Resonance 2023

Editor-in-Chief

Henry Redfield ‘23

Assistant Editor-in-Chief

Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Editorial Team

Seomae Aronson ‘25

Ava Churchill ‘25

David Gallagher Jr. ‘25

Benjamin Gulmann ‘23

Gonzalo Noriega Minguez ‘24

Bodhi Talbot ‘26

Steven Zhao ‘23

Faculty Advisor

Dr. Pauline Levy Valensi

2023 Resonance Award Panel

Britta Santamauro

Kyle Flannery

Charlie Jodoin

Dr. Petra Ehrenbrink

Dr. Christine Carter

Olivia Riddiford

Helen Reuter

Art index

Cover Resonance 2023, Henry Redfield

Title Verso Page Plankton Embroidery Quilt, Sharon Kreamer p. 6 Mar Dorado, Declan Lane ‘25 p. 15 Bang, Lena Jazo ’28 p. 16 An Old Man and His Grandson, Domenico Ghirlandaio p. 17 Pattern, Zoë Van Keuren ‘27 p. 17 Landscape, Bobby Frigon ‘23 p. 18 Self Portrait, Henry Redfield ‘23 p. 18 Naushon Ferry at Night, Veronica Foureman ‘28 p. 19 Northern Lights, Amelia Russell-Schaeffer ‘26 p. 19 Snowy Landscape, Ursula Junker ‘23 p. 20 Persephone, Sadie Leveque ‘23 p. 24 Sabrina, Henry Redfield ‘23 p. 26 Heliodiscidae/ Radiolarians, Ethan Plotkin ‘25 p. 27 At the Beach, Tatum Nelson ‘28 p. 27 Ganges River Delta, Zara Taylor-Keefer ‘28 p. 29 Sunset Seascape, Hannah Flanders ‘26 p. 30 Narcomedusae, Anne Jeffrey ‘25; Okenia Elegans, Apex Heywood ‘25; Disconectae, Ava Churchill ‘25; Siphonophore Staatsqualles, Carly Coggins ‘25; Asterias, Charlie Rickard ‘25; Valonia Ventricosa, David Gallagher Jr. ‘25; Hallucigenia Sparsa, Declan Lane ‘25; Linantha, Devon Lanson-Alleyne ‘25; Acanthometra (Radiolaria), Dillon Fondren ‘25; Aurelia, Gracie Coggins ‘25; Dinoflagellate, Henry Richins ‘25; Trachymedusae (suborder of Trachylina), Karly Shifrin ‘25; Discomedusae, Eva Muldoon ‘25; Irukandji, Lila Journalist ‘25; Staurastrum Desmidaceae, Maaya de Menocal ‘25; Phaeodaria, Maria Eduarda Soares ‘25; Desmonema, Meg Dooley ‘25; Trachymedusae, Peter Jeffrey ‘25; Holoplanktonic Protozoa: Radiolaria, Robby Lender ‘25; Siphonophore, Sara Valle ‘25; Porpema (Siphonophore), Seomae Aronson ‘25; Desmidiaceae, Susanna Lowell ‘25; Porpita Prunella, Thomas Goux ‘25; Bathykorus Bouilloni, Yaz Aubrey ‘25; Acanthometra, Zander Ray ‘25 p. 31 Pollution and Paradise, Dillon Fondren ‘25 p. 32 Seascape, Sia Canelos ‘26 p. 34 Light in a Vacuum, Sebastian Gelinas-Alexander ‘23 p. 40 Woodcut Self-Portrait, Petra Brienza ‘23 p. 43 Dusk in Provincetown, Eva Muldoon ‘25 p. 46–47 Borrowed Time, Sadie Leveque ‘23 p. 48 Protect Right Whales, Max Donovan ’26, with the help of the Class of 2026 p. 53 Covid Takes a Toll, Anne Jeffrey ‘25 p. 55 Pura Vida, Lily Connors ‘24 p. 62 Landscape, Nina McKim Kight ‘26

Back Cover Remember to Smell the Roses, Emma Bena ‘26, with the help of the Class of 2026

“Broccoli,” Zoë Van Keuren ‘27

“Failing Means Yer Playin,” Penelope Thornton ‘27

“Kuleana,” Elise Soule ‘27

“Second Time’s the Charm,” Story Taylor ‘27

“Reform and Reflect,” Kate Conover ‘27

“Leaves,” Meg Dooley ‘25

“Edge of the Path,” Lila Journalist ‘25

“To sing a sinful song of sorrow,” Henry Redfield ‘23

“Gently wavering,” Henry Redfield ‘23

“Prithee Tell of Great Saius of Old,” Henry Redfield ‘23

“The Job,” Henry Redfield ‘23

“Creatures of the Unseen,” Henry Redfield ‘23

“Excerpts from the Ancient Readings of Nathalek and Sirelan,” Lila Journalist ‘25

“Village of Colors,” Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Lined Seas,” Ethan Plotkin ‘25 on the Board,” Ethan Plotkin ‘25 without the Letter ‘i’,” Ethan Plotkin ‘25 of the Whole,” Ethan Plotkin ‘25 the Storm Winds Blow),” Ethan Plotkin ‘25

“Chant Poem,” Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Embroidery

“Deep Sleep,” William Butler ‘24

“The Museum,” Benjamin Angell ‘24

“A Life Cycle,” Adele Francis ‘24

“The Tale of an Unknown Cat,” Fiona Gully ‘24

“Wanderer,” Clara Athearn ‘24 ………………………………………………………………………………..39

“The Portrait Gallery,” Thalia O’Neil ‘24 ……………………………………………………………………..40

“The Wind and the Water,” Natalie Pil ‘24

“Something Known as Peace,” Maddie Park-Boudreau ‘28 ……………………………………………………44

“Peace and War,” Declan Diriwachter ‘28 …………………………………………………………………….44

“Flow,” Emme Carroll ‘28 …………………………………………………………………………………….45

“Delphi,” Lila Journalist ‘25 …………………………………………………………………………………..46

“The Big Blue,” Sylvie Parsons ‘28 ……………………………………………………………………………48

“Struggles at Boarding School,” Seomae Aronson ‘25 …………………………………………………………49

“Haunted,” Ava Churchill ‘25 …………………………………………………………………………………52

“Ignorance is Bliss,” Ava Churchill ‘25 ………………………………………………………………………..53

“Wizard,” David Gallagher Jr. ‘25 …………………………………………………………………………….54

“Mi Vida,” Translated by Gonzalo Noriega Minguez ‘25 ……………………………………………………..55

“Clearwater Lodge,” Tildy Clark Moehnke ‘27 and Zoë Van Keuren ‘27 ……………………………………..56

