Oxford Comma

notburied,justplanted||AntonioTourgeman

MotherNature||CoraBurch

Monolith||CoraBurch

OfMarsandMen||KarinaGuaderrama

Photographs||MayaBamford

TotrulyloveLA ||YasminAmin

UNIVERSAL ||AntonioTourgeman

“Cinderella”||AntonioTourgeman

ThreeOddSisters||AbbyPeterson

ToLearnfromthePast||GriffinProcter

Untitled||CatherineCruz,EmaKato,OliviaPink

Untitled||KaylaHenderson,JackKern,BrandonSadkin

TheLake||NickD’Alessio,TrippDuff,EdwardZilberberg

LeaveUsAlone||CoraBurch

DamarisLewis||OliviaPink

HelloStranger,||CaitlinKim

It’sthesolitudethatslaysyou||HonorPatey

WhyIWriteCreate||EllaRosenson

animaginarymomentintime||ZohaPattanaik

MonteVerità||CoraBurch

IfHeKnew?||AntonioTourgeman

home||ZohaPattanaik

APaintingofDove||ZohaPattanaik

Fifteen||Anonymous

writingaboutLove||CaitlinKim

Photograph||OliviaPink

unblissfulignorance||AntonioTourgeman

Blinds||CoraBurch

Photographs||PaulinaJoseph

EditorialCommittee

CaitlinKim

KarinaGuaderrama

OliviadeCastro

AntonioTourgeman

CoraBurch

ReubenBarbarash

EllaRosenson

ChristopherNg

FacultyAdvisors

Ms O’Driscoll

Mr.Kohn

FrontCover

OliviadeCastro

KarinaGuaderrama

CaitlinKim

BackCover

CaitlinKim

notburied,justplanted downthestreet andaroundthecornerlives theheartofthecity. beatingcolorsofredandorangeandyellow, controlledsunrise,fencedinsurprise rootsnowveins,embeddedin theearth’scrust.

condent,ourish treesprovideshade forthechildrenbornofspring. bouncinginthegrass,leisurely. handscoveredinmud andforeheadcoatedwithfreshdew embroideredoveralls,throughthericketygate-it calls.

downthestreet,pathssprawlenclosed.

inthemeadows, notasoulafraidofsoil, noturmoil,privateprosperity. thetrailendshere, fretnot,ndanother followtheowers, greens,bluesandpinks. orescentandoral. petiteandsweet distantmurmursoflife echothroughbarkandleaf. downthestreet,carsrush, butherecheeksonlyblush kneesbend,meetingthestone. greetingsandsalutations, watergentlyowsfromagenerouscan, sitdown, inorganicmatterandmineral. clay,moldashelter.

feedingintopots,exhibitofcreationandof growth.

ceramicleavesdustonpalm, notabother,jeanreplacessoapeasy.

batheinthesun, whileyoucan. vinesandpines,stretchingspine. rummagethroughpockets,digdeep needisavirtue, spenditwisely.

ashovelisagardener’sweapon, pickavegetable,thecloudsarewarning. fogisthickening,tighterandtighter struggleforair, hideinthegreenhouse.

thegreenhousewillprovidesafety, siftthroughthemist, thebrownsfadeinthedirt, wilt,shiver.waterweighsthepreciouslily down spadesnowdull, vasesnowunderpressure, crack,smack

thecarsspeedingnowmoreapparent, turningthroughminds, runningredlights. layingpavementoverearth’slungs, cumulonimbuscloudsshroud blinding,theairissolid

greenhousesshatter, lowhanging,theearthlosesbreath. atmospherebeckoned, itimposesheavyoverplants whomforgothowtoexhaletoolongago. prehistoric,nowcategorizedendangered.

rememberthenatureofnature decidethatwhensleepfades, gardenswillberestored. sunswillriseagain. childrenwillfrolicinweather, nomattertheaether pathswillbeforgedagain. owerswillknowthenourishment waterprovidesoncemore. wakeup letyoureyesopennow. feelthebreezeasdandelions spreadtheirallergens don’tholdbackyoursneeze, takeinthesunasit praisesyou. hardshipisalways rewarded otherslayaroundyou, coveredintheearth’shands. itsyourturntowakethemup. opentheireyes

breakthemfreefromthegreenhouse showthemthateternalspring isaprivilege. letthemsharplyinhale asthemorningdew burnsaway.

wakethemup, beforetheseasonsblend andbeforetheechoesofscientistsringtrue listenandyellunapologetically. bethesun.

-AntonioTourgeman

MotherNature -CoraBurch

Monolith

Naturecontaineditscreature, theindustrialgrayskylineheldclosewithgreen, withyoungstrengthlikethearmsofafather ashetameshisnewborn’sailingarms, likesteelbeams,likejackhammers, adevelopingbodythatseemstorecoverfromeverythingjustas birdslacktheconsciencetocurlupanddie, springingagain, yinghigher.

Theprotectivegreengrewoverconcrete, uprooteditscreature’s dangerousredbrickworkandroads, gaspedandbrokeupthesidewalkto upliftitselfskywardlike parentstrytokeeptheirkidsgoodpeople, patiencethinbutlovetoothick toletthehammerspuncturethrough, thoughtheheadachesarepounding, thecompassiscracking, anddirectionhasanewbornblur asdoorsclosethemselves, sewninwithneedles, threadedonthengers ofchildrenindustrialized, turned-outpockets,whiteagsall productsofearth’suntamedchild, anevolutionspunsofaritdevolved.

Thehammersbroketheconcreteminds ofmycousin’sparentswhoreallytried. Shejustdoeswhatshewantsnow, anuntamedconcretemonoliththoughtlesslyrocketing justlikemanintotheblackstar-prickedsky, unregulatedandemptychested, deadintheeyes.

-CoraBurch

OfMarsandMen

Therocketscamelikedrums,beatinginthenight

TherocketswereAmerican

ThemenwereAmerican

[Therestoftheworld]watchedtheRomancandlesleavethembehind Buriedinwar

Shouldwegoatall?

Therocketstoodreadyforthering

Shouldn’twesolveourownsinshere?

Marsisopeningup

It'safrontiernow

LikeintheolddaysonEarth

Aren’twerunningfromourliveshere?

Menaremen,unfortunately

Nomatterwhattheirshape

SurelytheLordwillunderstandthat[we]aredoingthisforHim

-KarinaGuaderrama

“ToTrulyLoveL.A.”

