Blog Posts

  • (no title)

    I Am Poem
    By:Zander Mehran, age 9

    I am happy
    I wonder how earth started because now one knows
    I hear Mrs. Puljiz talking about animals which makes me think of how they lose there home
    I see the yellow bee that crashed on the table
    I want to be happy for the animals
    I am happy
    I pretended that there is a big tiger that lept on me
    I feel the smooth floor that is hard
    I touch the floor that feels hard
    I worry about the animals because they might become extinct!
    I cry about nothing because I was not sad
    I am happy
    I understand that the animals lose their homes when we build something
    I say nothing because I feel bad for the animals that lose their homes when we build
    I dream to have 100 dogs that will like me
    I try to keep animals safe from destruction
    I hope the animals are safe so that we are safe
    I am happy

  • The End of the World

    Around 8:30 PM she breathed a sigh of relief as in 90 minutes her head would hit the pillow and the illumination of the world would end.
    Over the years she had tried a few things to help her sleep: milk, cookies, magnesium, men, books, and various sleep technicians. None of this had helped her yet now, during this time the world is ending, her sleep was the sound of a book closing.
    A thick book.
    Hours would pass and she would lie in the same position lost in another world, past or future.
    Hip into moon crater.
    Hair lost to crown of thorns.
    Hands gnarled like the chicken’s feet next door who called in for morning to come.
    The time was undivided like listening to the dial tone on a rotary phone.
    Some knew the world was ending..
    It was like knowing something so sad you couldn’t look it in the eye. Having a secret that no matter what you couldn’t tell.

    There were fires and there was anger. People drove their cars into other peoples cars as if they were small children in an amusement park. Children were so enraged they screamed all afternoon in the park next to her house.
    There was nothing she could do. There was always something she could do in the past but now even putting her sneakers on seemed futile.
    There was no where to run to.

    New viruses appeared along with nuclear weapons and food in the stores became nothing but signs saying you could have this product but not until five years had passed. Sometimes there is a 🙂 on the sign.

    The children stopped growing. No one seemed to notice.
    Cars were abandoned on rooftops.

    I remember saying to a man that he was the love of my life and at the time I believed it.

  • So much has changed
  • (no title) Deeply upsetting
  • (no title)

    My Birth

    My mother’s father, Samuel Joseph Cawley, died three days before I was born and was buried in a paupers grave in Van Nys, California, alone and still drunk so the embalmer had it easy. My mother went into labor etherized and alone, and, hearing “ it’s a girl”, sighed into her peignoir and turned her back on it all: the dead first boy, the second, another boy, then two girls and then me. A brood mare. She struck a match for her L&M and flicked the ashes in the nightstand drawer it’s white metal smooth and cold. Loyal to her. She slammed it shut when she heard my grandfather’s voice in the hallway. The most important post birth attendant. Bearer of the name and the cash envelope labeled “Olive”. He always wanted her to be free of his son.Telling my father to be kind to her, grandfather gave her money. He said it was so she could leave but really it was so she would stay.
    Lucinda Watson