“House,” Giovanna Messina ‘27 ………………………………………………………………………………62

“Washington’s Watercraft,” Henry Redfield ‘23 ……………………………………………………………….63

Broccoli

“Hazel, you have to eat your broccoli!” repeated my mom for the tenth time, glaring at me from across the kitchen counter. I folded my arms looking back into her angry, gray eyes, forcing a tear down the side of my face. My mom owns her own cafe and loves to cook. She is always so worried about my health. She knows how much I hate broccoli, and yet, I have to eat it every night. When I refused she called into the living room, “Brian, can you please tell Hazel to eat her broccoli.”

“Hazel, listen to your mother and eat the broccoli,” replied my dad scornfully. Both of my parents are very stubborn, particularly my mom. I think I might get that from her too, but I knew that if I didn’t eat it, they would both be upset. So I ate the broccoli and went to bed, but I had a plan.

The first thing that I did the next morning was to pack the new fairy backpack that I got last week at the mall. I'm starting second grade in twenty-three days and needed a new backpack. I filled it with a bottle of water, my toothbrush and toothpaste, a flashlight, some books, all nine dollars of my tooth fairy money, and of course, I couldn’t forget my favorite stuffed animal, Clementine. I was going to run away. I’m seven years old, so I don’t need my parents anymore. I was going to go and live in the forest across town and take care of myself like an adult for the rest of my life. Adults don’t have to eat broccoli every night, and I will never eat broccoli ever, ever again. It will be just like camping. I always go camping with my dad, so I’m pretty good at it now.

I pulled the heavy backpack over my shoulders and caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked so mature and my new backpack was even prettier than I remembered. I snuck down the stairs while my parents were out in the backyard, slipped on my bright yellow rain boots, and walked out the front door.

I passed my neighbor’s house which is where my friend Ayden lives. I considered inviting him to come with me to live in the woods, but he is scared of the woods and bugs. I just don’t think he could handle it. I wanted to say goodbye and I contemplated whether or not I should tell him where I was going. At least then he wouldn't be worried about me. Maybe he would even visit sometimes. However, if he knew I was leaving he would try to convince me to stay, so I thought that it would be best if he didn't know anything.

I wandered through the streets of the small town of Woodstock, which is all I have ever known. Past the museum and all of my favorite restaurants. Past the library where I spent many, many hours of my childhood. Past the pet shop from where I had always begged my parents to let me adopt a kitten.

As I got closer to the forest, I could see the small wooden cabin where my grandmother lived, sitting at the edge of the tree line. I gazed through the windows of the familiar and comforting home beckoning me to go inside. I watched my grandmother through the mossy window panes, as she pulled her silvery hair behind her ears preparing to make herself dinner. Her cat, Ophelia curled on the comfy brown sofa, sleeping while she sliced tomatoes which I knew she had grown from her own garden. She was making soup, chili. My favorite. My grandmother has always made the best homemade meals. But, I knew I couldn’t stay. I spun around and disappeared into the trees.

Once I had gotten far enough into the depths of the forest I knew I would not be able to find broccoli even if I tried. I began to look for the best place to live. I set my bag down beneath a large elm tree and pulled out my blanket. I spread the blanket over the base of the tree and sat down on top of it with Clementine at my side.

As it started to get dark, I took my toothbrush and toothpaste out of my bag and brushed my teeth. I arranged my bag underneath my head so it could be used as a pillow, and shut my eyes.

While lying there trying to fall asleep, I realized that I probably should have brought another blanket with me or maybe some snacks from the pantry. I was cold and hungry, my new backpack was not a comfortable pillow, and I didn’t have my nightlight. I couldn’t see much in the dark. Who knows how many monsters there were out there with me. I don’t know how to check for monsters. My mom always did that. There was no way that I was going to be able to sleep!

I began to shove my wet blanket into my now dirt-covered fairy backpack as it started to drizzle. I looked down at the peeling label reading Hazel Wilder on the flashlight that I now gripped tightly in my hand. I wiped my face of tears and raindrops with the end of my sleeve and began to trudge through the muddy leaves back onto the trail.

The trail was getting smaller and I could see the warm lights of my grandmother’s home, so I started to run.

“Ow!” I yelled as I tripped over a rock in the trail, falling to the ground. Climbing to my feet, I saw the dress that my mom had handmade for me, stained with blood. I limped all the way to my grandmother’s doorstep, and when she opened the door, I was flooded by the warmth and light coming from inside.

“Hazel darling, what are you doing at this time of night all alone? And, oh my! Is that blood!” she shrieked, as I burst into tears. “Sweetie, what’s going on? Come inside,” she said, inviting me into the house.

I told her everything and she embraced me in a huge hug. Sitting down on her old brown couch, holding Ophelia in my lap she bandaged my scraped knee. She gave me the extra chili from her dinner and a bowl of jelly beans for the pain. At that moment, I knew then that I would be okay.

Zoë Van Keuren ‘27

Failing Means Yer Playin

“Don't be afraid of the secrets of the world! Be afraid of the secrets you don't discover!” I wept to my mother as she pulled my arm away from the meadow in which so much of the world was shown to me. I would have never believed I would have said something like that before the wedding began. My two dresses were laid out on my bed for me. My hands gracefully hovered across the surface of the bed until they hit the first silky dress. I picked it up as I felt the satin dress with a ribbon across the waist. My fingers touched the intricately textured thread of the ribbon. picturing the emotions each line would perceive. My mind filled up with warmth, like listening to my favorite song for the first time when a slight grin grew across my face.

I carefully placed the dress back on my bed as if it were a newborn baby and patted my hands onto the second dress. I lifted it up knowing that this one was much heavier. It was a rough-hewn fabric dress with no bumps or patches. The very top was embroidered with cold stones running across the neckline.

As my fingers drifted across the stones, I heard the door open and my mother's heavy, orderly steps walking toward me. Her breath was frantic as she quickly sat on the bed beside me. The smell of her vanilla hibiscus perfume she only wears when she’s nervous told me how I should expect our next conversation to go.

