the muse amhs student literary magazine volume 5, edition 2
Dear Reader, Welcome to the second 2018-2019 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 five 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 that you enter these pages with an open mind and that you find a sense of solace and inspiration within the words they contain. After you have enveloped yourself in all this magazine has to offer, you may hear the light whisper of the muse in your ear.
Do you want to be featured in the next edition? The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine will be accepting entries for the fall semester (Volume 6, Edition 1) next fall. Please refer to the myMitty page under “Clubs” to learn about the submission process for poetry, prose, art, six word stories, jokes, and memoirs to be published in the AMHS Literary Magazine.
The following works are the intellectual property of Archbishop Mitty students. All ownership rights reserved.
Words, words, words. They often come to us in second-handed nature, and yet they often seem to escape us. They offer a force with which to shape our surrounding world, and yet they somehow obscure the very universe we describe. As we attempt to delve deeper into meaning, we try to fill the infinite with the structured finiteness of words; and yet, at the same time, words fill us with newfound passions and transport us to landscapes of headspaces yet traversed. So we steer ahead in expedition, our heading aimed toward the unknown, and tracing, still, the underlying, undulating pulse of familiarity. This dichotomy of function pervades all forms of art; indeed, words are art (and art does speak). And, thus, we find ourselves expressing the same concepts again and again through new (and used) forms of art—the same colors are used to capture the sky, the same words are shuffled around in the assembly line of structured diction—as we thereby attempt to expand and deepen what the senses simply cannot ever fully explain of the heart. But that doesn’t make art any less beautiful; instead, the pairing of repetition and novelty allows for the world in full to begin unfolding, revealing and emphasizing the splendid and the raw. This, we believe, is true beauty. Within the next few pages, you’ll find works—both of words and art—that we’ve collected with the hope that something resonates with you or inspires you to continue to enhance such spheres of artistry. Enjoy these artful musings. —The Muse
Index Mahder Aklilu ‘22, Page 46 Anousha Athreya ‘22, Page 38 Tanvi Bajaj ‘19, Page 74 Akhilesh Balasingam ‘21, Page 23 Joy Barsoum ‘22, Page 74 Matthew Beymer ‘21, Page 19, 75 Natalia Buzo ‘21, Page 21, 73 Erica Cardozo ‘21, Page 9, 10-11, 52 Hannah Chang ‘21, Page 24, 28, 32, 33, 56, 61 Aditi Chatradhi ‘19, Page 75 Hannah Cheng ‘20, Page 50, 68 Megan Chiang ‘21, Page 22 Alexis Corral ‘20, Page 47 Annabelle Duflock ‘20, Page 20 Ethan Fusilero ‘19, Page 75 Kai Gatlin ‘21, Page 40, 41, 45 Mia Hawkins ‘22, Page 35, 67, 74 Amelia Herbert ‘20, Page 74 Jessica Hsu ‘21, Page 25 Tiffanie Huang ‘21, Page 31 Kelly Ilmi ‘22, Page 14, 64 Stephanie Jue ‘19, Page 70 Sahit Kavukuntla ‘20, Page 49, 57 Mayank Killedar ‘19, Pages 6-7 Bryan Kim ‘21, Page 62, 64 Selina Kim ‘19, Page 5, 75 Kelly Ly ‘21, Page 68 Elaine Ma ‘22, Page 29 Declan MacLean ‘22, Page 75 Katrina Manacio ‘20, Page 33 Deepa Marti ‘19, Page 27
Alicia Matsumoto ‘19, Page 13 Daniel Matus ‘21, Page 63 Jennifer McDonald ‘20, Page 71 Mia Merritt ‘19, Page 15 Julia Morrison ‘22, Page 36 Rishi Nair ‘19, Page 42-43 Ishaan Nandwani ‘19, Page 34 Ishika Nimmagadda ‘19, Page 54 Isabelle Oligher ‘22, Page 64 Joanne Park ‘20, Page 18 Seo Park ‘22, Page 26, 28 Bailey Phoenix ‘20, Page 72 Carmen Prabhu ‘22, Page 66 Aileen Pulchny ‘19, Page 30 Merisa Prisha Raj ‘22, Page 17, 37, 63, 74 Lamya Richardson ‘21, Page 44-45 Christa Rios ‘21, Page 12, 39 Paige Rosckes ‘21, Page 51 Emilie-Anne Roxas ‘21, Page 55 Amelia Scharpf ‘21, Page 46 Brenna Schumacher ‘19, Page 16, 75 Darren Scorsur ‘19, Page 54 Danielle Slaughter ‘21, Page 49 Dominika Swedek ‘21, Page 60 Rohan Tawade ‘22, Page 70 Amira Thomas ‘22, Page 8 Marcela Valle ‘19, Page 58-59 Ojas Vashishtha ‘21, Page 48 Alexandra Wong ‘22, Page 69 Jessica Wong ‘22, Page 74 Sebastian Young ‘22, Page 53
Selina Kim ‘19
Mayank Killedar ‘19 It should have been easy. Write a speech, read it to the class, and get elected. There was just one variable that I couldn’t account for: Rebecca Reynolds (all names, with the exception of mine, have been changed). I knew she spelled trouble since the first day of kindergarten when she told me that my haircut was ugly. Her late entry into the race turned my entire strategy on its head because she was slightly better than me in everything: she was half an inch taller than me, a little faster than me, barely more popular than me. And I hated it. The fire was lit and I knew that this was my opportunity to break out on top. So as I stood in front of the class on election day, I had all the confidence in the world to step into a new era where I was the victor. And yet, when I gazed out at the class, I immediately met her eyes. Her stare bored into my head and in that moment, a wave of anxiety swept over me. I looked down at my paper, and the words and sentences I had carefully written now seemed incoherent and impossible to read. I sat down afterward in a daze, knowing that conducting a vote would be redundant. The entire class knew who had won. Again. When my teacher announced her victory the next day, my face burned with shame while Rebecca’s beamed with pride. As she looked out at the class, she made a point to stare me down with a slight smirk on her face and it was that moment, in