BALLET

Remember how you started; 

just from pink leather, worn to black at the toes,

and a single elastic.

Remember, the first time, 

your arms and stubby fingers framed your small figure, 

above your head, above your slight bun,

in a perfect 5th.

Remember the feel of the tights you wore,

irresistibly itchy, and uncomfortable,

but delicate and soft to your small hands.

Remember how your leotard color changed,

from baby pink, to a modest blue.

Remember your sense of pride; as if you just added a new badge to a vest that will one day sprout with pictures, depicting your consistency and passion for your dancing.

Remember your first recitals; 

how your small feet would dance uneasy on the floor.

How your parents would offer you bouquets of flowers,

and applaud as if you were the best ballerina in the world.

Remember times before class, when you would look upon older dancers, wondering,

“can I be them, one day?”

You noticed their set jaw and look of determination and discipline in their piercing eyes, as they stared at the bun in front of them.

Remember the countless instructors you’ve had, over the years.

Some inspired tears, and some are people you know,

you will remember, 

forever.

Those are the people that made you smile, which is rare to see from a dancer of youth.

Remember, 1st grade. When you watched your first production.

You were drawn to the flashing strobes, and thick velvet curtain. Tassels and all.

The dancers and orchestra intertwining on an invisible thread,

weaving into you, like the needle, you will one day use to sew your pointe shoes with.

Remember, how on that day, you looked at two teenage ballerinas, 

exiting the stage door, wondering, “how did they get there?”

Remember, your audition for the ballet school you attend now.

How you went from the only ballet school, you’ve ever known,

to one of great renown. 

Remember, how you were invited, to your first (show) audition,

at the new school.

The second week in.

You knew nobody.

You were a rock among a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Remember, how at that audition, 

how you were shown a step.

And you couldn’t get it. 

Before you went and showed it, you looked for guidance from older girls.

Remember your timid, yet determined face, and how you bit your nails in fear.

When you performed the step in front of the casting folks, you were lost in a series of sautes, and marches. 

You promptly tried to follow what the other dancers were doing, all quite confidently.

Remember, the casting directors face,

of confusion, as if you had just spoken in a foreign tongue.

Like you were dancing on two left feet.

Remember your sense, of having no clue,

no clue, of what was going on, of what to do.

Remember, how you didn’t get the part.

Remember how that day,

you did not shed a tear. Not one.

Remember, how you came back, the next week,

and succeeded in another audition. And,

to your surprise, and bewilderment,

you got the step from the last audition. 

Remember, how you had no shame in yourself, 

how you look back at that first audition, and almost laugh.

Remember, how you single handedly sacrificed a whole thanksgiving, your family too,

to attend a rehearsal for that role.

You should also remember the thrill of leaving your 4th grade class,

to attend a rehearsal, and maybe even a matinee.

Oh, and remember the the sensation of the theater, of which you performed in,

which was all a jewelry box-stunning lights, and an arching, glowing ceiling.

Remember the warm wooden stage, which you glided so freely across.

Remember, the look of serenity on your face as you performed for people you did not know.

People whose faces you could not see;

lost in the shadowed-over audience.

Now you are older.

You are one of those girls that the 5 year-old you looked up to.

Remember who you are.

Remember, you are a dancer.

Sadie Green 

East Side Middle School, 6th Grade 

THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS IN A CAT’S LIFE  

The cat stood tall and proud, the sun shining on its fur.

The everlasting sounds, and distractions are not enough to put out the glowing fire 

in her eyes. 

She is sure she can do it, nothing to leave her in doubt of her shine. 

She stared at the window tirelessly, impressively focused on the reflection shine, 

She knew she was a real hunter inside, as she imagined herself running with the

wind in her fur. 

Once she came face to face with her prey, she could see nothing more with her 

eyes. 

While her prey was focused on fleeing, she had no intent of giving up, as she 

locked the prey in with her eyes.

It wasn’t okay, if she let the prey go, the glowing candle inside her continued to 

shine. 

She wasn’t letting anyone stroke her soft fur. 

I could see her fur spike up, her eyes filled with intense determination, and see her 

leap as she shined with pride. 

