts My father’s jokes The nights spent In my grandfather’s house.

Alexia Aranda ‘16

68 PRISMS 2015

IF LIFE WERE LIKE CANDY If life were like a sour patch kid It would begin with the unwrapping of new life With all its hardships and happiness But in order to reach the sweet inside One would have to chew away the sour outside Endure the struggle to achieve success Yet a candy’s sugar rush never lasts forever In time it melts away And life becomes no more Until another piece of candy is ready To unwrap new life once again If only life were that simple If life were like a sour patch kid Alfonso Alonso ‘16

PRISMS 2015 69

LUZ ROJA Me siento infinita.

Aunque mi abuela conduce lentamente, El aire me besa Y tiemblan mis pestañas.

Ofrezco mi mano al viento Y miro al ángel que me conduce.

Su sonrisa me llena con amor.

Puedo quedarme en este momento Para siempre.

Pero la luz roja luminosa se acerca, Oigo el reloj en su muñeca, Constante y calmante, Y el tiempo continúa como siempre.

Veo las arrugas en sus brazos, Brazos fuertes que me levantan, Y ojos prudentes, Que me miran cada día con amor y esperanza.

Y me acuerdo De la preciosidad de la vida.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

70 PRISMS 2015

RED LIGHT I feel infinite.

Although my grandma drives slowly, The air kisses my cheeks And my eyelashes tremble.

I offer my hand to the wind And look at the angel driving me around.

Her smile fills me with love.

I could stay in this moment Forever.

But the bright red light approaches, I hear the watch on her wrist, Constant and calming, And time goes on like always.

I see the wrinkles on her arms, Strong arms that lift me up, And cautious eyes, That look upon me every day with love and hope.

And I am reminded Of the preciousness of life.

Mary Carmen Reid ‘17

PRISMS 2015 71

A WORLD WITHOUT CANCER Could you imagine a world Where there is no cancer Where pain, loss, and mourning all disappear You may think I’m a dreamer But that isn’t the case I’m just a mourning girl Who lost my aunt this month I close my eyes and wipe my tears Wishing that she were still here Wishing this pain would just disappear I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye I didn’t think she was actually going to die I close my eyes and wipe my tears Imagining a world without cancer Victoria Geter ‘18

72 PRISMS 2015

ENDURANCE A burnished sun touches my skin While anxiety lengthens the channel In every form treachery is found Tension rises as the elevation increases A thunderous reminder of the beginning Dripping downward the path melts below me The fog of my breath clouds my vision The agony of endurance Ahead, the fog lifts Bursts of cheers attend to the unheard Heat strikes down at the final step The last breath has been taken Perla Casas ‘15

PRISMS 2015 73

IMPACIENCIA Tengo sólo cinco años ¿Ya son las tres?

Espero enfrente del televisor ¡No puedo sentarme!

Sólo una hora más. ¿Cuándo va a estar aquí? ¿Cuándo vendrá?

Saco mi guante y Me pongo los zapatos de deporte Mi cabello, una maraña El alcance de mi impaciencia me vuelve loca, ¡Ay, ay, ay! ¿Treinta minutos más? ¿Cuándo llegará? ¡Oigo el pam de la puerta del coche! ¡Ya está Nikko!

Mi compañero de béisbol, ¡A jugar!

Gabriela Espinoza ‘16

74 PRISMS 2015

IMPATIENCE I am five years old Is it three already?

I wait in front of the TV I cannot sit!

Only an hour.

When will he be here?

When will he come?

I take out my glove and I put on my sneakers My hair, a tangle The scope of my impatience drives me crazy Ay, ay, ay!

Thirty minutes more?

When will he arrive?

Bam, I hear the car door!

Nikko is here!

My baseball buddy, Let’s play!

Gabriela Espinoza ‘16

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YOU DECIDE Many quit Many give up Many have excuses Most just talk Many complain Many cheat Many don’t care Most aren’t willing to go through the pain Then there’s you, You go through the agonizing pain You fall six times and get up seven You aren’t afraid of failing You do whatever it takes You never give up You make a name for yourself Or do you?

