Literature from the Lost and Found by Jacey Morrill

LITERATURE FROM THE LOST AND FOUND

GREELY MIDDLE SCHOOL 2011-2012

CONTRIBUTORS Literary Works Maddy Beaulieu Mariah Belisle Caleb Bowdoin Ethan Brouder Sam Burgoyne Declan Campbell Sam Carignan Josh Coyle Maddy Day Logan DeCourcey Emma Downey Ethan Grove Becca Hamlen Sarah Johnson Timmy Keith Nikolas Kurlanski Maddie LePage

Kendra Anderson Isabelle Bachelder Kevin Cass Makenzie Copp Julia Cunningham Elena Kropp Zoe Lambert Ryan Megathlin Abigail Osgood

Brooke Lawrence Justin Leeman Rachel Male Sydney Meredith-Pickett Corey Mitchell-LaBrie Alex Nason Claire Nicholson Caleb Normandeau Kelsey Otley Kathryn ParĂŠ Jenna Pavis Matt Pisini Samantha Pitassi Caitlin Pollack Katy Price Aidan Regan Bridget Reynolds

Art Work

Connor Rog Dylan Sinclair Dylan Smith Hanna Smith-Erb Josh St. Pierre Ali Swaney Sophia Stickney Ryan Sullivan Olivia Taylor Katie Thibeau Josh Verrill Kieran Volk Mick Washo Bailey Willerson Ben Williams

Chris Perry Tate Porter Addie Ray Maggie Reed Sean Richard Katie Steinberg Ali Swaney

Advisors: Alisha Goldblatt and Jacey Morrill

TABLE OF CONTENTS 6 Sarah Johnson 7 Jenna Pavis 8 Logan DeCourcey 9-11 Ethan Grove 11 Chris Perry 12 Kathryn Paré 13 Ryan Sullivan 14 Hanna Smith-Erb 14 Zoe Lambert 15 Sarah Johnson 16-17 Alex Nason 17 Kevin Cass 18 Caitlin Pollack 19 Dylan Smith 19 Ryan Megathlin 20-21 Maddy Day 22-24 Dylan Sinclair 24 Addie Ray 25 Josh St. Pierre 26 Sarah Johnson 27 Ethan Brouder 28 Katie Thibeau 28 Sophia Stickney 29 Olivia Taylor 29 Aidan Regan 30-31 Caleb Bowdoin 32 Hannah Smith-Erb 32 Elena Kropp 33 Samantha Pitassi 34-35 Declan Campbell 36 Nikolas Kurlanski 37 Sarah Johnson 38 Sydney Meredith-Pickett 39 Emma Downey 40 Sam Burgoyne 41 Olivia Taylor 41 Kate Steinberg 42 Becca Hamlen 43 Justin Leeman 43 Isabella Bachelder 44 Rachel Male

Poems Where I’m From Shabunu Lost in Barcelona Spain Artwork Poems based on A Little Piece Of Ground Where I’m From Melting Pain Artwork Poems Grandfather Artwork Poems Poem Artwork I Walk A Good Old Fashioned $*# Kicking Artwork Poem Poems Like a Hammer to the Skull Embarrassment is a Black Room Life Friendship Generosity The Feeling of Terror Yet We Knew Artwork Shadow Spinner His Name was Igneous, Son of Magma Legacy of Persia Where I’m From Forever and Always Poem Roller Coaster Hibachi Grill Artwork Sweetie Cruise Artwork Being Sick

TABLE OF CONTENTS 45 Matt Pisini 46-51 Claire Nicholson 51 Tate Porter 52 Corey Mitchell-LaBrie 53 Mariah Belisle 54 Maddy Beaulieu 55 Ben Williams 56-57 Ali Swaney 58 Hannah Smith-Erb 58 Abigail Osgood 59 Matt Pisini 60 Kathryn Paré 60 Julia Cunningham 61 Sarah Johnson 61 Ali Swaney 62 Kathryn Paré 63-65 Connor Rog 65 Makenzie Copp 66 Katy Price 67 Bailey Willerson 67 Maggie Reed 68-69 Maddie LePage 70 Josh Coyle 70 Kendra Anderson 71-72 Mick Washo 72 Sean Richard 73 Brooke Lawrence 74-75 Kieran Volk 76 Brooke Lawrence 76 Sam Carignan 77 Katy Price 77 Timmy Keith 78 Caleb Normandeau 78 Josh Verrill 78 Kelsey Otley 79 Bridget Reynolds 79 Connor Rog

Shape Poem The Rock Cycle ... IN SPACE!! Artwork The Flag Poems from Mud City Where I’m From Poem A Memoir This Moment Artwork The Unknown Peace Artwork Poem Artwork Untitled A Salty Impediment Artwork Shape Poem Haunted House Artwork Poetry about A Mango Shaped Space Poem Artwork A Life for a Life Artwork Small Towns Freedom: Wild Stallions Born From Nature The Finality Held by my Sentence Zona’. The New World Earth’s Feet A Surgeon of a Different Kind Balance The Tallest of the Tall Dew Point

Poetry by Sarah Johnson Stars peer through the night sky Like holes in a patchwork quilt The moon, omnipresent, watches the dark world The shapes of the trees flow and blend Through nocturnal eyes And soft falling paws stalk prey deep in the snow A deer is bedding amidst a thicket Sleeping ‘til the morning’s silver And fading gray Nudge the night out of place.

The first time the cold came, came also the birds They journeyed far and sailed above To a land with warmth and love The second time the cold came, came following was frost Frost weaving webs on windows Clinging to grass long lost The third time the cold came, came on the wind the snow Sweeping away brown, murky green Coating the land with a cold white sheen The last time the cold came, came creeping in was Death Death hissing and ready to stop a heart But was defeated when returned breath Up soared life’s vigorous flameAnd then the spring came...