the face of defeat, that I made a vow to come back stronger than ever. I was the ultimate underdog, and I had nothing to lose. Two years later, when student government elections were announced at our middle school, I knew the opportunity to redeem myself had finally arrived. I decided to run for secretary and naturally, Rebecca set her sights on the same position. But this time, I was ready. Throughout the entire campaigning period, I allowed her to think that I was struggling while I quietly observed her make mistake after mistake: noticing she had lost touch with her main voter base—her friends from elementary school—I made sure to strengthen my ties with each of them. Her failure to campaign amongst the seventh graders, a key demographic, meant I was able to politic freely among the older students. As these key errors accumulated, I was certain that the coming election would be a rout. On election day, I met her gaze again and in her eyes, I once again saw all the defeats that she had handed me over the years play out. However this time my confidence surged instead of faltering. I had spent the last two years playing chess while she was playing checkers. Later that afternoon, as the leadership coordinator, Mrs. Taylor, started reading the election results, Rebecca glanced over at me again, and for the first time in all the years I had known her, I saw doubt in her eyes. At the same time, there was an announcement: “The secretary is…Mayank Killedar!”
Checkmate. Relief flooded my body, and I allowed a grin to break through my otherwise composed demeanor. Before I had the chance to congratulate her on a good race—and maybe gloat a little bit—she got up and left the room. I held my position for less than three hours. There was a voicemail from Mrs. Taylor waiting for me when I got home, asking me to call as soon as possible. I re-dialed the number to devastating news: there had been a mistake. Rebecca had actually won the election. In an instant, I ran through each of the stages of grief save for acceptance. I lost track of the conversation as my mind was stuck trying to process my most recent humiliating defeat. In a haze, I accepted her offer of an alternative position though I knew it was only a handout, done out of pity because of her error. Mrs. Taylor called me again later in the summer, and I half-expected her to tell me that she didn’t have the power to offer me the alternative position. However, it turned out that Sirius, the treasurer-elect, had transferred schools and they wanted me to take over his position. I accepted, grateful for the opportunity to serve the student body in a legitimate capacity, but the job still came with an asterisk: not good enough to be secretary. In retrospect, my most disastrous loss turned into my greatest triumph. If I had been elected as secretary instead of Rebecca, I would have never had the chance to work with money. I would have never had the chance to manage the budget and perform basic cost-benefit analyses before I knew what it truly meant to do either. I would have never found my passion for economics. She tortured me at every turn, and yet, I have come to appreciate her for leading me to something that I love. And for that, thank you, Rebecca Reynolds.
Our Ending Amira Thomas ‘22 I love you but not that much never that much to receive the same in return Perhaps the ocean could Figure me out Like the warm water calls the smooth sand. But you wouldn’t possibly understand Would you, my love? This almost seems to be our ending, where we have, visibly, grown apart I think this decision was smart but my love remains pending. It’s really the end This has to be goodbye But I can’t help wonder why Never could I get the same in return Not that much Never that much, but Still I love you.
Erica Cardozo ‘21
I’m Too Young Erica Cardozo ‘21 You look at me, a girl of fifteen A body that has barely started to stop developing and you see passion. But when my mouth is opened, and words flow out-words I wholeheartedly mean--you look at me and say, “Honey, this is stuff you’re too young to know about.” My answer to you, whomever you may be, is yes. Yes, I am in fact, too young. I’m too young to see a crimson stain on my classroom floor along with my peers and friends laying motionless with silver bullets in their bodies put there by a school shooter with a semi-automatic weapon that YOU refuse to take away. I’m too young to go out one morning to a funeral of a friend who has committed suicide because no one would help them. Not because their problems were “fake” or “for attention” but because YOU as adults didn’t find their problems valid or worth your time.
I’m too young to have to be put in a courtroom with a man who find preying on little girls like me his destiny--a man who got to walk free because she’s “developed for her age” and then I’m told of a child he received custody of. I’m too young to know that someone’s sexuality can get them killed, hurt, or bullied. Because it’s “disgusting” and “sinful”--so sinful that they aren’t protected by a government with separation of church and state. Yes, I am too young to be through this or be scared of it, but it’s affecting my generation much more than yours. None of the older generations had to experience this, and we won’t allow it. We might be too young to have seen the past, but you are too old to see the rage gathering in our souls, the armor we have built to defend ourselves and the changes we will make. You have had your chance to speak but now it is our turn, and we will fight to stop the deaths of our classmates and friends. Paving the way to the future in that crimson blood that was covered by red carpets for so long.
