The Violet Hour Anthology 2017-18 © 2018 Michael Riedell’s UHS Creative Writing Class All rights remain with the individual authors Layout & Design by Blake More & UHS Creative Writing Class Funding for Poet Teaching and this anthology was provided by Mendocino County Office of Education California Poets In The Schools with help from the California Arts Council For information about California Poets InThe Schools, contact: CPITS 2131 19th Avenue #203 San Francisco CA 94116 415-221-4201 www.cpits.org The Violet Hour Anthology 2017-18 Table of Contents Luciana Allende, 8 Maria Andrade Gallegos, 18 Joshua Barrera, 28 amanda bednar, 35 Taylor Bowser, 45 Kenzie Bray, 55 Susana Correa-Avila Robb, 65 Dylan Deguzman, 77 Lucas Dhuyvetter, 87 Emma Dolan, 96 Mateo Flores, 106 Sylvia Fogle, 116 Indigo Funk, 125 Victor DeAnthony Galarza-Guevara , 135 Maya Halfacre, 145 Kailey Holmes, 155 Casserole Jones, 165 Cynthia Kachirisky, 172 Kaitlin Kendall, 182 Aeryn Kline, 192 Ava Larson, 200 Michael Leggett, 208 Lauren Lolonis, 218 Samantha London, 228 Jazmin Ramirez, 235 Carlos Rodriguez, 241 Dani Salazar, 251 Indigo Stewart, 261 Maria Tellez, 271 taylor jane travis, 281 Madison Valente, 289 Andrea Wagner, 293 Sasha Wilkins, 303 Michael Riedell, 213 Biographies, 318 Introduction It began like a prophecy fulfilled, with a solar eclipse. We stood at break together in a strange light, looking up at a celestial event some were calling The Great American Eclipse. Then, before the sun and moon were pulled apart again, we stepped inside the room that became Violet Hour. The name came from our studies of Sappho (630–570 BC), the famous lyric poet from the Greek island of Lesbos. She wrote, “O Evening Star, bringing everything / that dawn’s first glimmer scattered wide…” Some 2500 years later T.S. Eliot borrowed her idea of a time that gathers together all that may have been dispersed: At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. So with the Violet Hour we were brought together, to write, to laugh, to share ideas and opinions. The cohesiveness of the group was clear when our nearly unanimous vote for the name of the class in the early days of September included also the name for the book we would spend the year writing, the book you hold in your hand, Eclipse. Sure, we later second- guessed ourselves and reopened the debate about the book title--the other finalist, Fragments, was also a nod to Sappho--but returned inevitably to Eclipse. The 2017-2018 school year was tumultuous by anyone’s standards. National politics hit new gutter-level lows every other week, and locally we had the terror of the Redwood Complex fires. Then, in February, a mass shooting in Florida dominated our thoughts. Suddenly our country’s obsession with guns was an open conversation led heroically by articulate and extremely determined high school students. For over three weeks following that our class put writing aside and delved into the issues related to school shootings, researching and presenting on guns and the NRA, bullying, non-violent demonstrations, youth movements, mental illness, and the media’s response to violence. Students from Violet Hour participated in and, in some cases, actively organized vigils, walkouts, and an anti-violence rally downtown. They were interviewed in our class and featured in a powerful seven minute piece for our local public radio station. These students showed the long- standing link between writers and social engagement is alive and well. And, on a personal note, I could not have been more proud. During an eclipse, birds will roost and animals will seek out their lairs for comfort and protection. Then the eclipse ends. The Violet Hour that brings us together is replaced by a new day. As “dawn’s first glimmer” scatters us wide, we go out into the world changed by our time together, grateful for the camaraderie, and hopefully determined to help write a better future. M.R. 5-4-18 9 SHOCK THERAPY Luciana Allende The Purpose of Poetry it was stunning surreal even witnessing the recordings of an entire emotional timeline watching someone hash with their feelings after being betrayed by love assaulted with agony lost in lust emptying emotions then those subtle whispers of words that once strung together gave names to things i always knew were there but couldn’t voice because i didn’t know how but She did this woman’s deepest thoughts forbidden feelings written in ink so personal it feels like blood these words stood in reach of my hands my hands that felt like they were holding Hers and She held mine and took me somewhere somewhere beautifully ugly where visiting was welcomed those words positioned perfectly on pieces of paper bonded together by all the hair ties She broke in rage then cried on the kitchen floor about because it wasn’t the hair tie it was Her who