IMPULSE WINTER 2013
MARGEE HOWELL
IMPULSE ARTS AND LITERARY MAGAZINE THE AGNES IRWIN SCHOOL WINTER 2013
EDITOR KATINA DINH
STAFF PAIGE DAVIS ERIKA GIBB JULIA MINKER MIAROSA CIALLELLA DEVON STAHL ELIZABETH CORRELL MADELINE BOYES MEREDITH RUPP SHELBY BRISBANE LAUREN SCHAFRANK JESSICA MILLER HUNTER SESSA ELIZABETH LATHAM DEJAH BRADSHAW EMMA COOK AUDREY BELL
ADVISOR KAREN WEST
TABLE OF CONTENTS WRITING PERFECTION – GABRIELA RODRIGUEZ…………………………………………………….. 7 UNTITLED – CAROLINE SANTILLI…………………………………………………………. 8 SAM AND ANNA – ALEXANDRA PEW……………………………………………………. 9-10 BOB THE UNICORN – ERIKA GIBB AND AMY MILES……………………………………….11 DISTANT WAVES – EMMA COOK…………………………………………………………... 12 CONCRETE – IMPULSE STAFF……………………………………………………………...14 JEFFREY THE GIRAFFE – MERIDITH POLLIE AND LILLY WILSON…………………………..15 SOLITARY LOVE – GRACE ALBURGER……………………………………………………...16 BREAKING THE WINDOW – GABRIELA RODRIGUEZ……………………………………... 18-19 I WISH I WERE A FLOWER – EMMA COOK………………………………………………….20 INSOMNIA – KATINA DINH………………………………………………………………... 23 UNTITLED – GRACE ALBURGER………………………………………………………….. 25 KRYPTONITE – ALYSSA NEGRON-SAMONTE……………………………………………… 26 BLIND – ALYSSA NEGRON-SAMONTE…………………………………………………….. 26 7:04 – MEREDITH RUPP………………………………………………………………….. 26 52 MINUTES – MEREDITH RUPP…………………………………………………………... 26 MALALA – IMPULSE STAFF………………………………………………………………... 29 HOLD ON TIGHT – VIRGINIA SMALL……………………………………………………… 30
ART MARGEE HOWELL…………………………………………………………………... COVER MARGEE HOWELL…………………………………………………………… INSIDE COVER PAIGE DAVIS………………………………………………………………………………. 5 KATINA DINH………………………………………………………………………………6 ALEXANDRA PEW………………………………………………………………………... 10 ERIKA GIBB AND AMY MILES……………………………………………………………. 11 EMMA COOK……………………………………………………………………………... 12 JESSICA MILLER………………………………………………………………………….. 13 MERIDITH POLLIE AND LILLY WILSON…………………………………………………... 15 SHELBY BRISBANE…………………………………………………………………… 16-17 SOPHIA LINDNER………………………………………………………………………….18 SHELBY BRISBANE……………………………………………………………………….. 19 LANSING ZHANG…………………………………………………………………………. 21 LAUREN SCHAFRANK…………………………………………………………………….. 22 JESSICA MILLER………………………………………………………………………….. 23 DEVON STAHL…………………………………………………………………………….24 KATINA DINH……………………………………………………………………………..27 ANONYMOUS……………………………………………………………………………...28 LYNN LUONG…………………………………………………………………………….. 31
PAIGE DAVIS 5
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KATINA DINH
PERFECTION GABRIELA S. RODRIGUEZ
Is perfect what one truly seeks for? Is perfect what one truly wants? Perfection is a gift of god, a gift of will. To those to which it is given, It is cherished and loved alike, But to the outcasts in the corner, Perfection is not their way of life. There are only a few to whom it is given. For those who do not possess it, there is not much to do. Perfection is a taunt, a taunt of wisdom and pride. It is not gift-wrapped and could be received with a sigh For perfection is cruel. It makes others disarray. But in the end, what matters most is Perfection is a way. A way to be and a way to live, A way that might not forgive. You must be you and you, be true. Perfection is a sin. A sin of life that pulls you in and ties you in a knot For you simply are not just any old robot. You have a heart made out of gold and a smile that brightens a room. Though you may not be perfect now, just wait until you bloom. When you bloom into something, let it be you, And stop thinking about the things you outgrew Because perfection is truly false, There is no such thing. Going and going won’t solve anything. So repeat after me, for it is truly not a jigsaw: Perfection doesn’t exist. And you know what I have? a FLAW!
