Issue Six
October 2020
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It begins with the doorman. A white envelope, an unrecognizable seal. |
Faces are flying past, accompanied by a cacophony of footsteps |
The train continued to rattle on the tracks. |
I stare into my own eyes. I don’t recognize the person in the reflection. |
Dennis and Gail sat in their apartment, in the bright light of all the candles crowding his ice cream cake. |
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It was a Sunday afternoon and I slipped wordlessly from the house, taking the stairs two at a time. |
Lia rolled over once more, her blankets tightening their snake-like grip on her body. |
Two women stood facing one another |
It was their fourth day of winter break, and Clancy was on a sledding trip to Yosemite with his cousins. |
She wakes. Stone and bedrock enfold sore limbs, pain breeding not from use but from the lack of it. . . |
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“Hey, hey.” I shudder, as someone speaks from right behind me. |
When fire roars And smoke rises The whole world Just improvises |
Do you remember when we used to smile? |
I walked down the dirt path, hoping to find anything of interest. |
Issue Five
March/May 2020
This issue spans two academic quarters due to COVID-19.
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FICTION
Sol de Ugarte
You don’t expect it, but when you walk into the house, the grief is tangible. |
FICTION
Kenna Klop-Packel
Salt cakes the edges of her mouth and hugs her skin, drying and pinching it, abrasive grains kneading into old scars and new wounds. |
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FICTION
Claudia Johnson
“And . . . done,” Addison said, putting down the brush. "What do you think?" |
FICTION
Zora Laddish
She came as she always did, alone and barefoot to the edge of the chasm, so close that one would crave to shout look out! |
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FICTION
Auden Svoboda
Claus pulled the hood of his black cloak further over his face to shield himself from the unrelenting sun. |
FICTION
Zoe Mitchell
I walk a few steps behind you, a resistor clenched in my sweaty palm. |
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FICTION
Mia Skoble
I can’t believe my friends talked me into coming here, then didn’t even show up. |
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2019-20 Emerging Writers
A limited number of pieces from eighth graders at King, Longfellow, and Willard middle schools in Berkeley were accepted for publication
in this issue. Emerging Writers were guided through the editing process by experienced Redwood writers and our faculty advisor.
in this issue. Emerging Writers were guided through the editing process by experienced Redwood writers and our faculty advisor.
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POETRY Lucia Segovia Merlos
As the moon fades into the sunlight The stars dissolve into the first hints of blue sky |
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POETRY Luka Henrie-Naffaa
Dear Baby Polar Bear . . . |
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POETRY Gwendolin Weber-Stover
i hesitate to loosen my grip on the comforts of the present |
Issue Four
December 2019
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INTERVIEW
Julia Weinberg
"I have loved books for as long as I can remember." |
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POETRY
Daisy Paris-Kaufman
"Ignorance is Bliss" That's what they always told me Whenever I asked questions |
FICTION
Kenna Klop-Packel
A rustling sound shook the air as leather was pulled up over heels and shoulders . . . |
POETRY
Sonja Wooley
How about an imaginary boat, Rudderless and swaying, Cradled in a velvet Whispering sea? |
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FICTION
Nora Furlong
Sonoma Avenue is quiet save for the chirping of night birds and the removed sounds of the neighbors' evening routines. |
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Issue Three
October 2019
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FICTION
Nora Furlong
“Sunscreen, everybody!” Grace’s mother smiled widely, passing around the oily bottle. |
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FICTION
Zora Laddish
The desert stretched. It must have stretched. The man had only a few miles to walk to get from one camp to the next, but he'd been traveling for three days. |
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POETRY
Sol de Ugarte
We live in the U.S. Where gun rights Are favored Over education, the lives of your children |
FICTION
Kenna Klop-Packel
She sleeps. Her body twists through consciousness, overlapping and underlapping with bliss, sublime happiness. |
Issue Two
May 2019
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POETRY
Emma Lynch
The town burns Falling softly like butterflies made of the softest sweeps of ink |
FICTION
Julia Weinberg
The setting sun illuminated the red-striped mountains that gated off the small town from the endless Utah desert. |
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FICTION
Zoe Mitchell
The sun glares down on me as my shoulders smash against the wall. |
ESSAY
Hannah Yip
In Japanese, there is a phrase, "kodomo no tame ni," meaning "for the sake of the children." |
Issue One
March 2019
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FICTION
Amaya Polanco Zimmerman
I open my eyes to see a great expanse of the luscious Spanish countryside beneath me. |
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FICTION
Gabe Rothman Tierney
An old man walked down the alley, taking long, deliberate strides. |
BOOK REVIEW
Review by Eva Adams
They Both Die at the End is a captivating dystopian novel by Adam Silvera about what would happen if people knew when they were destined to die. |
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FICTION
Julia Weinberg
The thud stirred Mrs. Axton out of her blissful sunny afternoon state. |
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