“TotrulyloveLA,youhavetoseeitwithdifferenteyes”(Section3)[1]

Youknowthatfeelingofsittingatadinnertablewithyourfriends,familyorevenwith strangers?Ofcoursethepeoplemakethetable,butit’sreallymorethanjustthat,andmorethanthe dinneryou'resharing.Thetime…theplace…andthefamiliarfacesareallwhatmakethetable.Ididn’t realizeIhadadinnertabletocomebacktountilthedayIreceivedawelcomingnodfromafamiliar faceinPalisadesPark,orwhenIwasbeingcalledoverbyanicknamegiventomebybreakdancers,“hey Curly,Curly…comewatchthismove!”

GoingtoSantaMonicaPierwaslikecominghometoafulldinnertableafteralongday. Althoughametaphoricaltable,westillfeastedonstrangeinteractionsand“goodvibes”MySanta Monicabelongedtome;she’supforgrabs,butyouhavetoearnyourbelonginginherdinnerly1 embrace,youmustghttoknowher…insandouts…thesamewayyoumustghttonotbeforgotten byherrevolvingdoorofconsumers.IrealizedshewasmineafterIknewshehadseenallmyfaces,my manymoods,mydierentsidesthroughtheages

WhenIaminSantaMonica,IstillfeellikeIamtwelvesmellingmarjuanasmokefortherst time.WhenIaminSantaMonica,IforeverfeellikeI'menteringarecurringfeverdreamasIlandby thebeach Andallofthistothinkshewasmyhome,mytherapy,mylover,mymother,myfriend the samewaysheisaplayingeldforamanlookingtoplaycatandmousewithsomeunsuspecting women,orthesamewaytheelderlycoupleeatingicecreamonabenchmourntheirSantaMonica becomingahomeforL.A’shomelesspopulation.Butdon’tforget,thosehomelesshavehertoo, probablymorethanyou

IfSantaMonicaisthefeelingofadinnertablewithhercastofcharacters,shewritesopen invitations.I’dliketointroducemydinnertable…beginningwith“Tips''and“King.”TipsandKing weretwobreakdancerswhowerealwaysatthePier’sentrancepopping,lockinganddoingbackips forcasheveryweekonSaturdaysandSundayswithoutfail,rainorshine TipsandKingwere19,that’s themostpersonalinformationIhaveaboutthem.IcameupwithTipsbecausetheendsofhishair werebleached,andKingwasalreadyusingthatnameforhisdancing.ImetthemwithAthena,my childhoodbestfriend,backwhenwewere13. Theyusedtopretendandjokethattheythoughtwe were18,butIlookbackandknowtheyknewourexactagesbasedonthewaywetalked Next,wehave “thenativeguy.”BeyondbeinganativeSantaMonican,hewasalsoNativeAmerican,hewasthere mostweekendsandsomeweekdayafternoonstoo.Hewouldlayonthegrassofthepierentrancepark, crushleavesinhishands,inhalethearomaandnearlynodowhilelookingatthesky.Hedenitely understoodwesharedadinnertableashewouldgivemeawelcomingnoduponarrivalassoonasour tablewasset.Atourtable,wealsohavetwohomelesswomen,CeceandRoberta.I’dneverseenthem interactsoitmaybeinsensitivetogroupthemtogether,buttheydidsharetheareatheyinhabitanda

friendshipwithme.Ceceappreciatesgroceriesasshestillhaskidstofeed,butRobertadoesn'tknowif shehasgrandchildren,soshedoesn'tmindMcDonald’sandafewsparedollars.Someofthestreet vendorsevenhadaplaceatourtable,astheyweren'tjustclockingintoSantaMonica,theywereliving SantaMonicainthewaytheyinteractedwiththerestofus.

SantaMonicaisfemininewithherownmystiqueandaloofness.AfterCovidherameseems particularlydim,onlytorealizehowmuchhottersheburnswhenyou'reupclose.Sheislikeamother, somehowalsolikealover,likeafriend;whicheverhandholdersheneedstobecomethatday,shedoes withafamiliarembraceasonewalksthroughhercolorfulstreets.AsIarrivetoday,andItakeherin,all thesmellsofurineandgasolinecontrastingwithburningporkandmarijuanasmoke,Ifeelthesame comfortIalwayshave.Sheheldmyhandeverydayofthesummerbeforehighschool,shespunme aroundthroughmyrstboyfriend,straighttomyrstbreakuprightunderoneofherlovingpalms Shewentfrombeingmyandmychildhoodbestfriend’splace,toawaitinggroundformetocome backonceadecade-longfriendshiphadended.Shewatchedmyyoungselfgetoereddrugsfortherst time,andshesawmerightbeforeshegotupandbecameolimitsforalmosttwoyears Iwaitedfor hertoo,youknow SomuchhadchangedbythetimeImethersaltybreathagain Icomebackwith newfriendstondwithreliefthatshe’sstillmine.

AsIwalkthroughtheboardwalk,Iseeashinglightsanduorescentcolorscontrastedby metersofadarkanddeepseapeekingthroughtheoorboards ThersttimeIfeltSantaMonica’s holdonme,truly,physically,wasmyrsttimeridingthePacicDragonafterFrancine’s8thbirthday, whereIcriedandscreamedtogetotheride.Thenexttime,Iwas13andmyfriendhadbetme whoeverscreamedrsthadtopayforourfairtickets.Itookheruponthis,disregardingmypast trauma Oncewereachedthefullspeedofthedragon,Iwaspetriedandbitingmytongueastonotlet outashriekofterrorandinthatmomentIrealizeditwasalloutofmycontrol,soIletgo…physically andmentally.Iletgoofeverything,allmyworriesmeltedawayasthebackofmythighsunpeeledfrom thehotplastictoaplacewithnogravity,asthehotocean'sairblewinmyfaceandweswung downwards Therestofourdaywaslledwithrepeateddragonrides,baconwrappedhotdogs,and catcalls…IhadmyrstrealtasteofSantaMonicaandfromthatdayon,IknewIwasaddicted.