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UNTITLED CAROLINE SANTILLI
My mind has a strand of film in it rolling around a tape. It stores my whole life, projecting scenes on a screen when I want to remember. Today I’ll press rewind and hold until the screen fades into nothingness and press play. Color begins to fade in and soon my first memory is projected. But it is not happy, Not intriguing, Not anything I even wish to remember. I try to press stop but my fingers don’t seem to work. It’s when she packed, That awful day when only my brother, my mother, and I existed in the world, When it was only us in a room full of sun, With the outside world just through the window, calling, beckoning me to come and play. I am there, sitting on my parent’s enormous bed, big enough for a thousand of me, But I am not speaking, Just sitting and feeling the sun warm me. My mother’s duffle bag is out, and she is packing, crying and packing, Trying to pull my brother’s hands from her wrists as he begs her not to go. Everything is light and warm, and the outside world keeps calling me, But I know I must stay, Float along in the tears that have seemed to take over the room. And soon my mother and my brother and I are all crying and the room is so full of tears it’s hard to breathe, and the light coming through is too warm. But maybe this is a dream Fading into a nightmare, Maybe we’re all crying, but maybe I’m not even there. Maybe it’s all just a dream, and she never packed with us, Maybe… But the screen fades into the next memory and I am older now, The first scene stored away long ago In a roll of film that spins around a tape, Projecting scenes on a screen when I forget That I don’t want to remember.
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SAM AND ANNA ALEXANDRA PEW BY KIDS 4 KIDS CLUB
Once upon a time, there was a monkey named Sam. Sam lived in a huge jungle with his family. One day, Sam decided that he wanted to explore, so he wandered out of the jungle, down the street, and into a city. The city was very big, and Sam got scared because he didn’t know where he was. Sam wandered around and ran into a little girl named Annie. Annie was shocked to see a monkey walking around the city. She decided that she would be his friend because he looked lonely and scared. “Hi little monkey! What’s your name?” asked Annie. “My name is Sam,” answered the monkey. “What’s your name?” “My name is Annie. It’s nice to meet you. I’m going to take you around the city!” “Sounds great!” said Sam, happy that he already made a friend in this strange place. Annie took Sam to the park where there was a man selling balloons. Sam had never seen a balloon before and was amazed by it. He and Annie walked around for a while laughing and playing with their balloons. Annie had to go to school, so she decided to bring in Sam as her show-and-tell for the day. Sam had never seen so many little kids in his whole life, and most of the kids had never seen a monkey before. The whole class went onto the playground, and Sam taught everyone a different way of doing the monkey bars – using his arms and legs. All of the kids tried to do it Sam’s way, but none of them could do it as well as Sam could. At the end of the day, Annie walked back home with Sam. When they got back to Annie’s house, Annie’s mom and dad were surprised to see a monkey walking in with their daughter. “Mom and Dad, I would like you to meet Sam. He is my new friend!” said Annie. “Why hello there, Sam. It is nice to meet you!” said Annie’s mom. “Where do you come from?” asked Annie’s dad. “I came from the jungle! I walked here this morning,” replied Sam with a smile on his face.