“Cameron Wildman!” she exclaimed. “Your aunt is going to be the cruelest bride in all of Scotland if she doesn't call her sister when getting ready for her wedding!” She paused and before silence filled the room, she told me, “Oh, I love the black dress with the stones, honey! You look so grown up in this one.” My mom jolted up and quickly walked towards the door.

“She always calls me,” she whined under her breath.

The door slammed shut.

“Be ready in ten minutes Cammy!” I told myself not to pick the first satin dress. I know all of my family going to the wedding wouldn’t be fond of it. Most of my family’s mundane. Their voices are dry and monotone. When my step-uncle Gilbert would talk to me, he would try to speak very slowly. Every now and then his yawn would tell me he knew he was dull as well. I put on the bland yet elegant, stone-rimmed dress, hoping my family would see me the same.

Walking into the wedding scenery was like walking into an opera house. Loud voices stretched a dozen acres. The women gasped at the scenery in awe and the damp Scottish air eliminated this one day to a warm breeze that ever so slightly hit my cheek.

“Look what we have here.” Said the voice of my Great Aunt Jenny in a disapproving manner. “Barbara, I told you this wedding was going to be pleasant. A bit tacky with the gold. And why did your sister insist on having it in a forest?”

My mother seemed hesitant to reply. “Aunty, I think the sound of the ocean reminds her of home. You know about the beautiful cliffs just half a mile from here.”

I tried to tune out their conversation and heard a slight crash of the waves.

“Cameron!” said my Great Aunt. “Does she know what I’m saying?” She whispered to my mom. These conversations were not ones I grew distant from. Instead, I enjoyed them.“My dearest great Aunt Jenny, your amusing way of telling me that you are not one of the polite manners is merely a stick in the road, but not to compare to the bitter truth that you do not subject to any instruction in briefly studying the lives of anyone except those similar to yourself.”

I interpreted my sigh as confident, but a slight whimper came out. My aunt froze exactly how I thought she would.

“Your perfume smells nice today,” I said and grabbed my mother's hand as she nervously apologized to my great aunt.

We quickly walked forwards, and the moss I was stepping on changed to a hard wooden surface and I knew we were walking onto the dance floor. The vibration of feet came into a unison stomp to the pop music. My mom hurriedly rushed me to the left where a long wooden bench I assume was matching the forest-themed wedding sat. She guided me to sit down and I picked up my puffy skirt and gently sat on the wood.

“Cammy, I’ll be right back. I'm just going to congratulate your Aunt.”

“Alright.”

I knew she was not going to be right back. My mother and I are very different in that way. I see it as though we are birds. One has all the pretty feathers and swarms off with all of the other birds, to protect the heart of the family. And the bird in the nest who no one believes can fly.

I decided then to prepare myself for the hours that were going to go by before the pretty feathered birds stopped swarming off with the others and started teaching me to fly. All my mother was really doing was talking to distant relatives about the college their child was going to.

The sound of waves crashing seemed to grow louder than it should for half a mile away. The smash of the cliffs gradually filled my ears until a pitching sound hit.

I jumped slightly when a small hot item fell on my black flats.

“Lavvy Heid!” said a crouchy and uneven-toned voice. The smell of thyme and smoke grew as a man lifted the object off of my shoe. It was my grandfather, Clyde Wildman.

“Clipe! Sorry miss.”

His shirt softly ruffled until he spoke from above my head.

“In all my years. Cameron Wildman! I haven't seen you since I visited down in Berwick-upon- Tweed when you were just a wee-un.” He sighed as his body hit the bench next to me and breathed inwards making smoke run across my face. “Lost my pipe on your bonnie shoes.” Ahem! May you look more like your mother every day!”

“Thank you.” I quietly responded.

A pause filled the air. But not a tense one. A nice pause where I felt appreciative of the present. It seemed as though Grandpa Cylde took another spiff of the pipe before returning to our conversation. “You liking this wedding Cam?”

My grandfather was not tolerated by the rest of my family. He lived in the Highlands with his wife Jolie. My mom said his intentions were good but she never really understood him growing up. It was rare that he visited us six years ago because most of my family forgot about him and Grandma Jolie.

I remember my cousin Karma saying, “Clyde and Jolie are probably off in the Himalayas instead of getting their kids to good colleges.”

Even though he and Grandma Jolie were off the grid most of the time, word got around that Grandma got sick, so he took care of her at their home in the Highlands. Two years ago, Grandma Jolie died and Grandpa Clyde’s reputation in the family got a whole lot worse. It was one thing to be frowned upon in the family but to frown upon the family was another story. He and Grandma were soulmates, so he stayed up in their little cottage to mourn.

“It’s better than some things and worse than others,” I replied.

“Ahah! I know it.” He chuckled from his stomach. “Cammy, why don't we go to the meadow? Much more peaceful. All this ruckus is getting too much for some people like you and I who don't like crab cake and champagne.”

Usually, I would wait for my mother, my safety, to agree on anything; but at this moment, a drive from inside me approved of my going. “Alright,” I said affirmatively.

He carefully took my hand and we walked through the wedding. Unlike walking with my mom where we had to dodge the other people, he just took me in a straight line. I could hear people around me and suddenly their voices got smaller and smaller. The smell of salt grew. The swooshing of the trees stopped.

“Here we are! The most extraordinary meadow in all of Iona,” said Grandpa Clyde. He let go of my hand and slowly sat on the grass. I did the same.

“I know I’m not liked at this weddin’. Oh my, what a lovely cliff.”

“Why are we here, Grandpa Clyde?”

“Why weren’t we here before!” he enthusiastically said. “This world is so much tryna figure the way out of the maze and we don’t understand the art of getting lost. I'd be going 'bout my day until a hand would come and lift me out and drop me in the middle of a labyrinth, where I'd be stuck a while.”

He sighed. “I was stuck for a long time, Cammy.”

I wasn't sure how to respond. Why was he so much better all of a sudden? Everyone thought he would be mourning up in that cottage until his days ended.

“Grandpa Clyde?”

“Ye?”

“You know you are always welcome to family gatherings but you haven’t shown much interest in them until now. Why are you here?” I said, hoping he wouldn't get mad. The breeze took up the space of the silence and I gripped the sharp grass.