Now that’s up to you to decide.

Colin Karch ‘16 AURORA Aurora Her hair flows out in rays Her eyes sparkle with warmth Her cheeks tint pink Against the landscape of her face She is the source She commands all life And creation Mortal beings await For her to say Fiat lux Katherine Cariño ‘17 76 PRISMS 2015

DAWN Untangling myself from a dream, I come drifting into almost-awake No point yet of opening my eyes to darkness My mind can see the bright red cherries where warm cheek

touches cool pillowcase Sounds from my open window tell me it is almost-time A bird, not quite ready to sing, stretches and rustles the

leaves of my apple tree Jackie, my sociable tabby cat, makes the fence sigh as she

tiptoes along the top, Trying to sneak home after a night of carousing The breeze hurries a little and I can hear my curtains

dancing against the screen Still unwilling to open my eyes I feel the shadows lightening, And I am sure the night-gray around me must be getting

pinker My eyelashes jiggle and through a fringed crack, I spy a tiny shaft of light waking the cherries on my pillow And nothing is “almost” anymore.

It is dawn Beatrice Levy ‘18

PRISMS 2015 77

AFTERWORD

Tempus fugit. Time flies. For 25 years PRISMS has shone its silver light upon the world of student publications. What began as a modest little book of creative writing and black and white art has evolved into a glossy technicolor award-winning magazine, a Signature Program of SJND since 2004. It has been commended for its bilingual pieces, mostly in Spanish; this year poetry in Mandarin has been added. Original musical compositions were included from 2003 on; also, student photography has increasingly been featured.

The last page chronicles all the 25 awards (serendipity!) garnered since PRISMS started entering contests in 1997. Poets have recited their poems and musicians have performed their pieces at school and at area events, including the Palace of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco. Their work has been published in anthologies like A Celebration of Poets (Creative Communications) and the Spanish magazine Albricias (Sociedad Honoraria Hispánica). They have been awarded prizes by the California Federation of Chaparral Poets and the Alameda Multicultural Community Center, among others. SJND students and their work have been embraced and supported by Alameda Island Poets, particularly by its first Poet Laureate, Mary Rudge, who never missed a PRISMS event, and the current Poet Laureate, Julia Park Tracey.

PRISMS is proud of its over 100 Star Society of Creative Writers members, and most especially 5 Poets Laureate to date: Sarah Su, Tia Gangopadhyay, Robin Levy, Amelia Khoo and Karina Leon. Their flair for creating magic with words speaks eloquently of their talents.

It has been an honor and a privilege to work with an average staff of 14 in all aspects of production for all these years. I have delighted in seeing so many students astounded that they had such gifts inside them. Indeed, to borrow from Shakespeare, PRISMS is a “precious stone set in the silver sea” of creativity. I invite you to share this very special 25th Anniversary Edition. Enjoy!

Elizabeth Peláez Norris PRISMS Adviser

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CONTRIBUTORS

JESSICA ACADEMIA’s poem, “Drops of Joy” was inspired by a stormy day in December and the variety of sound that rainfall creates. Jessica believes the moon is made out of bacon. BLT, anyone?

LEA AKIMA works with art through technology. “Emotion” expresses anger or frustration once it reaches the breaking point.

ALFONSO ALONSO’s pieces reflect life using emotion and metaphor. He describes himself as the reflection one looks at in the mirror.

DANIELLE APILADO and her “Butterfly” share flights of fantasy.

ALEXIA ARANDA’s “La casa de mi abuelo” is about what she sees and hears during her visits to her grandfather’s house and how peaceful it is there. Alexia enjoys reading and learning about history, ancient civilizations, and especially Greek mythology.

Varsity volleyball player OLIVIA BALLESTEROS wrote “Oda a la música” because music is an essential element in her life. She likes to create art and calls her personality “a light bulb that flickers for anybody.”

PRISMS staff member LUCAS BAYARD enjoys playing the saxophone and guitar. Since the moon is definitely not made of cheese, Lucas believes it must be made out of the anguish of a thousand tortured souls. If his personality were an image, it would be the first grey hair to appear: a reminder of one’s fate.

