2017-2018 WITS Year-End Reading Chapbook

DEMPSEY KEARNY

Nathan Hale High School, 9th Grade
WITS Writer, Cody Pherigo
I remember when things were easy
I remember when I didn’t know what stress was
I remember being bored
I remember rainy days
I remember very little
I remember things that never happened
I remember food I’ve eaten
I remember when I didn’t care
I remember bubbly excitement
I remember crushing defeat
I remember watching Alien
I remember being scared
I remember being in awe
I remember when I didn’t need to remember
I remember where I left my keys
I remember things I don’t need to know
I remember but usually I forget

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HEIDI KLEPAC

Nathan Hale High School, 12th Grade
WITS Writer, Cody Pherigo

Noise

Flying past my head, buzzing around like bees
Taking all the space I need.
Hungry for what can’t be filled by food,
I won’t be consumed by this collective mood.
The looks, the sighs
Trying to cause someone else’s demise
Talking just to hear their voice, pushing opinions on others,
It’s coming from your friends, your sisters, your brothers.
The notions they try to pass, the judgment that they breathe
As soon as you stop listening, all they do is leave.
The power we wield is illusive
But we all have the ability to make it conducive
So everything we touch doesn’t become corrupt
This change will be beautiful, if not a bit abrupt.

Remove the spit from your ears, I’ll get you a Q-tip
It won’t be long until something good slips—
Into the freshly peeled open eyes,
We have to become our own allies.
Release the tension they built into your shoulders,
Remember you don’t have to be a noise shareholder.
It’s something we can all do individually,
But this change has to be habitually—
Used in the minds that we control
We shouldn’t continue to sink into this black hole.

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But it’s easy to merely talk.
It’s much harder to start rebuilding the good blocks.
Rather than making our eyes roll back
And continuing with all our flak
Open our mouths to spread peace we ought.
Cause hey, you know, it’s worth a shot.

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KENNY LE

Franklin High School, 12th Grade
WITS Writer, Minh Nguyen

Dear ________,

Hey there. Yes, you; the one with a warm smile and bright
eyes. I know you’re not listening and that you’ll never read this,
for better or for worse, but I just wanted to tell you something -
something that I’ve been keeping inside me for as long as I have
known you. I don’t know if saying this outloud will change anything,
but opening up about this doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, when
I don’t think about it too much. So here goes nothing...

Our story begins two years ago when you appeared out of
the blue right in front of me. I didn’t know you nor did I ever see
you before, yet there was something about you that made you
stick out - stick out and stay in my head for the next hour, the
next day, and even all of next week. Maybe it was that smile that
radiates a comforting warmth to all those around you, or those
eyes that showed the bright dreams of a young girl, or maybe it
was because you accidentally bumped into someone and reacted
awkwardly to the situation. But whatever it was, you caught my
eye and like the shy cat that I am, curiosity got the better of me.
While I didn’t approach you right then and there, I found you
online a few days later because, well, this is the 21st Century, and
I sent you a message in the hopes that maybe this curiosity was
mutual. Though, the instant after I sent you that first message, I
instantly regretted what I did. I freaked out and almost threw my
phone against the wall, but I stopped when a notification popped
up. Much to my surprise, you actually responded. And the rest is
history, or so as they say. Actually, it isn’t what they say because
this isn’t a story with a happy ending; it’s more of story that has its
ups and downs and continues to be written.

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From our brief conversation that one day in the summer,
I kind of figured that you didn’t want to talk to me even if we
weren’t complete strangers - I found out later that we had mutual
friends. Our encounters were brief and awkward at most, in
person and online as well. While I kept trying to overcome the
awkwardness by talking to you more, I ended up pushing you
further and further away. And after a certain point I just gave up.
I wish I could say something did happen that summer and that we
would have become friends or something like that. But to be quite
honest with you, I don’t even remember why I actually wanted to
be friends with you. Soon you faded and became nothing more
of a conversational topic that I had with friends about. From long
nights drawn out until two or three in the morning, to just passing
the time while we waited for food at restaurants. After spending
so much time thinking of you, it was hard to just move on. I knew
that it was for the best if I did so, but as much as it pains me to
admit, I haven’t accomplished that yet. Somehow, you’re still in
my mind, even if it’s a very small part.

A year later, I walked into a staff training located on the lower
South side of Seattle, somewhere I didn’t expect you to be. But
much to my surprise, you were there, standing directly in front of
me and talking to others in the room. I was shocked and I stood
there not knowing what to do. Once the door creaked to a close,
you turned around and I too saw the surprise in your eyes as our
gazes met. However, you waived and said hi to me with the same
smile that caught my attention long ago. I mustered a smile and
sat down, trying to hide the nervous excitement I had. When I
thought I had calmed myself, you sat down next to me and said hi
once more.

