2012 Teens Write

Salt Lake Teens Write

Other Mountains

Volume 2 May 2012

Salt Lake Teens Write is published by the SLCC Community Writing Center All inquiries should be directed to: SLCC Community Writing Center 210 East 400 South, Suite 8, Salt Lake City, UT 84111 Salt Lake Community College (SLCC), The Salt Lake City Public Library, the Salt Lake City Arts Council, and the SLCC Community Writing Center (CWC) are not responsible for the opinions expressed in Salt Lake Teens Write, nor does the writing represent any official position at SLCC or the CWC. Individual authors are solely responsible for the opinions expressed herein.

Each author retains copyright individually. Reprinting of this publication is permitted only with prior consultation and approval from the SLCC Community Writing Center.

This edition of Salt Lake Teens Write was compiled and edited by Writing Assistant/Off-Site Coordinator John Reay and Associate Director Elisa Stone. Cover art created by John Reay.

Photographs by Elisa Stone.

Salt Lake Teens Write: Other Mountains ©2011, 2012

Salt Lake Teens Write Mentoring Teams: 2011-2012 Teen Writers

Mentors

Mentoring Teams

Mackenzie Clark Abdikadir Eftin Jade Pearl Frost Grace Hunt Alexis Isle Kaitlan Jones Destinee Kapuwai Patricia Keene Rosine Lamah Damion Montano Brianne Morrison Catalina Ramirez Jeyleen Takakiro Pa Bawi Thang Karen Vazquez Joshua Woods

Robyn Badon Steven Bell Daisy Bennett Courtney Brueckner Maria Calvi Tricia Cannon Emily Donaldson Emily Johnson Mary Karanu Michael Limòn Maria Martinez Jennifer Moore Ali Pearl John Reay Martha Taylor Marianne Webb William Wilson

Mackenzie Clark and Jennifer Moore Abdikadir Eftin and Michael Limòn Jade Pearl Frost and Ali Pearl Grace Hunt and Daisy Bennett Alexis Isle and Tricia Cannon Kaitlan Jones and Martha Taylor Destinee Kapuwai with Emily Donaldson and Courtney Brueckner Patricia Keene and Robyn Badon Rosine Lamah and Mary Karanu Damion Montano and John Reay Brianne Morrison and Maria Calvi Catalina Ramirez and Marianne Webb Jeyleen Takakiro and Emily Johnson Pa Bawi Thang and Steven Bell Karen Vazquez and Maria Martinez Joshua Woods and William Wilson

Volume 2

2012

Table of Contents Preface & Acknowledgements

Elisa Stone

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Salt Lake Teens Write Through a Teen’s Eyes

Jade Pearl Frost

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Other Mountains Courtney Brueckner 12 Thinking Ahead Robyn L. Badon 14 Ice Cream Without Sugar

Brianne Morrison

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Personal Essay Abdikadir Eftin 18 Haiku Michael Limòn 20 I’m No Mistake Destinee Kapuwai 22 My Words Kill Jeyleen Takakiro 25 not today Jennifer Moore 26 Penny to Spare Alexis Isle 28 The Island Patti Keene 30 Cat Grace Hunt 34

Dear Stuffy Nose... Brianne Morrison 37 Haikus Abdikadir Eftin 38 Beginnings Martha Taylor 40 Salt and Skin Courtney Brueckner 47 A Star (Named Sunshine) Robyn Badon 48 Please Don’t Ask Michael Limòn 51 Big Foot Brianne Morrison 52 My Odyssey Alexis Isle 54 Set Me Free Daisy Bennett 56 Assassin Destinee Kapuwai 58 In Praise of Langston Michael Limòn 62 Placeholder Text Emily Johnson 65 Winter Walk Maria Calvi 66

Preface & Acknowledgements Elisa Stone

We appreciate our partnership with The Salt Lake City Public Library and their contributions that make this program possible. Thanks to Salt Lake Community College, The Salt Lake City Public Library, and the Salt Lake City Arts Council for funding and supporting this publication. And, of course, thank you to our mentors and teens!

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We are delighted to announce this program was awarded Salt Lake Community College’s Innovation of the Year for 2011-2012. What is most inspiring about Salt Lake Teens Write is the way teens and mentors learn from one another, each of them contributing to the creative process as they acquire new knowledge, overcome obstacles, and make their voices heard.

