♛ THE MUSE Dear Reader, Welcome to the second 2016-2017 issue of The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine. This magazine has been serving as an avenue for creativity and imagination for students of the Mitty community for the past three years, and we are excited to share this new edition with you. The uniqueness of every student’s mind shines brightly through these selections of poetry, prose, artwork, and other ingenious creations. We hope you enter these pages with an open mind and that you find a sense of solace and inspiration with the words they hold. We wish that after you have enveloped yourself in all this magazine has to offer, you hear the light whisper of the muse in your ear.
The following written works are the intellectual property of Archbishop Mitty students. All ownership rights reserved.
Letter from the Editors As author Marianne Williamson once said, “There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.� People go through life experiencing many things, all of which create strong emotions, whether they be joy, sorrow, anger, or grief. But when such experiences negatively impact people and they withhold their own glory, they limit themselves to be less than what they can be. They shrink themselves to fulfill the expectations of others instead of letting their own light shine. When people write, they are allowing their emotions to shine through their words. By putting the pen to paper, they are sharing a part of themselves and liberating themselves by expressing the ideas that run rampant in their minds. By sharing a work of their own creation with the world, they even inspire others to be brave enough to shine their own lights by freeing their emotions. They are contributing to a culture of thinkers and doers through their words, truly changing the world. The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine is proof of the power of emotions. Each work expresses ideas and feelings in a beautiful and thoughtful way. Instead of simply scrolling through the pages of art, short stories, poetry, and prose, take a minute to digest each work or picture. Whether you submitted or are a curious reader, note the power in each piece, that each contributes a unique understanding of the world and its experiences, and be inspired. Let their emotions surround you and inspire you to expand instead of shrink. On behalf of all the editors of The Muse, we thank all those who submitted their creations. In doing so, you have inspired us beyond measure and helped to liberate our own lights. We appreciate the courage it took to let a piece of yourself out from the safety of your mind, and we hope you continue to manifest your light through thinking, writing, dreaming, and doing. - The Editors of The Muse
3
TABLE OF CONTENTS SECTION / AUTHOR
PAGE
POETRY California - Noah Aguilar ……………………………………………………… 7 Ode À La Pizza - Nicholas Amireh ……………………………………………. 8 Lessons on friendship, 2 a.m. over the phone - Marcela Capizzi………………. 9 Heaven’s Tears - Alexis Corral ………………………………………………… 10 Broken Rest - Ethan Fusilero …………………………………………………... 11 Sound Cells - Ella Garfunkel …………………………………………………... 12-13 Backwards Love - Olivia Heitz ……………………………………………….... 14 Butterfly - Sydney Hwang …………………………………………………….... 15 Untitled - Tara Kochhar ……………………………………………………….... 16 Do you feel that? - Cassandra Korb …………………………………………….. 17-19 Rearview Mirrors - Maureen Mailhot …………………………………………... 20 The Power of Music - Katrina Manacio ……………………………………….... 21 The Rain On My Window - Bailey Phoenix ………………………………...….. 22 Momma - Jason Wong …………………………………………………………... 23 Cold War Poem - Aileen Pulchny ……………………………………………..... 24 Sokolov - Yush Raje …………………………………………………………….. 25 Heart Over Mind - Charmina Rios …………………………………………….... 26 Small - Joanne Park ……………………………………………………………... 27-28 PROSE Sunflower Stew Recipe - Caroline Dickens …………………………...………... 30 Closed Door Love; Open Door Life - Olivia Heitz ……………………………... 31
4
Memories - Amelia Flatley ………………………………………………………. 32 OTHER 6 Word Stories - Jacqueline Nguyen, Emily Ordoñez, Sachin Vallamkonda …….. 34 Jokes - Sachin Vallamkonda ……………………………………………………... 35 ART Ashley Hiraki ………………………………………………………………...…... 37 Sanghavi Srinivasan …………………………………………………………….... 38 Jennifer McDonald ……………………………………………………………….. 39 Nicholas Amireh …………………………………………………………....…….. 40
5
po·et·ry /ˈpōətrē/ noun 1. literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm 2. a quality of beauty and intensity of emotion
6
California By Noah Aguilar ‘19 California What is the best part about living in California? Is it the scenery, the lush foliage-filled mountains you pass by going to Santa Cruz? Is it the people, the melting pot of different cultures? Is it the sports, the various championship teams? Is it the beaches, the tranquil crashing of the waves? Is it the cities, The busy cities and the undisturbed cities? What is the best part about California?