“I never tried it out. I think trying everything is very important while we are on earth. Experimenting things so you can see what interests you.”

“Not to be rude, Grandpa Clyde, but you kind of failed at this experiment if talking to family counts as one. Also, what if you can’t try out everything?”

He chuckled from his belly again.“Oh, doll, failing means yer playin’!”

The breeze's voice seemed to have gone into a song and the waves seemed to be more mellow and not striking the cliffs as much.

“Here. Hold out your hands,” Grandpa Clyde said.

I did and a small flower was put into them. It had a flimsy stem and the petals were soft and short and there were a lot of them. It felt like a pom-pom because of the amount. “Do you think this flower can fly?” he asked me.

“No. Of course not.” I answered.

“Yes, it can,” he teased.

“Grandpa Clyde, flowers don’t fly. That’s not what they were made to do.”

“Says who?” he said.

My eyebrows pinched. Then he went on. “Just because they aren't made to fly doesn’t mean that they can’t. What does it even mean to fly?” he asked.

“Flying means to glide in the air,” I said

“Cammy, why don’t you throw that flower up in the air?”

I did as he had said and heard a small crash on the ground. I knew it. I almost believed him there that the flower could fly. What was I thinking?

“See!” He said excitedly. “It flew!”

“No, it didn’t.” I announced with irritation.

He did the same hearty laugh again. “Oh, to relive all this strange serenity, to lift me up and drop me in this maze again would be something,” he said.

I heard my grandfather breathe in and out releasing the smoke again.

In a timid voice, I said, “There are so many things that I can’t figure out, though.”

“No, no, no, doll! You can discover more than most,” he replied

I sighed and breathed in the salty air. Was he that withdrawn from reality?

“I cannot discover things if I can't see them.”

“Take my hand and walk with me,” he said as though he just woken up from a meditation.

We held hands and stepped up pressing my other hand on the scratchy grass. We walked closer to the cliff horizontally.

“You don't have to look to see things clearly,” he laughed.

As we strolled, I tried to grab his hand for support. Instead, the wind pushed against my palm. “But if I can’t see then what's the point?”

“Point!” he yelled. “Oh doll, points are too sharp. We just made them up before we realized how to live in the moment.”

Though before I thought Grandpa Clyde's queer words were just pointless for whom my family could never, I learned then that his words say much more. A loud clash of waves sprayed my arm.

“I think the flower flew as well, Grandpa Clyde. It was in the air!”

“That's the spirit!” he rejoiced.

“Just remember, doll, don’t be afraid of the secrets of the world. Be afraid of the secrets you don’t discover!”

A sudden burst of nostalgia collided in my mind to be what seemed like my first laugh. Another clash of the waves hitting the cliffs shot up. “As much as I hate to say this Grandpa Clyde, we should head back to the wedding.”

I suddenly heard running behind me: my mom's steps. “Cameron what are you doing here? Remember what I told you about telling me if you are going to go somewhere by yourself!” She grabbed my arm. “Especially with these cliffs! What if you fell!”

“Wait mom. I'm not by myself though. I went with Grandpa Clyde.”

Her grip loosened.

“Cameron sweety are you feeling ok? Grandpa Clyde died two years ago.”

A lump started to fill my thoughts as I tried to gulp. My mom had to have been lying; she just had to have been. I tugged away from her loose grip. “Grandpa Clyde!” I screamed. I ran a couple of feet. “Grandpa Clyde, where have you gone!”

My brain seemed to have been twirling so much that it forgot to work my legs. I fell on the grass and scratched my knees. Tears filled up my eyes. My mom once again grabbed my arm and pulled me away.

At that moment I could have sworn Grandpa Clyde whispered into my ear. “Doll, I flew.”

Penelope Thornton ‘27

It was hot in the house, the kind of heat that sneaks under your skin and makes itself at home so seamlessly that you hardly even notice it until it's gone. Kalani breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out of the house onto the patio. The outside air smelled like mangoes: sticky-sweet and still hot, but alive in a way that inside just wasn’t.

Party sounds floated through the screen windows- snippets of childlike shouts, murmured gossip, whose sister's auntie's best friend?, the clack of shoes on tile and pidgin insults from the uncles on the deck. Familiar, homey, and safe.

At least she had a piece of home to take into the belly of the beast.

“Take food to the neighbors,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

Kalani scoffed. Clearly, her mother had NO LOVE for her daughter, whomst she had birthed into this world, only to-

“Ah!”

Kalani’s wrist brushed the pan of yakisoba she was carrying, tented by a piece of tinfoil that was seemingly hotter than the surface of the sun. She scrambled to lay the pan on the sidewalk, brushing nutshells away with her good hand and laying the other in the cool grass.

She hissed as she examined the scorched area. It wasn’t a bad burn. Kalani was used to injuries like these. Disaster in the kitchen that she was, Kalani was still determined to help in the cooking process. Take earlier:

“Ma, let me- Ma! I can help!”

Masterfully flipping tofu cubes while simultaneously fending off her daughter with a spatula, Keahi raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I have orders from your Nana to not let you anywhere near hot oil. Or hot water. Or the stove.”

The Nana in question cut in.

“Ah, girl, your mother right. You not da kind person meant to cook. Okay?”

At Kalani’s visible disappointment, Nana softened.

“You can cut the bok choy, la. And eat! Very important step. Dinner soon.”

“Actually,” Keahi spoke, cutting green onions at an alarming clip, “You can take food to da neighbors. They never come out the house, but they still should eat.”

Kalani protested.

“Ma! They’re scary! What if they’re serial killers? Would you really do that to me?”

Nana looked unimpressed.

“Pau wit’ the silly stories, ‘Lani. You’re going, like it or no.”

Pulled back to the present by her singed arm, Kalani sighed in relief as the cool, wet grass soothed her burn. From her position on the ground, she could see the little creatures that were emerging in the dying light. Little geckos scurried over the smooth rocks and wove in between the grass. Used to seeing geckos, Kalani tended to ignore them, but one caught her eye.

It was a similar brown color to the other geckos, but something about it seemed… off. Its movements were jerky, like it was second-guessing every step. Almost like her brother Hale’s remote-control cars. Except nothing like a car, because the not-quite-gecko stopped, tasted the air, and then rotated its head 360 degrees to stare directly at Kalani’s face with a humanlike grin.

