NonAnon 2016

NonAnon: The Elements of Variance

A Contrasting Portrait:

I WILL NOT BE ANONYMOUS

By Carrie Smith

Edited by Zoe Webb

Editor’s Note:

NonAnon Now and Then

Throughout history, women have been oppressed in all forms of scholarship and public life. Women writers could not publish work because it would not be read, not be taken seriously. When a piece written by a woman was particularly good, journals or publishers would credit the author as “Anonymous” or substitute a man’s name.

At the Atlanta Girls’ School we study authors from all time periods. Our students can follow and be astonished at the lack of female presence in literature before the twentieth century. At AGS we speak out, we claim our words, and we broadcast what is ours to the world. The acronym NonAnon shows the world that we female writers and artists will not be anonymous. We demand to be recognized and heard, and this magazine has become a forum for our students to publish their work, unhindered by prejudice or oppression. The name is also a nod to Shakespeare’s frequently used word, Anon: soon, or coming in the future. We will not fight soon. We will fight now and change the world around us if it needs changing.

The theme of this issue is “The Elements of Variance,” a term paralleling our 2015-16 school motto. This statement allows us to look at our differences and how they define us. What is it that makes us who we are and how do we identify against everyone else?

Sometimes its easier to see how we are not like the crowd than it is to see how the crowd defines us. In a time of deep generalization, we have to look at the variance in our world’s people to recognize what a colorful world it is.

Amor omnia vincit- Virgil.

Although we are different and this is important in understanding ourselves, we have to remember that we are all human. Rising above the variance is the reality that we are all cut from the same cloth and must treat ourselves and others as equals.

Nonanon

We Will Not Be Anonymous

2

[Editor’s Note: How Nonanon Came To Be]

3

Family [Summayyah Dhanani] ART by Amelia Burke Soft Edges [Nina Doyley] ART by Mercedes Robinson

4

Mother Earth [Taylor ART by Rachel Kabat

5

Miller]

No, Sir [Sophie Pettit] ART by Julia Platt

6

ART

7

by Rachel Kabat

Leda [Olivia Santos] & Editor’s ART by Esther Steingold ART by Mariana Arciniegas

Note

8

[Editor’s Note]

My Black Life Matters ART by Croissant Wu

[Amari Cash]

Cloud Highway [Georgia ART by Caroline Leduc

Goldstein]

When She Says “I Think” [Frannie ART by Nina Dorr-Kapczynski

Walton]

Lasagna Recipe [Courtney King] ART by Mariana Arciniegas The Q-munity [Emily ART by Zoey Daniel

Toma-Harrold]

12 13 15 16 18

The Quiet [Sophie White] ART by Tallulah Schley-Ritchie

20

Passion [Christina Dorr-Kapczynski] ART by Emma-Kate Sellers

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1

Nonanon

We Will Not Be Anonymous... Continued

Terrifyingly Beautiful [Ruthie Rhodes] ART by Christina Dorr-Kapczynski

26

Death [Sophie Pettit] ART by Erin Laurens

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Wanted Posters [Madison Marsh] Smoke and Light by [Eve Shumate] Gone by [Gabrielle Williams] Senses by [Lindsey Geer] ART by Zoe Webb

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Homeward Bound [Zoe ART by Erin Laurens

30

Webb]

Wondrous Water [Jo Samuels] ART by Zoey Daniel Who are you? [Kimberly Kassis] ART by Mariana Arciniegas

Summayyah Dhanani Traditions are what tie us together Bonding over holidays filled with food But the laughs and smiles are far better To savor the warmth of the loving mood Family, a network like no other Always there to protect and help their own To share in sadness and joy forever With family you’ll never be alone

32 & Editor’s Note

34

Burning Memory [Sage Shumate] ART by Jessica Jordan

36

ART

37

by Sarah Walker

Family

Amelia Burke ‘16 3

The Skull

By Mercedes Robinson, ‘20

Where Have You Been Hiding?

Rachel Kabat, ‘17

Mother Earth

By Taylor Miller Mother welcomes us with open arms, Treats us like kids.

