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THE LAST THING THIS EAGLE SEES 2011-2012 WITS Digital Anthology
The Last Thing This Eagle Sees 2011-2012 WITS Digital Anthology
Contents Writers in the Schools
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Dear Reader
5
Alec Slater, Wilson High School
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Eagle Defined
Y Ya Se Va
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Mary Rechner, WITS Program Director
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Lucas Wyman, Wilson High School
I Used to Believe... Andy and Ashley I Am
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•
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Mohaugany Cherry, Madison High School
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Fatuma Gedi, Madison High School
Jordan Randall, Roosevelt High School
Brilliant Night What is a Tree? Set it Off
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• •
9 11
12
Gabi DiLullo, Wilson High School
13
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Get Out a Pencil! A Writing Utensil
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Amen Mengistu, Franklin High School
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Morgan Jansen, Cleveland High School
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Henry Li, Wilson High School
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• Ian Leggatt, Open Meadow High School
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Overthrow Wall Street Baptism
Ian C. Michael, Grant High School
Shanika Hickson, MEEK
The Waiting Game
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Las Afueras / The Outdoors
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Johhny Hergert, Wilson High School
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Writers in the Schools Writers-in-Residence Angela Allen, Lorraine Bahr, Carmen Bernier-Grand, Elyse Fenton, Nicole Georges, Amanda Gersh, Cindy Williams GutieĚ rrez, Emily Harris, Hunt Holman, John Isaacson, Sara Jaffe, Amy Minato, S. Renee Mitchell, Laura Moulton, Alexis Nelson, Mark Pomeroy, Ismet Prcic, Donna Prinzmetal, Katie Schneider, Devan Schwartz, Arnold Seong, Matthew B. Zrebski Visiting Authors Chimamanda Adichie,Tom Brokaw, Heidi Durrow, J. Hill, Anis Mojgani, Abraham Verghese Participating Teachers Barbara Berger, Matt Boyer, Gene Brunak, Annelise Bulow, Mike Cullerton, Jaque Dixon, Stephanie D’Cruz, Anne Dierker, Jerry Eaton, Bianca Espinosa, Stefanie Goldbloom, Kelly Gomes, David Hillis, Cindy Irby, Melinda Johnston, Paige Knight, Tom Kane, Andy Kulak, Stephen Lambert, Dylan Leeman, Dave Mylet, Steve Naganuma, Marie Pearson, Arlie Peyton, Karen Polis, Michelle Potestio, Mary Rodeback, Alicia Smith, Kris Spurlock, Henise Telles-Ferriera, Erin Tillery, Dana Vigner, Virginia Warfield, Alice Weinstein, Amy Wright, Tracey Wyatt WITS Liaisons Dave Mylet, Eric Levine, Brady Bennon, Linda Campillo, Sandra Childs, Mary Rodeback, Mike Cullerton, Tracey Wyatt, Matt Boyer, Paige Knight Participating Principals Sue Brent, Petra Callin, Margaret Calvert, Carol Campbell, Peyton Chapman, Paul Cook, Shay James, Andrew Mason, A. J. Morrison, Vivian Orlen, Macarre Traynham, Charlene Williams District Liaison Melissa Goff 4
Dear Reader, Like many of the adolescents we serve, Literary Arts’ Writers in the Schools (WITS) program is changing rapidly. Our core residency program, begun in 1996 at Grant High School, continues to provide Portland public high schools with semesterlong writing workshops taught by professional writers: poets, playwrights, journalists, fiction writers, memoirists, and graphic novelists who model the disciplined passion of a creative life and reinforce the importance of the writing process: creating new work, revising, editing, and publication. Each residency culminates in a celebratory student reading at independent bookstores, libraries, galleries, and cafes. To help teens connect the importance of strong writing and creative thinking to the “real world,” we coordinate school visits by local and touring professional authors (Abraham Verghese, Chimamanda Adiche, and Tom Brokaw). Hundreds of students attend our lecture series over the course of the season and are provided free tickets, books, and transportation. At each lecture, 2,500 adults model a passion for reading and appreciating new ideas in an intergenerational environment. Literary Arts brings The Moth, a popular storytelling troupe, to lead a weeklong school-based MothSHOP, which culminates in students telling stories to their peers. WITS collaborates with school librarians to host a city-wide teen poetry slam, “Verselandia!” WITS also offers one-day college writing workshops at several schools, pairing volunteer writing mentors with students to help them develop their college admissions essays. WITS provides extensive logistical support for all of these activities, as underfunded schools do not otherwise have the administrative capacity to take advantage of these opportunities. If you would like to join this team that makes our work with youth so successful, please make a donation to Writers in the Schools at http://www.literary-arts.org/ product/donate/.