As I reflect on my relationship with you, I can say that I don’t
know what we are. Acquaintances? No, probably not. Friends?
That might be a stretch. But whatever we are, I just wanted to
tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the ways thing went when I
first talked to you, and how awkward we were when we first met
in person. I know that it must have been weird to have a random
guy with a few mutual friends try to talk to you, and I don’t blame

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you for the way you responded. For awhile, I tried to live with the
knowledge that we would never be, that you and I would never
be friends, share laughter together, or spend our time talking
about life. And that as we prepare to go off to college, I hope that
someday you find it in yourself to change your mind about me,
forgive me for all the things that did and did not happen. And if
you ever get the chance to read this, we should go grab coffee
together sometime and start again.
Love,
Kenny

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GENEVA LONGHEYER

Puesta del Sol Elementary School, 4th Grade
WITS Writer, Evelin Garcia

Oda a mi Papa

Me ama más que al aire,
al océano, al mundo,
al sol en su pelo rubio.

Es alto y flaco.
Con mis mismos pensamientos
que nadie sabe.

Ama a su familia
y haría todo para que
estuviéramos seguros.

Es suave como un
gran peluche.
Suena como amor volando.
Huele al amor,
casi estoy llorando.

Mi corazón llora con
tanto amor.
Cuando me das un abrazo
nuestros corazones lloran juntos.
Amamos con el corazón gigante.

Lloro mis lagrimas,
cada una hace un océano.
Más grande que el mundo
cada lágrima es, cuánto te amo.

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Nunca voy a olvidarte.
¡Gracias!

Ode to my Dad

He loves me more than the air,
the ocean, the world,
The sun in his blond hair.

He is tall and skinny.
With my same thoughts
that nobody knows.

He loves his family
and would do everything to make sure
we were safe

He’s soft like a
great stuffed animal
sounds like love flying.
smells of love,
I’m almost crying

My heart cries with
so much love.
When you give me a hug
our hearts cry together.
We love with the giant heart.

I cry my tears,
each one makes an ocean.
Bigger than the world
Every tear is, how much I love you.

I will never forget you.
Thank you!

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SARAH MCGLYNN

Nathan Hale High School, 9th Grade
WITS Writer, Danny Sherrard

I Am the Fabric

I am the fabric on a lying carpet
I don’t always get to choose my path
The wind guides me
The tigers watch me from below
Hungry, but happy
Each part of me a thread woven in
The tiger’s claw at me but can’t reach
Sometimes I get ripped but there’s more thread
There’s a place I’m going but I don’t know where yet
People sometimes join me and help guide where I go
The tigers sometimes veer me off path
I’m blind but content
I’m colorful, but misunderstood
Each thread has power
You are blind to my pattern but not the masterpiece my pattern

makes
You’re only on one side so you never truly see me
I can show you a new side, but then the tigers will grin
You don’t know what it’s like to see what I see
You don’t see the opaque wall blocking my wandering hope
You don’t know what it’s like to have your tassels soaring through the

wind
You won’t know what my tigers are
The higher I fly the more unique the perspective
I notice things my tigers can’t and won’t
You won’t know what path I’ve left damp when claws drained hope
You won’t know what my stitching means or understand the detailed

story my thread speaks

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Unaware you help me, you reveal my destiny.
The tigers silent over the winds’ roar
Tigers claws weak to the fabric’s cradle
A new design each time I’m stitched
I give the tigers and winds a purpose
The tigers and winds in turn give me a purpose

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SPENCER McWATTERS

Alki Elementary School, 5th Grade
WITS Writer, Jeanine Walker

Alone

Counting stars can be lonely.
Struggling to explore.
Abandoned in a polluted world.
Lonely in a polluted world.

Exploring the abandoned world.
Struggling to be lonely.
Polluted stars everywhere.
Counting abandoned houses alone.

Watching the abandoned stars.
Struggling to not pollute,
exploring all alone.
Counting the places I can explore.

Exploring the polluted world.
Struggling to count.
Lonely stars up at night.
Feeling abandoned, all alone.