KATHERINE CARIÑO’s “Aurora” is about the sunrise and how all life is dependent on it. According to Katherine, the moon is simply a human concept, like time or money. If anything, the moon is made of lies.

PRISMS staff member PERLA CASAS is inspired by nature, which can be seen in her poetic works.

ROSEMARIE COMPTON is interested in psychology. Her personality is a black hole with a single ray of blue light coming out of it: impossible, yet beautiful amongst the black and stars.

JULIA COURVILLE’s piece “Drops of Joy” is about stormy weather in December. According to Julia, the moon is not made out of rock or cheese, but rather strawberries dipped in chocolate fondue.

MICHAEL CUELLAR’s moon is not made out of rock or cheese; it’s made out of “cheese rocks.” Nailed it.

Ping-pong aficionada JULIA DE LEON’s poem “Cloud Nine” is about a cloud with two sides: one that rains rainbows and one that acts as a regular cloud. She believes the moon is made out of cake. Happy Anniversary!

SEAN DE LEON likes to play tennis and table tennis. Catch him doing the Tinikling, a Filipino folk dance.

Varsity tennis player JULIAN DEGUZMAN is an extraordinarily talented photographer. He sees both sides of the picture. Get it?

GIANNA DEGUZMAN’s eyebrows are always “on fleek.” Although she does look up to the subject of her digital art, Frida Kahlo, Gianna has not modeled her eyebrows after her.

EMMA DOUD’s “The Night Sky” shares the uncertainty and curious wonders of the sky.

Cheerleader JESSICA EDWARDS wanted to help people think positively with her poem “Smile.”

GABRIELA ESPINOZA’s “Impaciencia” is about her closest cousin who encouraged her to play sports and always try her hardest.

PRISMS Art Editor GRACE FALKNER’s pieces “Reflection” and “Crying Angel” speak to letting go and dealing with stress or pain. She views herself as a paint brush leaning on a palette with an array of colors blended out.

PRISMS staff member QUENTIN FERNANDEZ makes rings out of quarters and believes the moon is actually made of hopes and dreams.

VICTORIA GETER enjoys a variety of activities including basketball, track, and writing songs, stories, and poems. She believes the moon is made out of hearts.

PRISMS Foreign Language Editor JANET GONZALEZ’s poem “Cries of Agony” talks about the pain Syrians have been enduring amidst the chaos of war.

TAYLOR GRIFFITH photographed our inside cover — a view of one of Lake Merritt’s little islands in the moonlight. If you look closely, you will see nests on top of the tree branches. A magical setting for Lord of the Rings...

Dancer and dance teacher MADISON HALLIDAY’s “Kairos Cross” was inspired by her wonderful experience with her class on their Kairos retreat.

ASTRID HERNANDEZ enjoys baking and volunteering at her elementary school. Her personality is like a rainforest; it’s a breathtaking sight full of adventure and unexplored grounds just waiting to be discovered.

WILLIAM HOMAN believes the moon is made purely of American Freedom™.

He describes himself as “a rock in a hard place.” Scylla or Charybdis?

CHRISTINE HOVERMALE’s moon is just a ball of butter in the sky.

JENNA INGRAM’s “Pattern of Touch” represents a hand grasping the texture of life. Jenna plays club volleyball and is an important leader on her team.

ALYSSA JOYCE argues that the moon is actually made of ice cream: the craters on the moon are just where scoops have been taken out! She plays handbells in a duet and describes her personality as an antique book sitting on a windowsill.

COLIN KARCH plays varsity baseball.

HANNAH KARLSRUD’s “Definition of Insanity” is about the insanity of the conflict in the Middle East.

PRISMS Editor-in-Chief NATALIA LAYSON is a varsity swimmer who likes to float the waves of life, taking obstacles as they come and gazing at the moon.

Varsity swimmer MIKEY LEE’s inspiration for “Lee Family” comes from the concept of yin and yang. He believes the moon is made out of bread.