Christanel Rios ‘21
Alicia Matsumoto ‘19
The Nice City of Nice Kelly Ilmi ‘22 The splendid smell engulfed in the clean air, lavender, rose, the perfume smell is quite fair. Crashing aggressively against the soft, soft sand, ocean waves reaching far out like a mother's hand. Small creatures, cutely crawling along the park, always seem to leave their mark. Enraged drivers, always wanting to go faster, they better be careful, or else they might end up in plaster. Up above, the known beast plans its strategy, unfortunately for one, the wallcreeper will make a tragedy. Beauty icons all over the place, everyone wishes they could have their face. The scrumptious sweets are all so tasty, for the city is known for its delicious pastry. The beautiful city of Nice, full of elegance, will always be in peace.
Mia Merritt ‘19
Octopus Interpretation Brenna Schumacher ‘19 H2O and electrolytes That’s all they are—I think not. An iridescent pearl that rolls Down your cheek & upon your lips. Or perhaps you‘ve overworked your Eyes and they’ve started to perspire. Or maybe bubbles bubbled high High up, popped & fell down down down. They could be deep aqua marine The kind of blue you find at sea. Rare, but still possible, they are Fiery red & sear your skin. A single teardrop speaks thousands Upon thousands more than you think. There’re endless possibilities You see, that’s the octopus way.
Merisa Prisha Raj ‘22
Burning Joanne Park ‘20 She’s been burning for years now— A scarlet flame unable to be quenched She’s been burning in opposition to the skies In competition with the sun—she’s fighting. Her name means valiant. Adjective: Possessing or showing courage or determination. She isn’t determined, she is determination herself Contained in long limbs and curly hair Yet she lives life under a veil— Vision clouded, hands outstretched and damp She apologizes for the heat, yet Little does she know that her heat warms up my heart; She apologizes for disrupting the dark, yet Little does she know that the light is a haven for lost souls; A gentle hand that is wrapped around my shoulders Giving comfort where comfort is lost. She thinks she weighs down my shoulders— But she’s been keeping me grounded, in tune with the earth As she lights up the sky with her flame.
Matthew Beymer ‘21
Yemen Annabelle Duflock ‘20 There’s an American stamp on every innocent death But if we truly want to understand the breadth We have to hear their truth And do all that we can to protect the victimized youth You see, I’m a writer, a wordsmith, a poet. But when I look for words there’s none that show it As food runs out, children stay sick, hope falls flat How am I supposed to put a number on that Because there are children eating leaves As their mothers beg, cry and plead Don’t let my child die And we do nothing but stare and sigh And turn off the TV And say back to reality But this is their world, This is their life And what gives us the right To pretend we can do nothing When we spend our time running From our role in their pain We have to turn and face the bloodstain So what do we do? We never accept we never come to terms We fight, yell, scream until our throat burns Just because it’s not in front of our eyes Doesn’t mean we can ignore the cries So it’s time to stand up and speak out Because no child should ever have to doubt Their worth.
Natalia Buzo ‘21
Megan Chiang ‘21
Akhilesh Balasingam ‘21
Hannah Chang ‘21
Jessica Hsu ‘21
They had hope, Not wanting to mope, But one more hour, Peace turned sour. An unheard lull, Eyes now dull, Amid sighs and cries, A last goodbye.
A breeze brushing past, Hopping so fast, Fur white as snow, Eyes with a glow, Nose quivering in joy, Begging for a toy, Everyday energy spent, Eyes wrinkled in content.
Don’t know you, But long had I knew, You’re still here, Always endeared. Though not with us, You’re on a bus To a new place Filled with grace.
A perfect life.
A perked up ear, Trying to hear The calls of fun, A shining sun. Hopping boundlessly, Shrilling noiselessly, An endless view-I see you.
I See You
Then screams and shouts, Taking the fastest route, Time passing in a trance, No longer able to prance. Lying desolately alone, A contagious zone, Blurry moving shadows, People walking on tiptoes.
I Did Not Lose Seo (Stella) Park ‘22 No awards No red and blue ribbons No golden trophies No heavy wooden plaque Not even a gold-trimmed certificate Nothing to my name But I did not lose I learned a lesson I gained experience I put in effort I embarked on a journey I didn’t stop I didn’t give up I persevered through I made no excuses And in this way I do not believe That I lost I have won against myself I did not lose
Deepa Marti ‘19
Seo (Stella) Park ‘22 Start with the panic because it has been predicted that the Earth is going to collapse in 100 years. Even more intense and vigorous research initiates. Some, but very few, people start to question who will get to go to that planet. Will it accommodate all? Later: It is discovered a new planet that is similar to Earth exists. Even more people start to bring up the question that was previously discussed. Scientists/engineers/important people lamely reassure people that most everybody will be able to go. Intense research and design reviews and consultations initiate to construct the spacecraft that will safely send everybody to that planet, and other supplies/resources. Even more research into the planet continues to see how people might continue producing those resources. There are many roadblocks and unforeseen obstacles that take many years to work out. Now, the century is almost up and it is really a time crunch for people now. Alarm mounts since time is running out. Later: It is announced that the spacecraft has been built and is ready to launch. However, it is sadly announced that not everybody will be able to go: at most, 10 people are able to. If there was more time, then more spacecrafts would have been able to be constructed. However, it took so much time working out those kinks that only one was able to be successfully built and tested. Who will get to go?