Salt Lake Teens Write

The SLCC Community Writing Center (CWC) is pleased to share this publication as a culmination and celebration, in partnership with The Salt Lake City Public Library, of the 2011-2012 Salt Lake Teens Write Program. What started two years ago as Salt Lake Girls Write has now expanded into a program that pairs underserved 11th grade teenage girls and boys with community mentors who use writing in their daily lives and professions. Together our mentoring teams work on writing throughout the year, exploring a variety of genres such as applications, essays, poetry, fiction, articles, letters, and more. Their individual endeavors are supported by group workshops where teens and mentors come together to collaborate on writing skills they would like to hone. This year’s workshops covered college scholarships and essays, poetry, and civic writing. Each writer’s work is featured in their individual portfolios.

Salt Lake Teens Write Through a Teen’s Eyes Jade Pearl Frost

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As I look back on that warm September Saturday, I realize that I was excited about finding out whom my mentor would be or if I would know any teens there. As it turns out, I love my mentor; we meet and discuss writing and our lives and how that can interact with our writing. Lately we have talked about mainly short stories and how they pertain to our lives. Writing them is really fun because you’re creating your own world. In the future I hope we explore some other topics so we can put it in our portfolio or in a publication.

Salt Lake Teens Write

On September 17, 2011, fifteen teens sacrificed their Saturday to meet an accredited adult that would help them with their writing talents. As 1 P.M. rolled around, the teens and adults bustled into the conference room, some looking tired and wanting to go back to bed and others eager to just pick up the pencil that will channel their desires onto paper. Once we all got settled into the room, we went straight to our writing business. We were told about the program, did an ice breaker to keep things flowing, and were paired up with our mentors. After a few minutes of musical chairs, the mentees were sitting next to their mentors making all sorts of arrangements and small talk.

Other Mountains

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Courtney Brueker

Curve a long light, sun over my hands, cut a glance on knuckle mountains. Valleys run between my fingers sun falls, a hot marble dropped in water, sinking slow, between my fingers shadow groves creep across, groping, maybe getting older.

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Thinking Ahead

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Robyn L. Badon

As we pull up to the apple orchard, I can almost taste this season and all the comfort it brings. The scent of fall tickles my nose. It whispers hello in my ears through the crackle of fallen leaves, blanketed beneath my feet. I catch a glimpse of the cider mill.

It’s huge. The mist of cinnamon from the fresh donuts dances in the wind, reminding me of home. It’s the second week of October and everything feels welcoming and warm, even with the breeze, as the sun rhythmically bows in and out, peeking through the scattered clouds.

Perfect.

As promised, Mathais, Gabby, and I are enjoying our first fall picking. You are a perfect fit in your Daddy’s arms. He lights up every time you smile. I wonder if you can feel the excitement as he points to the apples on the trees and the pumpkins on the ground, eager for your approval as we gather our bounty.

Just last fall, we were giddy at the mere thought that we would one day be holding our beautiful baby girl in our arms in such a beautiful place, surrounded by oranges, reds, yellows, and browns, electrified with speckles of ambers and golds.

Happiness, fulfillment, true joy. Immeasurable, unbearable, agony. Blood, sweat, tears, pain, rips, pulls, mounting pressure… much more blood.

Push, push, push- breathe, breathe.

Life.

They can finally see a head. Everything feels so warm as this miracle finally overtakes me with one final push.

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Welcome to the world Gabrielle Elaine! Your Dad and I can’t wait for our trip with you to the apple orchard this fall.

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Ice Cream without Sugar Brianne Morrison

Hot sun warmth makes me want frostbite. Seasons change.

Touch down of a soaring eagle.

I took it from the sky then the moon realized I have nothing left to love.

And neither do you because the earth keeps warming.

Wounds, trash, and pollution. Even Pluto went vamoose.

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Can you hear the birds? They have gone south.

If a shooting star passes my wish would be to bring a beach to Salt Lake City.

Grow coconuts.

Grow palm trees.

Will it mean the coffee shops close? Will the hipsters frown?

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Utah is like ice cream without sugar.

I like coconuts better but they aren’t from here.

When the snow falls everything is white and cold.

Stick your tongue out to taste the snow.

Frozen nose can’t smell a thing.

Personal Essay

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Abdikadir Eftin

I grew up knowing that my parents had to move from one African country because of civil war and from another because of the fear of starvation. In light of the decisions they faced, I was born in Kenya. Because of those sacrifices, I have been able to meet the challenges of moving to America with my family and fighting the odds, while learning a whole new language and culture other than my own. Maybe I needed to experience all this because it helped me recover from the devastation of my parents getting divorced and from being thrown into a father-figure role to support my brothers and sister when I was only a young teen. My experiences have built my strong character.