Poems based on, Shabanu: Daughter of the Wind by Jenna Pavis Where I'm From I'm from sand-covered, widespread deserts stretching from end to end of the gargantuan land of Pakistan I'm from tents upon tents that move each day with us, warm from the hot desert sun that shines on them all day I'm from the natural sand of the desert, Digging my toes into it day after day

I'm from a family who will care about me to the end of eternity I'm from happy gatherings, from tales that no one is able to understand or believe Camels dance like unicorns from a fairy tale, their silent tintinnabulation ringing long after the night has ended I'm from the sounds of camels, their content “moo” giving me a sense of comfort, And their mournful “ohh” calling me to come even when I'm miles away

I'm from love and longing, age approaching faster than I know, happiness overwhelming me as my moment fast approaches I'm from excitement and ecstasy, getting prepared with my sister We're waiting, waiting patiently for the day that will fill us with joy, each of us knowing that the day will pass far too quickly.

I'm from men who steal my joy in an instant moment, a moment that no one can prevent or take back I'm from chaos and violence, a single gunshot ringing out with a loud, “Pow,” Changing everything planned in one single, tiny second I'm from the pain of my sister, feeling it like the sting of a needle, trying to help her in any way I can

I'm from a land of unfairness and change, a land where everyone must go to I'm from jealousy as my sister snatches my love from the palm of my hand, beautiful and lovely as she is I'm from regret and sorrow, yet I plan to change that immediately, because I'm also from relent and boldness, determined to chose my own husband and refusing to marry the man I'm pledged to marry

I'm from the lonely shadows of sorrow and failure, knowing that I couldn't take a stand against the wishes of my family I'm from death and despair, as I know I will never be the same again Freedom of who my spouse will be is something I will never gain, as now I am forced to marry a 50-year-old man.

Shabanu by Logan DeCourcey I am from Pakistan. From mud brick houses that smell of chapatis. I am from jeeps and gunshots. Daughter of Dadi and mama. Sister to Phulan. I am from camels, the desert, and atoba drinkers (A small pond) From village to village for water and food stripped of our life by poverty. I am the sand that forms dunes and incarcerates us in walls of sand. Dancing is my life and I love to sing and fill the dull sand with life. I am from strict but kind parents. From hopes of happiness and a good life my sister and me. I am the hot dusty days spent tending and traveling with the camels. I am love and hated by the same man. I am a girl bound to a man who left. I am the girl whose sister married her fiancĂŠ. I am moving on, hoping their life is pleasing. I am from hatred towards my landlord. I am from the desert. A girl of sand and little water, I am Shabanu!

Lost in Barcelona, Spain by Ethan Grove “Mom, Dad, can we stop there to get some ice cream, please?” I asked. “Okay,” they replied. We had just arrived in Barcelona. We were walking all day and I was jet lagged and wanted a break. My Mom, Dad, brother Colin, and our friends big Joe and little Joe, Lucas and Amber, and I stopped at an ice cream shop and went in to purchase some ice cream. The air-conditioned room welcomed me, and I immediately felt a little more refreshed. After we bought our ice cream, we went back outside to enjoy it. As I was eating, I saw something that one would not see in America; it was a bike that had seats in the back. I thought it was a bike taxi. “Mom, Dad, can we get one of those and ride it back to the hotel?” I asked. “Sure, but in a little bit,” they responded. That sounded reasonable to me. We finished our ice cream and we began the march back to the hotel. A little while later, I asked again, “Mom or Dad, can we ride one of those bike taxis now?” “No, let’s just walk back, Ethan. The hotel is right there.” She pointed to a tall building that was a turquoise color; it was round, and windows were everywhere. I did not respond. I was so mad I just stormed off. I figured I would wait for them at the hotel. Thoughts flooded my mind -- they lied to me about the bike taxi. I mean, they lied to me. They told me we would be able to take a bike taxi back to the hotel, and then they told me we could not. Although, the hotel was very close. I guess I just over reacted again. I now saw where they were coming from. I had an apology ready for them. I turned around expecting to see my family, or friends, but they were not there. No one was. A nice, sandy beach, with crystal clear water and a few buildings and museums surrounded me. But for me, well, I was shaking in my shoes. I felt sweat break out, and my stomach had butterflies in it. I was lost in a huge city. No one else spoke my language, and I barely knew what my hotel looked like. I immediately walked towards the building that my mom said was my hotel. I had many thoughts. If I do not get back to the hotel tonight how will I sleep? What will I do? I continued walking. I looked up and saw something that made my heart soar. I saw the restaurant where we ate lunch. I knew that my hotel was near that area. I peered across the street and saw a building that looked familiar. I realized what it was; it was my hotel. I sprinted over feeling my heart thump with excitement every step. I got to the door. I gripped the round door handle and twisted. I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. I looked around and realized that this was not my hotel; it was a bank. I exited the bank thinking about what I just did. I went into what I thought was my hotel but it was actually a bank! I ran, retracing my steps. I found the boardwalk and just stood there. I stood over the railing, looking down into the deep blue ocean. After regaining my senses, I looked in the direction where my mother said the hotel was. It took me a little bit to find it again. There were a number of buildings, but soon I saw it. Or, at least I was pretty sure I saw it. It did look a lot like the bank I went into. I jogged to the hotel, but there was one problem: I did not know how to enter it. There was a back door and a front door to the hotel, and I was at the back door, but it did not open without a security pass. I only went into the hotel once and that was when I arrived special by a car. I walked around to the hotel to find the main entrance and I tripped on something. I looked back and a man with a long beard in ratty 9

