"Pompeii," a poem by Elena Kosh '17

In the shower

I realized that the world

my little world

had made me greasier than usual.

Peeling layers of black

from my face

and from under my fingernails

as if I were rubbing away at soot,

as if the volcano blew its top

and death was giving me a warning.

The soot continues to fall

clogging up your airways.

Did you realize

you were living in a home

that was trying to kill you?

Your mother jumps into the sea

tries to swim

and is boiled alive.

You run to the kitchen

Screaming,

and realize the cat has died peacefully

submitting to the layer of thick gray ash

on her back.

These walls will kill you.

There are four

or maybe eight

or more

of them,

and you cannot get out.

These walls will kill you,

and so will sitting still.

Did you realize for the first sixteen

years of your life?

The cat is curled up in the kitchen again

submitting to the quiet around her,

the very small quiet that’s left.

Your mother is screaming

in the basement

in the sea

tries to swim

but cannot.

There were too many walls

four

or maybe eight--

tried to kill her alive.

The black is peeling off my face.

scrub it off

as hard and fast

as you can.

These walls

are coming in.

My father tries to soothe,

ends up spitting fire and ash.

These walls.

The black is peeling off.

These walls

are coming in.

More is coming

Every minute.

Is coming in.

The warning signs

are

relentless.

"Where I am from and Where I’ll Go," a Poem by Olivia Miller

I am from los gatos and a glen of willow trees.

I am from rain and a boulevard of Magnolia’s.

I am from “Summer feet”

covered in dirt

scathing up trees, swinging from branches

drinking water from the fountain

from rhododendron cups.

Looking back it seems as though the water was

not only tainted with green moss and “things” from birds but

imagination and innocence

as if I needed anymore.

I am from “the little red wagon” and “little Olivia went to school”

sung to me from Granny Nanny’s lips as I fell asleep intertwined in her arms.

I am from nose tweaks, eyeball gouges, ear tugs, and back whacks

given to me by Papa from his recliner chair.

I am from chocolate chip cookies (but only the warm ones) and

raspberry jam spread on fresh rolls (but only the ones with the brown-sugared bottoms).

I am from a hot-blooded woman and a passive man

strung together by yells and screams and secrets I only found in stories told to me much later.

I am from “kill them with kindness” and “what other people think of you is none of your business”

words I follow only to build me up and break me down again.

In my heart is a yearning to leave home

but in my mind is screaming noise:

“Olivia,” said my mother.

“O,” hushed my father.

“Mama,” whispered my step-mother.

“Livie bee,” called my step-father.

“Oatsie,” spoke my sister.

“Olie,” sang my half-brother.

“Miller,” yelled my friends.

They bring me back.

I cannot hear my own thoughts with the noise.

They make me lost, where I can no longer hear myself.

In my solitude, I hear me.

In my own conversations to myself aloud and my own tears down my face

I hear myself.

Where I’ll go, I cannot say.

But if I’ll come home, I promise I will.

"Confusion,"a Poem by Marguerite Devine-Mraz '17

Something pure and corrupt

Not quite there but not quite gone

Is it lost for good?

Or is it here to stay?

To live with it is to live without it

Spiraling down into the sky

And draining up to the ocean

It is opposite of what is similar

Confusing in only appearance

Clear in what does not seem real

Cloudy in a clarifying moment

Something pure and corrupt

Feeding the envy

Starving the hate

Urging the jealousy

Defeating the petty

Confident in all that is good

Untrusting in the faith

Skeptical in what is untrue

Something pure and corrupt

Like an emotional rollercoaster

Always going up and down

When you expected it to go side to side

Stopping when you wanted to go

Leaving when you wanted to stay

Cannot follow the rules

But cannot break the rules

Stuck in between

Wondering what could be

When all it is

Is what it is not

Peyton Blackmer ‘17 to Write in the 2016 High School 14/48 Festival

Peyton Blackmer is going to participate in the upcoming 14/48 High School Festival. 14/48:HS is “an instant theater festival produced, managed, and created entirely by high-school students,” according to the festival’s website. The night before the festival she will only have twelve hours (8pm to 8am) to write a short play that will be performed only hours after she has submitted it.  And she’s ready for the challenge.

Before being accepted to write for 14/48:HS, Peyton had some prior experience with SAAS’s own version of the festival during Spring Days last year.  When asked about the experience, she said, “It was really interesting because everything I had done up to that point was more along the lines of poetry instead of scripts.” Peyton was exciting to spend time thinking about characters and writing within the time constraints of the project.

Peyton has gone to multiple open mics and especially liked one called Youth Speaks Seattle.  She was nervous about it until she walked through the door and was embraced by such a welcoming environment.  She loves Youth Speaks because of the overwhelming support and all of the different perspectives she was able to hear.  

Her favorite piece of writing is the poem that she wrote for the junior class poetry reading last year, which was a very cathartic experience for her.  

Peyton finds inspiration for her writing in the little things she sees and hears around her.  One idea she’s had on her mind lately is “How much does a color weigh?” She asked this question when having a conversation about race in her English class.

In the future, Peyton hopes to keep writing and going to open mics and to someday become a published author.  

 The 14/48 High School Festival opens at North Seattle Community College on October 8th, at 7:30 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. only.