FirstFlight 2021: verge

verge

editors-in-chief

jasmine criqui

mirabel hunt

submission editors

jasmine criqui

mirabel hunt

design editors

amy ge

dixie wallerius

helene gao

jenny han

jerry wu

jessica yu

nolan ezzet

viyang hao

adviser

mia boardman smith

“Motion Sickness” by Jack Dekoker

FRONT COVER “No Access” by Cormac Cadden

preface, A Night at Gliderport by Cormac Cadden

Take it Off by Anonymous, Luminance by Solana Espino

Wear or not to Wear by Lovelyn Holland, Luminance Vol. 2 by Solana Espino

Split by Micah Levy, A Plea to be Ignored by Amanda Salantino

Stained Glass by Caroline Hunt, Glasses by Cormac Cadden

Filter by Nathalia Wittlin

night vision by Mirabel Hunt, untitled by Toby Thorpe

Electric Bike by Cormac Cadden

Blue Light by Caroline Hunt, untitled by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang

Caged Child by Andrew Mitchell, Lookout by Cormac Cadden

Paddle Out by Cormac Cadden

anger management problem by Jasmine Criqui, untitled by Viyang Hao

The Wish Collector by Lucie Babcock, We Found Sam by Cormac Cadden

Blurry by Cormac Cadden

Bask by Srishti Thapar, untitled by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang

All American by Cameron Audet, Offshore at Blacks by Cormac Cadden

America by Ryan Flather

scraps by Mirabel Hunt, Child’s Play by Amy Ge

the heart not broken by Jadyn Kaplan, Spring Bloom by Jack Dekoker

BLM by Micah Levy, Justice by Anonymous

Land of the Free by Anonymous

the moon’s embrace by Amanda Salantino, Moonset by Cormac Cadden

distant moon by Mirabel Hunt

both places of life combined by Melissa Cruz Rios

The Other Side by Anonymous, Spooks by Cormac Cadden

decision of my future by Anonymous, Some Rocks by Cormac Cadden

every mountain by Mirabel Hunt, On a Mountain by Cormac Cadden

preface

Adolescence is the ultimate verge, the liminal space between youth and adulthood. Adventure awaits, whether you stand at the edge of the status quo with an intricate map in hand or walk blindfolded into the unknown. The verge is the home of potential energy, the moment right before the beat drop or the anxious break of the curtain.

Now, more than ever, we are on the verge of possibilities. After a year in isolation, the buds of our creativity and newfound spirit are reaching for the sun, ready to blossom in a new season. But apprehension builds with every step towards the verge: no matter how fruitful the plains ahead appear. No one ever said change was easy. But there is power in uncertainty just as there is potential in a blank canvas. Courage does not belong to those who jump without looking, but those who pause and allow themselves to admire the precipice in all its glory. If you look close enough, you will find company in the footprints of those who hesitated on the verge before you.

It is those who commit to living through every moment and who take comfort in the rush of adrenaline that the verge welcomes. To find satisfaction at the destination we must live with the apprehension, and make the verge our own.

This issue of FirstFlight hopes to portray the beauty in the moments on the periphery and the freedom it can bring. We hope you embrace the verge, whatever yours may be, and find the peace in potential before you take flight.

“A Night at Gliderport” by Cormac Cadden

take it off

by Anonymous

We wear a mask that hides and shames, Disguised we walk, heads held high in disbelief, A mask to cover our foolish games, Little is it known, the mask only provides little relief, For when one goes home, they drown in sorrows, We wear a mask that pretends to protect and provide for growth,

We see those wearing masks as our heroes, We aren’t able to realize that they too loathe, A mask is only a mask, It’s what’s underneath the mask that matters, Finding yourself is the true task, Leaving yourself to your mask only leads in disasters, We can’t lose ourselves to our masks, Take it off.

to wear or not to wear

by Lovelyn Hollon

I wear my mask almost all the time It makes it easy to seem like I´m fine Go with the flow, don't make a fuss My mask helps me to suck it up

Keep on smiling even when I'm down Perhaps these feelings will stop coming around

I tell myself I can conquer this task But oh how easy it is to wear my mask

Maybe it's time to lose this mask

And hope more happy feelings last Aim to be more confident and free Goodbye my mask, I´m working on me

split

by Micah Levy

Most days, my thoughts are professional boxers in the ring, Most days, my heart is a motel with a lot of rooms, And the only tenants are anxiety and depression, And they’re lousy at paying rent.

Some days, I take on the role of an intellectual Others, I play the newt.