Neva Ilica 

East Side Middle School, 6th Grade

​

WORLD OF EUPHORIA AND DANGER

The clock tower chimed as I stepped into my garden,

I lower my hood and glance around the beautiful place,

The flowers carefully dance in the wind, 

A bumblebee flies by, and I greet it with a bright smile,

‘Morning,’ I say,

The sunlight poured through the trees,

And birds welcome me with an uplifting tune,

I breathe in the sweet divine smell,

My hair gently caressed my face,

I open the wooden door to my home and step inside.

‘Hurry,’ hissed assassin,

‘I know, I'm trying,’ I protest,

The castle was darker than the night sky,

And the click-clack of our boots echoed the empty hallways,

Our breaths were ragged,

My legs were straining as I willed them to go faster,

I could feel the gazes of the guards sizzling against my back,

They would catch up soon,

I hate to admit it, but it’s true, 

My heart banged against my chest faster than each footfall, 

As I bit my lips to keep quiet,

I could taste the tangy, coppery blood in my mouth,

But i knew I had to run, 

The exit was so close, if my legs were just a little bit faster---

A strong hand gripped the back of my cape and i lurched backwards,

NO, 

I tried to free myself but whoever it was was strong,

‘You have some gut to run away from me, y’know,’

I whipped my head towards the person and snarled,

He had a big dark slash across his distorted features and his smile was the worst,

‘You’re coming with me.’ he said,

I could feel the fear and rage bubble up inside me as it threatened to burst,

‘NO.’ I said through gritted teeth, 

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't identity, 

He pressed it against my mouth,

The sweet smell filled my senses and i felt my body start to go numb,

No, no, no, no. 

The man smiled and he-----

‘Good book?’ 

The Man started to fade, the castle started to fade, everything was fading,

I cocked my head to the familiar voice,

I felt a cold gust of wind kiss my hot cheeks, and my fingertips were glowing,

‘Good book? Good book? Good book?’ the voice echoed, 

Bright tiny lights surrounded me,

Trapping me in a colorful dome,

There was a sudden flash,

Many high-pitched voices filled my throbbing head,

I snapped my head up and saw someone smiling---no, it was my friend,

Her dark hair was flowing in the wind, 

Her eyes like a storm, yet curious,

I slowly turned my head, 

Many kids were running around,

Some with basketballs, and some with a group of friends,

I took a deep breath in through my nose, and a deep breath out through my mouth,

I sighed and pulled my hair to cover my face,

‘Yeah,’ I breathed. 

Rinoha Isetani 

East Side Middle School, 7th Grade 

A RAINY DAY

The wind blew harshly and stung my eyes,

Nearly falling back we laughed and laughed.

Like a wave,

Crashing over us,

The rain soaked us all.

The thin jacket, which I wore for the sun,

Danced along.

Almost there, we were so close,

To the warm light of our house.

It was a rush of adrenaline,

And euphoria too,

As we collapsed and soaked the carpeted floor. 

The wind blew the door shut, and I threw the jacket off,

We made hot chocolate and warmed ourselves up.

Shivering, teeth chattering,

My sister and I smiled throughout the day,

Until we closed our eyes and drifted off,

Into dreamland.

The following days, we coughed and coughed,

But we laughed as we thought about the storm that covered the sun.

Now when we hear the rain,

We think of the days we were caught,

In the water, the laughter, and the joy of it all.

Liya Choi 

East Side Middle School, 7th Grade

AN ABANDONED LIGHTBULB 

Light, dark.

The light, too much for your eyes to handle,

You wish for some darkness.

The darkness has you trapped in its nothingness,

You want more of it, 

There is never enough.

It’s an endless cycle, your mind racing back and forth. 

You hope as you switch to the darkness, 

It will suffice your craving for that strong empty feeling,

You have inside.

You fade away, 

Into the nothingness of the darkness.

It’s only temporary right?

The darkness gives you a feeling of a break,

You feel good to have finally escaped the light.

But it’s tiring. 

The darkness drags you around like nothing is in you.

You force yourself to manage.

You don’t like it.

Do you now want the light back?

You do.

You try to remind yourself,

The darkness will leave,

You will go back to the light again.

You just can’t bring yourself to want to leave.

You think,

It will come.

