C. Lee // Behind The Scenes

I ask if they know what the Nutcracker is.
If they know of the hurricane backstage
Excitement almost tangible in the air.
Costumes, makeup, hairpins littering every surface.
“5 minutes before the show starts!”

If they know of the shining lights,
Each of them a little sun
Spotlighting a dancer.

Lighting up her face as she leaps and spins.

Letting the audience see her sparkling eyes and joyful smile.
Painting the words of the nutcracker story with her graceful movements.

Or the long swoosh
As a waterfall of red curtain hides the joyful scene behind it.
The performers finally breaking character
Hugging and giggling
Bittersweet that the show is over.

But they shake their heads
Only knowing of a girl, perhaps.
And a sugar plum fairy?
Oblivious to the many others who help create the story.

They only briefly think of giant itchy pink skirts.
And boring music with no words,

Not of the beautiful work of art.

Matteo Nguyen // SKATEBOARD

The air sizzled like a pan
Beads of sweat traveling down the trails of their backs
Their mouths tasted of salt
Watering at the wafting smell of barbecue

His board snapped at the grainy cement
They watched him like a hawk
He flew like the birds flying over them
His shirt rippling like a wave

His shadow walked down each step
His board was a show of flips
Everything stopped in awe
Slap!

His wheels smacked the ground
He rode on
Whistles and cheers came from everywhere
“Pablo! Pablo! Pablo!”

Joy Gong // THE CAMPGROUND

Pitter patter,
Pitter patter:
The soft tap of rain down the car windows
Accompanies this sticky summer Saturday of June.
Soon Mom turns left off of Cedar Street and
Pulls into a clearing enveloped by pine trees,
Five, ten miles from the nearest supermarket.
A site so secluded even the GPS
Can’t seem to find it;
A place almost abandoned with
Soiled showers and murmuring mosquitoes;
A sector hidden from plain sight
Silent because we are the only ones there.
But our annual trip still
Sparks joy in my mind,
A thrill of adventure down my spine.
As night creeps into the open ceiling and
Paints the sky a deep sapphire blue,
Stars twinkle like tiny diamonds;
Telling stories in the blank canvas of the dark
As we tell stories of our own around a crackling fire.
Knowing the trip will be over too soon, too early
We gently toast marshmallows until just barely charred,
Savoring the sweet essence of simply being.

Reed Solomon // THE WOODS

The wind whispers on the leaves turned brown,
It’s in these woods that time slows down.
The satisfying snap of twigs underfoot,
Getting tired, the hikers decide to stay put.

As the sun sets and the temperature drops,
The conversation between the squirrels stops.
Meals are pulled out of bags and water begins to boil,
The boys sit down on logs, rocks, and soil.
Elsewhere in the world, the night has just begun,
But here the hikers get ready for bed, thinking of tomorrow’s fun.
Clothes are changed, teeth are brushed, and tents zipped up,
In the morning, we’ll eat oatmeal out of the packet, no cup!

All of a sudden, the world outside the tent is light,
The boys rub their eyes as the birds resume their fight.
In a matter of minutes, bags become fully packed,
Today will be the best day yet, that is a sure fact!
“Listen to nature,” and the boys halt their talk,
They set forth on their journey, and begin to walk.

Fawzi A El-Kattan // I SHOOT, I SCORE. HE SHOOTS, I SCORE.

The music blasting through my ears, The sweat beading on my forehead, The fleeing of 1000 butterflies in my stomach, All for 6 minutes. 3 periods.
Stepping on the mat, staring down my opponents eyes, asserting dominance. I shake his hand, squeezing it tight letting him know, I’m there to make him work.
Whistle blows and I get in the zone. I throw him around like a frisbee, then I shoot my shot, the same shot I’ve drilled a thousand times; it doesn’t feel the same, it feels powerful, electrifying. I score.
Next period: my opponent gets sloppy, he shoots, I score. I break him down while on top, I break his will.
Last period. I go for the pin, I get the win.
I stand up in triumph, he still lays on the ground in defeat. I walk to the center of the mat, With my head high and a smile gleaming across my face, We shake hands, my teammates screaming in joy for me, I walk back knowing there is no feeling greater.