Did that gecko… just look at me?

“This must be it. I’m cracking up,” Kalani said to herself.

The gecko, upon realizing it had been noticed, made a sudden break for it and scrambled into the tall grass. Oh, no you don’t. Snatching the yakisoba tray up off the ground and thanking whatever higher power was out there that it was covered, Kalani sprinted after the gecko. The gecko was fast, but Kalani had been catching geckos since she was no older than five, so without significant effort, she had the gecko squirming in her fist before too long.

“HA! Got you, you little-”

Kalani’s voice petered off into a distressed warble as she realized where she was. The neighbor’s house. It was just like the other houses on her street, but its reputation preceded it. Just as soon as the new family moved in, people began to talk.

I heard they’re cooking in there. You know…that kine cooking.

They stay closed up in there all day- why? Maybe they’re on the run from the law. Maybe a serial killer lives there.

I bet they’re in witness protection.

It was common knowledge- don’t go near the new neighbor’s house. And yet, here she was.

Kalani knelt down and opened her hand to release the gecko, but it stayed on her hand and stubbornly refused to move, even when Kalani gently shook her hand to dislodge it.

“Okay, um… pocket?” Kalani inquired, bringing the gecko to the pocket of her shorts. It immediately slipped in and curled up.

“Okay.”

Kalani took a steadying breath and prepared to ring the doorbell. Just walk up, smack the bell, drop the food and run. Easy.

Of course, since life is a horrible curse, it was not that easy.

Kalani dropped the tray off and was beginning her speedy escape when the unthinkable happened. The door opened.

Kalani was NOT PREPARED for this to happen. Oh, this was bad. Small talk? Polite conversation? Kalani was so in her own head that she almost didn’t notice the blue glow emanating from her neighbor, who was politely trying to get her attention.

“Excuse me, I think you have my Magnetized Bioniscrewdriver.”

The creature gently lifted the gecko out of her pocket, and Kalani could do nothing but stare. The creature in front of her was an assault on human senses, but the first thing that caught Kalani’s attention was their eyesluminous blue, with pitch-black sclera. They were beautiful, but even pretty eyes couldn’t distract Kalani from the four arms. And the height. Seven feet at least.

“Excuse me?” Kalani’s neighbor asked again, affronted.

“...Arms.” was Kalni’s intelligent response.

What are you saying. Come on, get it together.

Luckily, the neighbor seemed amused, rather than outright offended. They chuckled, seemingly understanding of Kalani’s state of shock.

“Yes, arms. Why don’t you come in? Have you brought food? Is it Keahi’s?”

Not a chance. Scolded Kalani’s inner mom. Are you looking to get murdered?

“I promise not to murder you. Strulquiks’ honor.”

Well…the alien, Strulquik, apparently, didn’t look scary. And she could feel the A.C. from the stoop. Even Kalani’s self-preservation instincts couldn’t argue with A.C. She stepped over the threshold and was immediately transported into a different world. Shiny chrome and colorful liquids encased in glass lined the walls, and all the pictures hung on the fridge and walls were of animals Kalani couldn’t name if she tried. She stood in dazed wonderment. This is what had been hiding here all along?

“Thank you for the food, human-girl. Your mother is very kind to cook for me.”

Strulquik placed the yakisoba on their pristine countertop and turned to Kalani.

“I am under the impression that on this planet everyone has a personalized sound that they identify with. What is your sound, human-girl?”

“My name? Well, I’m Kalani. And you’re… Strulquik?”

Strulquik shrugged. “That is the human translation of my clan’s call. You probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Kalani was confused about many things in this interaction. Chief among them, the fact that she was conversing with an alien in their alien house, but those were punches she was just rolling with.

“Wait, your clan’s name? How do you tell each other apart?”

Strulquik winced. “I had a sound back home on Pharvis Z6Z3, but I was stripped of it when I left. I am not part of the family anymore, so I do not get to use the sound it gave me."

Kalani’s heartstrings tugged at Strulquik’s tale. In her neighborhood, she had never had any doubts that she was wanted, that she belonged here. This was her community, tight-knit as it was. It’s hard, Kalani had rationalized, to let other people in. But did they really try? As soon as Strulquick had moved in, the rumors had started and crystallized into one hard truth- people were scared of Strulquik.

So that was how it was: Christmas cards, food on the doorstep, and pity invitations that were never taken up.

But looking at Strulquik, who was eagerly smelling the yakisoba Keahi had made, Kalani couldn’t help but think that this isn’t how it has to be.

Can’t we let them in?

Kuleana: The sacred relationship between the responsible person and that which they are responsible for. An obligation to do good wherever possible, and to give back what has been received. Kalani’s community had raised her, supported her, given her everything. It was time to give back.

“Strulquik, do you want to come to my house? We’re having a party.”

Strulquik looked apprehensive, like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to say yes. It struck Kalani then: Strulquik is scared of us too.

“There’s more food…” Kalani sing-songed. “My mom made it…”

Strulquik still looked hesitant, but gave a determined nod.

“Alright, let’s go! Come on!”

When they got home, Kalani exuberantly slammed the door open.

“Mama! You’ll never guess who I met!”

Elise Soule ‘27

Shelly Williams. September 9. Dear Diary,

Last night, Mommy sat me down on the couch. I thought I was gonna be in trouble for feeding Rufus my Princess Fashion Adventure Barbie Doll, but I guess she’s saving that for another time. Apparently Mrs. Wilson called her last night and said I have to do second grade again. Mommy kept saying that it was gonna be okay, and she’ll always be here for me and blah blah blah. But I’m not worried about it one bit. Obviously I have to go back to second grade because my teacher loved me so much. So I can’t wait. This morning I put on my best pink tutu and unicorn t-shirt and strutted out of that door like the fantastical glitterlicious queen I am. Now, I’m only writing this because I know I’m the only one who is going to read it, but when I got to school I was really nervous. I thought that it would be easy since I’ve already done second grade and I’m older than all the other kids in the class, but I guess I was wrong. When Daddy dropped me off at the classroom door, all the other kids kept looking at me. Every time I looked into their eyes, my cheeks got all hot and stuff. It felt like I had a sunburn from being at the beach for too long. I wanted to run away from the school and never come back. Allergies, I guess. That’s what Mommy always says. I said hi to Mrs. Wilson and confirmed that she doesn’t have to be sad, because I’m gonna be in her class all year. I also informed her that at some point I will have to move on from the second grade and do bigger things, but she won’t have to worry until next June, when school ends and summer starts.

