Early Start to College, June 2005

The Hispanic Border Leadership Institute (H.B.L.I.) hosted its annual Early Start to College Mini Summer Camp for Latino students in the seventh through ninth grade. The program introduces hundreds of Arizona Latino students to the University and its potential role in their futures. Each year YWP teaching artists conduct arts-based creative writing workshops for the attendees.

YWP instructor, Lena Rosenfield, lead students through an activity.

A student relaxes during a break.

A Regular Day in the Neighborhood
HBLI Group A-F
Instructor: Lena Rosenfield

Pillow soft, cinnamon brown carpet,
the fresh air coming in the windows smelling like roses
a big brand new bedroom with pinks and whites,
the warm blue water with the small clear bubbles popping up,
the tile that is as hard as a brick wall and made of white rock
with my blue cup of Dr. Pepper on it.
Trashy streets packed with colored houses like a crayon box,
the dim light is like moonlight
and my eyes being flashed with blue and red doesn’t help,
and all I hear is the plastic gun in my hand,
and a new shiny skateboard with dirty blue wheels
strolling over the deep cracks on the cement sidewalk.
Black rusty pans banging and smashing,
little cousins chasing each other playing tag,
and my older cousin Sayeed teasing; we argue,
sitting in the never-ending pool table line
like a green turtle waltzing to Texas.
The carpet, soft, reddish, purplish combined,
making it into one color that’s violet,
the strawberry cake baking in the oven
smelling like roses in the neighbor’s garden,
Basketballs bouncing on the hard floor
as I make it to the basket,
people in shape like three-time Olympians
running down the remodeled court for the brown leather ball,
hustling at the top of their heart.
I can hear the bowling ball hitting the white pins,
like two cars in a head on collision.

Behind the Scenes of Thursday
HBLI Group G-L
Instructor: Caitlin Horrocks

Thursday 12 P.M. was as obsolete
as it was horrid. My old, dirty, beat up bed
starts to feel like old clay or wax.
My room was clean and smelling
good like a rose from my mom’s garden.

I woke up from my bed and went outside
to play basketball. It was hot like
a sun devil. I ran home as fast as a cheetah
to ask my mom for a dollar for the ice cream man,
only to waste my energy, to come back
with no money at all.

My room is always steaming
like the boiling sun. The door
rapidly swings open, only long enough
to toss in a beautiful girl.
I was a fool for falling,
I thought to myself. I’d never
get a kiss from her lip-licious lips.

We would have enjoyed Rocky Point,
going on the big, yellow banana boats,
but it looked like somebody had stabbed
the black, dirty tires with a knife.

Going Back
HBLI Group M-R
Instructor: Elizabyth Hiscox

I was amazed, how some people read
as they exercise and look like they are
reading the History of the Great Depression.
I see hundreds of people in gray
sweatpants and ASU T-shirts,
feeling the warm air hit my face, touch
the button, close my window.

I hear boys and girls running
down the hall like a herd of animals; the ground
trembling beneath my feet.
My friend drank three six-packs of Corona
and smells like a beer keg, overflowing.
When you’re alone, you feel
scared: a darkened elevator.

My stuffed animals feel cuddly,
soft like a cotton sack pillow.
My boom box on full blast vibrates the windows.
We converse in your living room about when we first met
in the band room. Going back, feeling cold, all
worked up, and five pounds lighter.

Mix & Match Memories HBLI Group S-Z Instructor: Todd Kaneko Hermosa Park after school smells like Grandma’s chitlins in the kitchen on New Year’s Eve. The sweet taste of honeysuckle on vines connects the white picket fence in the back yard. My living room is too bright— as if one hundred suns want to desecrate the room with deadly beams of light. The sweet, sticky, old carpet full of cotton candy eats your feet every time you try to take a step: there’s nobody to help you but yourself. My room is like a treasure buried in the Bahamas— people try to find it, and get what is inside it, looking at my personal belongings and remembering how I spent last summer. Drunk people in the dark steakhouse bar yell as if they are huge German shepherds fighting over a steak. As you walk into Harkins Theaters, the bright purple and yellow neon lights on the dark purple wall capture your attention. You hear little kids screaming, “Mommy, buy me this.” The smell of gigantic trees, heavy rocks, and tall fluffy grass is like a fresh breeze of air. It smells like hot pizza fresh from the oven, and the hot wings are still steaming. The trees in the park are like brave giants dancing around us to Brazilian music with happiness.

Students get down to business during YWP instructor, Caitlin Horrock's workshop.