My parents got divorced right after we arrived in the United States. The day it happened I knew I had to be a role model for my siblings. I have worked hard every day to make my dad regret leaving my mom. When I become successful he will regret the decision. My family members come first in everything I do because they are the biggest factor in my life. My mom and grandparents motivate me to pursue a college education by telling me about their life experiences and what obstacles they overcame to be where they are today. They tell me the bad things they had to face, and what I can do to avoid the challenges they had to go through.

I see myself as a great leader. Leadership isn’t always about leading others, but also being influenced by another person’s story or idea. When I think of leadership I think of some of the greatest leaders in history, such as Nelson Mandela, Caesar Chavez, and Martin Luther King Jr. I lead in my own way. As a sophomore in high school, I am involved with various clubs and organizations. As a member of the West High School Track and Field team, I show great leadership to my teammates by helping them out before each meet with their footwork and also by congratulating them on every race they run. I am also involved in Upward Bound,

Gear Up, Leap, and West High AVID. I joined these programs to help me gain the experience to prepare for what college might be like and to help me reach college milestones.

I am blessed because I have friends who really care about me, who support my decisions and tell me if those decisions are right or wrong. They help me get closer to long- and short-term goals by setting a great example for me. They motivate me by showing me things that I have never seen in my life and taking me to places that I’ve never been.

As a student in high school, I am looking forward to the future, knowing that the numerous hardships my family and I have faced have not been in vain. The assistance I have received from kind individuals and my personal experiences made me stronger. Thanks to them, I believe I am capable of achieving all my goals and to one day become a helpful leader in my community.

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I have devoted myself to pursuing the best education I can during my high school career by enrolling in Honor classes. I believe that through rigorous courses my intellect will be challenged and I will grow to be better prepared for college. All the hard work I put in at school has been done in order to improve my character, so that I can give back to my community and to the people who have helped me become the young man I am today. I have three years of high school left and I will continue to work hard and graduate with an Honors Diploma from West High School.

Salt Lake Teens Write

What sets me apart from many other students is that I have lived in three different countries and speak languages besides English. Coming from a different background helped me interact with others. When I came to the United States I didn’t want to learn the American culture, but later I found out that I had to if I really wanted to be successful. I have high character, am funny, friendly, and most of all I get along with people. I work hard every day to achieve.

Haiku Michael Limòn

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To Ski Skiing sets me free Swoosh, turn, zoom, glide, slide, zip, flip Powder in my face

A Love For Words God, I love to write Words somehow line up like magic To write is to dream

Abdi, That’s Who Who’s Abdi Eftin?

A young man on the way up He will make us proud

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I’m No Mistake Destinee Kapuwai

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You’re stupid... You were a mistake... I never wanted you... You’re fat and ugly.

That’s all I ever heard from my mother. I never understood why she hates me so much, but all I knew was that I was a mistake when I was born. I don’t know why she just didn’t have an abortion when she found out that she was pregnant with me.

Ever since I was born it was only my father Joey and my older sister Alexis who was there for me... and they still are. When my brother Caleb was born two years later, I treated him like my own because my mom was never there for him. She loves him, but she was always busy with work to care for him and teach him things that a mother should teach their child.

Alexis is nineteen and goes to the University a few miles away from mine and Caleb’s school. She’s the most caring and kind person that anyone could ever meet, and I look up to her. My brother Caleb is sixteen years old and always has my back when my mom beats and insults me. He looks older for his age; he’s built like a brick wall and is five foot ten. Caleb is the knuckle head out of us three, he’s very protective of Alexis and I... but he’s far more protective of me than anyone close to him.

Now where my dad is in all of this, he is always busy with work... of course he is, he’s a surgeon. My dad always tries to get off of work early, but that doesn’t happen because everyone likes to get hurt in this small town (not the sarcasm). When my dad is off,

he is always watching out for me, making sure that I’m okay. Every time he goes some where, he always has me go with him. I love my dad and my siblings to death and wouldn’t trade them for the world.

All I know is that after I graduate this year, I’m leaving this house. I know I’ll be leaving my dad and my siblings, but I can’t take it here anymore... being treated like shit for no reason.

I sigh and walk to Alexis’ room across the hall from mine and walk in to find her putting on her make up... already dressed for school in a black skinny jeans, a crop top and silver flats.

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Alexis turns to face me with a frown.

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I look in my bathroom mirror, figuring out how to cover this black eye of mine. I’ve tried everything to cover it up and it’s still noticeable. I don’t want to go to school at the beginning of the year, with a bruised eye and a cut on the left side of my face.