Some days, I ponder for hours on end about the theories behind quantum mechanics pour over philosophical texts until it’s time to pour over my third cup of coffee to prevent my eyes from resting

Others, I Misuse the word bemuse, and Confuse my right and left shoes, and Refuse to enlighten myself in daily news

“Plea to be Ignored” by

by Amanda Salantino

Subconsciously living this dual lifestyle, Threatens no one other than myself, As I carry the weight of multiple personalities to my grave.

I’ve learned to hide under the proverbial umbrella— That is, the people in my life who accept all parts of me, And shade me from the rain I experience on a daily basis.

Why must we be this or that When there’s a grey area?

Why must we adhere to the social norm When it is anything but normal for a person to remain stagnant?

Think about that and come back to me.

stained glass

by Caroline Hunt

Your colors absorb through a transparent view one shallow not full of much meaning not one lousy clue. Your pigments encroach, encapsulate and awe, scintillating sunlight through a gleaming jigsaw.

And so too does the world, shine through your golds reds and greens Opaque, muddled and sheltered deception never foreseen. Always brushed aside.

How fitting that you, the colors which beautify this mirror so, were the one who would shatter this picturesque show.

One could say it’s the fault of the glass. Too fragile, too weak, too privileged or ignorant to its world’s triumphant collapse, a world of blurred lines and tinges that glow. Maybe... no, of course, it was time for its faultless graces to go. Yet even in shards do the colors remain a permanent blemish, an eternal shame. In the same way as eyes love the tears for how they glisten, glass loves the stain, through the hoaxes and lies, for how the hues make it shine.

I guess everything happens

“Glasses” by Cormac Cadden

happy hobbies

by Grace Smith

“Filter” by Nathalia Wittlin

night vision

by Mirabel Hunt

hurting, learning, tables turning, calm gone in this perfect storm I’m learning to absorb in my lexicon of tragedies. Oh so fluent in the fables of my lifetime. The waves that keep coming, And send me diving, diving, diving, deep into the salty water, choked by Poseidon’s twisting arms and strangling my life-breathing lungs like any other father’s love. by vine, by vindication. thorns torn by my tough skin, and in my blood does hurt grow old along with visions of wildflowers and landline wires twisted around the tree trunks I climbed when I was a child. as i looked for him in every audience I look for you.

youthful then and just as vulnerable now. you run me up, you run me down, you run me dry and you run me empty. Yet still, I run to you every time.

“Untitled” by Toby Thorpe

“Electric Bike” by Cormac Cadden

blue light

by Caroline Hunt

I dreamt that I walked down a long, barren road, One I’d passed many times

But not once I had strode.

A figure approached in a faint glow of blue light The light of someone who’d given me life.

Calling out to the figure, hopes crashing like swells, The light brushed clean past me

At the steps of the motel.

I’d lasso the sun and the stars in the sky

For some neglectful luminescence who’d passed me right by.

A pulsing kahuna, I bubble and roar, Trying to be something even you can’t ignore.

We all fear the day when the people we love May flee or throw us away, Like five warm fingers toss aside an old glove. Yet people, they leave, and they leave once again Whether it be by choice or some sinister plan.

Even so,

We could grieve the sprouts lost Under layers of thick snow, Or honour the seeds and their potential to grow. No more endangering my heart with fruitless nostalgia,

Not anymore.

No more crying out in cheap desperation. Don’t depend, don’t rely On outside affirmation. Instead take great comfort in those who remain For when I wake I’m surrounded by love just the same.

Waves have no power over those on the sun, Motel steps are minuscule next to love lost and won.

So I squeeze my own fingers, Pull myself close, A tranquil green sea And a moon of primrose. Going forth toward a new light, A light that I chose.

untitled photo by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang

caged child

by Andrew Mitchell

A free child plays outside, Sometimes until late at night, Not a worry on their mind, An endangered species their kind. However a new age has come, Children around with brains are numb, Zombies aching to wander around, But they are stuck inside like a dog at the pound.

They long of times of glee, Where many of their friends they got to see, Like a playful pup on a summer day, Waiting for when the time comes to play.

“Lookout” by Cormac Cadden

“Paddle Out” by Cormac Cadden

anger management problem

by Jasmine Criqui

Searing

Who mumble

They’re

The hot tears

Who’ve sat for That their sneering

But the girl on Her message

Her tongue cracks, white-hot Searing blows across a captive audience mumble their chagrin, but do not look away They’re here for the spectacle, at any rate tears in her eyes are blood in the water

For TV pundits, vultures to outrage for so long in their own echo chambers sneering has pruned them beyond recognition on the stage has learned from Cassandra Her voice will not fall on oblivious ears message is dire, her conviction unwavering Adore or abhor, but by God, you will hear.

the wish collector

by Lucie Babcock

I’ve forgotten something.