Today,Icamehomefordinneranditfeelslikethepierisnallyreturningtoherpre-COVID atmosphere.Somethingisliving;liferesidesinthesestreets,walls,andalleyways.Icanfeelherwarm embraceaskingmeifIamhungry OfcourseIam,Irespondthroughmyinvitingeyes,rightasa strangemanasksmeifIwanttosmoke.Ikindlyturnhimdownashecontinuestocomplimentme.I say“thankyou”andinterrogatehiminthenameofliterature.Indoutthismanistwicemyageand hasseentheinsideofajailcellduetoafewfelonysentences.WewalkasItrytokeepmydistance.The manisoriginallyfromFlorida,andnowheissellingfentanylonthestreetsofLA Iaskhimwhyheis here,andherespondswith“I’malwayshere,everySunday,mostlytohollaatbitches.”IregardedSanta Monicawithafeelingofmistrust,almostasifthiswasherindelitytome,butthenIremembered

howoneplacecanbelongtoanumberofpeopleindierentways.AsMadonnaasshemaybe,the whoreisstillaliveinher,pursuingotherrelationshipswiththedownanddirtyofL.A.

NowthatI’vebeeninvestigatingthischaracterforabouthalfanhour,Icanfeelhe’dliketo takeitoutofthecity,SantaMonica.Whathedoesn’tknowisthat,asnativetoLosAngelesasIam, SantaMonicaismyplayingeldandwhateverIpickupwhileIamwithherImustnottakewithme. Aswehaverules,meandthiscity.Heroceanbreezepicksupasifit’sherwayofsayinggoodnight,I watchastheshopkeepersonThirdStreetlockupforthenight,andafewlingeringrodentsscurryout ofsight.“Whatcolorareyourpanties?”arethevulgarwordsthatawakenmefrommytrance.It'sthe coldtruthofknowingthatthisloveissharedevenwithscum,theonlythingthatprotectsmylovefor herisherdiscretionandoursecrecy.Itisonlybetweenmeandthecity.AsIdesertthemaninaseaof people,Iwalktheevenroadsandsidewalksbacktomycarandbeginthedrivehomeonthestrangely unoccupiedroads.SantaMonicafollowsmehome,theechoesofhercrowdslingerinmyearcanals, theoceanbreezeandsandparticlespollutemyhair,thesmellofcigarettesconsumesmynostrils,and thethoughtofdinneroodsmyhead -YasminAmin

-AntonioTourgeman

Cinderella

-AbbyPeterson

Nowadays,thereisatrendinsocietytoeschewthoseartworkswhichhavebeencommonly consideredcornerstonesofcultureforcountlesscenturiesandintroducecurriculumswhichcount thesekernelsofcreativityascancerouskillersofthecriticalthinkingofclassesofkids.Now,whilethere certainlyissomewisdomtobefoundinthissystemicself-reection,itisoftenusedtojustifythe disregardingofpieceswhichhavehelpedshapeanddenethemodernworld'sview,oftentimesforthe better.Oneofthesetexts,Homer'sTheOdyssey,hasbeentakenoutofschoolsacrossthecountry,even whentranslatedcarefullybysuchaccreditedscholarssuchasEmilyWilson.Thoughthezeitgeistof thisdayistoridethiswaveofculturalvandalism,TheOdysseygivesmoretoitsreaderthanittakes,and therearenumerousreasonswhy

Firstly,thelanguageofthisepicisundeniablysomeofthemostcolorful,poetic,andvividone couldevernd.Theentiretextissprinkledwithlengthysimiles,detaileddescriptions,andthoughtful connectionswhichaddmultiplelayersofdepthtoanotherwiseantiquatedpieceofliterature composedbyamanwhosupposedlycouldn'tevensee Itisimportanttonote,though,thatwhilethis accountofOdysseus'sjourneyswasconjuredupbyamindwholackedtheabilitytogazeuponthe world,itslinesallowtheirreaderstoconjureupimagesoftheeventsastheyunfold,evenwhenthey seemhardforamortaltocomprehend Oneexampleofthisiswhenthedeceasedsoulsofthesuitors aredescribedas"squeaking/likebatsinthesecretcranniesofacave"(245-6) Thisgivesreadersa glimpseofthefearfulanddespairingspiritsoftherecentlydeceasedsuitors,squealingastheyattempt toprocesstheirdamnationtoforeverbetrappedoutsidethegatesoftheunderworld.Suchstrong imagerygivesnewmeaningtootherwiseboringscenesandropesthereaderintotheemotionsofthose depicted.Itcannotbedeniedthatthecreativewordingofthistexthasthepowertoinspiremanyan aspiringwritertoadoptsomeofHomer'sstyleandaddlush,descriptivepassagesintotheirowntexts. TheauthorialabilityofHomer,however,isnottheonlystrengthofTheOdyssey,asmuchof itsimpactliesinitstense,action-packedstory Ratherthangotherouteofmanycontemporaryworks andsmackthereaderwithinnumerablelinesofuncreative,overlyociousdialogue,TheOdyssey shovesitsappreciatorsstraightintothethickoftheaction,nevershyingawayfromthedetailswhich grantthepoetryitsmomentum.Readerscanseethisperfectlyexpressedinthetitularcharacter's slaughterofthesuitorsinfestinghishome Odysseus,bowinhand,resashotdirectlyatoneofthe foremostofhisunwantedguests,Antinous,withthearrowcleanlypricinghisthroat,afterwhich,"He oppeddowntothesideandhiscupslipped/outofhishand.Adoublepipeofblood/gushedfrom hisnostrils"(22.17-19).Thisfrankdepictionoftheviolenceinvolvedinthehero'srampagegivesa senseofurgencyandthrilltothescene HadHomeroptedtostrayawayfrommoregruesomedetails, hisworkwouldmostlikelyhavelackedtheforcewithwhichitoersupitsactionscenes,makingfora

signicantlylessinterestingtale.Luckily,thiswasnottheroutehetook,andtheworldleftwithastory whichcanserveasanexcellentexampleofwhatafast-paced,ght-lledadventureshouldlooklike.