“I can’t cover it up,” I say with tears falling down my cheeks, burning my cut.

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My Words Kill Jeyleen Takakiro

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They say “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” I’d like to see that guy who wrote that quote see what I see To see those hurtful words hurt people like me.

The things they say Those killing words they throw our way.

Those words and suicidal images just don’t go away People like me, outside we act all tough.

Even though inside, we think we don’t have the right stuff.

Sticks and stones can be worse They make me feel like I’m born with a curse.

My message is clear.

So listen.

Because soon Death will be ringing in everyone’s ears.

not today

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Jennifer Moore not today, i said and crawled back into the hole of my own making Too many not todays add up to empty yesterdays, She said and empty tomorrows?

Sure, she said, the longer you say ‘not today’ well, that won’t be me, i said and curled up tighter I get it, She said, her light dimming then it was dark and i was still sigh.

What is it? She asked when did it get so black?

You didn’t notice, did you? no, i said, and started to weep i thought i would have more daylight She hummed softly, Contentment i could sing once, i don’t now, but i could, once You’re perfect. You’re the most and the best. You can do . . . everything. i remembered They said it over and over and over and then it stopped.

Now you have to say it to someone else, she said you’re inside my mind? i asked I don’t have to be; your thoughts are so loud.

when did it happen? i asked When the light was dimming, She said, When you said not today for many many many days.

I want to be beautiful, you said, but not today.

I want to be free, you said, but not today.

I want to know God, you said, but not today.

I want to be different, you said, but not today.

I want to be a friend, a lover, a mother, you said, but not today.

I want to be Joy, you said, but not today. not today i tried to exhale into the universe but i was trapped a dam cracking under teary weight when does it end? i asked When does what end? She asked the sadness, i said It doesn’t, She said.

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i was still again, for a long, long, long time

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i don’t believe that, i whispered into the black, unraveling out of the hole, into daylight Good, She said.

She smiled. (i smiled.)

I won’t believe that – not today.

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Penny to Spare Alexis Isle

Some people see and think they know.

Others feel and do know, People walk past and glare making me wish I wasn’t there Others walk past and their freckled face children point and stare.

Until their parents tug them away giving me a look of disgust One family walks by but the children don’t point and stare but run to their mother and ask for a penny to spare. Then run back to me and gave me more than just a penny to spare, those sweet children little did they know that they gave me hope to live another day.

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The Island

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Patti Keene

Her vision cleared. The sun was so very bright. Sitting dazed for a few moments, she could tell the tide was coming in, coming closer and closer to her, beginning to snatch at her feet.

She would drown if she didn’t manage to get off this narrow beach. Half crawling, half staggering to the nearby copse of palm trees backed up against a wall of rock, she finally began to seriously survey her newest island; third one this month, quite the achievement. With an experienced eye she started to catalog her resources- this bluff behind her would get her off the beach if she could find some access point, and she thought she had seen some grasslands and a few trees around which she could probably count on some decent foraging. There was what appeared to be a jungle behind that, climbing the trademark mountain toward the center of the island- she didn’t know why, but they seemed to have an obsession with those. Who knew? If this place was nicer than her last, perhaps she would delay grabbing the token at the top and enjoy her latest home. It was tiring being dropped in a new place every week, having to establish new camps and routines.

With a resigned sigh, she clambered to her feet and began trotting along the base of the bluffreally more of a cliff, she realized. One that wound around for miles, and whose base was never more than a few feet beyond the high water mark, if that. Her mind began to wander during her search, and consequently she found herself rounding a bend and being confronted with the opening of a cave. Carefully approaching it, she figured it had to go through to somewhere, for there was certainly a good amount of airflow coming out at the moment- she could see debris being whisked out at regular intervals.

Taking the obvious clue from her oh-so-generous providers, she began exploring the opening. After encountering a wall for the fourth time, she vehemently cursed herself for not taking the time to craft a torch for herself. She certainly didn’t have any from her last base camp, after all! Almost in response to her colorful vocabulary, a low vibrating growl emanated from somewhere in the darkness. Then, more clearly, stomping footfalls from behind, getting closer with every step.

She froze, unsure of the direction of the sources, or which direction she could flee in. Her muscles clenched, her hear began to race-

“SAMANTHA! DINNER!” “But Mom! I just started my first boss fight!”

“Well that’s too bad, your silly game-“

“It’s the daily family dinner! Not some silly trivial human interaction! Get down here!” “…Coming Mother.” She turned off the screen, silently wishing her little persona good luck in the coming battle.