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TUULA NADEZHDA MORLEY

Port Townsend High School, 12th Grade
WITS Writer, Gary Copeland Lilley

Confederate Flags and
Dollar Store Perfume

Tampa Florida
Ultimate tourist destination
Daydreaming in paradise
Except your days are day treatment and your dreams are

non-existent
Buying dollar store perfume to erase the scent of your past
Crying in a restaurant booth not because the world makes you

sad
But because you forgot what it was like to be in the world at all
Deep dark secrets spill like pen ink as the Floridian sky turns black
Eating sweet tarts in hotel elevator

No swimming
alligators may be present

Standing beside her
Long blonde hair
Baby blue eyes brighter than the first-floor pool
Making pastel colors turn neon
Buying cheap chocolate in hotel lobby
Leaving it outside her hotel door
Running so she won’t see you
Getting caught and laughing as she wraps her arms around you

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Oversized Adirondack chairs
Six-hour days turned to 24 hour days when admitted
No longer sunny skies
White walls
High fences
Hopes not quite as high

Brunette with confederate flag nails
In a predominantly black hospital
Claims it’s history
Knows it’s horror

Spends three and a half days
Asking for sweatshirt
AC freezing your skin
Gets sweatshirt
Girl asks for it
You think you’re self-less until the only comforting thing you have

could be taken away in seconds

You say no

Dinner on green tray
Two Styrofoam bowls per person
But don’t forget dessert
No calorie, neon pink, next to nothing peel-off lid frozen

concoction
You eat it because it tastes sweet and allows you to feel...

something
In math class we multiply base times height not benzodiazepines

Entering real world again
Leaving behind what felt like your seven-year-old sister in a

hospital where the walls felt like they were whiter than modern
day supremacy

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Giving her some shirts so she didn’t have to wear the same
bleach-scented hospital gown they gave her a week ago

Back in oversized office building
Third floor
Six-hour day resumes
Going on outing with fellow anxious teenagers
Purposely falling out of coffee shop chair in middle of mall to

show you can handle embarrassment
Latino boy breaks mirror to defy superstition that comes with the

disease
Shy girl touches toilet seat
feels germs climbing over her extremities
Little boy
Arms tucked into sweatshirt
Can’t take them out
the air will kill him
Takes arms out for the first time in public
Feels the air
Feels what the eyes cannot see

Discharge day
Balloons
Cake from local superstore if your wallet hasn’t already been

emptied from treatment
Plastic tables with fake wood coating
Plethora of rolling office chairs
Kids watch you
Teenagers sit in awe
You know you are finally leaving
But you know that they are not yet

What day is it
Discharge day
You talk for a while social anxiety and all

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BECKETT MUCHMORE

McDonald International School, 4th Grade
WITS Writer, David Lasky

HAMNAH NADEEM

Renaissance School of Art and Reasoning, 6th Grade
WITS Writer, Jourdan Keith

I lived in a nice house in Manhattan with my mom, Jordan
Johnson, dad, John Johnson, my sister, Josey Johnson and
brother, Joe Johnson. My father was very close and loved me
the most. Until that night when everything changed, the night
I lost my father and sister. I went into depression. I was mostly
absentminded. My remaining family lost most of our money, the
only thing that was keeping us from being homeless was my mom’s
job at the candy store. Every Sunday, my mom went shopping with
the remaining money after saving for month’s rent. I helped her
carry the boys up to the second floor, and that is the last thing I
remember.

Some say I am lucky, others say I am doomed. When I woke
up, I was confused. I tried to kick off the sheets but the pain in my
waist kept me from doing that. I am sitting up now. I pull off the
covers with my hand.

I screamed. I slapped myself across the face, making sure
I was not dreaming. I wasn’t. All of the sudden, it was hard to
breath. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My legs. They were... gone!

I was out in a coma for four month – four whole months!
The doctor said that I fell off the stairs and had a major
concussion; he said that I had banged my legs multiple times on
the metal stairs and the damage was far more than bruises. While
I was out, an infection had started to build up and if the doctor
had not cut off my legs, I would have never woken up.

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A nurse brought my mom and brother into my room. My
mom had dark circles under her eyes. Even though she was
smiling, I could still see the sadness in her eyes. The look in her
eyes reminded me of a memory I had been trying to forget for six
months, the memory I dreaded the most, the night they left me
forever.

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KEAGAN NORDSTROM

Port Townsend High School, 11th Grade
WITS Writer, Gary Copeland Lilley

Hands

1. The oldest hands I know rest on a glossy island. A perpetual
red light cloaking her small, frail frame. A dull, yellow pin resting
on the bottom of a brassy lamp, “I’ve Survived Damn Near
Everything” which was once a sentiment of superiority, now a yelp
for help. A faint cloud of doctor’s hands surround her cut, scarred
body. In and out of procedures, her hands show the lasting
damage her own body has sent her way.