We ignore her.

Soon hurting her, Her arms become weak, No longer able to support all of us, Killing some.

She tries to explain, but patience gone.

Soft Edges

Soft Edges Nia Doyley

Nia Doyley

A blurry and confused life hides the things that are important,

She kills, As her children wound her further.

Now her arms close, no longer accepting As she waits to die.

Just as a polluted pond hides the fish from the birds.

A blurry life can starve you of the things that are essential to you.

A blurry life can also cause you to not see through tough situations.

Would you drink blurry water?

Or go into a blurry fog in the forest?

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Julia Platt

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Leda Maria Santos

“1. Prelude-- Bambino”

Susam, nost, saperovid quam faciasitatur alit exero beaque lam, quam, corro corpos iur, sundae nobitatque sunto dolore nimil idus repe ped magnimp erciur, nonseq

When Leda arrived she was nothing but hair like fire and cheshire eyes.

When she was five she learned how to climb the great skyscraper of a magnolia that grew outside of her window. Soon the white blossoms that grew became teacups for rain water.

One for mama, one for papa, one for baby Rosie.

By age seven she could speak like a journalist: interviewing her family, tying up the tapes with a bow and a photograph, and slipping them under pillowcases ­ only to have been found at a midnight hour ­in the deep blue of the night.

One for mama, one for papa, one for little Rosie.

In summer, Leda and Rosie spent their days eating strawberries as red as poppies before sleeping on the old swing on the porch. Giggles blended with music throughout the house and four small feet shook floorboards in the kitchen.

“Home soon became a hospital room. In the early mornings, Leda picked dew kissed daisies.”

Home soon became a hospital room.

In the early mornings, Leda picked dew kissed daisies.

One for mama. one for papa, one for Rosie.

In the late fall of her eleventh year, Leda went outside to pick pansies.

One for mama, one for papa, one for Rosie’s grave.

By Esther Steingold

9

“2. Allemande-- Adolescente”

“3. Courante-- giovani adulti”

When Leda was fifteen she travelled to Berlin.

Thunderstorms, and rainboots, and sleep became healers to her temporarily remedied heart.

Leda was seventeen when she returned home.

Rosie’s bedroom had remained untouched. Going home meant seeing things through the underside of a glass jar again. Going home meant developing out­of ­focus pinhole photographs.

Leda left again when she was eighteen. She was shipped off North in search of something beyond thunderstorms, and rainboots, and sleep.

She was in search of something­someone new to love.

Leda was twenty when she learned to befriend freedom and uncertainty.

After college she returned to North Carolina summers, porch swings, and the smell of tobacco fields.

Life was clearing up.

Her lens was starting to focus.

When Leda was twenty-five she married a boy named Daniel with thick tortoise shell glasses and a library as big as her heart.

Tray to sink to drying rack.

New faces filled her photographs.

When Leda was twenty-six she followed Daniel to India. In the mornings she taught English in a school at the edge of the village. In the afternoons she sat with her students on the swings outside of the building eating curry as hot as the summer itself.

India was a flashback to home. On sunny evenings she collected transparencies and specimens:

laying them on green paper and developing them at night.

Tray to sink to drying rack.

At least cyanotypes didn’t need a focal point.

Leda and Daniel fell asleep at night to the sound of content and deep breaths.

On a monsoon night Leda woke up to the calling of a box in her cupboard. Inside she found pictures of two little girls in a great magnolia tree reading poems by Emily Dickinson. Inside she found memories of home and familiarity.

Inside she found where she had lost Rosie.

Tray to sink to drying rack.

Leda remembered the smell of her papa’s darkroom.

When Leda was thirty she had her first baby named Rosie.

Leda had found two new someones to love.

Note From the Editor This five part novella in poetry follows a girl named Leda through her lifetime and the many deaths and losses that she encounters along the way. These three exerpts describe Leda’s journy through childhood and into her life as a wife and a mother. For the entire manuscript, contact Olivia Santos.