Hannah Chang ‘21
Elaine Ma ‘22
china Aileen Pulchny ‘19 I tried to sway the wars that waged within you Your gaze was gone You looked so fragile Like your fibers were fighting each other Yes, I sparked the fire behind your back To get you to run away from the smoke Slowly you stole yourself back They had your soul on a string And I’ve seen it before The same eyes against a different despiser A lonely soul who’s not alone But held on the wrong rope I look across at your eyes I wish they’d blink I wish they’d awaken I wish they’d look at me I wish they would cry I wish they’d listen and linger A little longer I wish you’d see what we say But you taste it and then spit it out The truth is, I didn’t really try When I try, I tantrum and toil And you looked so fragile Like a china doll that wasn’t mine.
& vice versa Tiffanie Huang ‘21 Between my teeth I’d like to snap your slippery goodbyes in half for once, sink them deep into those overcooked words, marinating in them until they hang limply from the roof of my mouth. Maybe I’ll braid your mermaid hair until it’s tied up with the rest of your lies, twist your locks until they weep through the gaps of my fingers and confess the cold truth. When you laugh your wine-glass laugh, I’ll bathe in those gasps of air, your breaths pointed sharp until I bend them with my bare hands, molding them neatly into three-four time. When you toss your pretty head, I’ll catch it in one smooth motion, and we’ll melt into the chocolate floorboards together, boiling into a viscous sarabande. Perhaps I’ll even feed you a few of my own lies, now that the wind under my tongue tastes like slow poison—but not now, because right now you’re too busy swimming in a hard-nosed sculpture, a thousand miles underwater so you can’t hear me when I spit the words out right back at you.
I Am Who I Am Hannah Chang ‘21
I am stubborn and refuse to take a side when I don't want to. I get stressed easily and sometimes I cry because of it, but I'm okay. Sometimes I won't eat, not because I'm starving myself, but because I get so caught up with what I'm doing, I just forget. It's who I am. I can't sleep without noise, and sometimes I don't sleep at all, or I sleep too much. I hate oatmeal with a passion, but I'm the biggest hypocrite because oatmeal raisin cookies are my favorite. I can watch the same movie a million times and find something different to fall in love with every time. It's who I am. I cry whenever a dog dies in a movie. I laugh at the stupidest jokes. I love ducks with all my heart. I still mix up my left and right sometimes, a lot, actually. It's who I am. When I'm sad all I need is a hug, and for you to tell me it's gonna be alright. When I'm happy, just be happy with me. When we fight and I don't apologize, I'm sorry that I don't say I'm sorry; I'm working on it. When I get angry at you for no reason, when I act like I hate you, when I say mean things, when I make it seem like I don't love you. I'm sorry, sometimes I struggle with saying how I really feel.
It's who I am. I have so many flaws, so many imperfections, so many things about myself I wish to tear apart. Just please, don't hurt my heart. It's fragile and I'm scared of letting anyone get too close to it, but I trust you and please don't betray that. I will try my best to be patient and caring. I will try my best to never let you down. I will keep my word as best I can. I can't guarantee my perfection, but who can? I just ask that you love me unconditionally. Maybe I'm too trusting or not trusting enough, but the truth is I'm a little bit of both. I like to say that I'm the perfect ratio of life, but to others I'm too much this or too much that. It's who I am. And I cannot change myself in an instant, as much as I may want to. I am who I am, and that'll never change.
The Thought of You Hannah Chang ‘21
I'm in love with the thought of you, maybe that's why I let you hurt me. I'm only in love with the thought of you. I'm in love with the person I so desperately wish you to be. I created a fantasy and reality is becoming harder and harder to face the more trapped I become. I'm in love with you, the dream, not you, the reality. I feel like that's what makes this so hard for me to be okay. As much as I may hate you for breaking me, a part of me will always love the thought of you.
The Petrifying Thing About Love Katrina Manacio ‘20 Two souls, a world of intertwining fates. Their strings pull them back and forth, getting tangled in a cluster of pain. Yet they fall into a Petrifying love. They get lost in each other's knots. Soft whispers, impossible promises draw their strings closer and closer, grips their hearts tighter and tighter until someone gets Cut. "If only! If only! Our strings had been stronger,” the souls always believed. But the cycle always begins again; Two souls, tangled, suffocated, Cut. A Petrifying thing, indeed.