clothes and with a dirty blanket was lying down. He creeped me out; I told him I was sorry, and he flashed a smile with two missing front teeth and the rest yellow. I’ll never forget the man or the smile. It was the weirdest thing I have ever seen. That did not stop me from continuing on my journey. I must have circled the hotel at least three times until I noticed a side door. And when I stared at it for long enough, it did seem a bit familiar. I walked to the door expecting disappointment. I put my hand on the metal knob, rotated it and nudged the door open. I entered the hotel and this time I was actually in. I was in my hotel! I was so relieved. There was a down side to this, however. It was easily the biggest hotel I had ever been in. It was huge. Although I did know what my room number was, it would be tricky getting there. First I thought I would go check the common areas. I went to the elevator and pressed the button with the letter L on it. The button lit up. My body jerked as the elevator took off. The elevator came to a halt and I stepped out, expecting to see the couches around the crystal chandelier, the desk with the workers, and the candy store, but all I saw was a parking garage. I looked around and all I saw was a myriad number of cars. I returned to the elevator and pushed the button for the floor I just came from. I stepped into the elevator. I pressed the button L once again and the elevator took off. This time I stepped out and did see the lobby. Now I just had to take another elevator up to my room. I moved into the elevator and I had a thought: I would look for my family and friends at the common areas. I went to the pool and bar. I almost ran into a waitress because I was not looking where I was going. I looked at the pool, which had a balcony that overlooked the beach. My family and friends were not there. I went to the next set of stairs and had a footfall going down them. I thought that they might be at the patio. Nothing but utter disappointment. I went into the first door I could find. I recognized the long table with a unique pattern on the windows, and the door entering the room that was there to relax in my opinion. There were couches, tables and a coffee maker. I did not even take a second look because at that moment I was not exactly in the mood to have a cup of joe. I raced to the elevator and pushed the number 4. The elevator shot up and I was off. When the elevator came to a halt, I sprinted out of it and to my room. I pounded on the door. “Hello, Mom, Colin, Dad, Mom, anyone there?” I screamed at the door, taking breaths in between each word. I made my way slowly to the other guests’ room but steadily. I could hear the floor creak with every step and my heart pounded. I finally made it to the Howard's room (our friend). I balled my fist and struck the door. No one was there. As I was turning to leave I heard something that made my heart skip a beat. “Ethan, is that you?” It was Mr. Howard. I was so excited I did not know what to do. So I just stood there. He came over to me and told me to wait in their room while he went to get my parents. I did. It felt like forever until my family came back. They dumped a load of questions, but I did not answer them. I was too happy knowing that I was with my family again. That night all we talked about was how I wound up lost. Being with my family again really made me feel better. When I was lost I was nervous every second wondering if I would get back to the hotel during daylight, or what I would do if I did not make it back at all. Every second I felt scared, alone, and worried. When I was with my family I knew I was safe and no one would hurt me. I knew where I would sleep, and what I would do for food. As a result of that experience I learned something: I need to 10

stop becoming angry for little reasons and storming off, especially in foreign countries where no one speaks my language. My brother told me something that night that said it better than I could have; he said that in a few months we will just look back on this and laugh. He had never been more right.

Chris Perry

Poems based on A Little Piece Of Ground by Kathryn Paré

I'm from the curfew that keeps us inside, afraid to even sneak a glance. I'm from the tanks that travel the streets striking fear into the hearts of many. I'm from the sounds of guns outside the door, From the hurt and wounded. I'm from the rumble on the streets, From what's left of buildings that once stood tall. I'm from guns, bombs, and explosions, From the screams of “Allah!” in times of fear. I'm from the limited food that we stock up on, preparing for another curfew. I'm from kicking and juggling the soccer ball with my feet, From the urge to go outside and play. I'm from the hope and vision of myself as a star of soccer, as a pro, scoring a goal for my team. I'm from being a Palestinian, From the humiliation inflicted upon us. I'm from the worry that my family will die, From the fact they could be shot, anytime, anywhere. All I have is my little piece of ground.

Where I'm From by Ryan Sullivan I'm from the battle zone in my town From destroyed buildings and dead children From the attack helicopters chasing us From the helicopter shooting us after curfew I'm from my mother taking care of us I'm from the Israeli soldiers controlling our lives From the tanks destroying our town From my friends dying because they tried to fight back My family knows better than to fight back I'm from the town of cowards I'm from the town of homemade soccer fields From the town where they get destroyed I'm from the place where we play soccer I play on my computer when the fighting starts I'm from the place where we eat dates and bread From the place of fizzy orange soda I almost like where I live Until I get shot in the leg Until my little piece of ground is destroyed.

Melting Pain by Hannah Smith-Erb The night is dark What creeps amongst the shadows It's hard to go in the right direction An uncertain path Someone died Are you going to cry? We can't affect everything Examine your everyday activities Craft them carefully Tell the truth It can be difficult Never give pain to another person See the world at a deeper level Melting pain

Zoe Lambert

Morning by Sarah Johnson The new dawn Proving the mist has past And we now can see our enemies (Those masked in the dark) The new dawn Rising over the hills Once only strange lumps in the grey, grey world (Light bringing color, color bringing life) The new dawn Growing steadily brighter Shining steadily higher Burdens steadily lighter Each time it catches your gaze. (So graceful, those feathers of light, giving lift to the wings of the sun) Â

Poetry by Sarah Johnson

Turning your back from the group For no reason but to burn. To burn, and light the dark and glow, and flicker, and consume Forgoing the lake With its endless dark water droplets Doomed to walk away When it would be safer To meld with millions and be as none But Fate has given you fire And lit it in your soul And dropped you onto Earthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dear ground Feeling threads of grass between your tired hands, Staring at the cloud-filled sky, Wondering why it has never burned as the rain falls. Fires are extinguished, but hope stays.