7
Ode À La Pizza By Nicholas Amireh ‘20 So greasy so fine It tastes divine It’s hard to put down If you do, it makes you frown So delicious all the time Some can have meat And some can have wheat Toppings so fine It tastes divine So delicious all the time Everyone likes it Even if it's a little bit Its cheesy taste Overrules all distaste So delicious all the time
8
lessons on friendship, 2 a.m. over the phone By Marcela Capizzi ‘20 you always cleared my lenses for me, i’ll always be a scholar of you. it's late into my night tonight and i’m a bit more new. you said that we all have our spaces that our friends and lovers take how roles are filled, new love steps in make and break remake but you’ve never been containable, now i’m a bit more new, i know you’re not some labeled friend nor lover— i could search the whole world over and there would only ever be a single space for you. ’til this old language catches up with the tie i have to you— i guess the simple term “best friend” will somehow have to do. 1.27.17 i ripped myself away from you like tearing cheap jewelry from tangled hair in a shower drain 4.1.17 i was sent off busy to look for something today when i found it finally my chest lifted a bit (it was the same as the feeling when you’re in the room, i think i’m glad that i found you)
9
Heaven's Tears By Alexis Corral ‘20 A woman who was known by all And would answer to every call Showed kindness to every person And it would never worsen She gave to those in need She indeed did good deeds And would never show a frown To those who lived in her town But when she was all alone She would hold a different tone In front of her husband Who she wished was her ex-husband She was always silent For she didn't want her husband to turn violent And she would always cry For she wanted to die A woman who has been married for 35 years And her eyes were constantly in tears But still she holds a brave face And gave to those in need of her grace No one asked about her scars and deep cuts For they wished they had her big guts And instead watched her give them all she had And no one ever felt bad No one knew the hell she was put through And it seemed that every day it grew But when the clouds turned a deep gray And everything seemed to stops its sway The Heavens opened up and cried For one of their own has died And everyone in the dreadful town Finally began to show their frown
10
Broken Rest By Ethan Fusilero ‘19 I bare the burden of nights Unslept, unrested The sheets wrapped around me A noose, watching, waiting I can’t breathe The weight on my chest tedious torture, torments insomnia inciting insanity Increased intangibility Breathe, breathe, breathe My ceiling gazes back innocently Does this amuse him Am I just his spectacle Do I suffer beneath his nose as he watches benevolently as I Fall, fall, falling, suffocation Three o’clock, bright green eyes Watching, taunting, daring Sleep, what sleep, we won't have it My brain is drowning in a cacophony of thoughts The concerts of chaos ends I sink below the surface of my mind Sleep, sleep sleep, slip Slip from the my slumber Bombarded with the mistakes I once made Spin spin spiraling Thoughts crash at the banks of consciousness The horizon glows NO NOT YET Sun, sun, sunrise I bare the burden of nights Unslept and unrested
11
Sound Cells By Ella Garfunkel ‘18 Here in my head there is always noise. Sound. Voice. Tune. It’s also filled with pounding, beating, humming. Blood pumping too hard. What will I be when there is no more noise inside of my head? I ask with a low head voice: What is green in the heart? What is wrinkled In the brain? And what Is tasty for The fingers? Is it something never known? Do I know what things have never been uttered by human beings? Is there some silent pact, silent agreement to keep mum? Is it something true yet wrong? Something aching? My voice likes to ramble and think about how I put my hands to my lips when I’m nervous or uncomfortable. Sometimes to my hairline and sometimes to any other part of my face? Usually happens when I feel socially awkward. It’s ironic? how the gesture makes me look more uncomfortable?
12
Her eyes welled from the shock of having fallen off her bike. She was okay though, just shaken. I answer others’ questions… Joy that almost found me? Music perhaps. Though I think we were already acquainted. Running into each other around the time I was fourteen. Where was it that we met? Somewhere between misery and frustration. I remember how my mind is filled with sound cells. I think of home. The golden California hills are the smooth waves of a raspy voice. Not necessarily deep, but throaty and uneven, yet calming, comforting. Your grandma’s voice or the boy-that-sits-next-to-you-in-math’s.
