Literary Journal for Young Writers
Eline has always had a passion for photography and loves spending time outside, looking for new places where she can take pictures. She is from Norway, and most of her pictures are from the winter, but when she came down to Florida to live for a year, she quickly noticed all of the beautiful places there. She took this picture at a butterfly garden in Gainesville.
In another life, I clawed the world
from the back of my throat
and cradled it to the bone
without making a single sound.
As a child, I would stream my thumb
across the stippled hairs on my father’s
chin—pressed my palms against
the shelf of his belly so I could become
familiar with what is human.
The first boy I fell in love with
carried himself in a long stretch
of pauses—deliberate and full-fledged.
We learned to love with the rhythm
of a labored breath—hushed by
our own inability to keep
ourselves taut and undamaged.
In another life, I hear my mother’s
voice colored by something that
lingers between a blunted breath
and a windowpane’s rattle.
One by one, we learn to love,
our backs bent in a prayer
that never touched our mouths.
Brittany Adames is a Dominican-American writer. Her work has been previously published in CALAMITY Magazine, Bombus Press, Blue Marble Review, TRACK//FOUR, and Rust+Moth, among others. She is pursuing a major in Writing, Literature, and Publishing at Emerson College and currently serves as the poetry editor for Concrete Literary Magazine. She has been regionally and nationally recognized by the Scholastic Writing Awards.
I am in a cold city that smells of saltwater
and cigarettes. Their crests rising, skyward
roads undulate as homeless men sit on street corners,
their cardboard signs sturdier than their clothes.
The trolleys sing, motherly, a chorus of altos
and fussing construction drills. Believe me,
there’s more to this than meets the sky. Even now
in summer the wind knifes me; the savior sun;
dirty pastel blocks; blinding upsides of cumulus;
Chinatown glows; concrete after rain; the Bay
Bridge shivers; a silky sheen. Up the hill,
the symphony slogs behind closed doors.
Esther Sun is a junior at Los Gatos High School in Northern California. Her work has received national recognition from the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and been published in The Wildcat Review, her high school’s literary magazine.
I finally learned how to take care of myself.
I’m a smile orange-peel wide.
I’m going to die movie-star happy,
Happy like soda left out on the countertop.
The moon is whiter than death. I drown my plants,
I kiss myself to sleep. I don’t talk about birds
Anymore. Can’t think about what it means
To fall. Won’t think about what it means
To fly.
Pelumi Sholagbade is a high school senior from Washington DC. When not writing, Pelumi can be found reading, playing the cello, or failing to fall asleep at night.
I’m from the dark Bronx, illicit and glowing. where all I eat is simmering ketchup, salty bacon, egg, and cheese, teeth muscles chomping, mouth watering.
I’m from Mayaguez, Puerto Rico where the crystal clear water is perfect, but also my purple pulpo, salty white carrucho, and cheesy yellow sorullos take me back.
I’m from set tables of rice and beans every night and
divine ice cream from Rex Cream, just a hint of spice to the mix.
Don’t forget about mom’s chicken and pig feet, slimy and gooey!
I’m from the bodega on the corner wondering,
“Hey, where’s my Cola Champagne?” The only thing I chug down when I go.
I’m from Nana’s 4-decade-old apartment 3603 15A
Daddy’s raucous basement house on Lake Ave.
On Andrews Ave, Mom and I live a bitter-sweet and spicy heart that cannot be separated….
I’m from a great school with great teachers,
never thinking I could be so well educated.
I’m from my two-story-high-bed with the one medal that makes me proud of
who I am as Micaela Gonzalez, where the butterflies take me away
And the lights give me hope to make the world develop equality.
Cars honking,people yelling: Home is where I am a Nuyorican.
I’m from trips with my dad’s 80s music, “Never gonna give you up, never gonna
let you down, never gonna run around!”
Nights of the coqui’s orchestra, “coqui, coqui.”
I’m from Abuelita Milagros house dreading her to say: “Deja de mirar en el espejo lo va a romper.” (Stop looking in the mirror, you’re gonna break it!) I crack
up every time I hear it.
I’m also from hectic nights of the Latinx version of X-Factor on Telemundo
“Let’s go Eric!”
I’m from dreaming of sports–
from supporting family and friends who encourage me with their weight lifting
hand.
From people who don’t scold me but educate me.
I am putting strength and effort to work hard for my dream to be like Carla
Cortijo, one of the first Puerto Ricans on the WNBA. Even though I am what I
would say trash.
This is a message from a twelve-year-old girl
Chase after your dreams, like a bird looking for its nest.
Micaela is a twelve-year-old Latinx girl, who really takes where she’s from seriously. One day she wants to become a published author to help other Latinx girls know that they can accomplish anything, so submitting poems as a young girl is very important to her. Her teacher has encouraged her to pursue this dream; in addition, this is something she thinks will help her as a student in English class.
his knuckles,
folded,
untucked the tag
from the heat
of the back
of his neck
and I shivered.
how intimate,
the curl of his fingers
over the pulp
of his own flesh.
I wanted
to dance my lips
against his soil skin
but instead I
pressed them together
bit my tongue the color
of his blooming cheeks
and shivered
in silence.
Macy has been in love with language for as long as she can remember. She specializes in lyrical and spoken word poetry, and after high school plans to major in creative writing and become an editor.