Hands are draped in a soaked towelette of stale age. A
medical sacrifice of a recently removed thumb stands as a
proverbial Purple Heart. And that heart weighs her down with
insecurity and worry as a shackle of her past.

Portraits of innocent young hands marching through the
depths of Vietnam, foreign lands, guns brandished in their grip
decorate the surrounding walls. Toms and Johnnies from the past,
frozen in place behind a thin glass barrier, gazing into the deep
velvet home of a woman who’s afraid of the bustling rush of time.

2. The bloated, bruised and scarred hands of a man sitting on the
end of a pier. He called himself River, and discussed his life to a
group of young, unsuspecting hands as he tuned his guitar on the
end of an aged, whittled down pier.

A faint tale of him shattering his hand against brick wall daily,
in hopes of forming an iron fist, aggravated at the idea of being a
white set of hands, among a majority black-handed school.

That of course, as high schools go, was grounds to weaponize
and demonize these hands over senseless and petty differences
such as race.

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His iron fist served him well as a tool to fit in. When he was
a rounded peg, forcing his way into a square hole, he pursued.
With violence and hazy aggression. A teary-eyed screech for
acceptance.

He now totes that iron fist while he rests in the depressing,
slippery pit of poverty. Raising it high against his body, which is
now a silent time bomb, eating at itself. The cellular warfare going
on in his cracked and spoiled guts.

He told these listening hands what he does for fun. Disregard
for the aimless lives of the flocking seagulls as he fed them raw
noodles, under the childish impression that the food was bloating
in their stomach, slowly killing them. Much like his own biological
impediment.

This fist, which was made for fighting, now has since gone
limp with acceptance. His end was near, but he was accepting. As
if the iron has been melted and reformed into the long discarded
dog-tag of a soldier in a war that cannot be won. A war against
biology gone rampant, eating himself to the bone until he is a
withered branch of a man.

These sore, broken hands still played melodies of purity and
acceptance, no doubt a direct facet of this somber realization of
mortality.

He would laugh at twisted and mangled stories in his younger
years, tales of writing a letter to the local bully with his own
hands’ blood. As if words weren’t threatening enough, he needed
to punctuate his phrases at the expense of his pain. Perhaps even
back then, before the hellish internal war, he was feeling hopeless.
Like he had nothing to lose from the start.

The group of undamaged, unexperienced palms left him
without words, but instead excuses. A simple goodbye and
shuffling away as River sat alone, melting in his own blissful dread.

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ZOE PAPADAKIS

Catharine Blaine K-8 School, 6th Grade
WITS Writer, Greg Stump

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SOFIANNA PARVIZ

Laurelhurst Elementary School, 4th Grade
WITS Writer, Samar Abulhassan

The World as I See It

A burst of green on turquoise glass
Spider silk glittering like diamonds
Smooth shoots against
rough sea-green
Daylight coming
in a haze
flecked with dust balls here and there
Climbing higher
reaching toward the light
Webs creating figures around
a shifting blue green
A young plant trusts a house for support
as it advances with its life
Just like the window in the basement
And the new shoot climbing
something scratched and dirty
Each thing has its own beauty

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CELIC REYNOSO-CANALES

Seattle Children’s, Age 12
WITS Writer, Seattle Nelson

A Battle with a Lion

Sometimes it could be hard.
It’s like a lion eats part of my hand, when I get some bad news.
And the good news, and feeling better, is like I take a sword
and I slash the lion.

We are fighting between two mountains, on a bridge between
them.

When I slash the lion, he will be lying down by the mountain.
I am wearing the armor of God.
The lion is growling at me, with his mouth open.
After the slash, he drops with a heavy sound, like a big rock.
Then I will raise my sword and get the victory, and stand on the

lion.

The war will end someday.
The lion will be dead.
I will get the Victory.

Una Batalla Con un León

A veces puede ser difícil.
Es como un león se come parte de mi mano, cuando recibo

malas noticias.
Y las buenas noticias, y sentirse mejor, es como tomar una espa-

da
y corté el león.

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Estamos luchando entre dos montañas, en un puente entre ellos.
Cuando ataque al león, él estará acostado en la montaña.
Estoy usando la armadura de Dios.
El león me gruñe, con la boca abierta.
Después del corte, cae con un sonido pesado, como una gran

roca.
Entonces levantaré mi espada y obtendré la victoria, y me pararé

sobre el león.
La guerra terminará algún día.
El león estará muerto.
Conseguiré la Victoria.

