Table of Contents
Poetry + ProseSweet to my feelings, Laya Nair Blue, Aarna Shah daffodils, Abby Lu Untitled, Bhavya Annapureddy A Pure Lotus Blooms, Laya Nair On the Fence, Charlize Andrews Yellow, Aarna Shah Free, Aarna Shah on the grasslands, Liane Ma Bird, Aarna Shah Climate Change Impacts Seasons and Everything Else, Siri Manneri burning, Abby Lu |
Moment in Time, Brianna Hong
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December Nights, Liane Ma
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Art + PhotographyMoment in Time, Brianna Hong December Nights, Liane Ma Snow Capped, Sanya Padmaperuma Lost, Shaili Shah Viola, Jisha Singh Julian, Rebecca Yang Fading Away, Jisha Singh Twisted, Sanya Padmaperuma Bioluminescence, Devin Prasad The Orange Garden, Liane Ma Race to the Deep, Devin Prasad Mythical, Jisha Singh Absent Minds, Ava Prior fluorescent adolescent, Caroline Chen Little House, Brianna Hong Blue Jeans, Brianna Hong Happy Anniversary, Caroline Chen buses, Seojin Lee a quiet view of home, Abby Lu Untitled, Liane Ma Captain, Ava Prior Fall, Seojin Lee Hungry Hungry Sea Otter, Devin Prasad Gator, Sindu Rachakonda Sky, Seojin Lee I'm Getting Butterflies, Sindu Rachakonda 2 point perspective street, Rebecca Zhang Little Lizard, Megan Miller Blue Butterfly, Sindu Rachakonda Blue Jr., Caroline Chen |
This edition also includes Flash Fiction and Art produced at a Literary Magazine connectivity meeting.
Special thanks to the Green Level HS National Art Honor Society for their contributions to this edition.
Sweet to my feelingsLaya Nair
Melting hot fudge that is
Sensitive to the tongue A calm scent of matcha tea That flows through the noses Of the young My loyalty to dark chocolate Is like Elon Musk to his wallet The love I have is equal to the Love of a butterfly and flower The smooth feeling The bittersweet taste Cannot compare to any other Oh the sweet sweet aroma Of warm hot chocolate Fills the atmosphere of nostalgia The coziness under a cold chilly day |
Snow Capped, Sanya Padmaperuma
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Lost, Shaili Shah
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BlueAarna Shah
Blue is the color of sadness, It drives me slowly towards madness. Blue sounds like the empty chirping of a bird, One of which will never be heard. Blue feels like icy cold snow, It restrains me below what I owe. Blue tastes like bitter sweet berries, The results always vary. Blue smells like the cool winter breeze, It strips me of all my ease. Blue feels like loneliness, It brings me down to my lowliest. Blue feels like a dark empty room, It drowns me in its overwhelming gloom. |
Viola, Jisha Singh
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Julian, Rebecca Yang
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Fading Away, Jisha Singh
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daffodilsAbby Lu
march
The first flowers to bloom are always the daffodils. They’re in a hurry every year, springing up at the first hint of spring. This year, they were already growing out in mid February, and I was terrified it would snow again and kill them before they got the chance to bloom. I should have had more faith in them, though. They’re more resilient than you’d expect for one so impatient. Some of them have yellow centers. Some of them are orange. I like to think that the orange centered blossoms were just a little too selfish, wanted a tinge of red in their yellow, because it just wasn’t good enough for them. Daffodils are thought to be self centered - their scientific name is Narcissus, after all. In the Greek myth, Narcissus rejected all the love advances thrown his way and fell in love with his own reflection. He pined away until he died, turning into the flower. What if that's not the whole story, though? What if he didn’t know that it was his reflection he fell in love with? What if he died pining after something he desired but thought he could never have? sleepless nights When sleep evades me for more than three hours, I slide out of bed, wincing at the cold floorboards beneath my feet, and drag the curtain to the side, pulling the crooked blinds up. Crawling back under the covers, exhaustion crashes in waves that I can almost feel behind my eyelids - yet sleep still refuses to come. I curse the streetlight between our house and the one on our left, scoping out the sky to see if there are any stars bright enough to be seen tonight even with the light pollution. There is one I can see just barely, if I crane my neck at just the right angle to see a few inches higher than the windowpane normally allows. I wish for the streetlight to go out, so the stars further away can wink at a lonely girl at midnight as well. I wonder how many wishes can be granted in a night. Perhaps I am just as selfish as the daffodils. |