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Sam ate dinner with Annie and her family. They had spaghetti and meatballs, Annie’s favorite. Sam didn’t know how to use a fork or a knife, so he put his whole face into his plate. By the end of the meal, he looked like a mess. After dinner, the family got ready for bed. Sam got to sleep in Annie’s room with her. Sam couldn’t fall asleep. He started to miss his family, and he wanted to go back to the jungle. In the morning, Sam woke Annie up and told her how he was feeling. Annie said that she would bring him back to the jungle. She walked with him out of the city, up the street, and to the jungle. Annie was sad to leave Sam, and Sam was sad to leave Annie. They had become such good friends. They gave each other a big hug and promised to visit each other very often, which made them both very happy. Annie and Sam stayed really good friends for the rest of their lives and lived happily ever after. The End.
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BOB THE UNICORN ERIKA GIBB AND AMY MILES BY KIDS 4 KIDS CLUB
Once upon a time, there was a flying unicorn named Bob. He lived in the Candy Cane Forest near the Cotton Candy Pastures on the Candy Planet. All the other unicorns did not have wings, and therefore could not fly. All the other unicorns made fun of Bob because he was different. Bob had a fire tail and wings, and he sparkled. All the other unicorns thought it was fun to make fun of Bob. One day Bob left school early because he was feeling sad. He trotted into the pasture and took off flying. Flew over the candy cane forest. Then he came to the Gumdrop Mountains. He finally landed in the Marshmallow Fields. There, he saw other unicorns. He was about to turn away when he saw that these unicorns were just like him. They all had fire tails and wings, and they all sparkled. He trotted over to them and said hi. They all accepted him for who he was. They all became friends. One of the flying unicorns’ names was Sprinkles. She and Bob fell in love. Sprinkles and Bob got married and lived happily ever after. The End
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EMMA COOK
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JESSICA MILLER
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CONCRETE IMPULSE STAFF
Boom! It shook the campus three minutes after the five-minute warning. Crash! The halls echoed with a frenetic mixture of laughter and screams. Chairs fell, desks collapsed, girls didn’t know what to expect next. Then the hard hats appeared. In rolled the bulldozers. Here came the cranes. And construction began. The dirt piled up like our homework, Higher into the sky— Our very own Mt. Dirt-win Dust in the air, It choke choked the atmosphere. The hole got bigger, deeper, and deeper. Then filled to the brim with muddy rainwater— We got our own lake. What comes next for our little school? We can only see the skeleton of steel beams, flesh forming with monotone cinderblocks, adding on to an empty form. How can this hold all of us next year? There will be rooms, whiteboards, desks, chairs, and Change. There will be change. We can only wait and see, excitement coursing through our veins Pumping adrenaline into our bodies. We can only wait and see when we come back in the Fall of 2013.
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JEFFREY THE GIRAFFE MERIDITH POLLIE AND LILLY WILSON BY KIDS 4 KIDS CLUB
Once there was a giraffe named Jeffrey. Jeffrey’s best friend was an elephant named Blueberry. Blueberry was having a birthday party, and she was inviting all of her friends. But Jeffrey did not know what to give Blueberry for her birthday. Jeffrey thought, and he thought, and he thought, but could not think of a proper gift! Finally, Jeffrey’s dad told him, “The best presents come from the heart.” Then, Jeffrey got an idea! He made a necklace out of acorns, drew a picture, and wrote a song. At the party, Blueberry received many gifts. Then came Jeffrey’s gift. He was nervous Blueberry wouldn’t like it. Jeffrey sang his song and gave Blueberry the picture and the necklace. Blueberry liked Jeffrey’s gift best! The best gifts really do come from the heart. The End.
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SOLITARY LOVE GRACE ALBURGER
Can I ever win this game? Is it too much to wish the same That we had last year? But I can’t fight my fear. It overwhelms me. Baby, can’t you see? I will always lose, Lose this game If I’m fighting you.