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“It’s the annual tournament of Deep Blue: Survival 3! Not a silly game!”

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Rocks began to shift to her left, a door latch clicked behind her-

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Cat

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Grace Hunt

her head rests on pavement sticky from the summer sun a fly pauses near her neck its probing mouth meeting the hot liquid which now slides from her fur fur that, only an hour ago, had been between the fingers of an adoring child as she rubbed herself lovingly against a familiar calf tires scream past again so close stirring the air around her blistering nose in the faces behind each approaching car, her eyes search, begging for someone to help for kind hands to gather her limp, broken limbs to pick her up and take her away away from the noises pounding in her skull from the heat watering her pleading eyes from the piercing smell of her own blood spilling on to the bare asphalt

her eyes search someone to look at her with love for someone to breathe the smell of her fur someone to whisper that everything will be alright someone to hold her gently while she slips away

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so she remains alone, forgotten as her blood dries around her and her eyes begin to close

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but instead, each pair of eyes are averted tires swerve around her shattered body there is no pity or sympathy in the hard faces their appointments are far too important to be disrupted by the misery of a stupid cat

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Dear Stuffy Nose...

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Dear Stuffy Nose, Please go away. I would love it if you weren’t with me anymore.

Is that ok?

You irritate me with your “won’t let you breathe” attitude.

It’s not me, it’s you.

Yours, Bri

Salt Lake Teens Write

Brianne Morrison

Haikus Abdikadir Eftin

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Basketball Basketball, orange, round Grips on your hand, dribble, down Swish, like a rainy day

Coffee Smell relaxation Coffee tastes smooth, wonderful Makes me wanna drink!

Rain Love the sound rain makes Reminds me of hoops swishes Love it when it rains!

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Beginnings

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Martha Taylor “It’s only junk,” she said as she put the small gift box in her daughter’s hand. “They’re broken, not worth much. Maybe if you just sell the gold, you can get something for it.” As her daughter opened the box, she saw tangled chains, an earring post with the gem missing, a ring with no stone – maybe her mom was right, just junk. But at the bottom was another ring that looked familiar, obviously old, so thin, almost worn through in the back.

“Mom, what’s this one?”

“Oh, that’s your grandmother’s wedding ring. Your dad kept it after she died.”

Her eyes shift from her talkative mother to her now silent father, his memories sadly locked inside. He looks at her and his eyes plead: “Tell their story for me.”

“Miss Martin?” She barely heard her name over the noise of the children in the one room schoolhouse. This is what she had wanted when she went to the Teachers’ College, wasn’t it? She admired her mother, taking care of her and all her brothers and sisters, while her father is off preaching. But she had wanted something different. Now she wondered, “Is it really different caring for these 15 children instead of my own?”, not that she had been given any other option yet.

“Miss Martin?” the boy insisted, bringing her back. “I really don’t understand.”

“Bunny?” A childhood nickname, not really what a grown man of 24 should be called, but it had stuck.

Thomas Casper was what his mother called him, especially when she was exasperated with him. His dad was gone, again! delivering mail. A steady income to supplement what they made from the farm, but it meant he had to be more of a man than he wanted to be. Yes, he was 24, but he enjoyed horses more than farming and meeting his friends in town more than the long hours in the fields. And much

to his mother’s frustration, he came home smelling of alcohol too many nights. Why did he have to be the only child, and a boy at that? If there had only been a brother, or even an uncle, to lighten his load.

Or if he had been a girl, he could have left to be a teacher. But, no, he was stuck here, running the farm with his mother while his father got to travel and meet people.

“Come with me,” his mother urged him. He could not help but laugh at her, her curly hair flying out of her bun and enough flour on her face to make a whole other pie. Her pies smelled delicious and the only way he was going to get a piece was if he went. But he didn’t want to go to the church social – old ladies clucking over his curly red hair as if he were still six years old. The minister and his wife looking at him with their disapproving eyes. And certainly, none of his friends would be there!

“Okay, Mother.” His only choice, really. Maybe it wouldn’t last too long, he would have some good food, and then after he brought his mother home, he would still be able to meet his friends.