Thoughthetextualaspectsofthepoemmaybemoreobviousreasonstoreadit,thehistorical valueofthisworkisnearlyunmatched.HomeroersusaglimpseofwhatArchaicGreeklifewould havelookedlike,andthebeliefsandvaluessaidGreekswouldhaveheld.Aclearexampleofthis time-testedcross-culturalinsightisthevividdepictionoftheprotagonistconstructingaraft.Insteadof doingwhatmodernauthorsmight,andskipoverthedetailswhichwouldmostlikelybelostontheir audience,Hometellsusmuchaboutthespecicsofthevessel'screationbythetext'snamesake, Odysseus."Heheapedtheboatwithbrush,andcaulkedthesides/withwickerwork,tokeepthewater out./Calypsobroughthimfabricforasail,/andheconstructedthatwithequalskill./Hefastened upthebraces,clewsandhalyards,/andusinglevers,launchedheronthesea"(5256-261) This, obviously,grantsamodernreaderknowledgeandunderstandingofhowtheirancestorswouldhave constructedboats,butalsoallowsakeenhistoriantogleanthatseafaringwasimportantenoughtothe inhabitantsofAncientGreecethattheaverageenjoyerofthispoemwouldhavebeenabletomake senseofthesecomplexdetails Itcertainlyprovidesaninsightfulwindowintothepast

Allinall,thislengthyepicgivestoitsreaderssomuchintheformofitsskillfulcomposition,its tactfuluseofimagery,anditsancientperspective.Thoughitcertainlyhasitsdetractors,TheOdyssey istrulyoneofthehighestqualitypiecesofliteratureeverconceivedofandshouldcertainlyremainon thedesksofstudentsacrosstheworld.

-GrinProcter

ThefollowingthreepiecesareexcerptedfromanassignmentcompletedinMr.Kohn’sAmerican Literatureclass.Studentswrotepoetryaboutthelake anditspower inMarilynneRobinson’snovel, Housekeeping TheyusedalinefromanEmilyDickinsonpoemoftheirchoicetoconnectthetwoauthors’ sensibilities.

Thethingsthatnevercancomeback,areseveral–

Thesilence–roars–wereachout–whydoesthewaterhold?

Foreverboundtothemysteriousdarkness

Areection–oursouls–lonely–canwecomeout?

Oncealiveandfree–nowinthewater–

Alive–thendrawntothewater--trapped--inthedarkofthenight–Ournalrest–contentwithourfate

Acceptance–wecan'tchange– thewaterholdsusforever

-CatherineCruz,EmaKato,OliviaPink

TheWind tappedlikeatiredMan

TheWind initssolitude

TheWater islovedbut

TheWater swayinglikeadrunkard

Standing alone

MyJudgmentalgaze MyLecturingvoice

Butshe’sunabletochange

Myfather’spresencedrawsmein acalmingsensation

Heclearsmymind escapingreality

ThecloserIget thegreaterconnectionIfeel

Apartofme it’salwaysbeenandalwayswillbe

People atthewater'sedge

Goingtoenjoythelake’shistory

Thelakeisabeautiful mysteriousplace

Ialwayswonder what’sinsidethislake

Followher,followher suocatinginmyhead.

-KaylaHenderson,JackKern,BrandonSadkin

TheLake

Thoughdarkandmurky

Seethebeautyandlightintheripplesofwater

I’minthegentlebreezethatrustlestheleaves

Thewarmthfromthesunonyourbacksismyembrace

Donotdwellinthedarknessofmycruelact

Openyourpetalsandturntowardthesun

Therearenoanswersinthedepths

Oursecretsremainhere

Donotmournme,mysoulisfree

ForIamhereamonggreatcompany

Thetrainislledwithpeople

Ourdestinationisallthesame

Wetravelthroughthecountryside

treesybyourwindow

Thetrainentersasmalltownunknowntomost

Itslledwithlittlehouses

Eachplaceisitsownlittlehome

Wetravelacrossanoldwoodenbridge

Thetrainiesothetrack

Nowsittingatthebottomofthelake

Thisplaceisnowourhome

Everythingismountainsandlakes, Peaksandtroughs

Flowingwaters,roughandcalm

Deepestaectionfortherockyhills,nowtrappedintheuidwaters

Expandingthepalateforeternallife

Eternalheaven,constantlylookingatthetruestlove

Gonebutmaybenot?

Nowweareone,

Foreverconnected

TheWorldisnotaconclusion.

-NickD’Alessio,TrippDu,EdwardZilberberg

DamarisLewis - OliviaPink

HelloStranger, helloperson, alienatedilluminatedwindows atelevisionashesdisarraysofpictures littlepeople

oraretheyhorses

dartacrossthescreen watchingtomakeouttheoatingentities seemsliketrespassing

helloneighbor, connectedbyasynchronizedrobberyoftime isitourstospend orisitsimplyborrowed

thirtyfeetand 1 2 3 storiesbridgeourgap evennight’slimelightshiesaway

hellofriend, thewitcheswanttheirhourback forwehavetakenitforourselves isittheirspellsthatkeepmeawake orthatlullmeotosleep

hellostranger, whatkeepsyouupthisevening?

-CaitlinKim

Ididn’tlikeher.

“It’sthesolitudethatslaysyou”

Shewasahardpersontolike,foramultitudeof reasons:theattention-seeking,thegloryhounding,thehaughtyattitude She gotonmynervesandleftmeseethingwithfrustration

Nobodyelseinthegradelikedherverymucheither,and theycertainlydidn’tbeataroundthebushaboutit.Thesecondshecameupin conversationtherewereafewpointedwordsandaknowingglancesharedbetween usall

Andyet,shewasmyfriend.

Atleastbymiddleschoolstandards,shewas.Wesat togetheratlunch,playedtogetheratrecess,Ilistenedtohermonologuing aboutherimaginaryboyfriendthatwenttoadierentschool Everything seemednebetweenus,atrstglance

Itwasneartheendoftheyearwhenithappened.

Iremembersittinginthecarnexttoher,talkingabout nothinginparticular.Wehadbeenpickedupfromschoolbyhermother,and wereheadingtooneofourhouses-Ican’trememberwhich Shewassayingsomething,andIrememberjustlookingat herandrealizingthatIdidn’tcare.Itwasn’treallyafriendship,tome.I don’tknowwhatshethoughtofme,butIdidn’tlikeher.Iwantedhertobe friendswithme,butIdidn’twanttobe friendswithher.

Itsoundscruel,whenputsobluntly.Butinallhonesty, it'snotasthoughanyoneelsewantedtobefriendswithhereither.

Inmymind,therewasa

dierence,inarelationship,betweenhavingandbeinghad Icouldhave stoppedbeingfriendswithherandneverspokentoheragain,becauseshe wasn’tgivingmewhatIwantedinafriendship-butatleastshewasgiving.Really, outofeveryoneIknewatthetime,shewastheonlyonewhowasgiving.