Mariana Arciniegas 11

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

Black Lives Matter (BLM) is an international movement protesting white violence against black citizens.

Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

The use of the hashtag #blacklivesmatter began to be used after the aquittal of Zimmerman in the shooting of Trayvon Martin.

TITLE

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Leduc

My childhood?

Happy, yes it was. There were no deaths or sadness.

No dark memories to bury down into my soul.

New information about my culture jumped into my brain like the African dancers I was learning about.

It was all fabulously … innocent.

Lawyer mom with long work hours, but her loving heart had all the time in the world for me.

Car salesman dad who I clung on to until age 12, And an older brother who seemed to be even more of a pain than the scars he would cause from wrestling me.

So it was all a beautiful 5 years of pure joy and happiness.

No rainbow, ponies, and barbies for me.

No more like raggedy anne dolls and bratz babies who I played with until their skin just wasn’t as brown and their heads just not as full.

But, nonetheless, I was happy, And I mean that’s all that matters right?

But then things changed.

Houses were moved to, schools were transferred, Hair was pressed, and jeans got a little skinnier.

Red Border Magazine • Issue 285

No more afros and braids.

No, I even went far enough to stop watching my daily “That’s So Raven” and proud family and turned the channel to “Kimpossible” and “Zoe 101.”

Now none of this is wrong at all, but as I gave in to certain norms that were apparent in my community, I seemed to lose myself more and more.

Now as I open my eyes and my lens focuses on reality, Everything isn’t afrocentric and royal.

Converting straight from Europe back to Africa in a matter of days definitely didn’t help.

But the ones who made me think my race lacked beauty were not my own kind.

It was the prejudice peers, bias teachers, and cruel policemen who told me through their actions.

That more melanin meant less value.

Now I stand here with my head held high, braids swinging below, brushing across my back, thick lips, and big thighs wondering how anyone could think this…

I didn’t matter.

--Amari Cash--

Cloud When I was little, I used to think that there were mountains in the clouds.

I’d look out, imagining myself hiking up into the clouds, past the tall trees and sunset, I’d see the world in all its beauty.

So that’s what I think of when I look at the clouds.

And someday, I’ll get to the top of them. ­

--Georgia L. Goldstein

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Highway

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

My Black Life Matters

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16

Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

Beast of Fears

TITLE

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When She Says “I Think.”

We are all a beatufil combination of terrorized and fearless. The different forms, the variance, is what shapes our worlds into the planets that we see.

When she says “I worry about him losing his job” I think “I worry about him losing his life”

rough couple days”

When she says “he’s had a I think “he’s had a rough couple of months”

When she says “he comes home late, I haven’t seen him much in the past few days” I think “I haven’t seen him much in the past

two years”

When she says “He’s not making much money for what he’s doing” I think “neither is he” When she says “he doesn’t really feel like talking much anymore” I think “he wishes I had the option” When she says

“I’m just worried everything’s not going to be okay with him” I think “me too”

When she says “his nervousness is making me nervous” I think “I’m nervous no matter what” When she says “I really miss his pre-drop self” I think “I really miss his pre-war self”

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

“everything’s okay and back to normal!”

A few days later, when she says I think “I wish I could say the same.”

-Frannie Walton-

Red Border Magazine • Issue 285

Edie Butler

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miniat. Illa con utet nulput

When she says “I didn’t marry him for his career, I married him for his sweet personality” I think “I didn’t marry him for career, I married him for his giving personality, every military wife did.”

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

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Inspiration Lasagna: Ingredients: - 1lb. of ground turkey - 2 25 oz. cans tomato sauce - 1 box of oven ready lasagna noodles - 1 small-medium onion - 1 clove of garlic - 1 Tbsp. of olive oil - 1/2 tsp. of salt - 1/4 tsp. of pepper - 1 Tbsp. basil - 1 Tbsp. oregano - 1/2 Tbsp. parsley - 1/2 Tbsp. Italian seasoning - 1 8oz. bag of shredded mozzarella - 3/4 cups of shredded Parmesan Cheese filling - 1 egg - 15 oz. jar of ricotta cheese - 1 1/2 Tbsp. parsley 1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease the lasagna pan. Chop the garlic and onion. Put the oil in the pan. Add the onions and sauté. Once onions are done cooking, add the garlic. Add the turkey, salt, and pepper. Crumble the turkey and cook until brown. Then add sauce and spices.