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SHELBY BRISBANE
BREAKING THE WINDOW GABRIELA S. RODRIGUEZ
She runs swiftly, breeze rushing past. Her eyes flutter as tears begin to fall. Step by step, she travels at last. She cannot look back for fears of his call. Sweat dripping down her brow. Her heart is skipping many beats. Determination grips her now. All she knows is to keep moving her feet. Some say what she does is wrong To leave that house and window. Others say she waited too long, And she needed to escape years ago. What rights has she the girl of him To disobey and leave her beckoned duty? The job of a woman is grim For she simply must stand as a beauty. This girl wanted more and quietly ran away
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SOPHIA LINDNER
To be known and thought of as a star. If people could know her name someday, They could bandage many scars. He and she simply differ in ways. He couldn’t see her hopes and dreams For he only wished her to stay And sew up every little seam. Alas, it was time to part from the man For he could never understand. She never wanted to be part of his plan, She longed to earn her own land. That future of hers still lies ahead. She wishes only to laugh and learn. Her old life has become nothing but dead, And for education she truly yearns. She runs swiftly, breeze rushing past. The window has finally shattered. She sees true happiness at last. Only her heart is slightly tattered. Â
SHELBY BRISBANE 19
I WISH I WERE A FLOWER
EMMA COOK
I wish I were a flower, So I’d never sit in gloom, Never ponder yesterday’s thoughts In my eight by eight white room. I wish I were a flower, So I’d never be alone. Always with the other blooms, Attended, but my own. I wish I were a flower, So I could bask in the warm sunlight, So I could dream, swaying, swiveling, But keep calm in the dead of night. I wish I were a flower And catch another’s eye, To be something of beauty Instead a passer by. To be studied and remembered, To be loved and yet adored, To have an abundance of awe from one, To entertain and never bore. And in the dead of night, my dream came true, As I lied in my September bed And counted sheep, resting My tired midnight head. I dreamed a girl leaned down to kiss The dewdrops on my face. Instead she plucked my long green stem, Leaving only the breeze in my place. We wandered far and wide Across magnificent scenes, Leaping, skipping, running, Living my constant daydream. She took me home in a pocket Covered with daisies and lace,
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But back in my meadow, I left nothing you could trace. I left mundane thoughts and sorrows, Taking only with me Thoughts of happy tomorrows, Dreams filled with nothing but glee. Before she took her nightly rest, The girl fixed me with Other flowers in a glass vase: Red roses, lilacs, and tulips! I sat there, waiting, wondering What our next adventure would be, Where we would go, whom we would meet— I couldn’t wait to see. But the next days went by so fast, As I watched this girl at home I saw her with her family, friends How much she carried on her own. I saw how desperate she was for a friend To wipe the mark of sadness from her face, But no one came to aid this girl. She had only her own body to embrace. The roses sat still next to me, When to my surprise, The world grew larger and brighter As I opened my hazel eyes. Once again I was in that room wishing, Wishing for a flower I could see When suddenly I realized, That girl looked a lot like me.
LANSING ZHANG
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LAUREN SCHAFRANK 22
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UNTITLED GRACE ALBURGER
They all told me, “Girl, you can’t; Fight this battle on your own.” They thought I needed help; I told them go to hellOh, I don’t need any help; I’m all that I can be, All that I will ever need; So please don’t tell me— No. Ever since they left me, I tried to fight alone; Told them I was: Brave enough, Smart enough, Good enough For this; Now I see they were— Lies. You were right, And I was wrong; I thought that I was strong, Could make it on my own. Now I’m all alone and; Everything is cold; I’m down here on my knees Begging you, Oh please Please just let me be; Let—Me— Be.
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A COLLECTION OF HAIKUS ALYSSA NEGRON-SAMONTE The Charlatan He’s lying again That man’s no architect He just builds then breaks
Anonymous Renowned Just like Peter Pan I live in divided form Forever in two
Kryptonite Noise echoes from walls Just like poorly written songs I cringe at the noise
Blind Unable to see It came crashing towards us fast As if I could see
MEREDITH RUPP 7:04 As I type the words Filled with nervous energy What will happen now?