Stepping off the train and into Florence’s welcoming arms, Mary was glad she had accepted the invitation. Some rest would do her good and she would return to the school with more energy. “There’s a social at the church tonight,” Florence told her. “You’ll be able to see everyone from town and have some fun too.” Mary knew that she was unusual – a 27 year old woman with a career instead of a family. Most of the young girls just helped their parents on a farm until they married and moved to their husband’s farm. Many of those girls looked up to Mary. She was a role model of sorts since she had

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“Thomas Casper, your face looks like I asked you to muck out the horses’ stalls! You know I can’t drive the buggy myself and your father needs you to help me when he’s gone.” There he is again, his father.

Even in his absence, he is in charge.

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The postcard had arrived in yesterday’s afternoon mail. “Come visit us this weekend,” her sister had written. “You can stay with us. Take some time away from the school. You work too hard.” Her sister, Florence, was already married. They were the closest of all the Martin children, and Mary like her new brother-in-law. She knew her sister was struggling since she had lost the baby but would it make it even harder to go back to the school after being reminded that she had no one but her students to return to?

actually gone to college and lived away from her parents’ home. But they also pitied her, she could see it in their eyes, because she was alone.

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“A social will be fun!” she assured Florence, and she could be there to counterbalance the sympathy that her sister would get, bringing back the pain of her loss. “Mama and Papa are always more relaxed there than at home or church.”

Bunny helped his mother pack the pies and carried them to the buggy while she finished getting ready.

An hour, maybe an hour and a half, and his sullen behavior would convince her to go home. “Bunny, help me up,” his mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You look nice tonight, Mother.”

“Thank you, Bunny, and thank you for driving me. Everyone will be so glad to see you.”

“I doubt it,” he muttered under his breath, as he started the horses on their way.

Mary freshened up while Florence bubbled on about the town gossip. Who was seeing whom. Who was having a baby. Who had stopped going to church and was now on Papa’s naughty list. “Poor Mrs. Smith. Always working so hard. You know her husband is gone so much delivering the mail and her son …” Florence’s voice trailed off and when Mary glanced at her, her eyebrows were arched in that “you-know” way she had. “Bunny?” they both dissolved into giggles like little school girls, partly because of his name, but also because of his reputation. “What does Papa think?” Mary squeaked out between gasps.

“Papa feels sorry for her, of course, and gives him a good talking to whenever he can. But then Bunny just laughs and walks away, paying no attention to him.”

“What does Elgar think?” Florence’s new husband was so easy-going and liked everyone. But he was also a hard worker who didn’t care for people who wouldn’t pull their own weight.

“Oh, you know him, Mary. Too nice to gossip. But he says he’s a hard worker as long as it is what he wants to do and when he wants to do it. He’s a horse man, but not just sitting behind one out in the fields. He prefers a racing buggy to a plow. And he takes good care of both the horse and the buggy.

Takes good care of his mother too, dear soul. Such a sweet woman to have those two men in her life …”

“Florence. Mary. Are you two ready yet? The horses are harnessed and ready. Your parents will be waiting to see you.” Mary took a deep breath. “I am doing what I want,” she reminded herself as she descended the stairs and went out into the night.

The church hall was packed with parishioners. Papa, so straight and tall as their preacher. Few outside of his family knew that inside that stern Methodist demeanor he was a feather pillow: soft, tickly and always comforting. Mama, standing next to him, was the strength. She ran their household with a firm hand, never letting their personal pain outside of the house. Her children were expected to be perfect pillars, a reflection of their father’s status. And so far, with the one never talked about exception, they had complied.

Cluck, cluck. Quack, quack. Moo, moo. That’s all Bunny heard as they silly girls standing by him prattled on. Did his mother really want him hitched to one of these brainless idiots? He would become one of his plow horses if that happened, mindlessly going up and down through his life.

“We need to say help to Reverend and Mrs. Martin.” His mother took his arm to lead him to the other side of the room, “Starch-face,” he thought, but maybe after that he could convince her to leave. He glanced at his watch; still plenty of time for fun.

“Mrs. Smith! Bunny. So glad you could join us tonight. I thought that tasted like your custard pies.

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“Only if love is expressed by frogs and snakes left in their desks for me,” she laughed. “More often they pine to be out the door than to spend time with me.” Standing next to him, she did feel beautiful and more relaxed. Papa could always do that for her.

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“Mary! You are so pale! You have been working too hard, I can tell.” Oh, Mama, can’t you just once tell me I look beautiful, or even pretty, instead of finding my flaws? Mary hugged her and smiled, “You, of all people, should know how much energy children require. I came home so you can fix me!” “Hush now. Don’t be silly; Give your Papa a kiss.”

His warm eyes took it all in, reflecting his love and pride for her. “Bet all those little boys are in love with you.”