Ishaan Nandwani ‘19 multifaceted. the most exquisite crystals, the most brilliant diamonds, are those that are multifaceted different. the most innovative worlds, the most prosperous communities, are those that accept ‘different’ perhaps i’m a diamond in the rough— i’m still growing, learning, changing but i know who i am and who i want to be a person who wants to confront the truth i’m multifaceted, i’m different. and that makes me stronger
Mia Hawkins ‘22
Again Julia Morrison ‘22 Beginners luck It’s The only reason you beat me I bet you can’t do it again Words I know all too well Growing up With video games And siblings So I try again My life It seems to repeat again Nothing new Is allowed to come From it Nothing new Is allowed to come From Me Family Society Puts me into Too many boxes I need To cut myself up To fit into all of them. A Teenager My beginner's luck Is running out I need to get out of bed again To pretend to be ok again To pretend smile again
I do Anything new Anything different And it’s just a Phase I’m going through So I don’t change at all So people don’t think I’m copying anyone’s style But when I appear the same My mind Telling me I am Childish Immature Someone else Until I change and My mind Tells me people Are staring Judging Disapproving
Everything Is fighting My mind Destroys itself again That hasn’t changed. I try Not to let Others tell me What to think But one wrong move One conversation With my parents and My whole life changes again Despite my best efforts I’m growing My skills are changing again The rules Are changing again And I don’t know them Nobody warned me About this update And I can’t Find shortcuts online How do I win My beginner's luck Has run out Maybe it’s time To quit the game
Merisa Raj ‘22
The Ultimate Crash Anousha Athreya ‘22
In a small school next to a park There was a quiet little girl with a big heart On a scary journey she was about to embark The girl often wished for a restart She never saw it coming They were running, running too fast On the ground their feet were drumming Then SMACK! She felt the force of the blast The girl got up, feeling utterly fine Her face couldn’t be felt but she simply smiled Her friend stared at her face, marred by design And whispered for help, her voice mild Her mother screamed as she came into view Her daughter’s cheek was scarred beyond repair As the tears in her face slowly grew Only seven stitches could fix the great tear
rock, paper, scissors, shoot! Christa Rios ‘21 rock. your loved and prized possessions are protected from the firm stealth of my shield. there is no difference between a pebble, stone, or a boulder. the harder and stronger we become as we get older. paper. flowing, fresh, free, but can be torn with the delicacy of the wild touch of heart. if you ever feel tainted with the smudges and scribbles of the doubtful eraser, i will help you transition to turning your blank thoughts into creativity and masterpieces. pick up a pencil and write down optimism. you shall never erase it in your mind. scissors. don't let negativity cut us off. because only we can cut negativity off itself. as our fears are talking to us from the phone, slice off its wire. snip out the lies that the brain would send. life is “rock-paper-scissors.” we must shoot our shot to receive what life gives us. but our faith and confidence can help us win this game.
Kai Gatlin ‘21
Kai Gatlin ‘21
Rishi Nair ‘19 Rolling hills and a golden coast—that’s what comes to mind when you think about California, right? My story is of the road, or more specifically part of a highway, that truly captures all that California is and has to offer in a short, hour long drive: I-280 north. The entrance to the highway that defines this golden state opens up near my middle school, Kennedy Middle school. At first, this route may look rather mundane, but within a minute you start to see the beauty. I-280 cuts through numerous hills but, despite its many twists and turns, it is rather simple to navigate. Grand houses claim the crests of these hills, looking down into the Silicon Valley on one side and the golden coast on the other. A few miles up from the epicenter of tech innovation, I-280 makes one more turn, but this time it’s rather straight for a few miles. On your right, golden hills stand against a postcard sky. When the sun catches the long, dry grass just right, with the wind coursing through each stalk, the hill transforms into a great golden ocean. Not to be outdone, to the left loom the mountains, with tendrils of fog creeping over the tops whether its 90 degrees or 50 outside—the fog is a constant. Just as the golden hills end and civilization comes back into view, there is a house, but not just any house—no, this is the Flintstone house, an “organic” pink, orange, and purple structure built by spraying shotcrete onto steel rebar and mesh frames over inflated aeronautical balloons in the 1970’s. The yard is even complete with several copper dinosaur statues from a local artist just up the road in Half Moon Bay. California eccentricity at its finest. In a couple of miles, the exit for Half Moon Bay appears on your right. If this were a different story, about a different road, we might take a detour down Highway 92 through the famous pumpkin patches draped in the colors of fall and out to the rocky bluffs along Highway 1 overlooking the Pacific Ocean. At this point, the windows usually roll down. You can smell the redwood and the pine mixing with the salt air brought in by the fog. On we roll up I-280, as we pass exits for San Francisco International Airport and Pacifica. Slowly, the tree cover yields to a forest of track homes and industrial warehouses, and suddenly you see the white words of “South San Francisco The Industrial City” on the hill to your right.
There is a certain feeling of safety that the city exudes despite its seemingly chaotic manner. Within minutes, I-280 turns into a new road: The Embarcadero. AT&T park, home of the San Francisco Giants, Alcatraz tours, Pier 39, and Fisherman’s Wharf all call The Embarcadero home. The Embarcadero contains anything and everything a tourist to the most beautiful city in America could want. By now, you’re probably getting hungry. We’ve been driving for an hour and got so caught up in the sights that we didn’t even think to stop for lunch. At the end of the journey lies the fast food place that is quintessentially Californian: In-N-Out. The smell of their world class burgers coupled with the salty smell of the sea combine to concoct an aroma that is exclusive to this In-N-Out of all In-N-Outs. We are satiated, aren’t we? Full bellies, full lungs, eyes filled with the sights and sounds of the mountains, the ocean, the city and every good thing California has to offer. For many, I-280 is just a commute from one town to another, but to me, it is road-therapy, an invitation to remember everything I love about home.
