SAILING SUMMERS

Stella Monteiro

Do you know what I miss?

I miss the casual summer days. I miss being Soaked to the bone, you In your awful jean shorts, your Short hair wild with salt water. I miss my stupid Nylon shirt stuck to my skin My arms, tan and strong, hands callused From pulling on ropes from dawn to dusk.

I miss the windless days, when Our friends would Take the motorboat, The one called Popcorn, and Pull us out into the middle of the Harbor, and watch us float and Laugh and make fun of the Silly, WASP-y boats, Of the yacht club boys in Their little sloops, with their Fancy boat shoes and collared shirts. I miss the days that Were windy and we’d Almost capsize, sliding Back and forth as we tacked Aggressively into the waves. I miss when the little kids Would come and sail alongside us, in Their little Optis, their swimsuits wet With rain and salt and the Water in their boats. I miss Laughing at your bad jokes, and Listening to your Silly stories, and knowing that You’d listen to mine, if I wanted Your opinion, or Even just a listening ear. Maybe one day we’ll be 16 again, and the Wind will be back in our hair and We’d laugh together once more.

A Dove

Elise Cho

a shape, a blur — too far for straining sight — faintest hint of white, a feather soft and fair. and right before i lost its turning flight, there – a dove looping, looping in air!

appearance fools — a dangerous thing. to quell: resolve-wrought death, the required sorrow.

i nocked the bow and looked for damning tell, there– in soaring bend, metal's route t' marrow.

in bouts of practice, nike's name i crowed. but before the final blow struck fast and true, my hand shook– shook– as i threw down the bow. there– just as yesterday, away it flew.

aimless weapon, the unused marksman's smarts. a white elephant, the child's bleeding heart.

Snow On A Busy Street

Khushi Gohel

1. What a day to ride a bike,

2. in what way, did I think it was all right.

3. In the “Fifth Avenue in Winter”, the foggy breeze was not a surprise. However,

4. the hazy sleet blinded my eyes.

5. Whoosh! Into the horse I ran.

6. “Oh My! Oh My!” the children cried; Some people came to see the sight.

7. My pasty hands and blood-soaked hair weren’t the only things lying there,

8. the packhorse lay flat, with drenched hooves, no one can sell those nasty shoes,

9. not even the stores here, on Fifth Avenue.

10. Guy Wiggins and his red motor car, trotted forward from afar, While the snow

11. was whizzing by, I started to close my weary eyes, waiting for a doctor to arrive.

12. I saw large pillars, then heavenly gates,

13. before realizing, it was, too late.