After greeting her, I put my backpack and lunchbox in my cubby and went to my seat from last year, but there was a boy in my seat. Obviously, I went up to him and told him to move. You can’t just take someone else’s seat and claim it as your own. That’s not how it works. I was nice enough to him, because I assumed he didn’t learn all of that in first grade. He just needed me to help him out. That’s why I couldn’t believe it when he said he wasn’t gonna move. He pointed his muddy finger toward a sticker on the back of his chair that said Michael. I guess that was his seat after all.

I was really mad at Mrs. Wilson at first, but then I realized she must have moved my seat closer to her desk because she loves being around me so much. I sat down in my assigned seat, but not before giving that boy Michael’s chair a good kick. His stupid backwards blue hat made me want to grab his pencil and snap it in half. Hats aren’t supposed to go on your head backwards, doesn’t he know that? He must be pretty dumb. I’m really mad I have to spend the rest of the year with him.

My best friends from last year are in third grade now, so I won’t ever see them. Second graders play with first graders, and third graders play with fourth graders. That’s just how it works. But, I wanted to see my friends, so I decided to take an adventure to the big kids’ hallway.

Mrs. Wilson thought I was going to the bathroom, so I had to be quick. I was on my way to visit my BFFs when I heard them talking at the water fountain. Before I could walk around the corner, I overheard Emily saying my name. I don’t really remember exactly what she said, but this is kinda how it went.

Emily: Oh yeah! I remember Shelly. I haven’t seen her in forever. I’m glad she isn’t in our grade anymore. She was always so annoying.

Charlotte: I know! And she never knew how to do anything that Mrs. Wilson taught us. We’re so much better than her.

Ava: Hopefully she stays stupid forever so she never has to come back to our class.

Anyways, I was super sad after that so I ran back to my classroom. I couldn’t focus, so Mrs. Wilson got really mad at me. Also that dude Michael was really mean to me when we played Math Bingo. The first day of school was ruined! It was supposed to be the best and easiest year ever!

Luckily for me, recess came and things got a little better. The sun made everything really hot, so I couldn’t play on the playground. I just stood at the top of the slide and hoped for some friends to come and say hi to me. Nobody came, so I was about to go on the swings, but Michael walked up to me and called me a word I couldn’t even imagine. The word that people use only in TV shows. The word that Mommy calls Daddy when she’s angry. The word that I would be sent into timeout for the rest of my life for saying. He called me an idiot. An idiot! If

Mommy knew I was even writing this right now she would make me feed Rufus for the entire week and fold all the laundry!

Back to the story. I pushed him, of course, because I am definitely not an idiot. He didn’t like that very much. After that, I thought we were even, but he wanted his revenge. What happened next was the worst part of my entire day. Michael lifted his muddy sneaker off of the platform and kicked me down the slide. He didn’t push me, or shove me. He kicked me! I fell backward right onto my butt and slid down the slide.

When I hit the bottom my head and arms hurt real bad. I layed on the ground with my arms out to the side like a starfish. I couldn’t move! It was the weirdest thing ever. It didn’t even hurt anymore after a few minutes, but I was stuck laying there in the hot sand with Michael and his friends pointing at me and laughing.

I thought that was the end for me, until a little girl with long blonde hair hovered over me. She was wearing a purple sweater and matching purple glasses. She was short. That made me think she was in first grade. I was right, just like always. She put her hand right in front of me to help me up. Soon I was back on my feet.

The little girl took my hand and brought me over to a shady tree with bright green leaves. I never noticed it last year. I don’t know how because it is very pretty. I learned right after that the girl’s name was Lavender. That is probably why she was wearing purple. I joked about that with her but she didn’t laugh. Maybe because it was so funny she couldn’t remember how to. Lavender was very nice. And very smart for a first grader. She told me that Michael lives on her street, and he’s mean to everyone. She also said that he gets in trouble with his mom all the time for calling people bad words, so I’m probably not an idiot. Lavender made me feel like I belonged at school. She is a very nice friend.

The rest of the day wasn’t too bad, but I was still super happy when Daddy came to pick me up at the end of the day. Me and Lavender walked to the benches together and waited for our parents to pick us up. Daddy drove by in his silver car and I saw Rufus sticking his head out of the back window. I explained to my new best friend that Rufus looks plenty innocent, but he eats your homework the first chance he gets. It took a minute, but you’ll never believe what happened! She laughed! See? I am hilarious. That is probably why Mrs. Wilson likes me so much.

I have decided that Michael is a meanie and I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore. Mommy agreed at dinner tonight that it was a good idea to ignore him. I left out the part about him calling me an idiot though, because she might kill him and then Lavender wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore. I think this year is going to be okay after all. See you tomorrow, diary.

Story Taylor ‘27

Reform and Reflect

bones creak and crunch as reflection of younger days set in my blurry memories of the good ol’ days flash quickly, without any remembrance the clatter of feet the milestones of language the whimper and then the whimsy a tiny me filled with laughter, bliss, and glee the world was my playground, and every day a new surprise, I dreamed of being a superhero, or traveling to the sky boundless energy and endless dreams but as I grew older, things changed, life became more complex. responsibilities took hold, and innocence was lost, life was simple and so anew

Kate Conover ‘27

Leaves

The leaves blow in the wind

Fluttering down to the ground

Though never fined

They would surely drown

The rain would wash them away To streams river and marshes

To channels coves and bays

But again no charges

They are flying through the air

Flowing through the sea

The only question is where To where the leaves might be

With missing limbs or holes to spare You will find these leaves everywhere

Meg Dooley ‘25

Edge of the Path

Outfield flowers between my toes

We’ll walk places nobody knows Right up to where the moon shall kiss the Earth

Beneath a sunlit river crowned in mirth

We’ll sing our songs of dawn and dust

And watch our dreams turn with rust

Down by the willows and the foxglove

I am glad to be with you, my love Here at the end of all things

Lila Journalist ‘25

Spotlight: Henry Redfield ‘23

To sing a sinful song of sorrowful sandy socks is something I suggest To bring a fish up off its hook And lay it down to rest Flip and float the boating oars Along the seacrest waves And crunch up on the fleeting land A day, a day, a day.

