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What We Will Become - Tina Demirdjian

 

in the house that wrapped our childhoods

the sound of tiny tea glasses, and the sun warming our backs

early morning shadows dancing on the wall

like fingers reaching for us while memories spilled onto the floor

running down the long hallway oriental rugs scratching the bottom of our feet

white wooden doors opening and closing, tiny bells ringing

reminding us we are whole and then

gone forever into echoes like ancestors who haunt us

smiles we no longer remember

voices in the wind and in our prayers: be grateful

if this is what we’ll become, dear friend.

 

 

This Place Called La Crescenta - Teresa Pfiffner 

 

I hated this place,

This place called La Crescenta.

Where were the houses - every other the same  -

That I was so accustomed to seeing?

And then I saw homes made of old round river stones and a cabin with a chimney named The Rock Pile

And I found I liked individuality better

 

I hated this place

This place called La Crescenta

Where was the fast pace of a town that never stops

With restaurants and nightclubs where the famous always go?

And then one night in the Wilderness Park I looked up and saw stars shining brighter than I’ve ever seen

And I found I liked peace better.

 

I hated this place

This place called La Crescenta

Where were the pretty people - the models, the celebrities - at the galleries and the openings?

And then the moon rose over the Verdugo Mountains

Bathed her hills in shadow and moon light

And I found beauty at its best.

 

I love this place

This place called La Crescenta

And I am here to stay

 

 

Midnight's Purple - Nicole Moore, grade 9, Crescenta Valley High School

How clear the sky was that evening,
A deep navy tossed almost carelessly with a pale mauve,
Intertwined with pink streaked gray clouds,
It was as if the sky was a vast purple ocean
In the middle of a great and terrible storm,
Yet the setting crimson sun was still shining
As brilliant and vibrant as it could possibly be,
Allowing a strange warmth in the darkening sky,
The wind was quiet,
Blowing only once in a while,
Never letting the air become too warm or too uncomfortable
For one's seemingly delicate body,
The grass was dewed and emerald from the previous night's
Rain,
That caused the sweet scent of the breeze
To make even the bitterest mouth
Smile,
It was beautiful,
The early August's sky was fully in bloom,
Just as the time of the hopelessness
Of the disappearing sun struck,
The very time that forces the sometimes
Unwilling night upon us.

 

 

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