PRISMS staff member KARINA LEON is SJND Poet Laureate. She believes that her personality is like a herd of spiders crawling out of a red velvet cupcake: seemingly lovely and innocent enough at first, but pretty terrifying and disturbing upon closer inspection. Something surprising about Karina is that she “has friends.”

BEATRICE LEVY knows for a fact that the moon is made of crackers. She loves to run and thinks of herself as a tree in the middle of weeds.

Senior MONIQUE LUPIAN’s “Dreaming” in vibrant colors is mesmerizing.

JESSICA MARQUEZ’s tempera piece “La luna muerta” was inspired by Mexican art and Day of the Dead themes. Born in the Year of the Tiger, she wrote “Tigre.” Jessica enjoys monster truck shows, gardening, and learning about Egyptian civilization.

GARRETT MONTEIRO created a jazzy tune, “Progress.” He was inspired by his favorite composer, Russell Brower.

Varsity volleyball player SEAN OBLIGACION thinks of himself as a threelegged dog. He may not reach most people’s standards, but he’s still just as fun!

Varsity swimmer JUSTIN PASION is a talented artist.

MAXIMILIAN PÉREZ’s submission is an original co-composition designed for the trumpet with combined elements from “Night on Bald Mountain.” He enjoys meditating almost every night and describes himself as calm and collected, allowing his emotions to flow. Ommmmmmmmmmm...

For DEVIN PHAM, the moon is made of flour. An interesting idea for his next art project...

FIONA PICCHI’s “Hope” springs from the idea of freedom and nature. The bird symbolizes us as people, and the tether symbolizes the responsibilities that bind us everyday. In addition to writing, she also volunteers at the East Bay SPCA, helping animals find caring homes.

MATTHEW PORTER’s “Day Off Hairy Valley” is a collaborative trumpet trio that is based on “Night on Bald Mountain.” Contrary to popular belief, the moon is made out of the hearts of his enemies.

AMANDA QUEZADA claims that the moon is made out of ice cream.

AARON RAMOS’s poem “El viento” expresses the fleeting nature of memories that can resurface and be experienced again.

LENA REED-PETRACEK enjoys playing volleyball and describes herself as a tree, which is always growing and changing with everything around it.

MARY CARMEN REID wrote “Luz roja” about her grandmother, Yaya. She feels like a painting that, no matter how much you turn your head, always looks like it is staring back at you. Creepy…

ISABEL REYES is a cheerleader and talented artist.

PRISMS Layout Editor MAYA ROWELL’s “Blind Touch” is a short prose piece about a man who is blind but can still see through his other senses, while “Hope Abandoned” is a poem she wrote in response to the current global chaos. Maya describes her personality as “the other side of the pillow” because she is chill and can help others forget about their stress.

EMILY SANCHEZ is like a rollercoaster on the boardwalk. She loves action and is super bubbly and outgoing, but the boardwalk looks out to the sea, which shows her calm side. Emily also volunteers for the Special Olympics every weekend, coaching basketball, track, and swimming.

PRISMS staff member ANNA VICTORIA SERBIN decided to use her hand gesture cradling her face to match her wide smile and the background of her self-portrait.

She loves to dance and believes the moon is not made of cheese but of popcorn.

ETHAN SHOEFER’s illustration is inspired by his favorite book, A Game of Thrones. Ethan’s personality is like an oak tree in a windy grass field. Like the grass, other people move wherever the wind takes them. However, the wind doesn’t affect Ethan, who does his own thing.

COURTNEY SHOJINAGA’s “Where the Seaweed Is Greener” is inspired by the song “Under the Sea” from the Disney movie “The Little Mermaid,” whose lyrics can be seen in the background of the piece. The movement and colors of jellyfish have always interested her, which is why she chose a jellyfish as the central object.

STEAM club president AARON STANEK’s poems have words in them, if you can believe it. He enjoys sleeping. Aaron describes his personality as “a blank slate.” Or in Latin, tabula rasa.

