1st Prize : creation myth : by Joseph A. W. Quintela i. again, the child is sick ii. mother says the faucet spews death in sickness and in health iii. under the bridge the stones are rough hewn, scented yellow, colored in piss iv. you re too old to hide beneath her skirts v. you re too young to sleep beneath the bridge vi. again, mother is crying vii. on the seventh day, forget : crevice sewn : stalks escape the jagged edge (iii) : abandon ill-conceived solitudes : meaning this : if you plant a slivered nail in muck and : wish : wish : wish : harness heart and lung : drag truth with an eye-gouged horse : then perhaps : but you : festooned in vestal blood : could only wish for skin (v) : recklessly : wander ramshackle corridors (ii) : comb nodes of spectral spine : read between the bullet wounds : lies : lies : lies are an adolescent wish (i) : cities ferried upon the skiff : gaping holes where teeth : tongue : throat : silence : should abide (vi) : would if not for this : window cut by knife : we : the unforgiving I : the blind foal : Lamarck s damn proof : strung between the moon s tectonic ribs : shifting in the ash strewn bone (vii) : eyelashes trembling : wet : pendulum slung : spent : we are a lie in the throes of birth (iv) : first published in ABJECTIVE
2 Prize The pastor of our community church Doesn t live in our community So, it s just politics And not even local government Still, God is my friend We used to skip church together Skip Church with God One Sunday morning, In between our yawning We cut out in the midst of the sermon To be serviced with some coffee and a doughnut Staring through the pastry hole God explained his woes His conception of sin is We all share it Advised me to venture life without it, if I dared it Told him, I ll think about it Trying to be funny with God I struck a nerve With what seemed to me to be rhetoric I asked what sin was God s first God retorted, Said that was of no importance And that he pays for sin, as if like all who commit it Payments in blood drawn from his children Than I saw, in the face of the Lord A divine flaw Embodied in his creation of all The connection to a creator above Spaced too long To hear the original tune of the song Being sung all along I mentioned that he resembled me And God corrected me Said I resembled him Even more so than that, I was Xeroxed from a Polaroid he took I, just a copy of a copy of a copy of his image
3rd Prize The Influence of a Color by Antonley Molina Imagine, imagine yourself in paradise. In a small island called Dominican Republic, where you think nothing can go wrong. Imagine, yourself 15 years old, curious about life, thinking to yourself why does human life begin if it s going to end. Imagine the pressure of having four brothers whose footsteps you follow and in your eyes you idolize one. Imagine one of those brothers being deported, one is a doctor, one is in jail, and the other made money from what he snorted. Imagine your world with no color; pitch black where every time you commit an action you regret, and want to go back to see what difference it could have made. Imagine a kid, whose screams, were never loud enough, others not even acknowledging him, making shit seem so tough. Now imagine that kid one night seeing a light skinned girl in a red dress, her face covered by her dark and tangled hair, a beautiful mess. He tells his mother about the figure, describes her only to find out that the figure was his sister. So in his head, he had kept the color red, from the image of the girl that was sitting on his bed, same girl that had 25 years, dead. The dress she wore was RED! The balloons of her 15 th birthday were RED! The lipstick she wore that night was RED! Her blood, spilt after the end of the party by her own doing was RED! At a young age the kid had always heard the voice of a girl in his ear, being guarding him and making sure he d stay longer in this world, because: The kid at age one was brought back from the dead, God believing he was too young to die. The kid at age five, almost fell out a window hadn t it been for his parents arriving on time. That same kid at age nine, being in the wrong place, got hit by a metal shard, missing by an inch his right eye. And from there he appreciated life, trying to change others who are lost in the contemplation of terminating themselves with the edge of a knife, after being in darkness finally seeing the light, a bright ray of purity of the color white. The kid wanting to share his insights of what was wrong and right, thanking God every time he ate his chicken with rice, having purposes and reasons for which to fight, it s like rendering to a blind man the gift of sight, it s like finally seeing what truly is life. Now imagine, imagine your lungs finally INHALING the fresh air, imagine finally FACING death, imagine not SHAKING in its presence. Imagine TAKING a breath and finally feeling a pulse. A pulse that flows that RED through your body from the top of your head, to your feet. That same RED carved now in my heart, which since my childhood delivered its first heartbeat.
1st Runner Up You Called Me an Artist by Carlos M. Burgos You called me an artist. Well, I m an arteest with a pen. I draw pictures with my voice and Paint them over with bare hands. I ve sculpted stanzas with my teeth, Built castles with lyrical sand. I engrave my ideas into processed and bleached former wood Using my Papermate Chisel, Then, display them in semi transparent glass cases With a mic in the middle. I portray the level of sophistication With scratchboard as my medium And I use my tongue to etch the board and Reveal the underlying seed that sunk. So next time you call me an artist, take it back. Understand that I am an arteest Who just so happens to enjoy putting together scraps.
2nd Runner Up Skin Deep by Jasmine Alina Pena From cells, to blood vessels, to arteries, to tendons, to ligaments, to cartilage, to bone, to skin, to nails. From nails, to scratching, to tapping, to cutting, to biting. From biting, to licking, to tasting, to spitting, to swallowing, to choking. From choking, to breathing, to dropping, to moving, to banding, to moaning. From moaning, to choking, to scratching, to nails, to skin, to bone, to cartilage, to ligaments, to tendons, to arteries, to blood vessels, from cells.
3rd Runner Up Violin by Christina Zamir In hands aged a decade and three years an instrument discovered a creative drive ignited by a creative spark. Finally a way to be a real American girl without the second floor bedroom, dog, garage, best friend or soccer practice. Unfortunately excitement does not lead to talent in a mouth aged three decades and nine years a razor tongue unleashed an instrument uncovered a creative drive smashed dead. The instrument slipping out of hands aged a decade and three years breaking, shattering, splintering strings snapping like the temper of a lonely adolescent.