april
In April the cherry blossom tree in our front yard always reaches full bloom by the end of the first week, and it is leaning from the weight of thousands of tiny flowers. When the wind blows just the slightest bit too hard, it looks like it’s snowing again, the petals drifting and hovering on the air which isn’t heartless enough to send them straight to the ground. On the eighth it is the birthday of a girl who has passions so bright they could set the world on fire if she wanted them to. It's quite contagious, really - I'm convinced her dog is every bit as passionate as the girl is, or perhaps the former just hates me. Unlike the cherry blossom tree though, she is reserved and private. The cherry blossom tree wants to spread love to everyone, while she just wants people to care more; and maybe it is better her way, because for all the cherry blossom’s unconditional kindness, it is covered in lichen, and it looks so, so tired. The tulips sit all pretty in April, like they have someone to impress, and the last few daffodils of the season are surrounded by the debris of fallen pink-white petals, and even though they stare at everything else with disdain, it is impossible to hate the cherry blossom. kintsugi It is inevitable that things break. No matter how careful you are, how proactive you are, something will line up one day and it will all go wrong, and maybe it’s not your fault or anyone else’s; maybe it just is. But just because it’s broken doesn’t mean that’s the end, doesn’t mean it’s done with. Sometimes things are put back together in the kindest way, the imperfections are made beautiful, the piece is made human, because all humans have those broken parts that may not seem so pretty. It is like kintsugi, the Japanese art where broken pottery is repaired using gold, and maybe these gold cracks keep us safe from a fate like Narcissus’s. ** This is an excerpt from a larger work. |
Twisted, Sanya Padmaperuma
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Bhavya Annapureddy
Even the most beautiful places turn dark during the night
Every day we do the same things Rinse, wash, use, recycle At night we do whatever we want to make up for what we didn’t feel during the day We laugh We smile We cry We let everything out Wanting to stay in the moment forever Never let the night end Make all our responsibilities go away and never have the lingering dread of knowing what's coming Then the sun rises We rinse, wash, use, recycle Only to realize the next day Even the most beautiful places turn dark during the night |
Bioluminescence, Devin Prasad
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The Orange Garden, Liane Ma
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Race to the Deep, Devin Prasad
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A Pure Lotus BloomsLaya Nair
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Mythical, Jisha Singh
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Absent Minds, Ava Prior
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flourescent adolescent, Caroline Chen
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On the FenceCharlize Andrews
White picket
Smooth curves that throw themselves into one another Not the ideal place for me to sit But I hoist myself atop their dividing lines The fence stands tall High enough from the shrubbery below to break a bone should I tumble off, but low enough for a safe landing if I emerge confidently. I wonder to myself on which side of the fence will I stand taller? I don’t know how I came to this position, balancing on the thin verge of a fence, but I now have two choices: I can fall backward into my yard I can retire back to my room in comfort; Blankets the same and details already studied. the safer option. Or I can leap off in the opposite direction: forwards. I can divert away from familiar places and discover something new. It could be rewarding or distressing, but nevertheless foriegn. I realize as I sit on this edge That I am drenched in indecision. So for now, I’m on the fence. |
Little House, Brianna Hong
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Blue Jeans, Brianna Hong
Happy Anniversary, Caroline Chen
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YellowAarna Shah
Yellow is the color of the sun,