What do you feed your chickens to get their yolks so yellow? You remember our daughter, Mary? She is taking a respite this weekend from her teaching. Children can be such a handful, you know.” The two women looked at each other knowingly.

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Bunny looked at Mary as if he had never met her before. When was the last time? She looks so different from the farm girls he saw every day. Has she always been as tall as he is? So confident? Not exactly elegant, but she stood out in this crowd.

“Why is he staring at me? Did I spill something down my front at dinner? Is he trying to embarrass me?” Mary glanced up, then locked her eyes to his. “If he wants to stare, I can stare too. He’s just like one of the boys in my class, and I always win!”

“How long are you home?” His question sounded genuine. Interested.

“Until tomorrow – I will take the evening train back.”

Was that disappointment she saw in his eyes now?

“Bunny. I asked if you are ready to go. Thank you for the lovely social, Sara. You put so much work in for us all here in the church.”

“It was worth it all to have a piece of your delicious pie. Will we see you in church tomorrow, Bunny?”

And to everyone’s surprise, his answer was “Yes.”

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Salt and Skin Courtney Brueckner

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June July and August move indifferent over the city, stick close to the ground.

Our skin tells us all day and all night that we don’t want to be here, sweats an uneasy lustre.

I long since resigned the space under my fingernails, between my toes to dust and dirt, ignore the salt stains waving across my shirt.

A Star (Named Sunshine)

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Robyn Badon

Sunshine warms me Makes me smile Makes me thirsty Makes me fumble around in my purse (searching) Sunglasses, have mercy Sunshine wakes me Breaks me out Heat rash Sun spots Sun block, burn (ouch) Sunshine revives me Blindly Forgets the nightfall That tries to hide me Warm me up Sunshine Light my life Guide me

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Please Don’t Ask

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Being asked to write poetry must be the cruelest blow I’m a fish out of water, there’s little I know Being asked to write poetry is the worst of the worst There are a million and one things I’d rather do first Being asked to write poetry is more than I can bear It’s like being caught in public in only your underwear

Salt Lake Teens Write

Michael Limòn

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Big Foot Brianne Morrison

Are you a believer in Big Foot?

Do you believe in chocolate roads too?

Amazing how dummies discover the Discovery Channel with a flash to Channel 26.

Classic viewing–fish, bugs, and monkeys.

So I wonder about Big Foot, why he has his own show?

Didn’t the beef jerky commercials convince people he wants to be left alone?

In America even Big Foot doesn’t have much privacy.

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My Odyssey

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Alexis Isle

A journey that begins and moves everywhere, Leaving a piece of my heart in eleven different places Almost as though each piece of my heart is gone with none left to give to you.

The journey into my own soul will bring me down into a pit of dank coldness.

Alone and sad I bring my voice to a shout.

Yelling to a dead no one, saying, set a broken soul free to roam Whispering into my hands alone, and scared, all light that beams from above brings a new feeling to my journey alone. a light, a parachute to leave this dead place of pain, an open window to jump out of, a new place to roam, a place where I will not be alone. age 16 10th grade People say to follow your heart But your heart can be deceived It’s like that cryptic message on the inside of the great pyramids What if your heart is as confused as you?

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What is it that makes your heart right?

Is it that part of you that isn’t afraid?

That part that is going to make you spread your wings and fly?

Does your heart know and will say what is wrong?

That part we call our souls?

The part that makes music bloom inside you?

Gives you that warm feeling that makes you feel loved?

Is it that small inkling into the deepest part of your damaged soul that feels the pain of a broken heart?

Or is it that part of you that makes you smile and bite your lip in shyness.

That area where your passion is so strong you can’t hold back.

Your dreams, Your passions, Your loves, Your wishes That part that overwhelms your mind, influences your actions, Fills your senses with joy, that part of you that is wild and free, That makes you go out and live even the most outlandish dreams.

Set Me Free

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Daisy Bennett

Broke me off, tore me out, You set me free.

Turned me in, sent me away, You set me free.

Broke my heart, burned my soul, You set me free.

Cried my tears, wrung my hands, You set me free.

Screamed in darkness, locked in pain, You set me free.

Walked with memories, slept with longing, You set me free.

Begged for guidance, prayed for peace, You set me free.

Embraced my reality, healed my heart, You set me free.

You set me free!

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Woke up smiling, filled with joy, You set me free.

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Found my truth, opened my eyes, You set me free.