Ihadbeensousedtobeing had,tobeingreliantonotherpeople,thatIclungtotheideathatour friendshipwasbeingdictatedonmyterms.Itwasanentirelyselshaair. Shewasthenewgirl,andIwasdesperateforaconnection.Ourfriendshipwas morelikeacompromise,thananything

Thisrevelationastothenatureofourrelationshipmademerealize,though,thatIwasn’tjust thereformeanymore.Itwasn’taboutwhatIwanted.BecauseifIwas,thenIwould haveleftonceIrealizedthatIwasn’thappy.

Ithadgraduallybecomeabout her,too Isawmyselfinher Icouldn’tstopbeingfriendswithherbecauseI wouldbeleavingheroutinthecold.AndIdidn’tjustwanttotakefromher,

becauseIknewwhatitwaslike.Iwouldbenobetterthanthepeoplewhohad doneittome.Abandonmenthurts,itcurlsinyourchestanddragsyoutothe oor,andtosubjecthertothatwouldn’tjustbetoomuchforher,itwould betoomuchforme

Peopledon’talwaysrealizethatshowingempathyfor othersisn’tjustsomethingthatyoucandopassively.Caringaboutother peopleisanactiveexperience-ittakesalotofeort Becausethepeople whoneedsupportthemostareusuallytheoneswhoaren’tgettingitinthe rstplace.

WhyIWriteCreate

“OfcourseIstolethetitleforthistalk,fromGeorgeOrwell”,eloquentwordsI’venowstolen fromJoanDidion.Anyways…

Isincerelyenjoycreatingfantasticalworlds.It’saninclinationI’vealwayshad,evenwhenIwas young.Iwrotepoemswriting‘whale’as‘wayle’insecondgrade,shortstoriesofmyfriendsandme beingPokémonmastersinfourth,andamusicalaboutCleopatrainsixth Inbetweeneachofthose, mychildhoodfriendsandImadeourownuniverses,buildingfromiMoviemagicandcrafting charactersfromcardboardboxes.Onlyourlittlegroupoffour:Ellie(mybestfriendsincetwo),Josh (myyoungersibling[they/them]),Brookie(Ellie’slittlesisterandJosh’sbestfriend),andme.We expressedcreativityinallwayswecould,fromsewingsongsmimickingourbelovedTaylorSwiftto knittingstoriesfromnothing.Wejusthadto.Itwasn’tachoice,wecravedthecamera,lights,andglory ofadorationshonedownonusbyourparents.EllieandIsatbehindthecamera,directingandwriting, whileJoshandBrookieacted.

Wecontinueddownthisprettypathofcreationforourwholechildhood Ilovedit,evenif pullingJoshfromtheirLegos(tolm)becameincreasinglydicult.Followingtheendofmovie making,Icontinuedcreating.IkeptwritingandmakingvisualsIpleased.Afteracrushonanartkid,I movedtodrawing Turnedout,Ilovedit Iheldpencilsmorethanthehandsofthekidwhooriginally gotmeinterested Idealtwithagooddealofdiscomfortinmiddleschool,keepingtomyself ButI didn’tneedaperfectsociallife,Ihadmyideas.Soon,creatingpeopleandplacesgotmethroughthe day.Drawing,writing,submergingincreativitywasaspurofthemomentwhereI’dseeacoloror objectthatmademethink Mylifewasamovie,withmyfootstepshavingmusicalcues,mybrain addingmoreshapesandcolorstotheworld,andlifewasbecominganadventuretobehad.Everything inmyeyesbecamesubtlybeautiful.Asmyanityforthebeautyoftherealworldgrew,sodidmy curiosityaboutstylizedshows,movies,games,andmoreweremade.Ilookedbetweeneachline, readingscripttoscript,essaytoessay Iinteractedwithfandomsasmuchaspossible,ndingsolacein thecommunitiestheybuilt.

Oneday,itdawnedonme.Writingandartwerewithinmygraspandsomeday,Icouldmake thesamecommunitiesthatkeptmewarmandsafethroughmiddleschool.Icouldhelppeoplelikeme. Theoneswhoneededthatchildlikewonder The“vain,selsh,andlazy”GeorgeOrwellsandJoan DidionsandTerryTempestWilliamsoftheworld,whocry‘why’whileideasyintowriting(Orwell 7).Thelonelykids.TheoneswhoheardLegoscrashingagainstthewalls.

Quarantineeventuallyhitattheendofeighthgrade.Ilovedit-atleastforsometime.I attendedclass,slept,calledmyfriends,drew,andwrote Creativitygushedfrommelikeafaucet Imet newkidsinmyclassandbondedoverthecontentweconsumed.Iwroteformyfriends,Idrewfor themtoo:Self-inserts,multi-fandomAUs(alternateuniverses),OCs(originalcharacters)togxgand

mlm(girlxgirlandmenlovemen).Eatingfandomsmorevigorouslythanfood,andIexpendedmore energyoncreatingthanIdidonhighschool.Whenlifethrewmeforaloop,I’dreplayacomforting worldinmymind Notquitetherapyormedication(whichIhavenow),butitfeltlikeenough Headphonesblockedscreamingandfootsteps.Thehallsofmyhousewererelativelyechoey,somyears aren’tquitethesameastheywerepre-covid.Playlistsblasted,keystyped,andleadslidondesks.

Writingisthechildofalossofinnocence,notthefather(referringtoTa-NehishiCoates’Betweenthe WorldandMe)

Manyfandomsanddrawingsandpoemsandstorieslater,Iwasstillcreating.Imadeuniverses ontheashesofmysibling’sbrokenLegos.Evenifthecauseofthenewregressionwasduetoalossof control,writingandartwerealwaysinmygrasp,notthehospital.

I’vehadissues

I’macreator,afterall.

Yet,Ihatedtheloudnoisesoutsidemydoor,soI’dputonmyheadphonesandsleeptothebeat of‘MyLittlePony’and‘TheGoodPlace’ Neveroutloud,though But,whenI’dwakeupandtryto gooutsidemyroom,myfeethurtfromtheLegos ‘Idon’tactuallyneedfoodrightnow’

Thepenwouldyintomyhand,andI’ddraw.Communicatethroughstoryboards,colors,and singularwordsadorningthetipofthepage(clippingonthedesk).

Thattimewashappy

Itwasnot.