PRISMS staff member JACKSON SUNDHEIM has a hunch that the moon is actually made of all the teeth that the Tooth Fairy has collected from children. Thank goodness he still has all his teeth, otherwise he would not be able to rap and produce EDM music. Check out his YouTube channel WhiteNerdz.

PRISMS staff member JASON TRAN channeled the work of Alphonse Mucha to create his portrait of Lana Del Rey in “Shades of Cool.” He describes himself as the person who gets lost in the woods due to sleepwalking.

CASSIE VONNEGUT describes herself as a blossom flowing in the breeze. She thinks the moon is made out of styrofoam. She enjoys playing volleyball and softball.

AMY WANG’s submission “Butterfly and Flower” depicts a peaceful, idyllic image of a butterfly in a field of colorful flowers and other butterflies. “Moon City” details a large moon in a night city scene. “Borges” celebrates Argentina’s most famous writer — and of course, the untamed gaucho. Amy thinks the moon is made of chalk.

CONNOR WATERLOO enjoys juggling and unicycling. He thinks the crushed hopes and dreams of his enemies form the moon.

MANRU WU sees herself as a seagull standing on a rock, facing the sea. This is because she likes to spend time alone and just think about life.

BEN YOKOTA’s “Snapped Roots” depicts a slice of life in a Japanese internment camps. Ben enjoys acting and claims he has been to the moon, discovering that it is comprised entirely of kittens with laser-vision.

82 PRISMS 2015

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 Lucy Álvarez ‘05 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 Crystal Carrillo ‘12 Cynthia Carrillo ‘08 Kedron Diane Casteen ‘06 Erik Castillo ‘14 Tracy Castillo ‘10 Natasha Chacón ‘06 Daniela Chaparro ‘14 Sophia Chaparro ‘09 Claire Connacher ‘11 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 Nigel Duniven ‘13 Christopher Duong ‘10 Crystal Estrada ‘12 Rachel Falkner ‘13 Jackie Favela ‘06 Diego Flores ‘06 Gabriel Flores ‘10 Martín Franco ‘08 Tia Gangopadhyay ‘11

Faculty and Staff:

Honorary Members:

*Charter Members

Axel García ‘13 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 William Keane ‘14 Amelia Khoo ‘14 Kate Lassalle-Klein ‘12 Natalia Layson ‘15 Karina Leon ‘15 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 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 Jeremy Poggio ‘04* Christany Poggio ‘07 Michael Priest ‘05* Marissa Quinones ‘14 Jennifer Quintanilla ‘06 Christian Ramos ‘05 Jordan Rausse ‘12 Jessica Reader ‘05 Barry Reed ‘44 Isabela Reid ‘14 Katherine Riley ‘10 Megan Riley ‘11 Renato Rocha ‘07 Carlos Rodriquez ‘14 Maya Rowell ‘15 Emilio Sanchez ‘14 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 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 Alexander Weyand ‘01 Harrison Wilkes ‘03 Michael Williams ‘02 Norman Xie ‘09 Jessica Yalung ‘05* Alessandra Zambrano ‘13 Francesca Zambrano ‘10 Dulce Zamora ‘89

Susan Beck* Martha Carpenter Dempsey Lynn Kane Meza* Elizabeth Peláez Norris* Robert Williams Mary Rudge, Poet Laureate of Alameda 2002-2014 Julia Park Tracey , Poet Laureate of Alameda 2014-

AWARDS PRISMS 2014

*Outstanding Theme: Best Bilingual Selections American Scholastic Press Association *Superior 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 2002-2014

*First Place with Special Merit American Scholastic Press Association

PRISMS 2010-2011

*Excellence Award National Council of Teachers of English

PRISMS 2000 1999 1998 1996

*First Place Award American Scholastic Press Association

PRISMS 1997

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

POETS LAUREATE Sarah Su High School Poet Laureate of Alameda 2009-2010 Tia Gangopadhyay SJND Poet Laureate 2010-2011

Amelia Khoo SJND Poet Laureate 2013-2014

Robin Levy SJND Poet Laureate 2011-2013

Karina Leon SJND Poet Laureate 2014-2015

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