It tugs at me, an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty, a sharp warning that echoes through my chest - I’ve forgotten something.

I think. What could I have forgotten?

Not the wishes, certainly. I remember each wish, each desperate hope I’ve collected.

Make me win, thrown into crystal water with a dingy penny.

Make me perfect, written in loopy scrawl on a scrap of paper tossed to the wind. Make them love me, tacked on to a $3.99 box of chocolate hearts.

I collect these wishes, pick them up from where they lie forgotten, tucked in with the trash. I snip them from their object, trailing the limp glittery threads of hope behind me as I float above the nuances of human life.

No, I haven’t forgotten the wishes. Perhaps I’ve forgotten something old, something sewn into my past so neatly I didn’t notice it was gone until I unraveled.

What was my past?

I stop.

The wishes I hold onto sway in the

clouds beneath me, like fingers reaching for the ground. A memory comes to me, tinted with the stain of time. I was a girl, once. I had my own wishes, once, and my own hopes. They didn’t trail behind me, they floated above my head like a promise. What were my wishes?

I know, then, that the hole inside of me is wish-shaped, that if I could only remember something I wanted, everything would click like a puzzle piece slipping into place. I strain to remember that girl whose wishes followed her like brightly colored balloons. I can almost see it, feel the longing on my tongueThe wind shifts, and the memory fades. I am alone, with the dead wishes dangling below me. What was I thinking about?

Far below, another wish calls to me, another hope now forgotten. I float downward, the wishes following. This wish is tied to a tiny glass figurine, left on the stoop of a broken-down house. Make me someone new.

I fly onward. There are more wishes to find, more lost longings to snip from their objects and add to my collection. As I fly, it tugs at me again. I’ve forgotten something.

“Blurry” by Cormac Cadden

by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang

bask

by Srishti Thapar

“is the sun bothering you?” how could it ever? she thought, tears welling in her eyes in the silhouette shapes of trees with their billowing leaves flickering on the kitchen table even when her hands aren’t enough to stop the tears, the sun lets her know she’s always there ... watching, shining, and loving “sending warmth is all I was made to do” the sun reminded her. so when her tears continue flowing and her vision gets narrow, she sees that glimmer of golden light and remembers that the sun is there to remind her of everything worth living for

“untitled”

“Offshore at Blacks” by Cormac

Cadden

All American

All American is all I am

Like a flower among a garden

Or a straw in a haystack

I am like all others

All straws are different sizes and shapes

Yet they are all the same.

Gazing out into the jungle that is society

I am like everyone else

by Cameron Audet

The cute little towns full of shops are plagued with people

Yet I am among them just fitting in.

But we are no plague we are flowers

We of all shapes, sizes, and colors fill the fields

We mix and match and make new flowers

This is American a place of diversity and beauty

We have cloudy days

But in the end our field is beautiful full of flowers, the sun

Always casting down light to give the flowers hope

We are all American but that is not all we are.

America by Ryan Flather

I am proud to be an American, For it is all I’ve ever known, The only country I’ve ever lived in, From its sun-soaked coasts to its infinite grassy plains, America is like a bird, Flying high and free.

I am proud to be an American, Where other countries look up to us, The strength of our military and the riches of our land, And the men and women who serve in our military, I am proud to call this place home.

Every nation is not without flaws with America included, There has been inequality that is good for no one, But America will overcome like it always has, And become even more united than ever before, I am proud to be an American.

by Jadyn Kaplan

the heart not broken

Two pieces of the heart try to run away It is because of you it stays in place

And when you are not hear it seems to race And other times you make it break.

Two choices I can make for my heart

One will help it

One will make it fall apart

Though love takes over my brain

The thought of all the bad gives my heart pain;

And I try to throw that all away

So my love for you can stay. My heart chases after you No matter what I want to do.

And I know others say it’s wrong

Because they only hear the bad

I know the two pieces of my heart want each other And you always seem to piece them back.

“Spring Bloom” by Jack Dekoker

scraps

by Mirabel Hunt

scraps of my innocence like soft baby blankets untarnished by time, hung on invisible coat hooks stabbed into the walls of my childhood home to be picked up again someday. someday safer. Once the smoke has cleared. but as more years go by, and as the mobile of shattered bottles slowly ceased its spinning, the more i no longer bear any resemblance to that innocence.

i’m older, maybe wiser in a different home, with different words for my feelings. and so my innocence will slink off the invisible hooks and seep into the wood like water and stain the walls white. and this room will echo an unanswered cry for help from my younger self and while i no longer recognize it as myself, I will always try to answer.

land of the free

by Anonymous

The land of the free

That preaches freedom and justice

And that all men are created equal

The pursuit of happiness

And unalienable rights.