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NOAH ROCKEY

TOPS K-8 School, 7th Grade
WITS Writer, Alex Madison

Hard Crimson

I was going home across a large, muddy field one day after
school. It was fall, and the field had crimson leaves and dozens
of other colors scattered across it covering the thick mud. As I
was walking, my left foot sank into a small puddle. I couldn’t tell it
was a puddle because of the leaves floating on it. I felt cold water
subsume my shoe. It was as if my foot was under a broken pipe of
gushing water.

As I lifted my foot from the puddle, I noticed a very
interesting boy stride past me. He was wearing glasses, and
had five thin and large books under his arm. He looked like a
stereotypical nerd. After he rushed by me, he turned his head
for a second. I realized that it was Bill from my biology class.
Suddenly, my friend Henry came sprinting towards my left where
Bill was walking. He came to a stop right behind Bill, and then
pushed him into a flat row of crimson leaves for no apparent
reason. A shiver of guilt flooded my body. I saw Bill’s glasses fall off
his face. They landed perfectly, front side up, but were crushed
under the stack of books he was carrying.

Henry was in hysterics at the pain he caused Bill. He simply
turned around and walked off as if nothing had happened. As his
laughter became distant, I approached Bill.

“Jeez, are you okay, Bill?”
“Yay, I’m fine,” he muttered.
Once Bill regained his sight, he stared at me. I saw the anger
through his face. “Go away, Wyatt! I’ve seen you hang out with
Henry,” he yelled.
“Yeah, but... I’m not like him,” I said.
“Sure you’re not. Just go away.”

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I tried to get in a word, “but I ...”
“What?!” Bill demanded.
Although I had not really done anything wrong, I could not
think of how to justify myself.
Bill wiped the tears from his eyes with his fist. He gathered his
muddy books and now broken glasses and walked away.
I felt two fingers repeatedly tapping me on the shoulder. I
turned around and saw Henry.
“Come on, let’s go to the arcade,” he said eagerly.
He had a roll of quarters. Before I could say anything, he
pulled me off the field down a concrete sidewalk. He ran down
ahead of me. I followed him at a synchronized pace.
“Hey Henry,” I said.
He did not hear me over the heavy rain and cars on the
street. So I kicked water from the side walk all over his pants to
get his attention.
“What’s your problem?” he said in confusion.
“What’s my problem? My problem’s that you’re a bully,” I said.
“No I’m not!” he said with a surprised expression on his face.
“You’re so arrogant,” I laughed.
“Ok, what did I even do?” he asked.
“You pushed Bill to the ground” I said.
“Oh yeah wasn’t that hilarious?” he laughed.
“No it wasn’t!” I exclaimed.
“What, are you friends with him now?” he said.
“No, you’re just an idiot,” I said.
“Yeah I’m an idiot, but not you. You’re so intellectual and
wise,” he said sarcastically.
“I hate you!” I said furiously.
Henry walked back up the sidewalk and mumbled, “Idiot.”
I stepped on a twig that broke so easily and never to
reconnect again, just like my friendship with Henry.
A couple of days later, I bumped into Bill again at school.
He was leaning against a tree staring off into the foggy distance.
Although I couldn’t see what Bill was specifically looking at, he
looked quite bored. I thought to myself. Maybe if I were to lend
him my Marvel comic book, I could bond with him and regain his

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trust. At this moment, I remembered that I had been in this exact
same place and sat under the exact same tree before. However,
it was summer, the trees were covered with a thick coat of solid
red leaves. With an autumn breeze that sent a shiver through me.
As a leaf fell into my palm, I knew it was the start of fall and now a
chance of a new friendship.

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EDGAR ROQUE LARIN

Evergreen High School, 9th Grade
WITS Writer, Raúl Sánchez

morir es Nuestro
Renacer

Desde nuestro nacimiento
empezamos a morir;
Nuestra vida en un momento
comenzamos a escribir.
Nuestra alma encapsulada
en un disfraz no escogido,
Se libera desmaquillada
hacia un lugar desconocido.

Muchos lo llaman muerte
yo lo llamo renacer
y tenemos la gran suerte
de volver a amanecer.

Lo mejor aún nos espera
esto es mera traición
lo mejor aún nos espera
al otro lado del telón.

Por fin veremos el lienzo
que actualmente no entendemos
y estaremos ante el comienzo
de todo lo que, al fin, comprendemos.

Morir para nacer
ese es nuestro deber.