Whilemyartgrewgrayer,theLegosbecameincreasinglybright.Aestheticsbecameband-aids, writingbecameevasion,andartwasashammadebymyclaymind.Ineededtocreate,butIhadshitto dealwith

It’sbeenawhile-I’vehealedagreatdealsincethen.Idon’tcreatetoescapeanymore,butto sinkintothecommonparadisemeshedwithmyreality.

Stillsaturatedandjarring,I’velearnedtorebuildwithLegos.

-EllaRosenson

animaginarymomentintime

atallgurestandsbeforemybedroom

hissilhouetteprojectingarathercalmillusion

quitetheoppositeofthetemperedmanthatstoodinthisdimensionofmyreality,unfortunately oureyesrarelymet

blameitontheheightdierence

ormaybehisfaultsandaws

atraceofhumannature

takeyourpick

heneverseemedtoacknowledgethemanyways

piercingmetimeandtimeagain

butohhealthewoundstheysaid

buysomeacetoneandadamppapertowel

noreasontopainthimfoul

alwaysblamedforspillingaquafabricpaintonhisfavoriteredtee

he'sbloodtheysay

can'tholdagrudge,butIpray

formyyouthbackamidtheobliviousslumber

butthesunshonethroughadierentlensthisday,theshadowscastingwhatseemedtobeagrinacross hisface

luringmeintothekitchenwithagentleraspytone,similartothatofscorchedlavenderhoney spreadacrossthepastellemontablelayathicksliceofcoconutcreampie,myfavorite adomedwithtwosilverforksengravedwithowersontheends

besidethemsattwocupsofpepperminttea

oneforhimoneforme

Ididn'tthinkhewaslisteningwhenIreadthearticlealoudabouthowvocalistsshoulddrinkmore pepperminttea,ormaybeIdidn'tthinkhecared.

thebutterycrustcrumbledonmytastebudsandhesmiled ararebreathsharedwithmydad,lackingdialogue,lackingapprehensive,quickbreathsinandout, lackingthecomfortingtensionthatsooftencausedmyshoulderstogrowsore.

Thoughonlyamoment,IwishIhaditpaintedandframedtoadmirefrombehindtheglass.

-ZohaPattanaik

IfHeKnew?

AmonologueinspiredbyDaphneDuMaurier’sshortstoryMonteVerita,alookintothemindofAnna

Rememberthepath.Idid.WhatifIforgotit?NoIcouldn’t,noIwouldn’t.Themoonlitmy wayagainandagain,nightafternight But,howcouldIrelyonher?Iknew,whenheisnot,themoon isthere.Inthecornerofmymind,thedarknessofthesky.Shebroughtafaithintomylifelikeno other.Theallknowingcelestialbody.Iprayedtoher,stepafterstep.OnthemountaintopiswhereI craveandwhereIhike.Hergazelaiduponmypaleskinforevermore.Apilgrimagelikenoother,where myfateisontheline Therigidmountainsshieldedmybeingmetaphysicallyandthesnowveiledme exquisitely.

Whatifheknew?Hewouldn’t,hecan’t.Imadesuretobequiet,IknowIwasquiet.Infact, I’mpositive.Butwhatif…No.Thereisnodoubtnow,Anna.You’retoofarintothis.Themoonis leavingsoon,toosoon,alltoosoon Ineededtogetgoing Idid Mybarrenfeetwereencasedindirt andsnowandnature’smuck…yuck.Icouldn’tletmyfeetdrag,Iheldmyfairelbows,nowblusheda perfectpink.Everythingaboutmypastledmetothisnight.Fragile.Ididn’tletmycourageshatter. Theiciclespitterpatteredfromthecavernsandravines.Thecontoursandtheclis.Victorwould’ve neverunderstoodtheimperfectionsandperfectionsofVerità

Myfeetarecallousednow.Behindthecurtainofsnowfall,throughtheleavesandthetrees,the pathledmehere.Tonow.Mykneesaregivingoutbutnothingcanstopmefromchasingmyimmortal infatuation Itakeadeepbreathandsherevealsmeeternity Shebroughtmetoeverythingand nothing Tomyheart’sdesire,andtoahomeIwaseversofamiliarwith Frommybalcony,frommy window,Iusedtofantasizeaboutsuchadream.But,nowit'sallreal,inmyfrostbitclutches.A clearinginthemountains,andamongthesummitsinhabitsthem.Thechildrenofhercycleandher phases Thechildrenofnorules,nobounds,butofcoursemoral,orratherlackof

Victor.AsI’vearmed,nowayVictorcould’veknown.Heknows.Hedoesn’t.Heknows. Anna,hedoesn’t!Whatifhedoes?Theprizeissoclose…Yet,hereIwas.Let'stakeamomentof reection.Ihikeupthismountainandforwhat?Abandoneverything,you,him,myself,mymortality. ButhereIam,again Thiswall,unclimbableofcourse,slitsforeyes-itwelcomesmewithasmileanda rmhand.Pickingmeupfromthiscageofabody.SworntominimalismIwas,Ineverwasonefor muchword.Sheshinesaspotlightontomyfrailheart.I'mascendingbutnotforlong.Thewallseems alltootallnow,immeasurable.Mywholebeinglongedforthem.Devotedashell,Iwas.Whatifthey rejectme?WhatifI’mnotworthyenough?Whatifmyeortswerenothingbutsnowakesmelting intomypalm?

Victor,stoppeckingatmyconsciousness.Youlayinbed,comfortable,serene.Indreams, youareawayfromtheharshtruthofthismountain.Ihavefaithinyou,Victor…muchlikeImustnd myown Victor,yourheartcomplimentsmineperfectly WhenIseeyou,mymindnolongerwishesto searchfortheimpossible.No.WhenI’mlostinthought,youshmeoutwithyourcarefulhook.I mustadmit,I’vehadmydoubts.Victor,mydearest.I'mcaughtinthisperpetualcrossre,mylove. Everlastingpeace…No!Husband!Happilyeverafter…No!!EverythingIcouldeverwant…VICTOR! Butwhatif Annafocusonthetarget Annathisiswhatyou’vebeenwaitingfor,prayingfor Ugh,amomentofrealization!Ididn’t,Icouldn’thurthim.Couldn’tlethimknow,wouldn’t. Timeisticking,theiceisdripping.Themooniswarmnow,thebloodinmybodyows,woah.Her gazeburnsthroughmyskeleton,ohhowriveting.Nothingmattersnowbutherandthemandme,no notmejustthem Ohwhatahighthisis Intoxicating,thething,theplace,everythingI’vewaitedso patientlyforishere.She’shere,she’shere.Themoonincarnate.Thegatesfallopenlikethesnowakes justdid.Shreddingthroughthedarkness,I'mbrightnow!Enlightenment,theytakemypalms.

