Junior+and+Art+3+student%2C+Lindsy+Cienfuegos%2C+artwork+titled+%22Grid+View.%22

Artwork by Lindsy Cienfuegos

Junior and Art 3 student, Lindsy Cienfuegos, artwork titled “Grid View.”

2nd Place Winners of Art Festival to Represent Godinez at District Level

February 17, 2021

Make sure to watch our 2nd place winners compete at the Santa Ana Unified School District’s 3rd Annual Literary Conference or “Lit Con” is Thursday, February 25, 2021, 6-7:30 p.m. See @sausdarts on Instagram for sign up link.

2nd Place Prose: And Hope was There

Hope is the smell of petrichor. With a sigh from the clouds, rain falls and stops. Cool,
calm, and crisp, the air regains its clarity. No more is the barren ground covered in just ash and
char. For with the smell of rain comes the green of trees, and isn’t it amazing how the earth can
be scorched and yet remain alive?

Hope may not be smooth, fluffy, or soft. Hope could be the roughness of cracked,
calloused hands, pressing the trophies of labor into your skin. Hope could also be the unevenness
of scars, where skin once bled until it bridged the distance, where healing occurred. Hope could
feel like the cold, smooth lines of grass under your hands as you rise once more. Isn’t it
awe-inspiring, how you exist just as you are, equally pushing back at whatever pushes you?

By Pandora’s standard, perhaps hope should be shaped like a box. Perhaps hope is the
shape of a beating heart, for as long as someone lives, hope lives. Perhaps hope is the shape of a
rainbow, spanning as far as the eye can see, the promise of a world that will not flood. Or,
perhaps hope has no defined shape. Hope is the shape of your most trusted person’s hugs, the
hunched figure of a newly-growing sunflower, a bookmark just barely staying in a book, but still
there. It could be the shape of your pet as it comfortably settles on your shoulders. Or maybe
hope’s shape is what you make it to be, because, if anything, hope is something you should be
able to make yourself, regardless of what your body is like and what your circumstances are.
Isn’t it comforting, how hope could come from your fingertips and remain in what you’ve had an
impact on?

The taste of hope is your favorite candy, making your day better. It is the underlying
notes of your coffee, flavored by your choice and hand. Hope could be your parental unit’s
cooking as you help season while it cooks. Hope is what you choose to like or dislike, because
you have control over what may bring you happiness and sorrow. Fruit sometimes tastes sour,
but you keep eating it for the chance that you happen upon a sweet piece. Maybe your food is
burnt, but you laugh and say, “next time, we’ll be more careful.” Isn’t it lovely, how even your
tongue can tell you that something good will happen even if this batch isn’t as good?

Hope is the sound of you. Whether you ugly cry, noisily laugh, snort, snore, or sneeze.
Hope is the sound of what you make – pots clanging in the kitchen, mistakes in a practice room, a
shout as your favorite show comes on. Your voice and the sounds you make will spread through
the air and you might get one response, or two, or hundreds! Regardless of why you make noise,
you always have the chance for a response. Isn’t it encouraging how that can be?

Hope is there. You can tell.

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2nd Place Poetry: When Tomorrow Comes

For the first time in a long time, I felt the tears roll down my cheek

A steady stream of water, the type that would capture a canvas

And in the place of a loved one’s embrace, a blanket was all that guarded against the night

And as the warmth of the protector grew damp with the stream,

memories swirled around the head

Memories flowing back to thoughts of a child I once knew

 

To the child who learned to write what he could not speak

To the child who only speaks out against himself

To the child who grew spiteful as the world challenged him

To the child who was too afraid to challenge the world

To the child who hid behind a face as if it were a shield

To the child who was too weak to keep their shield raised

To the child who learned to hate what he did not understand

To the child who never really understood why he hated

To the child who easily loved the undeserving 

To the child who hated the love he felt undeserved

To the child who did everything he loved out of hate

To the child who hated doing everything he loved

To the child who wanted nothing but to know love

To the child who knows nothing of what loving means

To the child who succeeded through being smart

To the child who was too smart to ever truly succeed 

To the child who loved to discover how things were

To the child who doesn’t know what they really are

And to the child, now clutching a damp blanket, who cries themselves a river

Knowing that, despite that, there is a smile upon his face

 

To the man who speaks out for others and writes his way forward

To the man who challenges the world as much as the world does him

To the man who holds his shield for other, so that they may one day share their face

To the man who tries to love all and understands why it is he loves

To the man who loves what he does, and does things for sake of his love

To the man who shares his love with another, and knows that love simply is

To the man who lead now with his heart as much as he does his brain

To the thing who knows not what they really are, but knows that that is half the battle

And to the man, embracing their warm blanket, who drifts off to sleep 

Knowing that, despite it all, tomorrow always shines

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2nd Place Winners of Art Festival to Represent Godinez at District Level