Mary Rechner Writers in the Schools Program Director 5
Eagle Defined
Alec Slater, Wilson High School
Endless blue, to the sky Several clouds, varying in shape Blue-green down below Beneath, a school of trout 5 males, 7 females, then A flash, faster than lightning A splash, quicker than bullets A fish, gliding over the water On its back: 2 feet, armed with knives 2 legs, short snakes dangling 2 wings, powerful as jets 2 eyes, cold, knowing And last witnessed by the trout A beak, hard, sharp as a blade, yellow as tropical sand And the next thing this eagle sees: Lunch.
6
Y Ya Se Va
Lucas Wyman, Wilson High School Y ya se va la tierra: ya se van los árboles y las plantas con sus raíces y hojas. Ya se van los ríos y el océano: se secan y se desaparecen. Y ya se van los animales del mar: todos los tipos de pez, todos los tiburones. Todos, todos se van. Ya se van los desiertos: la arena se encoge el momento que desaparecen. Ya se van las montañas: la nieve se funde y el agua se evapora, la montaña se dobla adentro. Ya se van las cuevas: los techos se caen al suelo y las paredes se mueven adentro. No hay más, nada más. Y ya se va la tierra.
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I Used to Believe...
Mohaugany Cherry, Madison High School
I used to believe in Santa Claus. But now I know of money! I used to believe in secrets. But now I have felt the pain! I used to believe that I was the best writer ever. But now I know about authors and producers! I used to believe I would always be happy. But now I've dealt with life! I used to believe everyone treated everyone equally. But now I've experienced living for almost fifteen years!
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Andy and Ashley
Fatuma Gedi, Madison High School Andy and Ashley are standing next to Ashley's locker. Ashley: I'm leaving you. Andy: Why? Ashley: I'm just not happy. Andy: Why aren't you? I buy you gifts, walk you to the bus stop and always have your back. Ashley: I'm just not feeling it. But we can always be friends. Andy: Friends my ass. We had plans, Ash. Ashley: I know, it's just that... Andy: What? Ashley: I'm just not happy. Andy: Stop using that as an excuse. Tell me the goddamn reason. Ashley: Fine! I like somebody else.
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He starts walking back and forth. Andy: Who? Ashley: You don't know him. Andy asks again in a loud voice. Andy: Who? Ashley looks kind of scared. Ashley: Rey-Rey. Andy: He better watch his back. Ashley: Andy, babe, please don't do anything to him. Andy: Who says I was? Now she's confused. Ashley: You said for him to “watch his back.”
Andy: Yeah but I have better things to do than fight over a girl. He walks away. She starts to cry.
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I Am
Jordan Randall, Roosevelt High School
I am an active athlete who has no schedule I wonder what my purpose is in the world I hear lightning storms I see a storm rolling across the plains with the rumble of thunder I want a house on an Italian hillside I am an active athlete who has no schedule I pretend I am in the middle of a war I feel like I am leaving everything behind I touch the Belgian tigers for their silky touch I worry that feelings will get in the way of life I cry when my mom and dad have given me up I am an active athlete who has no schedule I understand that I am unreadable at times I say that following your heart has its drop-offs I dream of flying I try to do my best at life I hope I can be a good father I am an active athlete who has no schedule
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Brilliant Night
Ian C. Michael, Grant High School
Down the old man’s wrinkled face one tear slid, then another. Growing murky they traced each dirt-filled canyon on his face. They collected at the chin, filling space between unkempt ash-colored wires. His mane of gray thrashed about in the hot, thirsty wind. The old man’s eyes, once love-lit, now were sunken and unseeing. The thick perfume of smoke mingled with winter chill in the midnight sky. The flames flashed like stunning feathers and danced upon the scorched earth. Flames licked the last rose, charred and ashen. Flames made love to the rubble and echoed the stars. A child knelt in the hellish garden. Her pallid skin, marred by bloody cuts, quaked as she fondled the lighter. Shadows appeared and vanished in a moment on her face. Shadows played on the pallid skin of the goddess of destruction. She saw her grandfather, collapsed in the dusty soil. She watched his eyes, devoid of the familiar kindness. She saw him see her. She witnessed the wooden beam fall and strike his forehead, saw for a moment the streak of lovely red before the wall buried his corpse. Sirens flood the street. The girl listens. A voice sounds behind, distant and muffled. Down the young girl’s scarred face slides a single tear. No more follow.
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What is a Tree?