Everythingisquiet Myhearthasnoreasontobeatanymore Mylungsbreatheforthemnotforme Purity Finally,mycravingswererewarded,ohscintillatingone Exhilarated,Iam!Whatif They aren’t.Whatifthisinsobrietyisaterrible,ohanalltooterribleruse?Whatifthisisallasickjoke?What ifIturnedbacktoVictor?WhatifIdidn’tclimbthemountain?Whatifshedidn’texist?Whatif…she does

Home

Mymom'smasalachai luresmeintoherlonging, Lostspecklesofourmotherland Noweverchanging,growing

Thepreviousnight'ssourtensionlingersonmytongue, Eventuallyputtoeasebythehushofthemorningsun. Idon'tknowifIhaveasolehome, Idon'tknowwhypeopleask, SometimestheoneIbelievedbefore occupiedbytheoverwhelmingpresenceofher. Somberolivemelodiesmaskthemidnightblue

Driftoutmywindow

alonelygifttomyprettyneighbor

-ZohaPattanaik

APaintingofDove

Thesapphiremistholdsherplaceinoursky

Weigheddownbyunripenedbloomelds

Atwinkleofmidasbrushedwatercolorstreaksitswayacrossthedampenedcanvasinacurvednature, primingtheobserverforanarticulateexperienceoffantasy

Asmulberrytonesandsprigmintpigmentfollowinthefootstepsofthoseabove

Beneathliesstolenlandnoonebotherstoreecton

DespitetracesoftheblessedgatherersandchildrenOfourperennialmother,conqueredamongthe presenceofmankind

Treesdripdilutedsapaswemourntogetherasone,intertwinedinthisglimpseofdefeat

Thewistfuldovelongsforherlover,lostintherockyseaofladiesandlust

Enchantedbygoddessesentangledinbutterybooksleeves

LuredbyPoseidon'scursesuchlovelinesscannothaveitall

Inreparations,hermaidensweavetogetheranamethysthalo

Prayingthatthesoftscentoffadedwisteria

Willlurehertosleeponcemore.

Trappedingoldleaf,afoetodefeatSheremainsfrozeninasatisedtrance

Pointedngersjudgeandtouch

Malegureswon'tgiveup

Objectiedandsexualized

Nolongerasymbolofwanting.

-ZohaPattanaik

Fifteen

Fifteenisbig,uy,sparklydresseswithtiarasandbailes

Fifteeniswomanhoodandmylastmuñeca

Fifteenisapartythatlastsallnight

Fifteenisgettingyourpermit

Fifteenisfreedom

That’swhatfteenshouldbe

Fifteenwascryinginthebathroomonmybirthday

FifteenwasdraggingmysisteralongwhereverIwent,likeshewasaballandchain

Fifteenwaslongdaystrappedinmyroom,sittingonzoom

That’swhatfteenwas

F***fteen

writingaboutLove

i’veunderestimatedwritingaboutLove nothingi’vewrittenisaboutLove

neverWhyILove,WhoILove,WhatILove neverabouthowIwanttobeLoved howmytasteinLovewasruinedbyHollywood howtheydenedmyexpectationsforLove howrosesareredvioletsareblueandIwantto fallinLovewithyou

neveraboutpastinfatuation tossingandturningintactiletension palpablepoisonouspassion eeingtheforbiddenfruitoffoiledfriendship

neveraboutthesacrednessofmusic whereBillycan’tndagirl andRickwantshisgirl andFreddiepleadslethimgo

butican’twriteaboutLove that’sforthewisemenwhosayonlyfoolsrush in fortherosethatwouldsmellassweetbyany otherword forthegirlwho’sstandinginfrontofaboy askinghimtoloveher

Loveisforthedreamer

Loveisforthequarterbackandthecheerleader

Loveisforthegirlnextdoor

Loveisforthegirlthat’ssmart butnottoosmart

forthegirlthat’sdumb

butnotan“airhead”

buti’mahopelessromantic

forthegirlthat’sstrong butnotstrongheaded forthegirlthat’sweak butnotcodependent butwhatifiwanttoLove tobeLoved toLove you tobeLovedbyyou

whatifiwantsomeone someonewho’snottoocooltoholdmyhand andsayareyoufreefridaynight?

andyouwon’tjudgeme forwearingthesameshirtthreetimes becauseidon’tlikemanyothers

andlet’sgetfoodbut onlyeatoverthekitchensink becauseneitherofuswillwanttocleanthemess

andyouwillLovemeand Lovemeforalliamand Lovemewithmyawsinsteadofinspiteof themand sayyouneverneedabecauseexceptbecauseyou Loveme

butidon’tknowwhatthatfeelslike ipretendtobetough

andidon’tneedsomeonetomakemewhole andi’mindependent andi’mnewithjustplatonicfriends

andijustwanttobeLoved andiwanttohaveaspecialthingwithsomeone special

andtheonlyonethatknowsthatistheguyin thetiktokonmyforyoupagethatthealgorithm thinksiswhatiwanttoseewiththegirlsinthe commentssaying“omghowdidyouknow”and “didn’thavetocallmeoutlikethat”whenfor suretheguyhasnotacluewhoyouare sohowcaniwriteaboutLove youknowthe can’thelpfallingin allyouneedis struckbyyourelectric cananybodyndmesomebodyto

Love

-CaitlinKim

-OliviaPink

unblissfulignorance -AntonioTourgeman

Blinds

WhenCalliopewokeupshecouldn’tfeelherlegs.Shefeltlikesomeonehadinjectedasedative intoherlowerbodyandnumbedherallthewayfromtheelasticlineofherunderweardowntoher toes,makingherfeetandcalvesandkneesandthighsfullupwithvicioustingling Thisallfelt incrediblyunfair,especiallybecauseshedidn’thavetheenergytoopenhereyesortakeoherblanket Itwastoocoldandshewasonlywearingshortsandatanktop,becausewhenshewenttosleeptheheat wasonbutsomewherebetween11:30PMandnow––whichshethoughtfeltlikemaybeseven,her eyeswereshutsoshecouldn’tseeherclockbutsometimesthelightkindofcreepsupunderyour eyelidslikehoney––ithadstopped