13
Backwards Love By Olivia Heitz ‘18 You never really loved me Don't you dare say you did You're the one Keeping me up at night And running around Leaving me alone Never satisfied On my own You refused to let me Be myself Always encouraging me to be someone else When I wanted to love me You pretended to (Now read it backwards)
14
Butterfly By Sydney Hwang ‘19 its wings were warm, yellow blankets, each delicate sweep, delicate flutter a precious treasure that set alight your lonely heart as soon as you saw it. you followed every movement from where you sat, looking into the jar, admiring how lovely it was, feeding it from your hands sweet nectar. it dripped into the prison, albeit missing its mouth sometimes, viscous syrup weighing its wings down beautifully, smothering it in sugar. how long would it take for this one to die? or would it wilt and rejoice, vodka at her lips, with the others? how many butterflies have you pinned up, nails driven through her outstretched hands, behind the glass against the wall, and for who? did you even know? they were beautiful. and they were dead. their wings stared at the buttercup beauty with pity, now no longer able to flutter, but they were all told they were beautiful, once upon a time, but now perhaps they were nothing more than a few strokes of graphite above their heads.
15
Untitled By Tara Kochhar ‘20 America is crying For people are lying Change is coming But their thoughts become reality Recognizing all the brutality Hopes and dreams are dying And good causes with them Stripes were earning but now they are burning Signs are written With words that tell stories People are bitten But dignity with them Color and Religion make you different Moving you to new lands because your insignificant Cries of sorrow come out of your mouth When you are on a boat due south
16
Do you feel that? By Cassandra Korb ‘18 Do you feel that? The gender roles being written into your story. Not boxing you in as if it were mandatory, But forcing your cheek hard pressed against a glass ceiling, Bending your spine while you're told to stand straight, They underestimate Your potential. You see opportunity like a bright star shining above your head. Your will and outstretched hand reaching up towards the future causes the glass to splinter. You see shoes stomping above, As they quickly ensure that the ceiling is repaired, Making the glass thicker than before it was ever touched. You hear their footsteps echoing through the roof, Into your ears, As the vibrations make their way through your brain and into your bones. The glass getting thicker and thicker each day you get older, As you discover more That is out of your reach. But remains sitting just above your head, Through the glass now so thick you can hardly see through. Your head grows heavy as you try to look up, Whilst balancing the glass, Like a pile of books stacked on top of your head. The glass forms windows surrounding you on all sides,
17
Covered by shutters, Only opening those that show you a path, Well worn by the women with ignorant smiles painted on their faces, Content with the paved paths ahead. You stare at their faces wondering if they can see the glass surrounding them. As you look back up you see that bricks have formed below the ceiling, Completely obstructing any view you once had of it. You think of the young girl you saw on that path, Wandering aimlessly alone, without a choice in her own destination. You push away the bricks, Punch at the glass recklessly with all of your strength behind each blow, Clawing as the being tries to escape, From inside your own body classified as woman and no longer human. The roof shakes but remains sturdy. You kick and scream with all your might Only to cut and bruise the hands once kept so soft. You look towards your brother, Knowing he has the tools to shatter the glass, But you can’t see him. You hear his voice echoing through your head like the footsteps, Only to realize it’s coming from above. He calls down through the glass, That is thick enough to hold the businesses built above it. You close your eyes, Sit down, Bring your knees to your chest, Recognise that you have been oppressed. Breathe, Think, You are strong.
18
You have long held up what they have stood on. There are no men without women, There is no equality without fight, You do not have to fear the light. If you cannot break the ceiling, Crash through those windows, Watch as they shatter, And you suddenly begin to matter. You cannot always go up, But you can make your own path, Think your own thoughts, And do not fear, But crave The aftermath. You may not have built that ceiling, But you have climbed above it. Do not let yourself forget that you are a woman. You can fight for the right to write your own story. Do you feel that? That’s the glass you shattered, That is making it possible for that little girl to reach out, Past the shards of discrimination, patriarchy, and misogyny That have been scattered on the floor, So she can have the chance to reach for the opportunity, Like a bright star always shining above her head.
19
Rearview Mirrors By Maureen Mailhot ‘19 Put a pin in it! Eventuality is a virtue. We're not worried about it, and originality is taboo. Intelligence is generally belittling, And from this high horse, your size is pretty piddling. Oops! We slipped up. Salt over the shoulder, and make idle your hands. The New Order's in place, but it is only an instance in which it withstands. Why check our rearview mirrors? We already passed by that problem, it's practically a negligible little speck of nothing. I'd say, in this instance, don't read between the lines. Because–warning!–objects In the Mirror are closer than they appear.