Grandfather by Alex Nason Even though my grandfather died when I was young, I will remember a few things about him forever. My grandfather called himself “the cat.” He called himself that because whenever he fell he would land on his feet, and he said he had nine lives. The day he died was a sad day for my family. We all loved him. The joke he said to me so many times was that he wanted some of my hair. He said this because I had a lot of hair and he didn’t have much hair. My grandfather had always loved his family, and we will always love him. He had a nickname for each of us, I was “el leon” (lion), my younger brother was “el tiburon” (tiger) and my youngest brother was “el torro” (bull). I have always aspired to follow in his footsteps. The day I first learned that he was in the hospital I was devastated. It was early afternoon and my mom had picked up the phone after it had rung once. She said, “Hi Jamo,” it was my uncle. I could see that she had started to become worried as the call continued. Finally, she hung up the phone. I asked, “What happened, mommy?” She responded, “Abuello is in the hospital.” I did not cry because I was so young and couldn’t comprehend it all. My dad was in Pennsylvania at the time. My mom had to call my other grandmother in Augusta to see if she could watch my brothers and me until the next day. “Guys, I don’t know when I will be back, so behave yourself.” After that sentence she kissed us on the head and drove to the airport for a flight to Miami. A week later we got a call from Miami that was like deja vu. My dad was home and he was taking care of us. Ring Ring! “Hi Yo,” my dad said, then silence. My dad sat down in front of the computer and searched plane flights for the next day. “Dad, are we flying down to Florida to be with Mom?” I asked. “Yes, Abuello is about to die and we need to fly down to go to the funeral.“ Now this was where I remember when I start to sniffle. I was in third grade and now the grandfather I had spent a lot of time with through my short life was about to die. I was very upset with God. Now I know that he died of cancer, not because of God. Before my grandfather was just in the hospital, now he was dying of cancer. We didn’t know what to pack because we didn’t know how long we would be in Miami. Through the years, I have asked my mom how she dealt with his death. My mother has always been open to talking about the subject with me. “I have and 16

always will love my father. I know that even though I can’t see him, I know he is watching over me. You were too young to remember some of the things that he did with us. Since you were born, we always went to Florida, and we would stay at the house on Miami Beach every summer. He taught me everything that I knew. How to work hard and how to be respectful of others. He also taught me how to be a good parent. He always stayed strong and was a good parent during the loss of his father.” My mother had always wished to be like her father when it came to parenting. On my mom’s desk is a phone that has a message that my grandfather had left a week or two before he died. Through everything that has happened to me, I will always remember my grandfather. He has been the person I look up to. He was never rude to anyone, he never lied to anyone, and he was always true to himself. I would like to have those qualities, and I wish he could have taught them to me. I now know that everything that he taught his children has helped them through their lives and that my mom will teach me everything that he taught her. In my room, next to my bed, I have a picture of him and me, that was taken a few years before he died. My grandfather will be remembered forever by everyone that knew him, including me.

Kevin Cass

Two Poems by Caitlin Pollack Clouds drifting, clouds swaying In the evening breeze Sky blue, sky purple Sky a settling red Wind ruffling, wind blowing In the twilight hours Branches swaying, leaves rattling in the orange glow Children leaving, laughter ceasing In the darkening night Owls waking, mice sleeping In the graying light Deer bounding, shadows lengthening In the shine of the moon Cats prowling, sun vanishing In the final moments Sun setting, darkness controlling As the night is here. Orange and yellow painting the sky As the sun rises, throwing rays around it In a halo of protection from the darkness That is ever in battle with the light Black bleeding inky blue blood Melting slowly as the sun throws a ray like a trident Until at last The sun full on tackles the moon And the moon steps forward, hiding the sun from view A ring of fire all that is left of the light As the light and the dark become one more powerful And the bleeding rays of the lightâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s last stand Illuminate the frozen ground

Poetry by Dylan Smith

Life is an elevator. It travels up and down. Gets stuck at different places. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re at the top. Then it drops.

Ryan Megathlin

I Walk by Maddy Day Step by step I walk Going nowhere, Anywhere but the places I know Nothing can be worse than home. Like a duckling follows its mother I follow my instinct To wherever it might lead me Step by step I walk Crunch, crack, cry Invisible birds call to each other My feet carry me over roots and fallen limbs Squish, squash My sneakers sink into the earth, but I keep walking Because I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know how to stop Step by step I walk The air is heavy and damp It feels like it would If a storm just passed Smelling of moss and wet soil Under a canopy of leaves rustling in the wind Making me believe thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a waterfall lurking around Step by step I walk

I could do this for so long Avoiding reality, Staying away from all the hatred The lies And the endless fights Not wanting to be with no happiness

Step by step I walk I wonder if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time to stop The air has dropped a few degrees I can no longer see ten feet ahead And the sound of squeaking chipmunks Has been replaced by the hoots of owls Like a lost puppy, I turn back home Step by step I stop.