Henry Redfield ‘23

Gently wavering Against the current of the bleak overpass.

I am not one to be prone to the Movements and Fleeting rustles of A falling sky. The chilling stroke of which Flows from ear to ear with A warmness and brevity Unknown but for its posture. It musters the cold and gone And forthwith draws a hallowing breath To exhale one of the few, Soon to be many.

None but I see this. A mist of vision it does impair, The willowed thoughts, But not that of which it sees.

Gently now, Frost bitten slumber Your tone has gone and last

Seek now the somber end Of the night’s new born grasp.

Henry

Redfield ‘23

Prithee tell of great Saius of old

Bringer of the peace and master of the cold.

In the mountain laid, a beast from days long passed, Did judgment soon behold, and killed by Sius the bold.

Now I bring thee this, the tale once known by all

Of the broken sword made whole by one And cast from evil unto his hold.

Twas early before The crows of the thorn Bright in the day that just birthed From the morn’

The mother of such, The queen of Ürmir Held in hers

The future king.

From birth he spoke Of things become, And in the mist of death Did strum

The ancient wicked strings of Niflheim.

Grow did the king, And mastered war

Forged in flame And umbral raw

The Goddess Hel, Did wish him naught, Sending Ürmir plague and rot

The king did see The crops and water

His lifes endowed

Removed by slaughter

The rage he built Did feast his body And into Niflheim Did he plunge

The Goddess Hel, Was waiting such But Saius of bold Did not do such

He hacked and sliced to no avail, and fell to his knees And there he saw

His ancestral law

The bold give not to thee

A broken weapon, but broken Trust. ‘Tis done what you will please

Upright he lept And slow did he Plunge his splintered body and sword Deep into Hel, Deep, deep, for all.

Henry Redfield ‘23

It was the easiest job I had ever gotten. Yes, it was dull and utterly pointless in my eyes, but it paid much too well to let it pass me by.

Everything started on Monday of last month. I had been particularly short on cash by that particular Monday. You see, I’ve always had a way of losing money…alright well I gambled it all away but that's not the point. The point is that I needed a job. Badly. I checked the usual notice boards and even online. There wasn't one thing for me to apply for. Until Monday, when everything changed. I went to my door to check what mail I had, but it was the usual bills and I just shuffled through them without a second glance. That is, until I reached a black envelope at the back. Naturally, I opened it, seeing as it was unaddressed and unmarked in any way. The letter inside read:

To the resident at 348 Richmond drive.

You have been accepted into a position at Woodknock Limited’s offices at 773 Oaklane place. Should you wish to accept this offer, you must arrive promptly at 12:00pm on the first Monday of this month. To be allowed to enter you must present this invitation when prompted. We here at Woodknock Limited hope to see you here soon. Our starting wage is listed below.

I would make at least five times the salary of anyone I knew. It was 11:45 now. If I ran as hard as I could on my way there I could just make it. It was only a couple of blocks down from here. I grabbed my hat and coat and grabbed the door handle firmly. Wait, hold on. What if this was a joke? Some gag put on by someone who wanted me to rush out of my house in search of a nonexistent opportunity? I needed to get out of the house anyway. I left, the letter stowed safely inside my pocket.

Woodknock Limited had seen better days. Graffiti stretched along its outside like a great hand, grasping every inch of brick I could see. Panting after my intense run to get there, I checked my watch. 11:59. I stepped up to the building's side door, that being the only one I could find, and knocked quickly, three times. The door opened without a sound.

“Hello?” I cried out. Nobody answered. This job better pay as well as it said it would. I continued walking softly into the dimly lit corridor. It was clean. Well to be honest it was completely bare. The only thing that occupied its space was a table with another black envelope resting in its center. Only, it was a little larger than the first I had in my pocket. I laughed and yelled out:

“Alright, what is this? Some weird game? Bonny, Is this your doing? Another one of you little pranks? Come on now, you must admit it's a bit cliche don't you think? Leading me here to a place like this? Alright, I'll play along…”

I spoke under my breath as I walked towards the new envelope. “I’ll play along…”

I opened the envelope roughly, and a key fell out onto the floor. I picked it up while reading the note from inside.

To the recipient of this position, congratulations on accepting. We here at Woodknock Limited pride ourselves in the quality of our work.

Now that you have arrived at our offices, we kindly ask that you place all items in your person, excluding the key we have presented to you, inside the designated dropoff area. These items will be returned to you once you are done with your shift. Please place the inviting envelope and its note, as well as the one containing this note in its respective dropoff area. All notes received after this point should be placed into the same dropoff point at the end of your shift.

In order to receive payment for your service, you must follow all instructions given to you. You must lock the door of your office behind you. You may leave at any point of time, but if you leave before your shift is over you will not receive payment.

This was getting odd. something was off, something wasn't right. I thought about leaving, but the thought of one of Bonny’s pranks being too much for me to handle spurred me onward. She was always doing this to me, and I was an easy target for my friend. I wanted to see where this led. I noticed the two slots in the wall to the right of me. One was a little larger than the other, so I slid my phone, empty wallet and watch into it. Knowing Bonny, she wouldn't do anything to them. I slipped both notes and their envelopes into the other, they fell somewhere under my feet. The door behind me was closed and I didnt bother checking to see if it had locked behind me. I continued down the hall and up the only staircase there was until I reached the only door on the upper level that I could see. Well, here goes. I put the key in the door lock and turned. The bolt opened, and the door swung wide.

Sunlight deftly swam through the newspapers plastered on the windows, illuminating the only four objects inside the room. One chair, a table, another black envelope, and black rotary phone. I laughed to myself, locked the door behind me like the note had instructed, and walked briskly over to the chair and sat down. This last note was short.

Answer the phone.