20
The Power of Music
By Katrina Manacio ‘20 An affectionate a cappella or an alluring acoustic song, You were there for me always; you were there all along. With your booming bass and bewitching beat, Your comfort was endless, even if you were something I couldn't see. From the captivating classics to the charming chord chain, I couldn't help but listen, couldn't help but fill my brain. Even distinct dubstep could drain my depression from within Cause it tells me that the party is just about to begin. Empowering electro could make me elevate in mood, Every aspect of your existence could change my attitude. A fresh free style could prove to me favorable, My infatuation over you is like a diamond; unbreakable. But sometimes there are sad songs, that make my smile shrink, It could make bad go to worse in nothing but a blink. Yet my masochistic mind makes me embrace the miserable melody, You were there for me always, but you weren't always my remedy. I love you, you know that? I hope you believe, That my words are genuine, I have no one to deceive. But sometimes you break me, my whole heart and soul, Yet without you in my life, I just wouldn't be whole.
21
The Rain On My Window By Bailey Phoenix ‘20
Mother Nature doesn't care. She burns the ground dry of any life And drowns out those who thrive in heat. Perfect days scheduled for the beach Are cancelled due to dangerous weather. Houses are torn in half by winds, Wildlife becomes homeless and scared. Sicknesses spread from host to host, And food supplies are running short. Why does Mother Nature burn us with her fury? Why does she drench us with her sorrow? Why does her frustration whip us? Why does her envy shake the ground? Nature is a cruel mother indeed, but Father Time is far worse. Father Time doesn't care at all. His only concern is of his clock, And he doesn't mind ripping lives apart. People lose time to change their dreams So they pursue a boring career. Family members run out of time, Costs of items can only rise. Pets and companions move on to death, And we are sure to follow them. Why does Father Time count down every minute? Why does he not understand the bonds he's broken? Why do his actions affect us so greatly? Why does he limit our time at all?
22
Momma
By Jason Wong ‘20 You wake me in the morning, Your voice sweet as roses, “Good morning, love, wake up please.” But I don’t notice how sleepy you are. In the morning, I get ready for school. Put on my brand-new shoes, But I don't notice how torn your shoes are. It is dinner time, We all sit down to eat. Make me a delicious meal, But I do not notice that you are hungry. Pack my bags, send me away, Provide me love and care. But sometimes when I’m gone, I forget the sacrifices you make.
23
Cold War Poem
By Aileen Pulchny ‘19 How can we keep history in the past if it keeps repeating The memories of loneliness and struggle; never fleeting An ice cold heart was left in the freezer too long It never thawed, and no one heard its final song How had you not seen what was going on Catch our fleeting moments of company before they're gone Seek a new face or seek a new life But never seek to end our cold strife Ignore her pleas, or his, or mine And tell us you're sorry, to think that's a sign Apologies mean nothing much without truth And truths are nothing without active proof A Cold War doesn't take two, it takes three; You, me, and the tension in between I can't begin to fathom how you'd think it fine, That I'd accept your allies when you'd ignore mine All this aside, I'll sigh and I'll try To place our regretful differences aside The pain's not ended, but the storm is finished And with this clear weather, all hope's not diminished In the ice-cold heart, a change has begun As someone is holding it up to the sun Apologies were made in the past but if history is repeating, I think our chances of union are far from fleeting
24
Sokolov Yush Raje ‘18 conspicuously fact. demonic he, reply dominance, he dead. damage, damage, an even stupid, about to leave detail behind, because you want disregarded as when these informing souls, perhaps physical, say of the owner (axed), informing of also one "sokolov," actually left, such be with you, say souls: he's you; upon a practice, dead. about the crime: clearly was form "sokolov." patrons that in they circumstances want much when practice of "sokolov." suspicious pure, crime without hesitance, hired and collateral, they dead, this practice without they betraying mafia inclination. ominous, it was of an actually really case you hire "sokolov." you want really none, but souls they want near-instantaneously, "sokolov."
