Collin College: DigitalCommons@Collin

Oil on ACM Panel - 2025 6.5”x10” Instructor Rex Kare: Painting Ihttps://digitalcommons.collin.edu/studentinvitational2025/1024/thumbnail.jp

Cepelak, Michelle

Lazy Day, Windy Day

Oil on Canvas - 2025 18”x24” Instructor Jennifer Seibert: Design IIIhttps://digitalcommons.collin.edu/studentinvitational2025/1027/thumbnail.jp

Saenz, Amby

Lucky

Oil on Canvas - 2025 24”x36” Instructor Jennifer Seibert: Painting Ihttps://digitalcommons.collin.edu/studentinvitational2025/1031/thumbnail.jp

Fortner, Isaac

Memories of Sun

Photography - 2025 16”x20” Instructor Lisa Means: Portrait Ihttps://digitalcommons.collin.edu/studentinvitational2025/1042/thumbnail.jp

Salinas-Figueroa, Karen

Rembrandt 25

Archival Print - 2025 16”x20” Instructor Lisa Means:  Color Photography Ihttps://digitalcommons.collin.edu/studentinvitational2025/1053/thumbnail.jp

Hinton, Patrick

The Scarlet Pegasus

Lopez, Morena (Sole)

My Grandparents’ Apartment 
 
My grandparents' first apartment in the U.S felt like a lost place: a casita no longer 
around, but never forgotten, full of both bliss and bitterness, a place I liked to call home away 
from home. 
As my brother and I walked up to the door of the apartment we got a small waft of Black 
Suede by Avon and L&M cigarettes. To the right, there was a family altar, its framed photos 
filled with memories and very prideful moments, while the joyful sounds of conversation from 
the kitchen filled the background, making it feel like home. Nearby, a vanilla cinnamon incense 
burned steadily—Nona’s constant companion in that small space. The smoke swirled around, 
blending with the room’s scents, always present, quietly part of her world. 
 
By the balcony door, on the other side of the apartment, there was a faded beige couch, 
its once-bright color now worn with time. The couch was--surprisingly cozy, and every spot felt 
like being wrapped up in a sea of soft clouds. A feeling of comfort, of home. Directly across 
from the couch, Nona had carved out her little corner of the world. There were countless nights 
where we would stay up all night, and we would also huddle together while playing Facebook 
poker games with her Argentinian friends on her old desktop. 
The apartment, with its thin walls, seemed to amplify every sound. Maybe it was my 
grandfather? Tata’s snoring filled the apartment like this thunderous hum. My brother Edwin and 
I would constantly end up laughing as we sat on the couch, our eyes glued to Nona’s computer 
screen. The gentle light from the screen filled the room, casting long shadows as the hours 
quietly slipped by. 
To our left, the balcony had slowly transformed into a small greenhouse. This is where 
Nona’s love for plants blossomed. This passion sparked when Tata brought home cherry tomato 
seeds from Home Depot one day, just because I loved them when I was seven. Over the years, 
she tended to them all—plump, red tomatoes hanging from the vines, and an avocado tree that 
had been steadily growing, year after year, reaching for the sky. 
The beautiful red roses that Nona grew around her fence were the most gorgeous when 
the sun set. Outside, as soon as I heard the song “A Puro Dolor” by Son by Four play, I knew it 
was time to head back inside. As we approached my grandparents' room, we could hear Edwin’s 
laughter echoing from the wall. The serape on the bed instantly caught our eyes. It was no mere 
blanket; it was a vivid reflection of our family, woven with bright colors and intricate patterns; 
its softness carrying the weight of memories long cherished. It was a small room but so fitting for 
my grandparents. The room felt warm and intimate, the ideal space for them. 
Every sound, fragrance, and object in it have left their mark. This is where I grew up— 
the first home I ever truly knew—and it will always be with me. 


My Grandparents\u27 Apartment

Garcia, Rene

The Old Wooden Home, A Place of Nostalgia 
My favorite childhood home is my Granny's house. A small old but strong house, with a 
metal fence protecting the area around the home is always a sight for me to see. The clucking of 
chickens and the howling of dogs are a welcome sound. When I walk towards the small house, I 
hear the creaking of a swinging bench, making a small squeak like a mouse. As I continue to 
walk, my feet step on the wooden floor of a staircase, creaking and cracking with every step I 
take. When I finally reach the front metal door, I open and hear a sizzle sound of a metal pushing 
through the pipe, which leads me to open another cold metal door with ease. Now that I finally 
enter the small house, I hear and see a TV playing a channel called “Telemundo” of a language I 
sadly cannot understand nor speak. But what also greets me is the amora of sizzling eggs, beans 
frying on the stove, and the boiling smell of rice that is making my mouth water in hunger. I then 
decide to wait and sit on the couch. I relax and sit and ponder to myself on the changes that have 
been made since I last visited. A cold glass table sits in the middle of the room, with many old 
and valuable knickknacks, along with pictures of families with recognizable faces. A shiny 
cream leather recliner for my grandfather sits near the TV. A rough yet comfortable couch made 
with cotton of colors of a red cherry is against the wall and where my grandmother loves to sit. A 
black shiny leather couch that sits in front of the TV is where most of us sit and watch the screen. 
On the other side of the room is a shelf full of dusty old knickknacks and memories like the table 
in the middle with pictures of myself when I was three. As the TV continues to make noise, I sit 
up and walk towards the kitchen with a smile on my face. I see a small family, eating together 
like a scene from a movie. I take my seat onto a wooden chair, as it creaks a bit. A plate is then 
handed to me, which is topped with eggs, rice, refried beans and a big flat flour tortilla. I smile 
once again and begin to dig in with joy. 


The Old Wooden Home, A Place of Nostalgia

Sims, Michael Lee, Jr.

Forces 
Volume 2025 Article 10 
5-16-2025 
Day Off 
Michael Lee Sims Jr. 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Sims, Michael Lee Jr. (2025) "Day Off," Forces: Vol. 2025, Article 10. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2025/iss1/10 
This Painting is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
5
F O R C E S    I    2 O 2 5
Day Off   I   Michael Lee Sims Jr.


Day Off

Lamb, Andrea L.

Forces 
Volume 2025 Article 13 
5-16-2025 
Don't Blink 
Andrea L. Lamb 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Lamb, Andrea L. (2025) "Don't Blink," Forces: Vol. 2025, Article 13. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2025/iss1/13 
This Photograph is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
1 0
Don’t Blink   I   Andrea L. Lamb


Don\u27t Blink

Faye, Ashtyn

Forces 
Volume 2025 Article 14 
5-16-2025 
Echo 
Ashtyn Faye 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces 
Recommended Citation 
Faye, Ashtyn (2025) "Echo," Forces: Vol. 2025, Article 14. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/forces/vol2025/iss1/14 
This Poem is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Collin. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in Forces by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Collin. For more information, please contact 
mtomlin@collin.edu. 
1 3
F O R C E S    I    2 O 2 5
Lyla   I   
Brittany Cortez
Echo
Ashtyn Faye
My voice echoes off the walls and suddenly I am 
A little girl hearing my mom
Her voice bounces off of pews
Little feet trapped in Sunday Best shoes wiggle over the floor 
Heavy eyes seduced
By a biblical lullaby
That will work twice as hard as any warm milk
I will never outlive my mother
It does not matter who passes first
There is no world where her voice won’t 
Call back to me in an empty house
Time means nothing to sound waves and drywall
It forces freefall into the ticktickticktick of a second hand the 
Lilting sickly serenade never stops
Alone in the house
Mom’s voice echoes off the walls and 
I cock my head to
Answer the call echo


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