Assassin Destinee Kapuwai

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The field is about twenty minutes from our home. The Auryon games have always been there, even before my dad’s time. Our ancestors came up with the Auryon games and always held it at the fields. It’s surrounded by tons and tons of trees. *** “I’m glad everyone could make it to Tanae’s ceremony. I feel that it is time for Tanae to take over the clan. My generation will step down and hers will step up. She is a great assassin, like you all,” my dad said in a strong voice. He then turned to face me and nodded.

I looked over my entire family, all of them here to support me. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I may not smile a lot... but deep down I care for each and every single member of my family.

“I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without any of you guys.I especially want to thank my dad, Terik, and Tina for having faith in me. Now, let’s get to the Auryon games so we can kick the old people’s asses,” I said with a smirk, causing the older folks in the family to “boo” us and say “I got your old.”

We all split up, my dad’s team team has a couple more players on there team then mine. My cousins and I make a team of forty players while my dad, uncles and aunts all make a team of forty-three players.

Our vests are ten times more protective then the police wear. When I shoot an arrow or stab some one wearing a vest, it won’t even pierce them.... tha’ts how good these work.

“Let the games begin,” I said with a smirk. At that my team and I went on way into the forest and my dad’s team went the other way. I found Mario and Terik, Tina is probably with our cousins Jordan and Hazel.

Mario is special, he can sense where people are. “Seek out the other team.” I say to Mario.

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I turn to my family. “Okay, you all know the rules. Aim only where the vest is. If you end up having to go toe toe... pin them down. They lose.” I said to the clan who in return nods.

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We all put on our bullet-proof vests and grabbed our weapons. My weapon is a black bow and arrow, and on my bow and arrows are engraved the family’s crest in gold. All of our weapons have the family crest on it, it’s just that my weapons are the only ones with gold on it... well, because I chose it. Our family crest is made up of intricate lines and in the middle of the designs is the letter “A.” My other weapons are my daggers. I quickly slip them in my back pocket.

It may seem like cheating, but my aunt Julie can do the same thing as Mario.

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Mario closes his eyes and then opens them with a smirk, bringing his daggers up.

“Tanae go left, uncle Saul and aunt Breanne are on that side. Tarik follow your sister but when she sees your uncle and aunt, keep running... she can take them. A few feet away from Saul and Breanne some one is in a tree with a bow and arrow.” Mario said to Tarik and I, who nod in return.

We split up and started running at full speed.

My aunt Breanna and uncle Saul had smirks on their faces. “Change of plans bro!”

I yelled to Tarik who nodded. I grabbed an arrow from the holder on my back and spotted my aunt Kristine in the tree and shot an arrow in her chest.

Aunt Kristene looked at the arrow then back at me and flipped me off and jumped down from the tree. Kristine is my dad’s younger sister at the age of thirty. Kristine and I are usually the only ones to use bow and arrows.

I turned to where Tarik was, fighting my uncle Saul and aunt Breanna standing in front of them watching me. She smirked and let her chain whip drop to the ground.

I smiled evilly at her and put my bow and arrow on my back, and pulled out my daggers.

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In Praise of Langston Michael Limòn

Life is like a song some endings happy, some endings sad Life is like a song recalling the good, regretting the bad Life is like a song lines on the face, notes on a page, Life is like a song fill me with hope, fill me with rage

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Placeholder Text Emily Johnson

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Goodbye old friend We had a lot of good times but I was just placeholder text in your life I wish you the best as my heart has a dull ache Maybe it’s the inversion and not sadness I knew this day would come for one of us But I miss you Friendships do ebb and flow But I wasn’t prepared for this sudden demise I hope you have all you dream of in life You filled a hole in my heart And I’m thankful So this is it.

Goodbye my old friend.

Winter Walk

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Maria Calvi

Red rocks coupling like Picasso and his muse.

You know the one – colossal thighs, rounded, and rocky like these soft sandstone curves With red hot and cold grains of a long ago river delta.

Lusty landscape warmed by the winter’s sun.

The tap tap of high heeled shoes deafening in a packed gallery.

Tap tap, murmur.

Purple polished finger nails of his muse, mistress, wife.

“Dirty old man” the hawk says and soars, eyeing our red licorice.

The trail grumbles and slides with jealousy.

“Have you seen a blue Pontiac?

I keep pressing the panic button – but nothing!”

We laugh balancing carelessly on the sharp fin of a joke.

It is a slippery canvas.

We race in opposite directions until we are specks of light on far ends of the earth.

I hear your voice so clearly, she whispers to herself.

She thinks he hears her too.

You know it doesn’t take much to convince a jack rabbit he is beautiful.

Just tell him so.

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