Lamya Richardson ‘21 This a white man’s world And i’m just living in it. Do not tell me i owe you respect When you kept me in shackles From day one and even now You keep adding weights. You tell me to raise my hands To your god when i can’t Even raise them to avoid Getting shot because my Empty hands mean nothing When my black skin is The weapon you see. But let me take things into my own hands My black skin is thicker than yours could ever be Because of the brutal lashes of your whip That engraved years of pain, Scars that you try to erase But what you fail to realize is that You only made me stronger. I turn my voice into a weapon But unlike you i refuse to hurt others Instead i will educate you, and lift you Higher and higher because even you Have the right to feel such greatness That at once and even now you Try to keep from me and my people
The fear you state you feel when you hear Our voices Rise Is unnecessary because we both know It is not fear that you experience But the superiority you have felt For thousands of years on end That no one has checked Being threatened for once in your life. So you try to Beat Us Down. Believe me when i say that It does not work. Because our wings that you Tried to clip, The ones you tried to Rip from our backs, Only healed with time, Leaving us strong, glorious, And soaring once More. Kai Gatlin ‘21
Wildflowers are the best flowers Mahder Aklilu ‘22 Roses and violets are pretty and whatever, but they’re also needy little divas That are like ‘my place in this fertilized soil and 2.85 ounces of water a week was too cold today so ima die’ And then there’s wildflowers which are like ‘ah do I see a crack in the concrete Ima grow there’ then bam the ugly gray concrete floors are covered with beautiful little white and yellow flowers That I’m pretty sure are called wildflowers so bye
The First Fall of Winter Amelia Scharpf ‘21
Like watching a snow globe dance Little white cotton balls flutter at a glance A clean white canvas covers the ground Waiting to be touched, a treasure to be found Childlike laughter can be heard all morning With a squeal and a scream sleds go soaring Snowmen stack up, two eyes and a nose And a little purple scarf that skips when the wind blows Silent Still Sparkling crystals hang from a branch As delicate as china but could pierce at any chance Whole White Winter as far as the eye can see A beautiful facade but as real as you and me
Alexis Corral ‘20 A smile. Which I thought I saw the future in A beautiful smile My heart beats faster when I see it And my mind goes blank just by the thought of it A simple smile. An expression in which my happiness is based around The smile that I just can’t live without Days are dull if I wont see this One. Smile. I follow it around like a lost puppy In search for its precious home I look day and night For this Single. Smile. Each day that goes by The smile slowly starts to fade And as it fades My once bright days Turn darker because of This. Smile. A longing I have for this expression As I long for the happiness I once felt I simply can’t find it anymore Where. Has. My. Smile. Gone?
Ojas Vashishtha ‘21 We drive on the endless road With the sun almost at sleep When I see a flock of birds In a perfect formation Going home to rest She says to me, “Look how free the birds are!” I look and see The flock of birds Soaring, flying The wind breezing their precious feathers Free to go wherever they want Whenever they want Free to fly, fly, fly Free to make their own choices I look and see The flock of birds The flock of things Like a machine Eating, sleeping, eating, sleeping Free to do just those two things Free to be afraid of a predator At every corner, at every nest Free to go home at sunset No matter what happens And free to wake up at the break of dawn To look for food for hours and hours in a day Free to have food be their only mission, their only purpose Once again she says, “Look how free the birds are!” I wonder to myself, Are they free?
Sahit Kavukuntla ‘20
Monday Danielle Slaughter ‘21 Saturday lives as a life I do not know As opposed to Friday and the riches she had sown. Friday walks me to the road set for Saturday, Where the days reign to become a dismay.
Sunday fades and I dream of the unknown. I wish to be with the one who I had once called my own. But as I awake, I am taken away, And my breath no longer draws as I urge myself to stay.
Saturday takes me as we journey through, And I greet Sunday as the friend who I once knew. Saturday challenges me unlike any had done before, And I find myself transformed as I grow and explore.
Monday, you wound me, But yet, you woo me.
But with Sunday, I sit, With no other but my wit. I pray that a day will come where I can venture, As I dream to reunite with my Saturday and her adventures.
You confuse and amaze, And as I am pulled in two ways, I find I’ve fallen victim to Monday’s mystery, As I look back on Saturday and our forgotten history. For Saturday remained in the memory of the week, But it is the mystery of Monday my mind now seeks.
Hannah Cheng ‘20
Is it possible? Paige Rosckes ‘21 Is it possible? Impossible for a pumpkin to turn into a carriage Impossible for four white mice to turn into four white horses Impossible for a fox to turn into a coachman Impossible Impossible Impossible Cinderella suffers torture and marries her prince She is kind to everyone but still I am not convinced Why she out of all gets to become the queen What about the poor townspeople who still can’t eat Cinderella gets a castle and people live in the streets Why are they unable to attain the prince’s love If everything is possible why can’t I pass my class If everything is possible why am I always last If everything is possible why am I still lonely I wish the world could be like sunflowers blooming on a summer day I wish everyone could skip among the grasses merry and gay I wish we could achieve our aspirations and shine like a star For the world is full of zanies and fools But that does not help society’s rules Why should we hope for the impossible When it seems that all we do is fail to achieve A fairytale that only Cinderella is able to experience
Erica Cardozo ‘21 i am an unfinished story-incomplete, yet packed to the rafters brimming with tales of happiness, disappointment, fear, and joy i channel my stories when i need them-they are my past but they define my future they influence who i am, what i do, and how i act everything i feel, hear, smell, taste, do-change each day’s story change my life for better or for worse the positive stories--starting at my birth filled with laughter, love, happiness, and life they inspire me to live each day like that tale the negative stories--from the beginning filled with stress, apprehension, and fear they inspire me to change my day all my stories--i remember them all they have the power to change my perspective to change who i support, and who i refuse to who i am determines my stories my age, race, body type. my stories determine everything that makes me me my gender, religion, sexuality. for the past fifteen years i have, and i will continue to write my own story.