But is that really true?

Can we hold America to the standard that’s written on paper?

Can everyone use their voice to make a change?

So, is that really true?

Many voices are suppressed

Not heard or recognized

Wanting to make a change

But they are just silenced

Inequality is still alive.

distant moon

by Mirabel Hunt

sometimes i feel so lonely and maybe that’s your fault your face seems only to grow colder like the 1 am moon when i have no stars to offer you that aren’t already within your universal reach your interest in me fades in and out with the waves of the other fascinations that reflect your moon light about every new phase, your tide meets my shore, ever so briefly and then goes out to sea once again in an endless journey to wherever. wherever my shore is not.

Gradually, the gentle grains of golden sand turn to dark, frozen dirt arid without care in the darkness, your moony face stares down at me the dark side all too bright, never ending. so i try to spark a flame build new sandcastles, draw your name in my sand dot the “i”s with hearts like my own Cross the “t”s with great deliverance and wait. through every phase

Waxing, waning, I wither away Waiting

and as my eyes trace the sky i ask you, the great moon, “haven’t i done enough waiting in my short lived life?” waiting for people to come back, decide, die maybe i give people too much time and maybe it isn’t your fault that i’m alone but you sure make me feel it a desolate island

Faintly illuminated by the distant moon.

the moon’s embrace

by Amanda Salantino

I chase the sun so it might set faster and I may bless your heavy eyes with my silver gaze through a careless splinter in between consciousness. A wordless reminder of what you could become before Apollo’s chariot strips you of that glory.

both places of my life combined

by Melissa Cruz Rios

I hope you see in some parts of my mind, Some places both similar and different in life, In my mind I see a place that’s perfect and one of a kind, Maybe too unconfined and free to thrive, Sometimes it tells me to not be so blind, “look at the other side that you despise.”

So I turn back from the place to look behind, And make myself realize, That there’s a place in my mind where I’m confined, It’s so dark to the point where I’m scared and paralyzed, I feel so anxious and undermined, That I escaped with all my strength to a place between both sides.

I find my stomach filled with butterflies, I’ve found a passion in this place that’s been combined, A place outside of my mind that’s filled with both bad and nice, I look around to see the different emotions on mankind, They each walk different colored paths that are shaped by their will to survive, But they can change and become redefined, Life is unique and undefined, Wow! I’ve found the meaning of life!

“Spooks”

by Cormac Cadden

the other side

by Anonymous

The boy in class has the prettiest eyes, The perfect smile, His teeth white and straight. He has numerous friends, The silkiest hair, And glowing eyes. He seems so happy, He seems so loved, And is so well known.

That same boy arrives home, And everything is different. He looks at himself, And doesn’t view himself as people perceive him. He cries himself to sleep, Tears making his pillow wet.

the decision of my future

by Anonymous

One big decision

Two different paths

One far

One close

Both different experiences.

One path living on a legacy

Following my father’s footsteps. Experiencing what he had. When we go off at 18.

The other path is different. A path the not everyone agrees with But in my eyes, it could be the path for me However, this path takes a longer time to get to.

I have time to pick between these two paths

But so it will be the hardest decision in my future. What if my choice is wrong, A common question that crosses my mind. May only the future knows, What path I will be taking

every mountain

by Mirabel Hunt

you know

i think i’ve climbed every mountain and forged every stream

i’ve turned all the rocks and pebbles and carved my initials into every tree

all the woodland creatures know my path by heart as they watch my footprints catch up to me

i'm a weary eyed snow white

paling hopelessness

Looking for a sign I haven’t already seen i’m turning this forest into a whirlpool and i’ll drown if i'm not careful in this dry cycle of faded photographs figments of passed time that i’ve looked at too many times They turn my face red and then cold

And when the surface levels

The endless plain is laid out in front of me like the Great Plains I once loved. the tall grass wraps around my legs and bends with every step I make my feet sink deeper into the marsh and my knees freeze in frustration

my choked tears now crash down Into this dry basin

Now filling with my tears that will not stop flowing for i cannot stop crying. my lungs, too, fill with tears and my heart’s cries are muffled by my melodrama

My sorrowful solute is drowning every inch of this forest

Taking back the ruins of my rumination and washing away what you left me yet I am relieved and i let go

Because at this point i just want something new and I guess this is the best i'm going to get.