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LORETTA ROSE

B.F. Day Elementary School, 3rd Grade
WITS Writer, Katy Ellis

Sadness Treehouse

The rain is leaking through the roof
All the food is moldy
The water is brown
There is no bed
The floor feels rough on your back.
Dead leaves blow through the broken door
You hear the wind howling
and you feel it blow through the door
The walls are blue
On the outside it’s broken down
and it is very small

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JOELLE RUDOLF

Washington Middle School, 6th Grade
WITS Writer, Arianne True

Nothing is Perfect

Every day you want more.
Every day you want righteousness.
No room for mistakes, no room for failure
This world would look perfect in your eyes,
But look deeper…

Deeper into the sparkling blue oceans and past the sunny skies
Deeper across the painted pink flowers and through the lush grass

fields

You remember how darkness brings light and flowers bloom
only in the pouring rain
You’re reminded that mistakes bring learning which leads to success.
That land must be bare to be green
We must realize that nothing is perfect and everything has its

imperfections
We must not linger on the thought of failure
because this will only bring sorrow
Embrace your mistakes, try your best, and every day will bring

sunshine

No one is perfect though we all desire to be
Everyone has their own unique imperfections

that make them extraordinary

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KIYOSHI SAKAUYE

The Center School, 10th Grade
WITS Writer, Matt Gano

I m Planting Waterfalls
a Letter to America

America, where have your white stars flown?
Why do the stripes on your
flag look like crossbones?
Gravestone pathways you say...
America, why do I see my own blood river bathing
In war badges run
between my fingers.

America, I’ve grown with my hand on my heart,
north arrow pointing your flag,
mark detention if I dare didn’t say
“one nation under god” but
America, where is my salute back?
America, when will we write Japanese internment camps into our

minds I find that
Nothing else matters except Pearl Harbor cause
I was taught that
my peoples only honor
Was suicide.
That Hiroshima and Nagasaki were hallucinations make it a
Concentration to forget but not of
Ships hurdling so

America, when will my eyes show up in his?

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America, why does the Earth feel like it isn’t moving but only in
homeless “sanctuaries”?

America, coat your shoulders in ice, don’t let the sun shine don’t
Think there’s time
You know.

America, when will I see diversity like
innocent eyes I once thought.
When will liberty rest in my palms never let go of me
It tastes like lemon zest freedom…
Acquired.

America, kiss every country.
Make love to oceans.
Hold hands with me once more I will ask

America, will you kiss me?

America, ask me to dance to the sound of
ink drips
Ask me to sing to the metronome of every heartbeat
Ask me to read my poetry to the audience of juries.

America, give me the contract signs to hourglass my mother’s
future

Give me pencils to create word flows rather than gun shows to
delve in.

Give me pride in my voice I hid in.

America, let me paint your white stars.
Your hands are earthquakes
Auto-drive me into manual.
Smell sea salt
grow mother sins of our country
sample my words into your anthem and

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hold my hand like a baby’s tell me
that…

America, my words will coin flip with guarantee
Change my own hiking trail
Plant waterfalls on the way.
Home isn’t the sweetest place but
It’s all I know.
So…
maybe anger isn’t the medicine that fits my throat.
Maybe my Japanese roots of Buddhist beliefs should show and

grow out of my typewriter phone…
my friend.

So…
America,
Unglass your eyes
Pull your mind’s curtains point it east and west from me.
Listen to my syllables because
that’s my only heartbeat
listen to my line breaks because
That’s the only time I stop
Listen to me
Because, America, a mother should listen
To her child.

81

CARLOS SANCHEZ SWENSON

McDonald International School, 5th Grade
WITS Writer, Evelin Garcia

Espana

Cuando entras al avión
De repente echas de menos al aire fresco.
Llegas a España y la humedad te da fuerte en la cara.
Sales con más hambre que un oso.
La playa a tu lado y restaurantes cerca,
la vista es bonita y el agua te refresca.
Spain
When you enter the plane
Suddenly you miss the fresh air.
You arrive in Spain and the humidity hits you hard in the face.
You are hungrier than a bear.
The beach next to you and restaurants nearby,
The view is beautiful and the water refreshes you.

82

KONNER S. SATO

Seattle Children’, 6th Grade
WITS Writer, Ann Teplick

Letters to the Road

Letter from the Tire to the Road

You may hurt me with your potholes,
but you make me feel useful
because if I weren’t there,
you’d be getting hurt by my cousins, the rims.
You give me purpose,
but I get as bald as the actor
Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.
Your rocks damage my other cousins, the hubcaps.
Your puddles get college students
at the bus stop wet.
But you get filled in with asphalt,
and make me feel as happy as my driver.
Though many accidents happen on you,
you will be there forever.