A Good Old-Fashioned $*# Kicking by Dylan Sinclair It was our seventh game of the season. Three shutouts and and a game record that lacked any small “L’s” which would indicate an intolerable defeat. Our first game against the next best team in the state (second to us), and I was pumped. The day was perfect for a game, and I came prepared to give Falmouth the beating of their lives. We got off the bus and arrived at the Falmouth fields as the cocky players who inhabit the area ran a lap around the field. As we walked over and as the enemy ran by, we exchanged short verbal phrases which included “Don’t suck like last year,” and “Just shut up and keep running, you need the exercise,” with the whole argument being started by Falmouth (of course). We placed our bags behind the benches and got our pads and helmets on. We grabbed our sticks, set up a passing drill for the midfielders and defense, and I had the offense work with me on a quick shooting warm up. They made two lines and had two passes before they took a shot. As soon as the first one was fired at me, I knew I was ready. It was a bomb placed in the lower left corner of the net, but my quick hands and quick reflexes that have developed over many years of being a goalie were faster than the ball and I made a quick save. We continued to warm up until the whistle was blown, signaling both teams to their respective benches and our team doing our signature “Greely on three! One, two, three, Greely!” The coach listed the names of the starting players, and I knew what that he wasn’t going to say my name. It’s not because I wasn’t starting, it’s because I was the only goalie on the team and I had played every quarter of every game for the last two years. The players who were starting walked to the middle of the field for “The Ceremony,” as we called it. The teams made two lines at the half, goalies on each end, and first had the goalies walk down and shake hands, then the rest of the team. The referees said the usual rules about no cross checks, head slashes, good sportsmanship, etc. We split up and took out positions on the field. The ref placed the ball at half, the other goalie and I signaled to him that we were ready, and the first face off began. We started passing the ball well right from the beginning but had a slow start at getting it up the field. We spent the first three minutes with the ball at their half but no goals. I told my center defenseman to go up to the line and make a long pass up the field. He obeyed, and the midfielders passed it back to him. They did a short passing progression up the field, which resulted in us scoring out first goal. The shot was taken by our rookie center midfielder Alex Kroot. The first half consisted of our team scoring a goal, then Falmouth getting the ball and running it up the field. Once they were there they either took a shot and I saved it or I blocked it with my body and had my defense run it up the field. The whistle blew, ending the quarter, with the score being 3-0. We quickly got some water and had coach read off the second lineup. Before we knew it the short break was over. We switched sides of the field and got into position. The second half started off like the first, but it quickly turned back against us and three

breakaways that would have led to a goal were stopped by me making a quick save. The half ended with us scoring only two goals, changing the score to 5-0. We grabbed our waters and took a knee behind the benches. After that quarter’s performance, all of us, including coach, knew that we had to pick it up. “Great job in the first quarter, and that was a nice two goals in this one, but the only reason they don’t have any goals is because of Dylan.” That last comment was a good confidence booster, and the small applause that followed helped too, but I know that the the field players are the ones who make us win. I keep us from losing, but I wasn’t the only one who deserved credit. We were playing a great game and we needed to finish strong. We got up and coach gave a nice pep talk to get us ready. “Let’s give em’ hell in this second half. I think it would be cool to have a shutout against Falmouth on our record, don’t you guys? We’re playing starting positions this quarter. Let’s say we go back out there and give them a game! Greely on three!” “One, two, three, Greely!” We took our positions out on the field and got ready to get back in the game. As soon as the referee blew the whistle that started the face off, it was obvious we came to play. We scored a quick two goals within the first five minutes and I had only three shots taken at me, one of which I painfully saved with my stomach. After one of the shots that I saved with my stick, I sprinted out of the crease and up the side of the field leaving the net wide open because there were no passing options. Luckily I am much faster than most people think so I got it about a quarter of the way up the field, cleared it to my offensive players, and sprinted back to protect the net. The rest of the quarter had us scoring three more goals and me making another two saves. I knew that I was going to take a solid, hard rubber ball straight to the shin at eighty miles per hour before I let a shot in. For the third time of the game, we jogged off the field and got water as coach assigned new positions. The score was now 10-0 and we could tell that Falmouth was getting extremely mad and discouraged, and we were feeding off of that. The final quarter. Coach knew how important this was, and that this was all I needed to do to give my team another shutout. He pulled me over quickly to speak with me before I took to the field. “Hey Dylan, great game. This is it, the last quarter, just stick it out in there and we’ve got the best game of the year.” He gave me a pat on the shoulder as I ran out. “Come on Greely, let’s win this!” I shouted as I got to my net. “Yellow goalie ready?” the ref shouted to Falmouth. “Blue goalie ready?” He yelled to me. I raised my stick as a response. He blew the whistle and it was obvious Falmouth wasn’t happy. They got the ball and ran it down at me immediately. “Step!” I yelled to my defense. They listened and my center defenseman came in and shoulder poke checked the ball out of their attack’s stick, while my left defenseman picked up the ball and cleared it down the field. We had the ball around the middle of the field for almost the whole quarter, with neither goalies getting any action at all until the ref yelled, “One minute!” That was enough for us to snap back into it and quickly make forward progress. With about twenty seconds left on the clock we scored what we 23

assumed would be the last goal of the game, but the Falmouth coach called a timeout to stop the clock. Coach yelled to us to just stay on the field since it’s only a sixty second break, and we watched as their coach yelled at them, obviously infuriated. The ref blew the whistle and we were all back into position, but Falmouth was playing with their midfielders up on the line. The whistle blew as their biggest and fastest kid sprinted toward me, knocking over at least three people on our team. He quickly gained with every long stride and I knew a ripped shot was coming. Our defense were helpless against him momentum, and soon it was only fifteen yards of grass that separated us. He pulled his stick back, twisted his body, and let loose a cannonball aimed straight at the bottom left corner. I lunged with my foot out to block the shot as my whole body hit the posts of the goal. The ball hit me on the outside of the foot just in time and bounced out behind the goal out of bounds. The ref blew the whistle and I realized what I had just done. “Everyone on your keeper!” coach yelled as everyone ran at me and surrounded me and started shouting. I led the swarm over to the bench and everyone got their waters out and coach came over to us. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the words he said to us the day that we killed Falmouth. He walked over, leaned in, and casually stated what we already knew. “Now that was a good old-fashioned *$# kicking.”

Addie Ray 24

Poem by Josh St. Pierre watching waiting for the ball to drop watching waiting waiting for clock to strike 12 watching waiting as the ball gets nearer to the bottom canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t hope but wonder what will I do with an hour? so I got a wacky idea take a sled and go down the stairs WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! as my adrenaline is running my heart is pumping my blood pressure is about to go sky high after about one hundred times it is 5 to 12 as the count down starts 10,9,8,7,6,5..... everyone gets excited 4,3,2,1,0 HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! everyone shouts Â and we jump for joy new years has come and gone time to sleep and wake up to the new year

Poetry by Sarah Johnson When in front of you grows the last young tree You cut it down. They did not care for the plants of vibrant greens Nor for the bright animals who live from the plants Nor even for the animals who live from the animals Because the innocent are cast out And left to wander, lost, then starve. When in front of you grows a tree You chop it down. For what does it matter that one loves, one cries, one hides As you relax on your gilded throne of bones? The people are thousands, and you are one. Only one. Only one. When in front of you sprouts a lone, young tree What do you do? You cut You chop You burn.