This Came As A Surprise Sebastian Young ‘22 This came as a surprise I feel this heat wave run through me I see others and their skin peels off I try to get to shelter to survive
My time is running out, So many questions fill my head I wish I could come home But stuck in this bed
I get to safety and recover safely I see what people are going through My body is fine, but the world is not I try to go home, but there’s something I’ve got
What is going on? What is it with this war? How longer can we roar? When will we no longer soar?
Years go on and I feel fine Then I feel hot Like I’m running out of time I then decide to make a wish
My day is fast-approaching With nothing to do I keep folding cranes With one wish in sight
I wish for love I wish for world peace I wish for family I wish for cease
Wish for world peace That’s all I ask With 864 cranes With one wish, I ask
I get to the hospital, but have to wait I see others waiting too What’s wrong with the staff I need to be seen quick I finally see the doctor, Diagnosed with leukemia My family’s in shock There’s nothing to do In silence, In shock, In existence With ticking clocks
Run Away Ishika Nimmagadda ‘19 Close your eyes, You are in a jungle, Running, Running from an animal only you can see, Running from a constant shadow that is following you, Open your eyes, You are surrounded by a sea of people you don’t know, You feel like hiding, So you start running again, You start running into paradise, Close your eyes, You are in a field of flowers, You think you are in paradise, But you start to hear a thumping in your head, So you start running, Running away from something only you can hear, Open your eyes, Everyone is gone, You tell yourself this is what you wanted, But is it really? You feel lost, So you start running again, Running away from the silence that consumes your fears, But this time you are running to finally reach an end.
Darren Scorsur ‘19
glass Emilie-Anne Roxas ‘21 you know what’s funny i look out and see all of the wonder in people the raw talent the passion the gears we rarely choose to use the things that get us out of bed the things we live for the things we love and then i or maybe you or she or they look into a small thin piece of glass and we then say to the glass painted on the back by some weird metallic paint we say we are nothing compared to everyone else which is funny because we are talking to ourselves in a piece of glass not seeing the miles and miles of ourself hidden behind the painting we see but other people do and they see the miles behind us of us and never see the miles behind them so i guess what i find funny is when we look at other people we rarely see windows but mirrors of what we should be and when we look at us we see a window and see us all the good the bad and the dirty not the brilliant the beautiful and the exquisite but what we should see not the same as what we do see although they’re just words in the same place with different meaning and mirrors are not the same as windows though they’re just pieces of glass maybe as humans we should see though mirrors more than windows but we are human so mirrors it is.
Megan Chiang ‘21
Sahit Kavukuntla ‘20
Mi Perrito Lindo Marcela Valle ‘19 I always wish I had one of you. I was only ten, when I first met you. And I knew then, you were my best friend, too. You were not a toy. You were my boy. You bark hello to me when I open the door, but all I see is you jumping on the floor. Lying on the bed with your teddy bear, Ted, you fall sound asleep. With your eyes open wide and filled with love, you bring me the ball with your pride, standing tall. The better I got to know you, the more I found myself loving you. You were always there when I needed you. I will always be here. I will always love you. I will meet you there in heaven. Forever friends we shall remain, and I'll miss you till the end. Oh, Mi Perrito Lindo! Mi Perrito Lindo!
memory searching Dominika Swedek ‘21 My hippocampus is a mailing room at the post office Filled to the brim with letters telling my stories But there are too many letters Most of them unmarked And so I get lost looking for one, single piece of postage and panic Frantic, i dump the letters out of their boxes Sweeping them onto the floor My letters fly through the air as I shift through old letters, useful letters, short letters, empty letters worn letters, colorful letters, ripped letters, letters stained with tears I make a mess As I search and search But soon (the neat room now a disaster) I give up Engulfed with frustration Unable to find anything Unable to rid myself of anything Tired, I sit down on the pile Of letters on the floor Atop successes, broken dreams, broken hearts, people of the past And begin organizing again
Hannah Chang ‘21
There lies a tree Bryan Kim ‘21 There lies a tree alone There lies a tree withered There lies a tree Alive but not living Yet It does not move It stays its ground Resilient Let the wind blow It does not move Let the storm fall It stays resolute I admire the tree Even in its little trunks It does not falter I want to be like the tree but I fall because falling’s easy— but it only brings you down
Untitled Daniel Matus ‘21 Music is such a wonderful thing! It’s simply just listening to somebody sing, And yet, it’s meant to be so much more It makes some things worth doing, not just a chore. There’s so many different types for every kind of mood, And sometimes the differences are a bit more subdued. It can be like a breeze, gentle and pleasant, Or perhaps it’s a storm, wild and energetic. It’s all unique, each with their own rhythm and rhyme. But all of it is bound to give someone a good time. And the words, the words, they mean so much! They could tell of a struggle or a story, all with a gentle touch. Some don’t even have lyrics, but that doesn’t diminish From the meaning behind the notes, each with their own finish. No matter the intention, no matter the meaning, It always catches attention, reaching into your being. Music is such a wonderful thing, Even if you just don’t want to sing. It’s able to mean so much more, All with the simple beats of 1, 2, 3, and 4
Merisa Raj ‘22
gold ring Bryan Kim ‘21 thin, gold ring looks so fragile on her finger a perfect circle goes round and round thin, gold ring but all of it ain’t gold a perfect circle that ends where it starts
Isabelle Oligher ‘22
Paris Kelly Ilmi ‘22 Love is in the air, Flying around like a bird in the sky. The majestically tall tower, Is just peering overhead. The star. It crawls all over, Completely covering the large city. The mimes, quite invisible in fact, Despite what they say, they aren’t really there. The long, slim sticks of bread, Are as warm as a summer night. The winter weather, though, Is rainy and cold. Located up in the north, We’re close to England. The tourists, there, here, Oh they’re everywhere!