Letter from the Potholes to the Road

You give me a home.
You let me damage cars,
but when you get fixed,
I have no purpose.
I have no motivation.

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When I return as a bigger pothole
I feel as happy as a tulip blooming.
But then you get fixed again,
And I’m as angry as the person’s car
I ruined. I will come and go.
I will wait to return bigger and stronger.

84

JOSIE SNAVELY

McDonald International School, 4th Grade
WITS Writer, David Lasky
Space

85

OLIVE STIEBER

Cascade K-8 Community School, 1st Grade
WITS Writer, Greg Stump

The Sun Switches the Moon

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87

RI SUN YU

B.F. Day Elementary School, 4th Grade
WITS Writer, Ramon Isao

Sarah the Weather Girl

In the clear blue sky in a cloud, a girl was born. Her mom and
dad found her in front of their house door. They thought she was
a normal kid. So they just named her Sarah.

She loved snow. One summer, when Sarah was three years
old, she missed snow so much. She imagined she was with snow.
After she imagined, she felt something cold. She looked down
and she saw snow. She said, “snow!” She said the word so loud
that everyone came out of their houses. They did not want to see
snow. Sarah ruined people’s summer. Because of that, kids were
jealous of her powers. They did not want to be friends with her.

One day, when Sarah was 12 years old, there was a BIG
HURRICAINE! Everyone was so scared they went to their
basement and hid. Even Sarah’s family was scared and went to
their basement. But that did not help. It was coming closer and it
was already bursting with water. Sarah was getting a little scared.
But that did not stop her from going to her basement. She bravely
went near the hurricane and talked to it.

“You, hurricane! You don’t scare me!” Sarah started getting
mad instead of scared. She put the hurricane and make it blast
to water. Then she quickly froze the water. The ground quickly
turned to ice. Since it was winter and the ground was ice, she
went to her house and got her ice skates. She yelled, “Come on,
everyone! Let’s ice skate!”

Then, people brought their ice skates and ice skated. After
then, everyone liked Sarah. She had a lot of friends, and she had
a good life after that.

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BETEL TADESSE

West Seattle High School, 9th Grade
WITS Writer, Daemond Arrindell

Definition

Beauty is breathing
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale
It catches your attention
It chews you up and spits you out
Why don’t I look like her?
She doesn’t eat
So you stop eating
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale
You fail, no surprise
You throw up
You do it again
After every single meal
Your heart slows down
You pump less oxygen
Inhale… Exhale… Exhale
ER, then in-patient
Feeding tube, and weights shoved in your shirt
You’re sick, mentally ill
You need help
You try
You breathe
Your run
InhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhale
You’re getting better
You’re beautiful
You’re breathing
You don’t need to try to look like her
Because you are her

89

KOREB A. TADESSE

Lafayette Elementary School, 4th Grade
WITS Writer, Karen Finneyfrock

The City of Poetry

Poetry is a city with street lamps and
buildings made with words. The stanzas
cover the ground and are the streets and
avenues. The repetition is in the parks
imitating grass and trees. Similes
are the rain in the clouds. Personification
is the people, the birds that are alive.
The lines are the glue between
the bricks that are metaphors.
The poem is the heart of the city.
Poetry is a city of Wonderment
and Amazement, a city that comes
alive.

90

THOMAS TAYLOR

View Ridge Elementary School, 5th Grade
WITS Writer, Kathleen Flenniken

Arundel Castle

This castle seems strange
The walls have no soldiers
like the bare mossy trees
with no leaves.
These shadows may be
painted with cannon dust.

The texture should be hard
with no escape but now
it’s battered and worn.
I wander through
the ghost-like halls hoping
to find someone but
no one is here.

What happened? I don’t know
is there anyone here
or do I have to defend
the castle all alone?

91

CHARLES THOMAS

Ballard High School, 10th Grade
WITS Writer, Karen Finneyfrock

a Blanket of Black

A blanket of black swoops over the park, scouring
the group for prey.
One of the members quickly notices the bright white bun
of a hot dog bounce off a trash can.
The others dive down, all wanting some of the new treasure.
One sharp crow rips a single piece off of the bun, but
before it can get more, a scaly, weathered wing slaps
the rest of the hot dog away.
A dozen beaks all poke at the food and it is gone
within the blink of an eye.
The rest of the claws lift off of the ground, without
getting a single bite.
This group is disappointed, but not surprised,
and hastily moves onto the next thing.