Elly Monaco // SKATING COMPETITION

It’s competition time.
The loud, booming noise searched the air
Faces, expression is satisfied and joyful
The rink is brisk
Like the wind on a Novembers day.
Nothing could compare
To the joy we felt after
The scores reflected back.
The bright lights
Illuminating our faces even more than the sun.
The team above us is now second
Because we conquered, I should say.

Conner Lofstrom // MOUNTAIN HOME

He stood atop the white, vast mountain.
His home.
Covered in darkness
The wind chilled across the layers of life
the pitch black ripples in parts of Bear Lake.
His friends swaying loosely in the wind
Giving off pleasant drafts of sweet caramel and soothing vanilla
Nothing but silence as the falling of snow began to bow at his friendly feet
Every step causing the snow to hug to his boot one by one.
Walking towards a bright blue ball of light and warmth that rose in the midst of the white spects

Melting the hearts of living things around.
He no longer saw the dark ripples but saw them begin to
Transform to a teal and light blue body that freely flowed, elegantly making way for all in its path.

All except the friendly moose
gracefully eating the lush green
Wet silky moss hidden beneath the sheets of the ice.
As he stood up pridefully with his rack of enormous horns.
Light glimmered across the glassy lake
reflecting light onto the darkened trees
On the animals in the sky and on the ground.
An unstoppable force to be reckoned with.

If only he could be there to experience it once again.

Aidan K // MY SECOND HOME

The longer i have been away, the more unaccomplished I feel
The feeling of the sun, glistening off the reflective turf

To my second home
The bike ride is never easy
Twenty minutes, pushing up and down hills
Peddling, I wonder, when I arrive, will I be able to play on the  fields?
Will there be people to play with?
So many questions involving one joyous idea,
To see the beautiful fields and to feel goals

Arriving at my second home today,
A few of my questions are answered:
Yes the fields are open
Yes my friends are there to play
The chance to shoot on a goal.
As I prepare myself,
My chest swells
My heart thumps
My eyes focus
I b-r-e-a-t-h-e in deeply and smile,
as the ball curls, gently, into the upper netting
of the goal.
A task
so seemingly easy: kick the ball into the gaping space
Little goals in life require hard work

At my second home
What I do is never predefined
I can do whatever my heart pleases.
Work, or mess around
Either way I’m satisfied
Relish the moment

In my second home, I’m working
In my second home, I’m living
In my second home,
I am accomplished.

Matthew Berhe // OVER AND OVER

Research and research.
Over and over:
This is not ordinary
fun. Nor the way
one typically spends
their summer

Store after store the Buildings
of Ann Arbor were like no other.
Long, skinny, and gray they all were
the same to me.
Morning, afternoon, evening
over and over:
lab after lab, the journey
repeats….. for another four weeks

Ding ding, evening lab
is OVER
I’ve gotten all my groceries
but all of a sudden………
ROOOOOOM CHECK!…. The message circulates
and the race to the dorm starts
I sprint, but appear to have arrived in the same location
over and over:
I’m going in circles!
Eventually I spot the
mess of my dorm.
I check may watch yet again
its passed 10:00
the instructors examine me
in a skeptical manner, as I am late
AGAIN
expecting an every day scolding from my lab leader

Over and over:
morning, afternoon, evening
lab after lab……………. the journey repeats
for another four weeks!

Libby Walter // MY RIVER

The river meanders endlessly and rises and falls with the moon
It was peaceful at 10am on Sunday morning but not 12
We waved at the homeless man who lived on the floating plastic house
Until we reached the furthest downstream paddling was easy
Caressing the water with the curve of my paddle only to plunge it down into the water
At the lock Peter drove us strait into to the crashing water and despite my fear I had to keep on
paddling to not crash
The upstream journey on the way back was a fight
My arms were tight and aching but I didn’t want to be at the back; I was better than that
The old Queen Thames boat chugged past which gave a short burst of speed
That old gray dock bounced with the wake of our slender racing boats
I almost hit a few bikers while carrying my long boat through the path into the hut
They hated us