2. Combine all ingredients for ricotta filling.

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

3. In the tray: 1. Cover 1 cup of the sauce on the bottom of the pan.

2. Layer the noodles on top of the sauce.

3. Add 4 Tbsp. of ricotta mixture on top of the noodles.

4. Put 1 1/2 cups of sauce over the ricotta mixture.

5. Spread 1/2 cup of mozzarella cheese.

Repeat steps 2-5 two more times. End the lasagna with sauce. Then finish with parmesan.

Red Enjoy!

Border Magazine • Issue 285

Courtney King

Mariana Arciniegas

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

By Emliy Toma-Harrold

The Q-munity

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Red Border Magazine • Issue 285

Gay is an adjective; It means happy.

It also means homosexual.

When did the word become so terrible?

I’m bisexual ,but I am not evil.

I was not sent here to do much wrong.

I am beautiful, intelligent, and funny.

I don’t gossip, cheat, or steal.

So, why was I born a mistake?

Why am I seen as less than human?

You don’t choose to be gay, You don’t choose to be black.

You can’t turn it off like a light; You are who you are.

It doesn’t matter what people think.

I like girls and guys, so what I’m not doing something illegal; I didn’t rob a bank or vandalize a school.

I’m simply being me.

And if being myself is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

I see people homeless, Being bullied or even killed, Just because they love who they love, Or because they were born in the wrong body.

You make fun of people For being who they are.

Do you see how messed up that sounds?

We all live in this world whether we like it or not.

People can be straight, gay, bi, trans, pan, Or any other sexuality or gender.

It doesn’t matter what you are Just be kind to others and try to reason; Don’t waste your life putting people down.

I’m me, and I’m bisexual But I do not hurt others.

I do not try to change you.

I’m not greedy or stupid.

I’m just a unique person.

I’m just like everyone else on this planet.

Gay is an adjective, But it is also a wonderful noun.

We are a fabulous community, And we’d love to have your support.

ZoeyDaniel Daniel Zoey

Tallulah Schley-Ritchie

T

The Quiet Sophie White

he clock ticked away on the wall opposite her desk, counting off the minutes until the front door would open. Sage sighed and shifted in her chair, fatigued and bored by her work. She was still in the clothes she had worn to sleep the night before, despite it being late in the afternoon. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere, and changing into something more proper was more trouble than it was worth. The woman’s joints ached, and she stretched the best she could from her position. A cat poked its small head from behind the computer and meowed, startling her. It took only moments for Sage to start laughing.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding all day, Basil. You could have at least come out when the neighbors were here instead of leaving me to deal with them.”

Sage tried her best to scold the cat for abandoning her, but her chastising did nothing to stop the kitten from crawling into her lap and purring loudly, begging for attention.

“You’re a brat.” She ran her palm over the cat’s back, brushing her fingers through his soft black fur. He seemed to melt under her touch and was soon a loud, vibrating feline ball, flipped onto his back with his tail swaying back and forth. The corners of Sage’s mouth turned upward into a content smile. Distantly, the phone rang from the kitchen. As much as she didn’t want to get it, she had promised to pick it up. Carefully, she guided her hands to the sides of her chair and pushed backwards against the wheels. It rolled back, and the pillow of fur on Sage’s lap meowed in protest.

“Oh, shush,” Sage said, her head turned to make sure she didn’t bump into anything. “You’re practically getting a free ride!” Satisfied with the distance she made from the desk, Sage began the tedious process of turning the wheelchair around and pushing herself into the kitchen. Making the equivalent to what the woman assumed was a sigh, Basil glowered at her but otherwise did not move, not wanting to compromise his warm spot and the possibility of food.

