Members of the Foundation, Ms. Moll & Ms. Malapenes with the computers

April 11, 2013, ten computers were donated to University High School by the University High School Foundation and Alumni Association. The computers have allowed more students to complete their work and alleviated stress in our library. Beth Malapanes, UHS librarian was very grateful for the computers, stating,

“The computers have been a lifesaver. The donation more than doubled the number of Windows 7 computers we had. We still have ten Windows XP computers that work for simple tasks, which brought the total computers up to 28. I can now have full classes of students come in and there isn’t a long line to use the computers to print every morning. It has alleviated a lot of stress for students.”

All in all, UHS staff, students, and teachers are thankful for the Foundation’s generous donation. Thank you, UHS Foundation and Alumni.

By Johnathan Whisenant

Photo by Amanda Robinson

A blue mirror,
Of all who was,
All that I am

Formed of a drop
Caressed by clouds
Of love and dreams

Falling faster
Through lost vision
Of Happiness

Drifting from one
Aspiration
To another

Never content
With who I am,
Who i will be

All traces lost
Foundations, gone.
Who will I be?

What can be seen
And what truly
Lies within me

Reflects off of
A blue mirror,
All that i am

By Samantha Bell

Photo by Natalia Navarro

the world begged me to love it from the start.
bouquets of cactus needles in my palms
were the shy propositions of a second date.

my first kiss, between my shoulder blades, blazed
across my upper back like a summer sunset.
aloe vera pulp concerned itself with my skin.

early afternoon gifted me a pale promise ring
beneath my gumball machine rhinestone ring.
mercy is a secondhand baptism in a dust storm.

—with pebbles in my sandals like petty reminders,
the world begged me to love it and I obliged.

Photo by Maya Navabi

Hey _____,

Can you still hear the gunshots?

the ringing of flames burning hot,

not

destroying but cleansing?

Can you see the others’ feet

still marching to the drummer’s beat?

sleet

dampens the flames of your wounds, burning hot

Hey _____,

Can you feel yourself growing nameless?

Can you feel the words losing their meaning, the oceans waves rolling in their graves,

colors selling themselves to the world that sold you?

Can you hear the bell-toll ringing, the ringing of those flames, those cleansing flames, burning hot the flesh from your soul–

Brain creases unfolding; brain waves: murmurs, untold, unheard?

This sound of silence the most majestic music,

this emotionlessness blissful,

this transcendental feeling unfelt

yet known?

Hey _____,

Can you still hear me?

I hope not.

Photo by Karen Wang

Patterns flash across the sky;

a network of cracks in the ceiling

trace veins under my eyelids.

The pool is a bit too cold today,

and the water tastes off.

But I relish my stay -

thunder grumbles threateningly

at my defiance.

Slowly my goldfish dreams float into the clouds

and they breathe in unison

a sigh:

at last, summer.

The air is briefly alive after a lightning strike,

when energized molecules race down my lungs.

I look at the smoke in the distance

and wonder

if the tree shading my grandfather’s grave is still standing.

I blink,

and in the after-image an entire forest grows upon my occipital lobe.

Photo by Amanda McCarley

smoking is not allowed on this flight.

in this compartment.
when children are present.
around hay.

taboo – who uses that word anyway?

nothing around children. never the children.

the stables were on fire last year.

Photo by Brooke Teufel

Ash.

I am made entirely of ash.

Last night, city officials searched the home and found:

-2 beta fish

-7 half-opened boxes from the Home Shopping Network

And dust,

Layers upon

Layers

Of skin cells no longer needed.

Searching for books, they

Found empty Ben and Jerry’s cartons stacked neatly on top of plywood shelving;

Looking for something, a sign

Of communication beyond the fishbowl.

No love letters or friendly emails or cordial voicemails,

Small talk.

Only a Yahoo! inbox filled with hundreds of emails from Nigeria–

Viagra.

Ash.

Accolades, Acknowledgements, I leave nothing behind.

Except for receipts, electricity, fish food.

A sympathetic house,

And two beta fish who can

Smell the old photo albums in the closet, but whose

Fins are a fraction of the distance it takes to reach them.

By Anonymous

Photo by Connor Hague

The crack of the gatorade gap:
orange gives way beneath a palm,
and dry lips seek out purple water.

Empty stomachs groan and scream,
salty tears rub against scarlet eyes–
internally and externally
crushed.

“I wish I could help you,”
the little boy’s voice is small.
“I want to take away your sickness.”

It stings to speak but,
“Thanks, little brother.”

Twenty-four hours shifts to
two weeks shifts to
a month. More.

Temporary gives way to
permanent.

Eventually hope becomes a burden;
yearning for health exhausts a body,
too weak to stand.

Mouths no longer open to answer
the perennial question:
“Are you okay?”

But she’ll still open her eyes
for the little boy holding her hand
whispering “You’ll be okay, big sister.”
Even when the x-rays say
that he is wrong.

By Kelli McIntyre

Photo by Joyce Wang

Have you ever looked in a mirror
And wondered who’s looking back?
Sure, she’s got brown hair and blue eyes,
But they’re full of doubt.
I pity the girl in the mirror:
She’ll never be good enough.
She doesn’t qualify for scholarships and she’s indecisive.
She doesn’t know when to say “no” to her mother or “yes” to her peers.
She bites her nails and falls UP the stairs.
She’s a B-average student with A expectations.
She gives and gives but gets nothing back for her days, months, and even years of commitment.
I pity the girl in the mirror.
But she’s strong and keeps going through custody agreements. She’s fought through bullies and acceptance,
Rejection, music, heartbreak,
A month of not eating,
Support from her friends,
Her second “last pack,”
University High School,
The scary three years between 5th and 9th grade,
Thousands of books,
The sound of your voice,
Another divorce,
And knowing today is the last Friday she’ll EVER spend in TUSD.
She pushes through bittersweet nostalgia, and for a second
I respect that brown haired, blue eyed girl in the mirror
And she smiles.

We wait alone

Or in packs

Silent, saying nothing

We stand apart from others

Not acknowledging their existence

Nor they, ours

We sit secluded

Not paying attention to the world around us

Observing from a distance

Others watch us seated there,

Dead to the world

Others talk while life goes on

Yet still we say nothing

The look in our eyes,

Tired from morning

Weary from work and school

Others laugh and make conversation

We don’t make a sound

The doors open to let us out

I walk alone

In solitary existence

Until someone breaks my shell

A lone voice says my name

Pulling me from the land of the dead

And a boy sees me

Says hello

I don’t answer him

I walk on by without a word

Then I stop and wonder

Who am I to pass on  by

A familiar face I know?

How do I keep walking on

When someone made a connection?

It’s too late now to fix the past

What’s over is what’s done

Yet still I wander on

Oblivious to all

Because that is all I’m capable of

I am nothing more than a bus stop zombie