December 2020
Issue Seven
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She has press-on nails. |
Lev gazed out the window as the carriage whizzed through the air. |
Having excused the guests from his house after the book club, Mr. Brice felt unsatisfied. |
You softly open the old metal door to your bunker . . . |
i’ve always viewed this earth with the lens of affection |
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“Ready?” Rosie asks as we shuffle forward in the queue. |
I’m sorry I’m the one to deliver the news . . . |
Everything feels wrong. |
I lay awake, curled up under my sheets in our shoebox of an apartment in Brooklyn. |
I walk along the curb, watching my steps carefully, making sure I don’t step on any cracks. |
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She lies awake in moon-soaked sheets How will it go? |
It had been a while since I had seen anything. |
The Sun didn’t come first. |
Slowly she realized that she couldn't do anything. |
We always remember the moment right before everything changes. |
October 2020
Issue Six
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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. |
March/May 2020
Issue Five
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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2020 Emerging Writers
Each spring, Redwood publishes a limited number of pieces
written by eighth graders at King, Longfellow, and Willard middle schools in Berkeley.
Emerging Writers are guided through the editing process by experienced Redwood writers and our faculty advisor.
written by eighth graders at King, Longfellow, and Willard middle schools in Berkeley.
Emerging Writers are 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 |
December 2019
Issue Four
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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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October 2019
Issue Three
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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. |
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Redwood is published online once per academic quarter.