The house was rather small; but the wood ceiling shifted in places, giving the illusion that parts of the house were much bigger than they seemed. An empty loft hung above the living room. Sage’s desk, a sofa and not much else sat under the abandoned space. Only the cat slept there now. The step from the kitchen to the living room was covered by a handmade ramp which shook and bent under the weight of Sage’s wheelchair. It terrified her to no end, but it had yet to fall, though there had been quite a number of close calls. As her chair rattled up to the kitchen, Basil hissed and clung tightly to his owner. The old wall phone rang loudly, almost to the point of rattling. Sage had begged to have the phone cut off, but it remained on the wall, a constant annoyance that did nothing but frighten the cat. Her hands shook as she reached for the receiver, not from nervousness, but simply because they always do.

“Hello?”

“Sage, dear?” The voice on the other end was hesitant yet cool and confident.

“Who is this?” Sage questioned, keeping her voice flat. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she held the receiver in one hand and stroked Basil with the other.

“It’s me dear, your mother.”

On any other day, she would have hung up right then and there. Any other day, she would have slammed the receiver down and cut every wire connecting the blasted thing to the wall. And yet, something kept her from doing just that. Curiosity, perhaps? Not even the young woman could pinpoint exactly what it was that kept her on the line.

21

“What do you want?” Sage spoke coldly, refusing to convey any emotion to this woman.

“I just want to know how you’re doing. Shouldn’t a mother know what’s going on in the life of her child?”

“You haven’t called in months. Not since…”

“I know. It’s been a while since then. How have you been? Any better than the last time?’

“I’ve been fine,” Sage said quickly. Then after a moment, she added, “We’ve been fine.”

“Ah, I see. You two are still--”

“Yes. We are.”

There was a long pause on the other end.

“Is she there?” Sage’s mother finally asked.

“No, she’s still at work.”

“She left you all alone? It could be dangerous, in your condition. What if someone broke in? What if you got hurt? You’d be-“

“I’d be fine,” Sage said, cutting her off with the blunt force of her words. “She refuses to cut off the phone, and she bought me an emergency bracelet and some pepper spray.”

“Still…it must be so lonely by yourself all day. It’s not kind of her to leave you in the house while she’s out.”

“Mother, I’m fine--“

“She shouldn’t leave a cripple alone like that!” the woman spoke over her daughter, persistent in her argument. “I could always have you move back in. Having you all the way in North Carolina makes me nervous, dear.

You can always come back home. It would be safer for you. You can find someone who could take care of you, stay with you all day. In fact, I know a young man just down the street who w--”

“So this is what this is about?! I’m not stupid. Is this a joke? Are you really using the fact I can’t walk as an excuse for me to leave her?”

There was another long silence before the daughter spoke again, anger in her words.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again. You’re trying to take everything I’ve worked for, what we’ve worked for. We’re happy together; we love each other!” Sage choked out the words, her voice angry and brittle. “Not even you can take that away from us.”

“Sage, she can’t take care of you like I c--”

“You’re right! She doesn’t read every message I send. She doesn’t try to control my every move. She trusts me. She doesn’t suffocate me.”

“Sage, this is--”

“Do not call me again.”

The phone was slammed so hard into it’s cradle that Basil, who had slept through the entire episode, flinched and sneezed in surprise. The cat meowed in question and turned his head towards his owner. Tears had made thin streams, small, but nonetheless present, down Sage’s face. The young woman tasted the familiar metallic taste of blood, she hadn’t realized she had been biting her lip though the ordeal of talking to her mother.

Holding back sobs, she reached her hand to her mouth and stared at the scarlet dots that fell onto her fingers.

Basil pressed his paws onto her shoulder and meowed, stretching his body to met her gaze. His pink nose met the girl’s wet cheek. Gently, she guided her fingers through his soft fur and sighed. They sat for quite some time, silent, save for the creaking of the old floorboards. Once the tears on Sage’s cheeks had dried, the cat moved back

into her lap, staring up at the woman with eager, yellow eyes. She smiled weakly and buried her hand into his black fur.

