Summer Young Writers Anthology - University at Albany

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I. My father’s favorite color Is the sun shining Through a black umbrella. II. An umbrella is a strange bird— Smooth feathers of cloth And far too many legs. III. Umbrella, Do I always need you? Sometimes I want to feel the rain Fall directly on my face. IV. We often look For an umbrella excuse: Something that can shield our sins From the rain of accusation. V. Mushrooms shaped like blooming umbrellas On feathery stalks of thin filament: What is sheltered underneath? VI. Warning: Do Not Open Umbrellas While Inside the Building You will be Held Accountable For Any Bad Luck that Follows VII. Shared umbrellas are an excuse For huddling together, Electrically touching When the rain stops, The umbrella closes, reluctantly. VIII. Panoply of umbrellas A sea of swimming color Bobbing gently With unexpected grace. Ode to an Umbrella by Tessa Kuster IX. How I want to leap Into empty air, And let my umbrella unfurl: I would be a parachutist With no strings attached. X. We turn an umbrella over, Open and exposed. We climb into its shell It becomes our boat. XI. A broken umbrella Handle torn off, Tears in the fabric. The rain leaks through Like tears. XII. Girls walk together, Twirling umbrellas. Men let the rain fall. Pearls of water Collect in their hair. XIII. So many ways To carry an umbrella: Forward, facing wind; Or leaning on the shoulder, Like a lover’s arm. XIV. My umbrella Is an extension of myself: How often I hide Behind its bright leaves. Young Writers | 27
Young Writers | 28 I Saw The Minds Of My Generation Starving . . . by Malcolm Lasky It pains me to see the impoverished wilt Of human flowers crumple to their knees Their greasy-haired heads bow to an Unforgiving world, and a bitchy Mother Nature. Shuffling along in caustically cold winds swaying numbly. They freeze to death at night and they’re cleaned up in the morning So we don’t have to look death in the face. This is how it is in Chicago. Chicago, New York, Los Angeles and Berlin The cities with ugly underbellies can stomach The loss. Can the collective brain? Yes. It happens every winter. The homeless are gone with the wind, Out with a whimpering bang. The groans ring out, saturnine. They’re dying...the flowers Strong winds let them flow Back and forth hiding low Under the buildings. Oh Once beauty, I say Welcome to speculation. No the winds are ripping The flowers’ heads off with razor Winds that blind the human eye. ...Or so they say. Welcome to apathy.
Page 2 and 3: The New York State Summer Young Wri
Page 4 and 5: THE MOON WAS SETTING SWIFTLY AS Bal
Page 6 and 7: YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ANYTHING YOU wa
Page 8 and 9: LONG AGO, YOU BECAME FRUSTRATED wit
Page 10 and 11: Rage on the Pitch: The Art of the S
Page 12 and 13: The Mosquito by Laura Colaneri I kn
Page 14 and 15: “PUSH! PUSH! PUSH LISA PUSH!” H
Page 16 and 17: continued from page 14 a young boy.
Page 18 and 19: To my fellow scientists: I have not
Page 20 and 21: continued from page 18 “Through t
Page 22 and 23: I Am by Liz Janetschek From shepher
Page 24 and 25: “HEY DANYA!” THEY CALL, SNAPPIN
Page 26 and 27: “DOMENICA,” MY MOTHER WARNED ME
Page 30 and 31: CHARON WAS NOT IN THE BEST OF moods
Page 32 and 33: EVERYONE HAS THEIR HOBBIES.SOME lik
Page 34 and 35: I am the ooze of the 20th century B
Page 36 and 37: “MOLLIE ROSE! WHAT IN GOD’S NAM
Page 38 and 39: continued from page 36 should have
Page 40 and 41: THE FIRST THING THAT STRUCK HER whe
Page 42 and 43: Ode to the Mud Puddle by Adam Sax T
Page 44 and 45: Gold by Soniya Shah Nothing gold is
Page 46 and 47: continued from page 44 “Brett Wil
Page 48 and 49: New York State Summer Young Writers
Page 50: Administrative Staff New York State

Summer Young Writers Anthology - University at Albany

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