92

NICO TOBIAS

Seattle Children’s, Age 15
WITS Writer, Sierra Nelson

My Ode to an ICU Bed

I really like the ICU beds.
They remind me of my pillow.
They’re always unpredictable —
when you turn the head down, the back will inflate,
when someone sits down on the edge, it will deflate,
when someone stands up, it will inflate,
if you set something on the bed that shouldn’t be there,
it will cave in very deep.
But it’s great for sleeping —
when you lie in the bed, you go into it
and it adjusts to you and your body —
and I’m out like a flash at night.
And it makes these sounds when it changes.
It sounds like a computer turning on,
or the air conditioning turning on,
like a suction sound, or releasing air.
There it goes again!
I’m used to the sound, it’s not a problem,
because everything else makes up for it —
like all the gadgets, TV, room, you can turn on the lights.
And it’s softer,
so much softer than the other hospital beds.
It’s the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in,
even better than my bed at home!

93

ANGELINA TORRES-HERNANDEZ

The Hutch School, 11th Grade
WITS Writer, Samar Abulhassan

abcedarian Sky of
whimsy

Apple seeds
Bring summer to life.
Cabin fever wears off as you pick
Daisies and tulips. The
Earth is awake and so are you. Bird
Feathers are yellow and bright.
Gardens produce the tastiest
Herbs and vegetables. Fresh
Ideas are anew and on the rise.
June bugs begin to buzz and
Kites are soaring, sly
Like birds who carry a
Message.
Neapolitan ice cream for this special
Occasion.
Parks are filled with joyous children,
Quick with each step they take
Reaching their arms to the
Sky, almost
Touching the sun. It’s their
Utopia.
Various songs play their
Whimsical tune.
Xylophones chime in the distance.
Yearn for the
Zany taste of summer.

94

NAOMI VANCE

Alki Elementary School, 5th Grade
WITS Writer, Jeanine Walker

Horse

to wonder
to live once more

to cry lavender tears.
Like a horse on a snow topped hill
that made me blind.

In the twilight
to all the wonder.
did we make her
blind.

To wonder if all the horses
ran into the water in a
single leap

in a lavender dream.
they cry themselves to sleep
the sound of my dad’s
soft call

to wonder.
If the things we made
cry

I am slipping away.
in the twilight all is gone.
but the wonder.

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of the lavender people
will run in the water
so cold that their hearts freeze
but they still cry on my horse
I know all my life can
change
with
one
life
wonder
am I blind take my sight
all I saw
and give it to an old friend
the lavender horse from my dream
the people cry and dream
can you see the love

96

JAZZMIN WALLACE

Washington Middle School, 6th Grade
WITS Writer, Arianne True

When Will It Stop

Black lives matter to me means the race of black also matters
And you have not been taking black lives seriously
We are human beings that also have lives
We have sons, daughters, husbands, and wives
Killing us is in the manner of unfair rage
We don’t seek violence, we want peace in every age
We have been saying this for at least fifty years or so
Black lives matter is standing up to even the thought of a blow
White man as we call killer to the black
we will not be silenced we will act
We will win back the crown
And we will stand tall and most of all we will bring peace
Have you ever heard of he who had a dream
That black people will be freed from racist things
Separations and segregations around the nation
A movement is trying to change,
Yes to change and rearrange
While the white man is going to the gun range
They are shaping this world into oppression genocide depression
and even suicide
I tried to stay strong yes I tried
but though I cried to the Lord I pray and say may, my glorious
Lord release these devils this day
No one knows the power of men the Lord that defends
No one knows where the time goes
I guess it was wasted or no one knows who or where placed it
The struggles of our inventions
the white man claimed it

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They stole everything
Even the ideas that popped from the top of our brains
That were forced to be rearranged
To think that killing each other is not even a tiny bit strange
All I pray
For peace in every age
And in every race
Like at the first day
Of school two different races kick it in different places, it’s cool
And they become the best of friends
‘Til the end
And like I said
The Lord defends
Their friendship that is not pretend
Our voices will not be kept inside
We will make movements from back to back with pride.

98

DELIA WARD-SMITH

View Ridge Elementary School, 5th Grade
WITS Writer, Kathleen Flenniken

Winter

Snowshoes by the back door
You
outside
in the shiny sugar-like snow
crisp, icy
smooth like dust
Surprising
how it flows luckily like a bubble
The dog barks but you don’t notice.

You by the back door
the shiny sugar-like snow
Outside
Smooth like dust
Crisp and icy
how it flows luckily like a bubble
Surprising
how the dog barks but you don’t notice.

99