“I think the cat brat is hungry, don’t you?”

Sage turned her head and saw a tall figure standing in the doorframe. Her shoulders were wide and her brown hair ran down her back, spiraling into curls, framing her face and making her dark eyes gleam with a soft, but intense gaze.

“Gayle!” Sage turned her chair to meet her, her smile widening. Basil lept out of the wheelchair and padded over to the woman in the doorway, purring. Gayle patted his head gently and walked over to greet Sage, a concerned look in her eyes.

“You look like you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

“It’s…nothing. Just a phone call.”

“From who?”

Sage looked up at her, sadness in her eyes. After a few moments, Gayle’s mouth tightened into a frown.

“Her?”

Sage stared into her lap, her knuckles turning white as she struggled not to cry. She felt Gayle’s arms wrap around her and her head rested on her shoulder. They rocked gently while the last of her tears drifted down her cheeks, and Gayle ran her fingers through her partner’s short hair. It was quite some time before either of them spoke.

“Gayle?”

“Hm?”

“I’m not going to leave, okay? No matter how much she wants me to.”

They sat quietly together until Gayle broke from the hug, giving Sage a quick kiss on the cheek before they parted. Her smile was wide and warmth lit up her watering eyes, making her seem even more beautiful than before.

Sage reached for Gayle’s hand, and as their fingers entwined, they both forgot their frustrations and fears.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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Passion

By Christina DorrKapczynski

Fueled with desire For something unknown To feel what There is to feel Not contentment Not joy

something more.

I feel a drive An impulse To jump off my feet

I feel a bitter need

to dance.

Emma-Kate Sellers

My body tells me that I’m right When the world says that its all wrong Now I don’t know who to trust.

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Terrifyingly Beautiful

By Ruthie Rhodes They were Terrifyingly beautiful Almost too beautiful for words She smiled at the thought But reality trickled in too soon She bit off a shriek The bump was gone But something else replaced it Something bigger than the bump She craned herself trying to see it She could only catch the round edges of Something terrifyingly beautiful She slid down the hall to the bathroom She let herself breathe after she heard the bolt click into place She rested her head against the rough Unfinished wood She flipped the light switch She stepped toward the mirror She didn’t have to turn to see them They were Terrifyingly beautiful Almost too beautiful for words

Erin Laurens

Sophie Pettit Death Death is a fair, lethal, and smart tyrant He traps his victims in his boney hands People who speak against him fall silent Our weak world has fallen to his demands We do not speak ill of him out of fear His sulfuric scent lingers everywhere People die, but we cannot shed a tear If only he could find a way to care His burden is too great for him to hold His sunken eyes are filled with tears and pain Perhaps his stone heart is not so ice cold But maybe those tears I saw were just rain For he keeps killing with his cape flowing Here he comes; I should be going

Nina Dorr-Kapczynski

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

Wanted Posters

by Madison Marsh I’m cold

Where did you go? disappearing, leaving me behind.

I need you, where have you traveled?

Having adventures, without me?

It’s dark and bleak, my world no longer alight; I miss you.

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

I’ll cherish you, I promise, come back to me.

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...Loss...

Light waltzes upon stormy waters.

Motivating ambers and grays to dance, Passed from partner to partner, they prance.

The moment starts to totter, as a disturbance rises within the water.

Clouded chaos smokes the view, darkness pours, seeping through.

An innocent moment is shaken and torn, by the violence of a storm.

Ruins lay motionless, life squeezed away.

But one small light is left astray.

It flickers, and struggles to stand, glancing out at silence, hope fuels it’s defiance.

Scorched songs echo through a lost landscape, singing into a doubtful drape, pacing away centuries, burning alone, through the world of darkness the light was shown.

--Eve Shumate--

Gone

Where are you?

What have I done?

Why did you leave me?

I can’t see anything.

It’s all dark.

You’re not here with me.

I can find my way out

of this dark, treacherous place.

Light, please come back.

I won’t take advantage of you.