Slugging through a sucking swamp that clings and waits to pull you down A squelching, oozing devilâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s land endlessly spread for miles Yet far ahead lies a peaceful wood you will not reach it for hours yet Behind is quartered an orderly village you do not wish to return there Above you stares the wise, bright stars that you could reach If you could soar out of the mire which clings so tenaciously to your ankle, refusing to let go.

Like a Hammer to the Skull by Ethan Brouder “Thump, creak, thump, creak,” I walked across the old, dirt stained wooden floor of the barn. My foot got stuck in a chain. I thought nothing of it. There were tons of that kind of thing in the barn, and as I pulled free, I upset the precious balance between the sharp, rusty, mudcoated clam rake and the chain. The chain's massive weight was still just enough to hold the chain in place. I saw the rake falling, wanted to move, but couldn't. My legs felt like lead. One step was all it would have taken to avoid the three prongs. Then it hit me like a hammer to the skull. The impact brought me to my knees. I felt like I was being crushed to the floor by a giant hand. The middle prong of the clam rake was slightly embedded in my skull. Then gravity started to pull the clam rake back, leaving a bloody stripe on my head. Blood poured down my face and mixed with the tears burning in my eyes. “MOM! DAD!” I tried to yell, but as I opened my mouth blood flowed in. The only sound I could make was a gurgle as the blood in my mouth bubbled, making the blood froth into a foam that made me look like a rabid ketchup bottle. I stood up, but it was not easy. The blood clouded my vision. I was dizzy and the blood in my mouth made me nauseous, more nauseous than I had ever felt. (Actually the “more nauseous than I had ever felt” is a bit of an exaggeration, but you probably do not want me to go into “detail” about that.) I turned to try and get help, I saw the blood- spattered clam rake, and even though all was fuzzy I could make out the red stripes on the brown rust. “Mom! Dad!” I tried to shout, but the sound I made was a quiet “glumugulgurda!” “They can't hear me,” I thought. I started to walk, but I could not go straight. I wobbled like a kid who just got off the zero gravity ride at the fair. As I desperately stumbled along outside, the tall grass of the field towered over me, leaving a crimson path like a red carpet. I saw my mom and knew I was safe. I knew it was finally over. Thinking back to why I remember this event . . . I was only four . . . helps me see that my memories revolve around disasters. With those early catastrophes, of which this is but one, I am now prepared for everything . . .almost . . .

Embarrassment is a Black Room by Katie Thibeau Embarrassment is a black room Everyone laughing Hurt, pain, loneliness Scared to death Wondering if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll go on forever. No friends around, more people closing in Coming to laugh. Tears begin to come, running down my cheeks Filling my pores with salty tears. Embarrassment is a black room

Life by Sophia Stickney Life is a periwinkle notebook Opened the second of birth, Closed when it comes time to die. Its pages can be filled with words, stories of wisdom, happiness and despair. Reflecting on those days As distant memories. On a shelf of many notebooks, Periwinkle shines out like a star twinkling in the night sky. Life is a periwinkle notebook.

Friendship by Olivia Taylor Friendship is an ivory daisy. The yellow center, Your best friend. Holding one together Even when The rest of the petals Fall off. A symbol That you care for one another. Friendship is an ivory daisy.

Generosity by Aidan Regan Generosity is a red tree. Generous with patience; Reaching out to all Always there when others seek aid Providing shade from the heat waves of stress Generous with giving; Bearing fruit for the starving Offering shelter to many species Spreading inspiration through its seeds Generosity is a red tree.

The Feeling of Terror by Caleb Bowdoin The first one was the strangest of them all. I lay in bed that night watching t.v., angry at myself that I couldn’t rest my eyes. The hours passed, 12:00, 1:00, 2:00 and so on. When the time reached 5:00 my body started trembling; it startled me as I jumped to my knees. My body started shaking. I started losing my feel of every part of my body. My heart was pounding in my chest, trying to gasp for breath. It felt like air running out of my throat. My tongue escaping down my throat, I was almost swallowing it. 20 seconds passed and I finally escaped the devil’s hell hole. I sat in my bed speechless for the rest of that morning. I went through the rest of the day normally. I was seven years old. The second one got me worried about what kind of disease I had. I got home from doing errands with my mom, tired from carrying all her bags and dragging my feet from all the weight of clothes I had. I took off my shoes and carried myself down the stairs and into my room. I got in bed, pulled the sheet covers over me and closed my eyes. In the morning, it happened again same as the last time. Body shaking, tongue almost down my throat, on my knees, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even control myself. When I snapped out of it I fell to my bed, every part of my body sore and more tired than ever before. I had trouble walking so I had to crawl up the stairs to go get my mom and dad and tell them about what happened. That afternoon I went to the doctor’s office. They didn’t find out what I had and they put me on a prescription but I had to wait for it. I was nine years old. The third time I was furious. Last week I went to the doctor’s office and they said they would put me on some medication that I haven’t even got yet. I was angry at the doctors office for how slow they were with such a big problem for me, my life on line. It seemed as if they didn’t even care anymore, taking their time. I fell asleep in my bed once again. In the morning it was the same thing as the last two times but it felt worse than last time, a lot worse. If felt like it would go on forever. my mom sitting next to me she tried to stop it by hugging me like it some sort of magical spell that would free me of this curse. She was actually suffocating me I tried to tell her to stop but she kept trying. I got out of it and let my body collapse. I tried to regain my breath, but I couldn’t take deep breaths. My body was craving some oxygen. There was nothing we could do but wait for my medicine. I was nine years old. The fourth time was the worst of them all. I was terrified of what I thought would be my fourth one ever. I went to bed that night feeling what I thought would be some sort of exorcist the following morning. It was hard to sleep that night but eventually my eyelids felt heavy and I drifted off to sleep. I woke up light headed, and suddenly my body drifted up on my knees. I couldn’t control myself, my body shaking. My tongue out, it felt like l was unable to breathe, my heart racing. My friend said to me, “Caleb, cut it out, go back to bed.” It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know I had epilepsy. I tried to speak to him saying to in little bits