You watch as the light seeps through,

As if it’s coming from a crack under a door,

Directly targeted,

To shine into your very own eyes.

It gets to you.

You want the light back,

You miss it.

You miss that warm, bright, energetic feeling,

The light gave you.

But you are pulled too far back into the darkness,

You can’t get yourself out.

It pulls you,

Drags you back,

Doesn’t let you leave. 

And you remember thinking,

Wasn’t this temporary?

Not anymore. 

You figure to now get used to the darkness, 

It becomes…

Your “normal.” 

Day after day this darkness weighs you down.

You don’t like it,

And you force yourself to plunge through this darkness,

Not caring what will happen,

Until you get into the light.

But once you do,

The cycle repeats.

The light satisfies you.

You get used to the light.

You feel the warmth, the happiness, the brightness.

But it overwhelms you.

The light is now too much.

You want the darkness back already?

You think to yourself:

You can never be satisfied.

Ramona Weinstein  

East Side Middle School, 7th Grade

THE LETTER R

The letter R,

The eighteenth letter in the alphabet, 

The third most frequently used letter, 

And also, the letter that started my life,

R,

A complex letter,

Evoking 

Pain,

Sorrow,

Euphoria, 

R,

A letter difficult to pronounce,

Torturing many tongues and brains,

Trying to master the ability,

R, 

A written abbreviation meaning,

King or Queen,

Royalty tied to its letter,

R, 

A restriction for movies,

Unfortunate people under the age of seventeen,

Needing to cling to someone to enter,

Oh, you’re one of the hapless people, 

Pity, pity,

R,

The start of my life,

R for Rinoha,

The stem of the bloom,

Still growing, 

Swaying in the storms and winds, 

Rooted to the soil,

Trying its best not to bend.

Rinoha Isetani 

East Side Middle School, 8th Grade

SEEDS OF DOUBT 

If souls were to take a form

Flowers would be the most likely subject.

You and I both agree that

They make the best answers in

The personality quizzes that we cut patchwork

From glossy articles.

They may be just that, souls

Insubstantial twists of light and thought

Or what is on the bottom of your shoe.

But there is a certain romanticism

In sticking yourself in a box,

And imagining needles of bone

Clacking, spinning your fate

When it is really nothing but a pencil

Drumming against the page.

You’d be a cherry blossom,

And I assure you that I can smell a hint of that cloying fragrance

Even through the thin layer of flesh and skin

I’ve attempted to guess at myself before

But without A, B, C, and D at the ready

It is considerably more difficult to structure discovery.

There are industries created 

Around this, you know.

I’ve been told that many times-

That it is only to turn a profit.

You say it’s all fake, eyes hungry

But I have no issues with unreality

As long as it improves my reality.

And so I help myself to some self-help

Paging through the paperbacks.

I try to dig deep into myself.

Unfortunately, fingernails can only dig so deep

After piercing skin.

They only meet soil,

And I desperately wanted blood.

After all, isn’t that the exact shade of a rose?

Your cheeks flush with cherry-blossom youth as well,

And for all that you lecture me on 

How stupid it is to wish to bleed,

It seems like it looks well enough.

You glare at me with bloodshot eyes

And say that you don't need my advice anymore.

But you keep searching

And searching and looking and hoping and

I’d give you the answers if you'd let me

Arranging your actions in sequence

Until the banality of finding out what

Watering can will fill your veins

Or what fertilizer is in vogue

Makes you shut your eyes in exhaustion.

But you are still drowning in botany in a thousand different 

Languages, languishing in words you looked 

Up the meaning of with the assistance of

Choppy translators you found on the internet.

And I’m desperately grasping at stems and straws

Spitting out sophistication

In the hopes that dressed-up words

Can convince you better than 

The homeliness of an explanation.

It is in situations such as this where the magazines help

Because you’d listen to a full-colored spread

Despite how much you disparage it.

If you find some sense in my overwrought words

You don’t say it. 

You don’t say much

Of anything, really.

Petals fan out, a halo

As you bend your head to the sun

In an odd sort of worship

And I hope that maybe,

One day

You and I will

Grow out of this.

Lola Kravitz

East Side Middle School, 8th Grade