25
Heart Over Mind
By Charmina Rios ‘19 Stubborn Mind thought I was very able, But timid Heart felt way too terrified. Just seeing all that work on the table Made Soul nervously stressed for the long ride. The ride of non-stop and endless spinning. In the hamster wheel of society With the wishful hope for lucky winning. Gain anxiety, lose self-piety. Reality is so full of pressure That I want, no—I need to run away To seek that hidden and buried treasure: pure happiness within me everyday. So I venture in search of La La Land Where the dreamers are free without worries Of insecurities on where they stand Or of how much they are little worthies. Now the new year gave me clean slate choices Of either that same mess or a fresh start Oh God, Head and its bickering voices Are echoing to instead follow Heart. Chose to do what I passionately love, No longer the repetitive breakdown. I found my inner-peace just like the dove, Deciding on the smile over the frown. I am proud to finally get a life, And have peace and happiness, true to be. Staying in La La Land, no Nightmare's knife, Just Daydream's wonder of spirit in me.
26
Small By Joanne Park ‘20 Small But not small as in insignificant or in that I’m lacking in worth I am worth everything but I’m just not that tall Tall? What does it mean to be tall A cup of coffee at Starbucks is tall When my voice and my attitude are big why does the length My bones decided to grow decide how others see me The careers I can be You see I wanted to be a model when I was little But little did I know that models have to be tall Why does height matter? Why does the way the matter you’re made of is placed Define what others think of you, say about you I mean, what does it even mean to be tall? I can feel tall but at the same time I’m just four nine Basketball players tell me that five six is short One two three four five six four nine why do we play this numbers game When there really isn’t a point Pointed words about how small I am don’t matter The matter I’m made out of is no different from theirs High heels are my kryptonite High school so far has been filled with episodes of me trying to Fill big shoes with little feet with Little idea about how much my little feet would hurt big Now the callouses on my feet aren’t just annoyances No, they’re battle scars A reminder of every day I tried to be tall when in reality All I did was stand on my toes all day Every day I want to be a little bigger stand a little taller But now I know that this isn’t what really matters That’s why I speak because when I start talking
27
People start listening and sometimes stop watching I watch the people in this room stop thinking about my height They’re thinking about the words I’m saying And I’ll say right now that Sure, I might stand on my toes for the rest of my life But don’t need height to be mighty I’ll still fight you I’ll still do the right thing My height doesn’t define me I’ll still dare to be defiant So, don’t forget to focus on my words not my stature Because I am more than just Small.
28
prose /prĹ?z/ noun 1. a literary medium distinguished from poetry, especially by its greater irregularity and variety of rhythm and its closer correspondence to the patterns of everyday speech
29
Sunflower Stew Recipe By Caroline Dickens ‘18
Looking for some joy and cheer in your life? Too unmotivated to be actually happy? Then this is the recipe for you! Ingredients: 3 cups of Sunflower Petals 1 cup of Firefly Juice 1/2 cup of Dandelions 2 pinches of Crystal Dust 1 teaspoon of Peppermint Extract 3 Four-Leaf Clovers Cut sunflower petals into a fine powder using a sharp knife. Place sunflower petals, firefly juice and dandelions into a large pot and let them marinate on medium heat for 2 hours. Carefully pick the leaves off of the four-leaf clovers and add them to the stew one at a time. Sprinkle in crystal dust very slowly (adding too quickly could cause the dust to evaporate). Add peppermint extract and stir thoroughly. Let concoction sit for 3 hours on low heat before serving. Sunflower stew promotes happiness and increases positive attitudes. It takes a few minutes for the stew to work, but, once it does, you will feel energetic and excited all day. This is the perfect remedy for a bad day that just seems to get worse. Works best between the hours of 11 A.M. and 2 P.M. Good luck!