Gabi DiLullo, Wilson High School
What is a tree but branches, a trunk and roots. What is a tree but rough bark and some wood. What is a tree but some thing to cut down when it runs out of use. What is a tree to you?
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Set it Off
Shanika Hickson, MEEK Starbucks: Doesha orders her usual, pound cake and a small hot chocolate. STRANGE VOICE: So, we ignoring each other now? (Doesha turns around to see Idris. Laughs.) DOESHA: Really? I had a feeling I was gon’ run into you somewhere. But nah, I wouldn’t call it that. You following me now? IDRIS: I wouldn’t call it that either, just at the same place at the same time, right? DOESHA: Whatever you say... (Laughs.) You don’t even drink coffee, so what are you doing here? IDRIS: They have other things besides coffee; get off my head girl. (Doesha laughs.)
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So wassup? How come you can’t reply to none of my texts or answer anybody’s calls? DOESHA: Because I’m not on your time schedule. When I’d hit you up, I couldn’t even get a dial tone. You’d send me straight to voicemail. How’s it feel now? IDRIS: (Starting to get upset.) I swear, every time we talk, it’s gotta be on some bullshit. Why can’t we have a civilized conversation? DOESHA: Cuz in order to do that, I’d have to be talking to a civilized person. IDRIS: I see you still tell jokes, huh? DOESHA: Nah, shit’s just reality. IDRIS: You gon’ give me a chance to sit down and talk to you, or you gon’ brush me off? DOESHA: I mean, what is there to talk about? (Idris directs Doesha over to a seat and pulls out a chair.) 15
IDRIS: A lot. What happened to me and you? DOESHA: You happened...Your actions spoke way louder than your words. You didn’t have to tell me you didn’t give a fuck about me. You clearly showed it. IDRIS: (Getting upset.) You know how I felt about you; you also knew the shit I’d do for you. In the beginning of our relationship, Doesha, who was the one giving a fuck? The dude that went out of his way to satisfy you. You’d tell me you’d be going to the house, and I’d find out the next day you were really at some other mutha’fucka’s house. Get mad at me and fuck with one of my niggas cuz you didn’t like what was going on. But nah, I was the one in the wrong, right? DOESHA: I didn’t say you were the only one. I know I did my dirt. I know I fucked up. But what I did was nothing compared to what you’ve put me through. You made me feel like I was nothing. As if my presence didn’t even matter. You’d deny me to the next bitch because you thought they wanted you. How many times did I say to you, ‘Idris, if this isn’t what you want, let me know’? I’d rather the truth hurt me passing from your lips than a lie you told me coming from somebody else.
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IDRIS: How do you think I felt? DOESHA: I never did anything as dramatic as you. Yeah, I may have lied about my location, or who I was with. But Idris, never in my life have I denied you to any other dude for some play. IDRIS: I mean the shit you was doing, you might as well have. DOESHA: I clearly see this conversation isn’t goin’ anywhere, since we’re gonna sit up and play the blame game. Fact of the matter is, we both played a part in it. IDRIS: I don’t want this to be our last conversation, though. DOESHA: You never know, you might run into me at another coffee shop. (Doesha sips the last of her drink and gets up, heading toward the exit.) I’ll see you around. IDRIS: HEY! (Doesha turns around.)
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We’re having this little get together on Saturday at around nine at Jaheem’s house. It’d be nice if you came by. DOESHA: So I can see all your little hoes running around, thinking they really doing something? (Doesha laughs.) I think I’ll pass. IDRIS: I swear you always gotta say some extra shit, man. If I really wanted them, would I be inviting you to come? For real. No bullshit. I just want to kick it with you like old times. DOESHA: Yeah, get me drunk. (Laughs) I’ll hit you up, boy. (Idris leans in and kisses Doesha. A surprised look passes on her face.) Seriously? IDRIS: Yep, seriously. I’ll see you there. 18
(Idris smiles and exits the coffee shop.) I’ll see you there? DOESHA: Like I said, my guy, we’ll see.
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Get Out a Pencil! A Writing Utensil... Amen Mengistu, Franklin High School
But you just gaze out the window and see the Trees turning green. As the flowers are making a scene. The Guys checking out ass, but the grass is losing its green. But you just pass all these people by, like they’re stars in the sky, but they’re not going no where! Unless they improve their grades and comb their hair. The economy’s getting worse and the bar is set higher, so if you want to prosper you have to spread your wings wider. You have a lot of potential, I know it’s true, but channel those thoughts and change yourself into something new. A metamorphosis so exquisite that no one would understand how just one person could change from a boy to a man. So Conquer all, go to infinity AND beyond, nothing can stop your way, and seize—the—day.