felt broken oddly enough i love it how i don’t know Her favorite color but i know what the color of Her mind is i don’t know if She got paid minimum wage but I know i can’t repay Her for what she has given me and the cards I will send will never yellow because my love for poetry will linger long, oh how I enjoy visiting this beautifully ugly place 10 SHOCK THERAPY A Poet’s Form of Direct Characterization Your eyelashes bloom sweet rosemary and jasmine clutched to them tears that tend to sting of citrus which waltz down though petite peaches and plums forgive me freckles that play hopscotch across Your velvet soaked cheeks those gracefully groomed lips bleeding honey onto these crisp sheets whispering that elegantly exquisite lullaby and turning my heart to a lake of lust each time a glimpse of marigold across Your pupils naturally quickening my bloodstream that jawline infused with pride that consumes me absolutely please cut me so I can finally stop squirming You smell like nectarines crimson skies summertime and familiarity Your touch like shots of caffeine revives me You coat me in adoration provide me exploration You’re museum and I’ll never get tired of visiting all I’m trying to say is You’re b e a u t i f u l . THE VIOLET HOUR ANTHOLOGY 11 What We Have Inspired by Sappho Bitter [is their outside perception of devotion] and know this [dear one] whatever you are I shall [choose to] Love [honesty, indefinitely] for [in our world full] of weapons [You protect me] Pray for Progress Protective palms plead Peace Plead peace Pray for peace Pleading for unity For stillness For laughter Hoping Hoping we Hoping we will get there We will get there In one piece. 12 ECLIPSE The Past Two Years Then I was unaware of The corruption in my vanity soon to be my sanity For I couldn’t comprehend apparently The severity of this crooked condition The order that sets me apart from being ordinary Now I am lost in this nothing This nothing which is my everything I feel colorless My necessity for normality stings Like a bullet in a hopeful doves wing Perfectly intact Besides the fact I’m suffering My body, my beauty, my being Bent into a confusing constellation of scars embroidered onto my sides Yet these stars tell my story No matter how they align with my spine They still are beautiful & I am still beautiful THE VIOLET HOUR ANTHOLOGY 13 Roots There are parts of everything in everyone Some elements resonate in us more than others The air in my lungs pulls me toward the sky The breaths I take define each move I make Air are the feet that walk me through life For adventure I am weightless The earth in my toes grounds me with society Reminds me of humbling beginnings and a small town Endorses reality into my bones The water in my veins connects me to the past Drowning me in possibility A constant reminder of my space in this massive place Water through me Leading to not only oceans But streams, pools, puddles Water is belonging Yet the fire in my soul is My identity What pulls me left or right The provider of passion Lord of love Ruler of romance Creador of connection Fire is feeling We say bloody fire is passion for it bleeds Strength Truth Resilience Yet easily Pain, Destructive All the same Fire is inescapable Fire is in all of us Fire is feeling. 14 ECLIPSE First Impressions Sticky plums, smooth honey and butter Sticky plums, smooth honey and butter Make me a cake will you? Will you, make me a cake out of Sticky plums, smooth honey, and butter Place a lavender sprig utop that masterpiece That masterpiece curated Quickly for I have places to be Places to be quickly Package up that masterpiece A cake of sticky plums, smooth honey and butter For I desire it promptly For I have places to be quickly So package it up luxly I want sponey yet velvet Velvet yet spongey Velvet yet sponey yet quickly My cake made of stickly plums smooth honey and butter Promptly soon Quickly now Promptly soon Quickly now THE VIOLET HOUR ANTHOLOGY 15 Sticky what We had was Nostalgia a sweet sticky nostalgic melancholy i spooned some onto your blushed fingertip i could have tasted it, could have felt it on Your lips apparently i admired it too long i waited for what We had, too long for i had places to be and you had people to see so as i sit on Your front porch i wipe that honey onto the pocket of my favorite jeans then i tuck them into the back of my suitcase tuck You back into my memories and it won’t be till i forget You that my blushing fingertip will brush that’s sticky stain reminding me of Your name and how close i got to giving You mine my veins were starving because then missed Your touch so they sucked the stick right out of that stain now it’s in my brain i taste you behind my eyes that sticky sweet honey coats my lungs the Idea of You is suffocating me but what we didn’t have killed Me.