I stared at it blankly, then turned it over to see if there was anything else. I was disappointed. Bonny had really let me down with this one. Oh well, I might as well sit around for a bit, and see what happens. I waited for an hour, and then after what must have been nearly four. I was staggeringly bored. The phone never rang. Nothing ever happened. I was tempted many times to just get up and leave, but that possibility, no matter how miniscule it was, that this was real, and that I would be paid that much money… It stopped me. At what must have been nearly 6:00pm, I heard a clunk from behind me. It startled me from my seat, where I had been leaning back and humming to pass the time. The door was unlocked, and I walked through cautiously, before running down stairs to get out of there. All of my stuff was on the table when I reached it. I didn't bother thinking about any hows or why’s, but I slid the envelope from upstairs in the slot, pocketed the key I had gotten for the door, and rushed outside into the dim light of the cold night.

When I got home I checked my bank balance on my computer, not expecting anything. What a waste of a day. Wait, hold on a second…that can't be right. But it is! I had received a massive amount of money from ‘Woodknock Ltd.’! More than I had ever gotten for a day's work. This got me thinking. And after I thought about it, I went back the next day. Same time, at 12:00 just to see what would happen. I put everything I had on me in the slots, went upstairs, locked the door, and waited for the phone to ring, which it never did. Bonny had no idea what I was talking about when I asked her about it and she said I was crazy. Six hours a day, I did nothing but wait, but when I got home I was always paid in full. I did this for about a month, going in, waiting for the phone, leaving, getting paid. going in, waiting for the phone, leaving, getting paid. And I loved it.

On the last day of the month, only a few minutes before the door would open, the phone did it. It rang. It was a deafening, high pitched bell sort of ring, and I fell out of my chair with a thud onto the ground. I had been balancing myself on its edge for fun. The phone rang three times before I realized that I should pick it up. I snatched the receiver off of the base and held it up to my ear.

“Hello?”

No answer. Just static on the other side of the line

“Umm…Woodknock Limited, how can I help you?”

The static continued. Somehow the fuzz seemed to be quieter than the room around me. A loud, impenetrable silence. I briefly took the phone from my ear, glanced at the receiver, and put it back to my head.

Henry Redfield ‘23

Creatures of the unseen

Pass to and fro between the seams

They wind and twine up through the cracks And feast on those who don’t fight back

Not creatures of the darkness, no Not from tales of fear and cold

Not from those who teach the old But from loss of faith in what you hold

Bring forth the prongs which cupboards hide The pins and needles that death defy And into where the danger lies Shall we vanquish those inner cries

None but Us does it deny What we make of our belie

The wild and misty does it take To learn the breadth of our mistake

In the darkness, seeping through The cracks, the craggles of the light did draw A single bodkin of fiendish stature

Slipped in the room did come before A chime of one struck the final core, the churning blaspheme Of untenable more

Than wishing the clock upon the wall Did strike again

And again, once more The mortal dispatcher

Crept and treat on Henry Redfield ‘23

Excerpts from the Ancient Readings of Nathalek and Sirelan i. our queen of swords wears a crown of iron she walks in flame she rules in silence her gown is made of mortal flesh her eyes are empty and dark blood spills from her pretty lips her face is painted with sin her pewter bones are full of rot our lady of suffering is beguiling and saccharine from ruin and ash from shadow and death from nothing she shall rise ii. two born of the dying stars who bear their mother’s silver scars two grown of the earthen soil they taught the snake to coil two pulled up from the waves sending sailors to their watery graves two dance upon the wind to guide those who have sinned two that rose from ash and flame playing their filthy blood games ten will walk from behind the veil their beautiful lies doomed to fail iii. the first for dying the heir to the painless throne the second for death the great ring of time the third for blood that which is spilt the fourth for torture the servant of the soul the fifth for war the glory of discourse the sixth for pain the great inflictor the seventh for power and the greed of men the eighth for darkness and the things that lie within it the ninth for mercy the harbinger of our final hour Lila Journalist ‘25

Village of Colors

Waves of blue, white and green people staring at the scene. A boat of wood, brown and bleak the hills above are quite obscene. Rock slopes and jagged peaks the wheat that grew, dead in weeks.

Our little village, small and dull with roofs of thach yellow and full. The place that my family calls our home dead and dying with no bones. No structure to support our lives the sea taking out our spines.

Spotlight: Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Our one strong point, the man unseen. That fixed the boats and our needs. For he always gave us what we wanted from little things to giant boxes. The one that held our hopes and dreams now no more than such as me.

Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Coast Lined Seas

Far across the coast lined sea He sits for all eternity, Shedding tears, but not for he, For death is but her destiny.

On a rocky shore called nevermore

He waits beyond, the stony shore Her body lying in his hands, She whispers thoughts, from beyond these lands.

From trees and greens to bright blue waters

Lost to the past as my mind all but falters.

Her soul was lost, trapped away, In the past where all the good times stay.

When the world was whole an age ago, before human folly took its parole.

Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Ink on a Board

I look in the front and see ink, on a board A white board with ink covered galore. Ink.

A compound that comes in red, white, and blue; black and yellow if you so choose. With infinite color and infinite words that will happen when they have all finally been heard

When the sun one day does eventually erupt, what will be heard as the last of us is corrupt. A scream or a yell of imminent fear. One final thing before we all disappear. What words will be left, what white board to show To those who come after the last of us go.

Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Poem without the Letter “i”

An eye for an eye

To see but not seen Taken from me and lent to he For he be but a humble man So bent on money he’ll follow my plan.

Ethan Plotkin ‘25

Folly of the Whole

A pit of creatures, men, and bones, a place of worship for old souls, where even gods go to fall and mighty beasts rule it all.

Once a land of red and gold secrets kept and never told, people prosper hand in hand as they travel ‘cross the land.

Yet how did Death take its toll? Well that is easy. With a goal.

A plan to take back all they stole, from Life itself, now in a hole. Buried by the people near. By those that sang as Death yet feared.

Men and women too obsessed with scraps of paper never less, The people who poisoned, stabbed and killed, with Life itself their only fill.

Ethan Plotkin ‘25

(Before the Storm Winds Blow)

Wind blow stops. The sky sits dark. In the distance the sea moves, black.

Limbless trees, Sway no more.

Clouded lights, far from shore.

See gulls fly alone in the air.

The storm shall come We all need fear.

A leaf falls, quiet to the ground. Loud but unheard in the silence abound

Ethan

Chant Poem

A bird’s feathered wings flap

They move around the wind A leaf falls to the ground It moves around the wind A squirrel extends its body and glides

They move around the wind

Man’s metal wing stay still And the wind is expected to move around it

Ethan Plotkin ‘25