Carmen Prabhu ‘22
Ballad of His Halo Mia Hawkins ‘22 Was it Your great plan To let him sleep to keep me strong? Was this Your idea For keeping me awake this long? Am I really, truly worth it? Am I really, truly worth resting eyes? Am I really, truly worth it? Or do You think it should be me who dies? When dark’s hours passed him, Disciples’ cries I weighed. His immortal title sung, And in You, they prayed. I believed in You And now in my damnation; I wanted an angel But not one You killed for my salvation Am I really, truly worth it? Am I really, truly worth goodnight’s kiss? When dark’s hours passed him, Disciples’ cries I weighed. His immortal title sung, And in You, they prayed.
Today Kelly Ly ‘21 Live this day as if it is your last For tomorrow may never come Live today as a day worth living for And not a day to ignore
Hannah Cheng ‘20
Flora Amaryllis you are An iris in your eyes A lily in your hands Roses and sunflowers among your feet
there was a treadmill Keep walking forward That’s what they said Feeling as if there were a treadmill Getting nowhere Sometimes I trip I fall behind but I can’t catch up I run but they run faster Sprinting while they walk quicker When will I stop getting up? To fall upon a treadmill Fallen off the edge Into the abyss
Fish Wish Golden koi leaps out Flip a coin for a wish Land back in the pond
Alexandra Wong ‘22
Rohan Tawade ‘22
From the Margin of My Math Notebook Stephanie Jue ’19 Life is a matrix Complexities in 3D Parallels and constants Free space but still That Sinking Feeling Of having to cross people on a different Plane than you because Your angles are not Normal To each other (Note: matrix cross products get easier the more you do them.)
Jennifer McDonald ‘20
Black & White Bailey Phoenix ‘20 “what are you?” what am i? i’m black. or, at least i think i am. i’m black enough to bear the chains of my ancestors before me. black enough to know that “nude” clothing is several shades too light, black enough to know that it never hurts to keep a packet of hot sauce on me. i’m black enough to realize that i can’t run down a city street without fearing i’ll be mistaken for a vandal, that years will always be added to my age, that transiting alone will be more dangerous, that my skin will be seen before anything else. i love my curls, my colors, my curves. i’m black.
but, how can i be black when i walk and talk like i’m white? at school i’m a raisin in a bowl of milk, a dark smudge in my classes. how can i say i’m black when i don’t know my culture? when i don’t play sports or listen to rap? when on the inside and out, i’m too many shades too light? when in the streets of oakland celebrating black joy, i’m the only white person that’s not. too white for my own, too black for those i know: what am i? how can i say i’m black when my life style says otherwise? how can i say i’m black when i don’t nearly struggle as much?
so yes, i’m black because my heritage says so. i bear the weight of ignorant prejudice when i’m “well spoken” or “well behaved” for being black but that’s because i “act white.” i’m in the middle of two lands where i don’t fit in with one but rejected by the other. But, I am Me. sorry if i’m not black enough because i don’t know football or basketball or eat fried chicken—all the time—but i am black enough to know that i’ll have to work harder. that i am beautiful. that i am strong. that i am black. because “black-ish” is black, too.
Natalia Buzo ‘21
Merisa Prisha Raj ‘22
Six
I will do my homework. Eventually. Amelia Herbert ‘20 On a picnic. Forgot the food.
Joy Barsoum ‘22
Word
The weekend. Anticipated. now gone. Noooooo!
Mia Hawkins ‘22 America: Free? In whose world, exactly?
Jessica Wong ‘22 Faltering, my shaking hands while speaking. Sunlight sharp as needles pierce awake. Turbulent troubles conjure in a puddle. Perpetual tiredness is like a choker.
Tanvi Bajaj ‘19 Whatever happens, you will be okay.
Stories
Declan MacLean ‘22 “Wrong number,” said the familiar voice.
Aditi Chatradhi ‘19 America's biggest joke: the electoral college
Selina Kim ‘19 Morning: Plushy, warm blankets—my world
Brenna Schumacher ‘19 Sinks inward yet desperately wants company.
Ethan Fusilero ‘19 I never could stand his smile. Their hearts couldn't skip a beat. The child had nothing to lose. They lied, it wasn't just forty-nine.
Matthew Beymer ‘21 Sleep was alluring but I declined.
Moderator Kevin Brazelton Proofreader Janelle Kroenung Administrator Keith Mathews Editors Aneri Bhatt Annabelle Duflock Stephanie Jue Cailey Larmore Maureen Mailhot Rachel Min Paola Moreno Emily OrdoĂąez Joanne Park Julia Pratt Bailey Phoenix Sophia Scott Deepan Shah Ishir Vaidyanath
Archbishop Mitty High School Literary Magazine
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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 to 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
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