Category: Issue 1 (Spring 2022)

Kaila Fergon

Summer’s Ghost  

Orange and russet and copper float into the world  with soft sighs along with  
the smell of burning woodsmoke and  
a bitter chill in the air,  
creeping in as the sun slips lower.  

Summer’s ghost wails with a mourning  
through the burning leaves,  
and they fall to the ground —  
orange and red and yellow,  
like embers from a fire  
floating softly to the earth. 
 
Autumn rises up and takes the world with both hands  with bitter cold, fiery leaves, long nights.  It puts Summer’s ghost in the ground  
little by little as August ends,  
as the sun slips lower,  
as the days grow colder,  
September sings Summer to its grave. 
 
But it is such a stunning death —  
the world soaked in gold and flame,  
everything sharp and crisp and clear,  
cinnamon on your lips,  
cold air on your face,  
and something burning on the wind. 
 
It is the beginning of another world entirely,  that September brings and December 
buries,  a lovely death and a lovely beginning. 
 
It is late October and  
I can hear Summer’s ghost calling from the grave.  It is not wailing, I realize after all this time,  
it’s singing — humming some haunting love song  for colors it will never touch  
and can only give way to.

Kaila Fergon was born and raised in Palm Springs, CA. She now lives in Carlsbad with her big chocolate lab, Loki, and a whole bunch of house plants. When she’s not working as a barista, she can be found at some other coffee shop reading a book with her dog at her feet, or dragging her paddle board down to the lagoon. Kaila is studying English and linguistics at Cal State San Marcos. After graduating with her English degree, she hopes to find a job within the writing/editing field and spend as much time as possible traveling and reading good books.

Isabella Abril

The Purple Visitor

Lavender, lilac, irises
Stare up at me, sheepishly, from the garden. 
Timid and rooted in place,
My voice a whisper I soothe, “You’ll be alright”.

Out from the flowers
She flutters a delicate flight with iridescent wings. A beautiful, tiny fairy,
With the most marvelous purple eyes I’ve ever seen.

A lost one, at that.
Her voice a flowing harp, she speaks her woes, 
“I became separated”.
From her colony, during the great migration.

Out of pity and awe,
I offer her a silver teaspoon of honey and sugar. 
She sips and she rests
Until the morning light. And when I go out

To the garden
Once more on the dawn of the following day, 
I find she has gone.

Passerby aside, I tend to my lavender, lilac, and irises.

Party of the Matriarch

Bright glistening balloons filled the room
My lungs deflated as I gave life to the last one. 
An unfamiliar feast sat atop the table
With a few familiar foods from long ago.


Lumpia.

            Adobo.

                         Pancit.



A momentary pause from gossip, my Tita says, 
“Try this one.” and adds a pastry to my plate.
I sit back, my ears eager to listen to new sounds 
Nodding my head, as if I perfectly understood.


With bellies full, smiles spread, and if you look 
Close enough you could see food stuck in teeth. 
But that does not matter, when you are Jolly-
Because the festivities are about to really begin.



The dusty karaoke got wheeled out from the closet. 
My Tito held up the mic, and lived out his daydreams
 
Of a superstar in his mother-in-law’s living room. 
They danced and sang along to a familiar song,


But I had to read the words from the t.v. screen.
I remembered the lyrics, “Awitin mo at isasayaw ko” 
And when the party ended I discovered the meaning. 
“Sing and I will dance.” “Sing and I will dance.”


I’ve since learned all of the lyrics on my own. 
Sometimes I find myself in my own living room, 
Humming along to that tune and fondly remember 
The gathering and celebration of my Filipino family.

Isabella “Isa” Abril is an undergraduate student at Cal State San Marcos.  She enjoys writing poetry and short stories. Although she does not entirely believe in the supernatural, she would like any and all spirits who happen to stumble across her to respectfully leave her alone. Unless they can do something really cool. 

Rachel Schultz

One Home

Everyone is born into the same home
Earth is the main home for all of its 
occupants People, creatures, and other living 
things
Mother Nature has endured much suffering with the rise of human advancements
An advantage to humans now is a disadvantage to other living things, and later us
From a young age we’re taught to clean up after ourselves and to leave a space cleaner than 
youfound it
Why does that not apply to some for Earth 
itself? Is it because the mess can not be seen?
The garbage patches floating in the oceans
The garbage dumps hidden away from plain 
sightIt may feel convenient to not care now
But people always care when it’s too late

Rachel Schultz is a 3rd-year psychology major with a minor in literature and writing at CSUSM. Alongside being a student she also works a part-time job. She aspires to be a high school teacher.