I promise.

By Gabrielle Williams

roaring. yellow, red, orange light in the corner of the dark heat in the middle of the cold. she is not dreaming. or is she?

blaring.

a beep beep big.

beep that is

performing for the smoke that is swirling. she hears screams. or does she?

dissolving. a sense of nothingness pours into her heart. her mind. her body. it is all she feels. her world is dead. she is alive. or is she?

Red Border Magazine • Issue 285

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miniat. Illa con utet nulput

Every night long, everyday nonexistent.

Never realizing your importance, until you were gone.

Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

Lindsey Geer

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

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...I caught sight of the gallery up ahead and

quickened my pace, half walking half jogging as the morning bloomed to a rose around me. When I reached the door

I knocked on the

glass

, knowing it was

far from the opening time. When no one answered I took off my bag on the front steps and

plastered my face to the window, peering past the sculptures and paintings to the front desk. The owner

wandered into view with a cup of coffee clutched

C O L O R

in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. I watched her,

entranced, as she took a sip of coffee and dabbed at the canvas pinned behind the desk. After a moment I

banged on the glass again and she looked up. When she realized who it was she gave an annoyed sigh and came to

--Homeward Bound--

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miniat. Illa con utet nulput

I N

unlock the door...

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M

D

Zoe Webb

Red Border Magazine • Issue 285

Footer message Erin Laurens

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

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Wondrous Waters -Jo Samuels Glossy flow through currents

see through, liquid stream Seeming so light, so bright

so clear, full of hope It has no limits

unpredictable through the night Creeping behind the rocks

making ripples in rivers Gliding through the stream

catching speed with each ripple

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

Zoey Daniel

Red Border Magazine • Issue 285

It is a natural wonder

a beat of our world Of our hearts

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miniat. Illa con utet nulput

Complex and strong

sometimes with furious waves

that can topple over one another

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

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Who are you?

Kimberly Kassis The case of mistaken identity when you act like someone else Knowing deep down That’s not your true self Just like a child Believing all fish were the same You’ve come to realize That each one goes by a different name The non-native feeling That washes over you Each time you enter a new place Causing you to change your ways Instead of being colorful Everyone feels the need To act and look the same

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

There is nothing in your school life to anchor you into yourself and leave the rest of the public influences behind.

There is no such thing as your self. There is no difference between where my mind ends and yours begins, but, honestly, we must stop and take a moment to feel. Where there is no end, no beginning to minds and intelligence, there is unique versatility of love. Love makes all jealousies, frustrations, and rationalities surrender to compassion and care. Do you see now? Who you are is not anchored into what Red Border Magazine • Issue 285 you

know or the chain links of logic that you make. You are located in the place that loves, the place that conquers all other states of mind and motive. Leave that illusion behind and find the marriage of nonsense and inner peace that will leave you whole and absolutely your own. Throughout a lifetime of loud voices and colorful pictures, there is still a love tender and worldwide that will keep us together yet distinguish us apart.

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Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit BURNING

MEMORY Sage Shumate

Ud exeraessisi. MetueraNulla commy nim alit

Strong fire Harsh light Burns infinitely Savior of the light And killer of the dark Blistering bright

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...The Very End...

(If you like what you see and want to participate next year, please contact me at zwebb@atlantagirlsschool.org)

Ghostly shadows of long ago Dance across a wall of stone Forbidden memory trapped inside Bound to the minds of imprisoned souls Fleeting desire Glowing fire Flickering light Engulfing nights Beliefs and dreams Float into the air Like polished embers And shattered stares The blazing flames nurture minds While doors unlatch Revealing secrets of the past

miniat. Illa con utet nulput

Amor omnia vincit- Virgil.

Although we are different and this is important in understanding ourselves, we have to remember that we are all human. Rising above the variance is the reality that we are all cut from the same cloth and must treat ourselves and others as equals.

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Red Border Magazine • Issue 285

Art by Jessica Jordan Art By Sarah Walker

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And dreams of love And broken hearts Fade into darkness Of abstract thoughts

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