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The Waiting Game
Morgan Jansen, Cleveland High School
These days I wait I wait for the rain to pour down my face With just the lightest touch Like a dizzy butterfly But no, it did not happen that way In the brain we so desperately try to pickpocket because we’re too underexposed I don’t want you here as much as the next person. The labels we create make people as sick as the plague With diseased hearts drawn on papers in a ragged red crayon. Having hopes of being thought of as she always wanted. I know some things, Not enough to pass my classes but the underappreciated ones. I call them fun facts. The ones people truly enjoy.
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Overthrow Wall Street
Henry Li, Wilson High School Character: POLICE OFFICER Character: RIOTER Bright lights shine on a mural painted with mobs of angry faces frozen in time. Their expressions are eerily alike. Flying stones, fires, violence, rage, all captured in a single snapshot. Among the crowds, like fish in an ocean, one can see several police officers – their faces are tinted visors underneath black, heavy-armored gear. They fight against a rising tide. The mural is tinted red, as if viewing the scene in unimaginable rage or suggesting the hellishness of it all. One signs says it all: “OVERTHROW WALL STREET” POLICE OFFICER: You are violating state demonstration laws! Disband! Get back! (He swings a baton at the rioter’s head. She steps back, waving a sign that has been broken in two.) POLICE OFFICER: You are under arrest! Drop your sign and get on the ground! RIOTER: You are a shame on society! You are violating our rights! You are violating what is right! POLICE OFFICER: I repeat – you are under arrest. Drop your sign! 22
RIOTER: You’re just a pawn! Don’t you see that? Don’t you see your entire job has been hijacked? We’ve all been hijacked! We need to band together and fight back or we’ll all be destroyed! Don’t you see that? Don’t you see what is right? A single spotlight suddenly illuminates the rioter, even before her last words have fallen. All else is subjected to lie in impenetrable darkness. Rioter’s voice is oddly loud and self-conscious. RIOTER: You know, sometimes I actually think all these radical little bastards have a point. (She cocks her head to one side) And sometimes I actually have a little pity for them. There they are, volunteering their time, here with signs lovingly made in their kitchens or living rooms, and everyone knows they’re not going to win. But oh, I do feel guilty sometimes for what we’re about to do . . . (She glances at a rioter far offstage.) That boy must still be in college. He probably studies hard and has a sweetheart. I’m so sorry. (Her voice cracks.) It’s just not for me to say . . . in the future, someone else like me may join them, and I guess that’s when they’ll have hope, but not in me, not right now . . . (She stifles a sob). The spotlight snaps closed. Rioter’s demeanor changes. No sign she was ever shedding even the slightest tear. She waves her sign. POLICE OFFICER: You do not have a permit. You are trespassing on private property and you are part of a riot disturbing the peace and destroying valuable property. You are under arrest. Drop your sign and lie face-down on the ground!
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Police officer swings with his baton. Half the sign falls on the ground. They struggle. Police officer hits rioter on the side of her head with his baton. Rioter escapes briefly and draws a handgun. She fires three rounds above the officer’s head. Chaos ensues. RIOTER: (quietly) That’ll do it. Police officer tackles rioter. She falls willingly to the ground. As her hands are cuffed, the stage is filled with other sounds. Guns are firing everywhere. The mob is being beaten back, viciously, violently, bloodily. Thuds are heard – the sound of bodies falling. POLICE OFFICER: (quietly) It worked, Margaret!
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Baptism
Ian Leggatt, Open Meadow High School
The dirt beneath my burning feet Scorched air in my tired lungs The red-hot glow of falling embers The earth is bleeding Rifle held tightly in my grasp Knuckles white Night turns into day as the ground shakes Red and green tracers rip overhead It’s an eerie beauty The heat in my soul grows hotter I walk the boundary between hell and earth Marines at my side –brothers A nation on my shoulders Movement left With a pound of trigger-pressure and a crack of thunder I feel the heat in my soul The dirt beneath my feet This is my baptism by fire Bring the rain
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Las Afueras / The Outdoors Johnny Hergert, Wilson High School Estoy solo en la naturaleza. Los ríos como una guitarra. Los pájaros las campanas. El silencio de la nieve. El viento grita. La lluvia suena como un tambor. Todos tocan por la tierra. Nosotros hacemos música bonita pero el mundo es una canción que nosotros nunca crearemos.
I am alone in nature. Rivers like a guitar. Birds are bells. The silence of the snow. The wind screams. The rain sounds like a drum. They all play for the earth. We all make pretty music but the world is a song that we will never create. 26
925 SW Washington st. Portland, OR 97205
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