Brendan Cox

Ballad of the Souls Part I (My Leviathan)

Pale beaches,
and a spectral colored sea.
These are the
things important to me.
Underneath
waves of pink, blue, and red
is Her only:
the creature in my head.
She was selfish,
angelic Leviathan,
keeping color
for Herself and not the sand.
I wrote a song
and cast my lure into blue,
but deeper She
swam into different hues.
She was desperate
to escape my lyrics and pleas,
that begged Her to bring
Her love to the colorless beach.
I dove from the dock,
descending for thousands of leagues
in hasty pursuit,
pushing on despite my fatigue.
The pressure was building.
I felt like I was starting to choke
on deeply dyed water.
Close to death with words I hadn’t yet spoke.

That was when I saw Her

laying on the dark of the sea floor,
rooted and unmoving,
refusing to return to the shore.
“Won’t you share your hues?”, I plead.
With a blush that lit up the dark She said
She couldn’t remember how.
I leaned in and kissed Her beautiful head.
I gave Her my hand and I
sang to Her until She heard from my song
that She was the puzzle piece
that I had been searching for all along.
We embraced
and we wept star colored tears.
She’s my life.
It’s like we’ve been apart years.
Now my sand
is no longer grainy snow,
but instead
shines an immaculate glow.
And Her sea
brews with life at every end.
Here, our home,
me and my Leviathan.

I am Brendan Cox and I’m currently a third-year student here at CSUSM pursuing my degree in Literature and Writing Studies. While creative writing hadn’t been my preferred area of the degree, I’ve deeply grown to love it. I’ve always had a passion for writing horror, and I think that reflects in my writing. When I’m not writing I love playing music and expressing myself in any other creative area I can get my hands on.

Vincent A. Bernabeo

The Lake

Pink sky envelops
A moment, caught in time
A monument, from another world

Once a force of destruction
Volcano, deadfall, ash and cinder
Now, a visage of calm

Serene, native plants
Creatures and life in an endless cycle
The skeleton of destruction makes way for inspiration

Nature is calculated in its chaos
The lake, resembling a man…
Pissing…into the wind

Vincent A. Bernabeo is a Literature and Writing student at CSUSM; he has extensively studied literature in both cinema and the written word. Vincent strives to prove that it is never too late in life to pursue one’s dreams to his beautiful wife and three children. He is interested in writing and consuming any and all forms of entertainment, and champions for the literary merit of pop-culture texts. Vincent’s poetry is largely inspired by both his personal experiences and the critical theories he studies at CSUSM; his work often plays with the very concept of language itself to unravel the mysteries that captivate and often subjugate humans all over the world.

Cierra Brooks

Trees and People

I stand tall
While you lean against me

You stand tall
While my legs have failed me

I stand tall
As you should too

You stand tall
As I wish too

I stand tall
But I cannot move

You stand tall
Under the vast blue

I’d offer all I have

Just to save you


Cierra Brooks, while primarily focusing on being a student at California State University San Marcos, has always dreamed of becoming a successful author. No matter where her life has taken her, she has always found time to take pen to paper and express herself creatively. With two poems previously published through Granite Hills 2018 Reflections, she adds another poem to this journal and places a new stepping stone that leads to her ideal future.

Guadalupe Romero

My Roots 

They left behind their 
home Leaving their way of 
life
In pursue of a new
life New opportunities 

             Starting a journey into the 
unknown How would they thrive in this 
new land?
No hablo inglés.
             Doors slammed in their face 
             Obstacles at every turn they make
No nos alcanza el dinero
             They can only afford beans
             They can only afford hand-me-downs
Temenos hijos
             Their children come first
             They can survive with the clothes on their 
              backs, but their baby needs new clothes
Ve a la escuela y estudia
             They push their children to be better than 
              them Push them toward a better life
Soy hija de inmigrantes
             Everything I have, has been earned
             Following my dreams to make my parent proud
Soy Mexicana
             I have brown eyes and brown skin
             I face obstacles due to the color of 
                           skin But I am proud to be 
                           Mexican
Soy Americana
             I have better opportunities in this 
             land I can follow my dreams
                           I am proud to be
American I am a Mexican-American

Guadalupe Romero is currently finishing her last semester at California State University, San Marcos with a major in Kinesiology and a minor in Literature and Writing. She discovered her passion for literature and writing while taking AP Literature class in high school. She likes that the subjects she is studying require her to think critically or allow her imagination to run wild. Her writing can have a combination of the human body’s experience while telling a fictional story. She plans to pursue a career in the medical field while keeping her hobby of writing and reading to keep her sane through all the science courses.