52 minutes Not quite an hour But much longer than I thought Fifty-two minutes
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KATINA DINH
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ANONYMOUS
MALALA POEM DEDICATED TO MALALA YOUSAFZAI IMPULSE STAFF
They closed the doors. They wrote the book— The rules and boundaries of her life. They took the pen And wrote her story. They said she could not read, could not write, could not learn, could not speak. They silenced her, And the silence built. But she will be heard. She will take the pen. She will break the lock. She will open the door. She will read. She will learn. And She will speak. They did not listen, So she will write her own story. She will be heard Because we will listen.
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HOLD ON TIGHT VIRGINIA SMALL
I always liked roller coasters, the idea of controlled danger. Flying down the tracks at high speeds, stomach dropping at every turn; they thrill me beyond belief. My grandmother hated them. She never saw what the rest of us did. One day, when I was about four, I was talking with her. She said the only roller coaster she could stand was life. At the time I did not know what this meant. Life is a roller coaster? I tended to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground in one place in time at once, not flying through the space-time continuum down, under, and all around like my favorite coasters. Years later, I realized what she meant. My least favorite part of a coaster is the run up to the top; that long drag where there is nothing on either side of you. I always know that the car will tilt and then tumble off the tracks. The unknown abounds at this time, something with which I have never been able to cope. A few years back my grandmother was sick. She was having trouble breathing due to her years of smoking. She was in and out of the hospital and always on oxygen. My mom used to spend weeks on the other side of the state taking care of her. I had just begun high school and the turmoil of freshmen year was more than enough for me to handle, but family troubles kept creeping into my life. Mom would have to leave in the middle of the night or Dad would spend all of his day off on the phone, trying to figure out what the next step to take was. It was a period of anxiety and ambiguity, and that scared me. What was going to happen? I didn’t know from one day to the next. I was being dragged up to the top of the ride, slowly and steadily. Each time a phone would be placed back on the receiver, it was like another ca-chunk of the coaster pulling me closer to the top, closer to the drop. The summer before sophomore year I spent in my little hometown. I would go to a performing arts camp each day, walk home in the afternoon, change into a nice dress, and head to my grandmother’s house to help Mom make dinner and chat with my grandmother. While my mother would cook, my grandmother would talk of how her mother used to make this recipe or how I was going to be a wonderful performer or how proud she was of me to be singing in her place in the church choir all summer. Those were some of the best times in my life; just sitting in the kitchen while my mother made her blueberry pie for us and watching my grandmother light up as a story would pop into her head. The view from afar was wonderful – a family connecting. It was like the view from the top of a roller coaster: beautiful trees are all around while the crowds below are laughing interminably. The smell of cotton candy permeates the air, and that awful noise of being drawn to the top is gone. You try to embed that memory on your mind. You try to remember the time when everything is possible, whether it’s loop-de-loops, hills, or even recovery. I went home in early August while my mother stayed for one more week. As my dad drove my younger brother and myself along the interstate, I knew he was worried. I knew that he had that knot you get in your stomach right before you fall. A week later we all did. After plummeting from the sky, there are always more obstacles on a coaster. There are bound to be hills and turns. As we prepared for the memorial service, I went to sing in the church choir one last time for the summer. I was thrown back and forth throughout the morning as people came up to give their condolences. After the service that day, my mom and I were walking in our little town, down the smoothly paved road lined with elm trees from the school with the big, white pillars that had always intimidated me as a child, just as we did when I was young. We talked about our memories of my childhood; walking to church on Sunday with my new white gloves that would be dirty as soon as I put them on, sitting outside the water ice stand with my grape and lime ice dripping slowly down my baby hands. Finally, we came to the church. Just as we were walking past, my grandmother’s favorite hymn played through the carillon. The notes sounded pure and simple. Finally the ride had come to an end: it was smooth and gentle, just like she would have wanted it.
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LYNN LUONG 31
MARGEE HOWELL