I never considered myself to be
a flower. I was always plain, a weed
in everyone else’s flowerpots,
a weakling, a sprout that never
quite received enough sun to
grow. People would tell me I was
wrong, to see myself how everyone
else did, but nothing changed.
I was a barren countryside,
a meadow scorched after
a wildfire, though everyone
around me was vibrant.
Then, out of the blue, I began
to notice the details. which
had seemed mundane. I started
to see the colors in myself,
and the sunlight began
to stream through my blood.
I never considered myself to be
a flower—but now I think I do.


By Jordan Prochnow

Sunrise, Sunset

I like to take pictures of the sunset because it looks peaceful; it also reminds me my home in Vietnam. My home country is halfway around the world, so I don't usually go to visit. When I miss my home out there, I usually look at the sunset. The sunset in the US is the sunrise in Vietnam.

In Vietnamese:
Tôi thích chụp những bức hình về hoàng hôn bởi vì nó trông rất bình yên. Cảnh hoàng hôn còn gợi nhớ cho tôi về nhà của tôi ở Việt Nam. Quê hương của tôi thì cách nữa vòng trái đất, vì vậy tôi không thường xuyên về thăm quê. Những khi nhớ quê nhà tôi thường ngắm hoàng hôn. Hoàng hôn ở Mỹ là bình minh ở Việt Nam.


By Hanh Nguyen
Emily Griffith workshops for refugees
Fall 2016



Inside the Grand Wizard's House

When I got back to my apartment, I had lost my keys, so I climbed in the window. My TV was on and I thought maybe someone was in there. In the fridge was the beer and the vodka, so I knew that nobody had been there or all that would have been gone. I guess I’d left my TV on for all that time.


By Eric McIntyre
Fort Lyon Residential Community Workshops
Fall 2016




Hands being my guide
Once very useful
Hands are careful, calm, and steady
Now riddled with pain
Barely able to write
My mind tells me one thing
My hands say another


By Brian Dibley



Ghostly Hobby

We love storytelling. So on Saturdays we visit the cemetery and find a new soul to write about. We scour the headstones looking for clues, then write mini biographies. Then we search for a relative of the deceased and interview them to learn some fascinating truths. Then we invite our friends to the cemetery at night on a full moon. We provide candles and drink wine as we retell our own fabricated stories mixed with the real one and have our guests distinguish the true story. Then we create a little bonfire on the edge of the park and toast marshmallows and make s'mores while everyone shares original ghost stories.


By C. Read
Doors Open Denver Session
June 2016


Boyish Joy

to touch
boyish joy

Today beautiful disappeared
& wonderful appeared
& flowers dreamed
& silver dove called
& I did follow

Laws prohibit and destroy
private persons


From "Word on the Street"
Installation at Denver Center for the Performing Art
August 2016

Under My Feet

Pavement defines city.
I grew up without
parking lots and sidewalks
to keep me on the path,
restrict growth of grass and trees.

False security, not always
navigable for the absent minded,
cracks keep me wary. Don't
fall like I once did, bruised,
learned to look down.


By Karen Douglass