We dance under it and have fun. Yellow tastes like sugary lemonade, Almost just as sweet as marmalade. Yellow smells like freshly blossomed sunflowers, The colors burn brighter as they grow taller. Yellow feels like soft, warm silk sheets, As I lay, I sink deeper and deep into a golden sleep. Yellow sounds like a soft breeze, Blowing Shaking the trees, Slightly tampering with the bees. Yellow feels warm, Like the calm right before a storm. Yellow feels like safety, I can trust it to guide me safely. The warmth of yellow clouds me, It surrounds me profoundly. |
buses, Seojin Lee
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a quiet view of home, Abby Lu
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FreeAarna Shah
Through the morning frost
I find myself feeling lost. I feel the icy cold snowflakes fall from the sky, landing gracefully, on my wet teary eyes. My hands as cold as ice the wind feeling nice. I look up at the stars above me, And wonder how they can be so free. |
Liane Ma
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Captain, Ava Prior
Fall, Seojin Lee
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on the grasslandsLiane Ma
on the grasslands we dance with our hearts in twos, and
the six-eight music replaces the sound of our soul we follow the hoofprints along the golden prairies and we skip across a hidden river. crushed bouquets of dandelions litter our paths, and the smell of grass and ozone approaches our breath opening my arms to hug the rain, twirling along as the water bounces off my dress. even the sheep seem to feel the absence of worries frolicking and lost with no one to guide us but them as the sand picks up and the wind reaches for me, your hair smacks me and the sound of our laughter greets the storm. the misty days bid no farewell and the next season arrives. in our muddied boots that haven’t seen enough rain, parched, we still smile through cracked lips beaming at each other in the midst of a stream. |
Hungry Hungry Sea Otter, Devin Prasad
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Gator, Sindu Rachakonda
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BirdAarna Shah
I fly through the trees
Feeling free. My wings can take me anywhere, as I swoop through the air. The trees below me swaying with the wind, I look at the humans below me, as they watch me and grin. The sun is slowly setting, As I had just started sweating. I find a nest to lay in, and the moon brings the day to an end. |
Sky, Seojin Lee
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I'm Getting Butterflies, Sindu Rachakonda
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2 point perspective street, Rebecca Zhang
Little Lizard, Megan Miller
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Blue Butterfly, Sindu Rachakonda
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Climate Change Impacts Seasons and Everything ElseSiri Manneri
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burningAbby Lu
she starts the coffee machine, and reaches for the instant oatmeal by habit.
her father, on simpler days, quietly making a bowl of oatmeal for her as she waits anxiously for her coffee. if you have coffee on an empty stomach, your stomach will burn. eat something with it. she pours oatmeal into a bowl, adds water, and pushes start on the microwave. the box says the oats cook in 60 seconds. she sets the microwave for 45. the oats come out too dry. she adds more water. the bowl doesn't go back into the microwave. maple syrup enters. an unspecified amount, pooling in the oatmeal like rain collecting on the street. she opens the fridge. there is a container for kimchi, empty except for the leftover juice. she pours it into the oatmeal. it is ruined. the coffee is forgotten. her mouth burns. |
Blue Jr., Caroline Chen
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CREATING IN A FLASH
At an October Literary Magazine meeting, we worked on creating within a time limit of 5 minutes based on random prompts. Here is a collection of our work from this meeting!
prompt 1: the language of flowers
Sophia Lee
prompt 3: how the city sounds at night
Abby Lu
Sophia Lee |
prompt 2: "please shut the..."
Sophia Lee
I fear I fear going outside. Letting myself go, exposed in the searing light I'd rather be invisible lurking in the shadows, shielding myself from the luminance of the world Please Please shut the blinds. Let me hide from the light. Charlize Andrews prompt 4: a lie (?)
Sophia Lee
a lie (?) lies sound pretty (sometimes). lies make you feel better (not often). lies are a temporary comfort (most times). lies don't work (unless?) lies about lies aren't always lies. Abby Lu |
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