“Wy......yat.....he.....lp......m....e.” Of course he didn’t hear me because I only said it in a soft voice. I snapped out of it after three minutes of torture. Fell on my face then threw myself on the floor. I yelled at my friend to get my mom, and he did as I told, his face pale, understanding that I was not joking. My mom came crashing down the stairs into my room. We went directly to the ER. My mom and I were getting fed up with the doctor’s office and how my medicine hasn’t come yet. When we got to ER they still haven’t figured out what the hell is wrong with me. So my mom has put up an E.E.G for me in a week. Luckily I did not have any seizures while I was waiting. A week passed and and we went so I could get an E.E.G. I had no idea what it was and my mom wasn’t the best describer in the world. When I stepped into the room there was a chair and wires all around it. I was getting worried that it was some sort of part from SAW the movie, but then doctor explained it to me. She gave me some sort of medicine that got me to sleep in five seconds. It felt like I was asleep for two minutes, then my mom told me she’d been waiting for three hours. I felt bad for her for waiting that long. The doctor said I had to wait a little bit so they could process the information. After three days they called and said they wanted to set up an appointment for the next day. My mom agreed. The next day I went to the same building where I got my E.E.G. The doctor lead us to a room. She told me I had a the Rolandic type of Epilepsy and mine was very rare. My type I could not die from. When I thought I couldn’t breathe during my seizures I actually could, I was just not knowing it. I felt so relieved. That night my mom went to go get my prescription from the pharmacy. When she got home it was 8:00 and time for bed at the age I was at. It took me a while to figure out how to swallow a pill but I got used to it. That morning I knew I was seizure free. I was 9 years old. I am now 13 years old and seizure free. I do not have to take anymore medication after all these years. I am glad it’s all over with after 4 seizures. Having epilepsy has changed my life because I know how lucky I am to have a rare type and not one that I could die from.

Yet We Knew by Hannah Smith-Erb No one saw it Not me Not anyone Yet we knew It was the secret Lurking in the shadows Whispering Not daring to Be known Yet we knew And then we saw it And all of a sudden We didn't know Because once we had seen it There were questions arising Left and right Side to side It used to be That we had never seen it But now we had And now we regretted it

Elena Kropp

Shadow Spinner by Samantha Pitassi I'm from the Herm palace, Stories are whispered into my ear, I'm from a family who took pity on me, I'm from poverty, to vendors on the street, Never let loose to live a free life Stories are told about me, A living riddle is what we call it, I'm from the Oman land, Where nobody cares, Nothing but tales of lies are told I'm from a restricted land, With no opportunities, So wicked a woman's only value is physical, I'm from the people who want a normal life, Lovers of peace I'm from the life where stories keep people alive, Always goes on, For one thousand and one nights, Death nears when stories are forgotten or not told, I'm from the person who made me a shadow spinner

His Name was Igneous, Son of Magma by Declan Campbell 70,000 years ago there was a time of great darkness; a powerful force was brewing within the deepest realm of Earth. A great army stood poised to strike, a sea of magma bursting forth, raining fire and ash upon the Earth. It was the dawn of a new age, an age where darkness would rule the surface world. This was Mount Toba, Indonesia. For ten years, the world fell into darkness, but little by little light crept back into the world. His name was Igneous, son of Magma. His father, a mythical warrior from the old empire. A hero in the days of the war between darkness and light. He was said to be a terrifying fighter, a ruthless leader with a hot temper. Nothing that fell in his path was spared. Now, the tides of battle had turned, water pounded on the Eastern front, while wind whipped up sediments in the West. They were losing ground, their defenses crumbling under the mighty powers at work. It wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be long before Igneous would find himself on the front lines of battle. Igneous could see his comrades on the front lines, worn down to a fraction of their original might. The armies grew old and brittle, their strength dwindled under the endless onslaught. The front lines pushed closer with each day; all Igneous could do was prepare for his fate, his last stand. Years later Igneous found himself in the heat of battle. He was tall, with large crystals that shone in the rising sun. It took him years to form into his current self; he was a slow cooler, a monster among rocks. The forces of the wind armed with sediments pounded him from all sides. He was growing thin with each day, he could feel himself beginning to crumble but he refused to be broken down without a fight. For years Igneous bravely stood, fixed to the ground. Around him rocks fell back in retreat, but Igneous stood firm, he wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say die. But soon he was too weak to go on any longer, and Igneous, son of Magma crumbled into dust. For years he lay in pieces, ashes in the field of battle. He lay there for years, broken on the spot where he once stood as a proud warrior. One day a wind came, and stirred up his bones. He was picked up and carried away by his invisible foe, only to have his ashes dropped into the lake, a crater of what was once his home, the magnificent palace of Toba lay in ruins. Slowly he sank towards the bottom, a cold, dark, and mysterious place. In the murky depths of the crater-lake, unimaginable horrors lurked in the shadows. What lay down there were not rocks, but mutants. The rocks of the deep stood horribly mutated; Igneous saw himself looking into the pained eyes of these poor rocks. He saw his comrades combined with foreign minerals, a terrible collage of pieces. All around him the remains of rocks were being crafted into hideous monsters. Igneous tried with all his might to save himself from this terrible fate, but it was to no avail. Soon he was buried under thick layers, remnants of his fellow rock. The pressure was unbearable, and he struggled under the building mass above him. As years passed his burden grew heavier. He felt it more and more, it was bonding with him, it was becoming him. Igneous no longer resembled his former self. His bloodline broken, tainted by strange