Jessica Torres

Nature and Humans 

Free spirits,
yet vastly reliant on one another.
W        e 
take and 
take and 
take
and often forget earth needs from us too.
If only humankind understood, 
that nature also lives through us.
Free spirits, 
bonded by life.
We are here because nature survives.
W        e 
take and 
take and 
take
and often forget nature is quickly dying.
If only humankind understood,
that nature does not have much time.

Free spirits,
but with a broken relationship.
There still is hope to mend the cracks.
We must give
and 
give and 
give
and not forget nature depends on us.

When humankind understands this 
connection nature will thrive,
not just merely survive.

A Celebration

When celebrating my body,
I honor the land of my upbringing
I take pride in the birth land of my parents,
I acknowledge the hard work of my predecessors.

When celebrating my body,
I admire the tongue in which I speak,
I value the traditions I practice
I respect the community in which I live.

But to live in my body also means,
feeling trapped between borders.
To live in my body means,
feeling the world is often against me. 
To live in my body means,
the color of my skin is a dictator
and the tongue in which I speak a commander, 
of my experiences.

When celebrating my body, 
We honor
We take pride 
We acknowledge 
We admire
We value 
We respect
We celebrate,
the heritage and culture of a community.

There is hope or more so a longing
to live in a world where a celebration is not only within, 
but a celebration is with all.

Jessica Torres is a third-year student at CSUSM. She is a Literature and Writing major who hopes to in the future become a teacher. She also has a passion for art and hopes to continue with her art journey incorporating it into her job or career. She loves to read poetry, fantasy, and fiction.

James Mudrak

Stampede Reservoir

another trip
filled with uncertainty and discovery, 
bald eagles soaring in the bluest of skies 
like pebbles thrown across placid lakes, 
wary doe feed along the reservoir bank, 
it amazes me what this world creates 
bringing it into fruition
staring out to a mountain range.

burnt to a crisp as i write this 
the sun and i, you see,
have an interesting relationship, 
should’ve probably put on the sunscreen 
hunched over in the tent thinking
how nature truly 
brings us closer
to what life means: 
being at peace,
loving friends and family, 
understanding yourself, 
and the nature of things.
 
quit being in a rush 
to get stuff done,
leave your phone behind 
stand in the forest 
amongst the trees
let the wind
make your body sway, 
serenity brings solitude 
money can always be made, 
but these moments
we must cherish
as they can never be replaced.

James Mudrak is an aspiring artist, writer, and creator graduating this winter with a BA of Arts in Literature in Writing Studies. He enjoys spending his alone time creating and working on his brand Unify Collective and his other various creative endeavors. To find out more about James, we encourage you to visit his website: unifycollective.com or follow him on Twitter and Instagram @jamezmudrak.

Cody Hopper

Natures Industry

Your world lies.
Her open arms that offer beauty
Her nature composed of promised 
peace.Does she offer you shelter?
The sublime unbound by limits of 
mindsNo bird can sing her glory
No stream to paint her truth. 
Instead in light and dark we 
wanderJustified in our limited 
passions
Driven by those factors where trees dwell 
not.Do priests consult the dirt to 
forgiveness?
Are our trials heard amongst the weight of 
trees.When the unseen clock flicks its 
pendulum
To and fro, from life to death. 
We are taken back to the 
weeds.
In the guts and grime of the earth 
beneath.The sky is called a final resting place,
Yet the dead are placed underneath.

Cody Hopper is a student at CSUSM, when he isn’t doing improv, or flippin’ za, he can be found in the dark corners of his room, writing the next story of horror and torment that crosses his mindscape. He loves violent stories, comic books, movies, coffee, and buffalo wings– not in this order.