30
Closed Door Love, Open Door Life By Olivia Heitz ‘18
Dust drifted through the air, filtering through the rays of new light shining through the cracks of the boarded-up windows. The light was fresh and bright: it nearly overwhelmed the tired and aging house. Paint had begun to peel away from the ornate, grey wall, revealing the brilliant red over which it had been pasted. The flakes disintegrated into the soft breeze coming from the hall. Air blew through the house, forcing the door open. It flooded the worn, darkened entryway with light that had been absent for years, recreating the image of beauty that had once resided in the room. Fresh footprints cleared the ground behind the stranger as he made his way up the darkened marble stairs. The shiny white steps had become brown and grey accumulating dust and mud from heartbreak and broken glass. The upstairs floor creaked under pressure that hadn't been applied since the windows were boarded up and the boxes were thrown out the back door. Paintings lay strewn across the floor, fallen from their alcoves of honor. Their painted faces stared into the heavens as if reenacting the house’s fall from grace that they had once witnessed. The old chandelier sparkled through the cracks in the crystal covered in layers of dust, bouncing fresh light onto the walls–like small teardrops splashing onto bathroom counters. His hands ran gently along the doorframe, outlining the oncebeautiful, now-hidden marks that proved it was, at one point, a home. The floor shimmered like a pool in May, reflecting light off the million shards of glass from broken mirrors. The glass cracked beneath his worn sneakers; he treaded gently as he knew the fractured shards could hurt him as badly as they had damaged the floor. The deafening silence was louder than the yelling and fights that had long since died down. The ever-present echo of slamming doors and the broken dishes on the kitchen floor gave voice to the bitter defeat of a romance gone astray.
31
Memories
By Amelia Flatley ‘20 My mother once told me something strange, that I didn't understand until I was able to focus on her words for more than a minute. She said, “In my eyes you will always be perfect.” It took me so long to realize what she had meant. You see, when you remember something, it is a perfect memory. Every story your grandparents told you, about the monsters under your bed; every thunderstorm during which you were brave enough to dance in the rain; every time you were too scared to raise your hand, because you were intimidated by the intelligence of other students: those are the perfect moments in your life. The memories you catch and keep forever–they express who you are. Our memory is the part of us we aren't afraid to show. Take the times I walked outside in a t-shirt and shorts during a thunderstorm, because the sound of storms and feel of rain comforts me; every time I walked with my sisters around the block to stomp in puddles after rain while collecting beautiful fall leaves; when I watched the snow fall during a snowstorm as I laid in the snow as I listened to the magical silence of winter days; and the moments I was brave enough to raise my hand and speak my mind and discover that, I too, had a voice. All those times I hold on to, because I know they show me as a whole without hiding my bravery or my sarcasm behind something fake. I mean, think about it. Your earliest memories–your most recent ones–you keep them, because they are a part of who you are. And, as my mother said to me, “You are perfect in my eyes.” No matter how down you are feeling, you will always be perfect in your own way: perfect, because, in the end, memories show you as a whole and only as a whole are you perfect.
32
flash fic·tion /flaSH ˈfikSH(ə)n/ noun 1. a style of fictional literature characterized by its brevity
joke /jōk/ noun 1. a thing that someone says to cause amusement or laughter
33
By Jacqueline Nguyen ‘17
How do we hide the body?
By Emily Ordoñez ‘19 Snake gets some tea. Boba Constrictor.
By Sachin Vallamkonda ‘17
1. crushes: nachos and nails, all-in-one 2. Lost in thought; thoughtful in loss
34
By Sachin Vallamkonda ‘17 Why was the disobedient plant never allowed to play with its friends? It was always grounded. What did the frog do when his car broke down? He got it toad.
Why can you never trust a wild cat’s word? It might be lion (lyin’). Why was it hard to read Dumbo’s essay paper? It was typed in ele-font (elephant).
35
art /ärt/ noun 1. the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power
36
Ashley Hiraki ’20
37
Shanghavi Srinivasan ’17
38
Jennifer McDonald ‘20
39
Nicholas Amireh ‘20
40
Mission Statement The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine is a collection of original, creative fiction written by students of Archbishop Mitty. The purpose of this magazine is to support students' creative expression, to allow students to share their words and experiences in an imaginative way, and to establish a community of artists, writers, and thinkers. By creating an outlet for student voices, The Muse hopes to foster a culture of self-expression and interconnection throughout the entire student body.
Thanks for reading this issue of The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine! The words we write can have a profound impact on our understanding of the world around us. It is our sincere hope that the words within this issue have inspired you think, write, dream, and understand more fully. Please look forward to more issues. We look forward to seeing you again and publishing the fantastic work of AMHS students. – the Editors
41
ARCHBISHOP MITTY LITERARY MAGAZINE
Moderator: Kevin Brazelton Student Editors: Aneri Bhatt Joshua Harmon Stephanie Jue Katya Katsy Alisa Khieu Nichole Lim Mia Lombardo Anne Moultray Emily OrdoĂąez Valerie Remaker Sophia Scott Raymond So Administrator: Keith Mathews
42