Shetriedtoopenhermouthandgroanoryawnorwhatever,likepeoplealwaysdowhenthey wakeuponTVinthesitcomsandmurdermysteriesand“feel-good-shows”shewatched––Calliope didn’tlikemovies,theywerealwayssolonghermindwouldwander––butallthatcameoutwasasoft croaklikeaweakfrog

Herlegsstillfeltlikeshook-upsprite––sheungherblanketoherselfandshotupstraight, eyesyingopen.Itwassodarkshecouldhardlyseeherownhands.Insteadshefoundthewhiteblur behindherblindsfromthemotion-sensorlightacrossthestreet,andwatchedtheslattedbeamsfrom passingheadlightsashthroughherwindowsacrossthewalls,likestraight-edgeghosts.Thoseusedto scareherwhenshewaslittle

Calliopeshookherheadandlookedaroundagain,makingouttheoutlinesofherdresserand bookshelf…herdesk…theedgeofherbed.Shecouldfaintlyseehergreatgrandma’sneedlepointonher wallbutitwasickeringinandoutoffocuslikeacameralens,sosometimesitwasthereand sometimesitwasjustablankyellowwall,egg-yolkgray-greeninthishalf-light Shelookeddownather legs.

Bendingthemintobutteryandrunningherhandsdownhertwo-days-unshavedskin returnedthesensethatshewasn’tinsane.Shefeltascabfromaweekagostartingtofadeandpickedat it,butitwashealedoverenoughthatitdidn’tbleed,justleftbehindalayerofrawskinthathurtto scratchat Shewiggledhertoesandfoldedoverthequiltsandeece,likethepagesofanopenbookgive themselvesuptogravity.Evenstoriesgettiredsometimes,shethoughttoherself,andwantedtoscratch thatthoughtdownbutlackedtheenergy.Ohwell,itwould’vemadeanicelyric.

Forabriefmomentshebecameawareofherhearingandturnedothewhitenoiseonher nightstand,realizingthatitwasoverlappingwiththesoundofrainoutside Itwasnewrain,ithadn’t beenfallingforlong,shecouldsomehowtell,andthatremindedhertochecktheclock.Shepressed herngersintothebuttonuntilitlituphotpink,illuminatingablack4:42AM.Partofherwantedto gobacktobedandpartofherwantedtobelikehergrandmotheroncaeineandstayupuntilshe heardthebirdschirping Sherstheardthatstorywhenshewasveyearsoldandsomehowitnever lefther HerSpanishteacherinthesixthgradetoldherveandelevenwerethebestagestopickupa newskill,somaybeitwasthesamewithbasicmemories,thattheyjuststuckalittlebetter.Aweird fever-dreamimageofSpanishvocabashcardsbeingglue-stickedtoherchestmadeCalliopeshakeher headagainandslideoutofbed.

Shestumbledsomewhatunbalancedtoherwindowandyankedtheslattedblindsopen,soshe couldnumblyprythemapartabitwithhercoldngersandstandthereinthewhiteglow,hertan, peachskinlookingasgray-greenasthewallsinthedim

Calliopepushedherbrownhairbehindherears Itwasthickandmattedfromsleepingonit dry,andshecouldfeelthewavesshealwayswishedwerealittlemoretexturedsittingunderalayerof goldenfrizz.Assheexhaledandsmelledherownsweet-sickbreath,sherememberedkissingEmery backinmiddleschoolandherperfectblackcurls,andthatprettystraightsmiletellingherthatshewas beautiful Foralittlewhileitmadeherproudofthechestnutmopherparentsgaveher,andshe realizedthatherlittlebrotherwasn’tteasingwhenhewantedtobraidherhair.ItlasteduntilEmery wenttoadierenthighschoolthanherself,andshecouldn’tfeedhergirlfriendwitharmations anymore.

Self-lovewasatreeyouhadtotendyourself,saidCalliope’sauntonce,drunkatthanksgiving, bentoverabanister.Hercousinwasreadingtarotandthedevilcameup,andhesuggestedshewakeup andstopherdrinkingproblem.Itledtoawholeexistentialcrisisandbytheendofittheywerepassed outonthecouch,andallthelittlekidsmadeagameofdroppingcandyontheirbreathingskeletons. Little,ignorantCalliopewasoneofthem,smellingtheredwineontheirlips,veyearsoldinajade dresssprinklingbrowniecrumbsovertheirbackslikealms Whentheywokeup,theywereso confused.

Therainsoundedgood.Shecouldhearthelowerfrequencyasithitthegroundinbigdrops, ploppingontoleavesandthepaversdownthefrontwalk.Therewasasoftbreezemakingthewind chimessoftlysoundontheobeats,notdrivenatall,echoingthesongssheusedtoimproviseinher bedroomtoastuedanimalaudienceandthefamilydigitalcamera.Itdidn’tmatterwhereitwentorif nooneheardit.

Calliopestoodthereforanotherlongwhile,notlookingbackatherclock.Shejustwatchedthe skyslowlygetalittlelighterbetweenthebambooslats,paintedinhorizontalwhitestripeslikea moonlightag Shewatchedthecarshumbyandsplashthefairway,wateringhermother’sroses A feelingroseinCalliope’sthroatthatshedeterminedlaysomewherebetweenacryandnauseaanda yawn.Itwasfamiliar––shefeltitallthenightsshewokeupinhercribandcalledforherparents,over andovertiltheyheardherabovethewhitenoiseineveryroom.Itwastheembarrassmentofhavingto callsomanytimes Thefearthattheycouldn’thearher Feelingsickfrombeinghungry,and exhaustion.Itwastimetogobacktobed.

Calliopeclimbedbackundertheblankets.Herlegsfeltnumbfromthecold.Shecheckedthe clock––itwas5:03.

Shewantedtopinchherselffornotwritingthatlyricdown Studidn’tstickin sixteen-year-oldheads,whichshethoughtwasstupidwhensixteenwaselevenplusve.Itwouldjust gowherealltheothermissinglyricswent,tosomevoid-likerecessinhersubconscious.Maybeitwould comebacktohersomedayasshestoodagainatawindowfortherain,orwatchedaneedlepointicker againstegg-yolkwalls Asshefeltherunshavedlegsorgoldenfrizz Orassherememberedheraunt’s drunkenself-loveacceptancespeech

Sleepcreptintoherheadlikehoney.

-CoraBurch