minerals of different sizes and colors. He was now a mix, a hybrid, a mutant. He was sedimentary. Igneous spent his days in the shadow of the lake, a victim of the horrors of cementing. His days were full of darkness and sorrow. The pressure grew and grew as new sediments, new casualties piled on. As war raged on the surface, Igneous lay in wait unsure of his future. Soon he found himself deep within the earth. The heat grew as the pressure mounted, he could feel himself changing, but what did it mean? One day Igneous decided that he wouldn’t be able to take much more of the pressure, the heat, it was all too much. But that day, that day would change Igneous, for better or for worse. Igneous felt it before it hit, a shallow rumbling deep within the earth. In an instant it exploded upon him. The very Earth was shifting and taking him with it. Igneous was torn, broken, and mashed together. He had never experienced such pain in his life. He was heated, warped into an unrecognizable shape and slammed into another rock. When the earth stilled he was different. No longer was he Igneous, no longer was he a sedimentary monster, he was something different altogether. Igneous had changed. The earth’s violent shaking had changed him, morphed him into a shape he wouldn’t have recognized. He was still a strange mixture of minerals, but he was solid, he was blended. He didn’t feel foliated, no he felt solid. Igneous had regained some strength, and he could feel it. And so he lay deep within the earth, lying in wait for his chance to re-enter the field of battle and pay back the forces that put him through hell. Igneous, son of Magma was ready to earn back his honor, and make his family proud. He would stand up to the weathering fiend, and he would stand tall. No wind could tear him down, no tide could break him. And so we leave our hero, Igneous, Son of Magma. A brave warrior to the core, and an honorable one at that. If he had seen himself millions of years ago, he may not have recognized himself. He has made his way through a cycle of which he was unaware, for the life of a rock is a cycle indeed. Soon he will find himself melted down, he will cool and be thrust unto the earth once again to brave the ferocious forces of the surface realm.

Legacy of Persia by Nikolas Kurlanski I am from royal blood and the palace the city of Palmyra I am from the servants and pleasure the courtyard and fountains the beds and sweet silk my parentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; love and care I am from the desert and sands the blistering heat and numbing nights camels and beetles the nomads who travel non-stop I am from roamers and traders the love of my family that keeps me alive the dreams and nightmares From cries of help and cries of pain I am from the Old Faith and gods of the Old Faith the trees and paradise Persia and the sweet land of Persia The Great Desert I am from the wise the brave the bold the exiled the people I am from the King of Persia the mothers the fathers the kids and animals I am from Legacy of Persia

Where I’m From on Alphabet of Dreams by Sarah Johnson I’m from the blood of Palmyra’s kings From the swirling sands, and skies of endless stars That my brother Babak stares at peacefully I’m from a mother gone and a father who may be The loss of my family is the loss of my heart I’m from fear and helplessness, no food for my brother to eat From sneaking dates into my shawl to Cold caves that Babak and I crouch in at night I am from the City of the Dead, pretending to be a boy I am from the loss of a peaceful life I’m from newfound hope and betrayal A future-telling brother who has special dreams From hate of a woman named Zoya Who stole my Babak away to sell From desperation to find him safe again I’m from tiredness, aches, and travel Riding a donkey to the Magus’s caravan From glaring red sun to endless night On the deserts and sands of Persia I’m from relief and reuniting Until the tide turns, and we all must run once more. I’m from the blood of Palmyra’s kings, and The loss of my family is the loss of my heart.

Forever and Always by Sydney Meredith-Pickett My grandfather was very special to me. My whole family called him Grandpa Spike, Spike, or Uncle Spike. The adults sometimes called him Spooker, which I didn't get, but I liked all of his names. He loved boats and cars. His whole office at his house had been decorated with model cars. I remember playing with some of them. He always had these cough drops that tasted like candy. He'd let his grandchildren have some of them. My favorite was grape. I never found out what his was, but I have a feeling that it was red. It always seemed like his favorite color was red. I didn't get to see him a lot because he lived in Ohio. He was the best grandfather anyone could ask for. He had problems with dairy sometimes, but he didn't care. He would always have a really tall glass of milk with his lunch, dinner, and breakfast. Every time we went out for ice cream he always got some. That's what I liked about him. He did what he wanted. He was a smart man and I guess that's why he let the doctors unplug. One dark-skied day my dad came to pick up my sister Taylor and me at our mom's house. We got into the car and said our hellos and how our day was. It seemed like everything was normal. Then my dad mentioned that Grandpa Spike was going to die. I didn't know how to react. I stared out the window while my dad talked. Things went by so fast. “They're going to pull the plug on his life support,” my dad said glumly. Grandpa was the one who decided to let them pull it. He had been sick for a while, so it was understandable. I thought he would survive like he had in the past. I was wrong, but I stayed calm. He called me “Syd-the-Kid,” something that I could not get out of my mind. Later I talked to my mom on the phone because she was in Ohio. She had booked a flight the minute she heard Grandpa was really sick. I mostly worried about everyone else in my family. I talked to my step-grandmother who we called Grandma Jo. Her voice sounded different. Depressed. I never even got to say goodbye or see Grandpa one last time. That was heart wrenching. I don't think I smiled the rest of that day and I smile a lot. I probably looked lost or gray as the sky outside. It made perfect sense. I always thought of gray skies when something bad happened. Later that night I suddenly woke up in my bed and started crying. I felt like there was a piece of myself missing. I couldn't believe Grandpa was gone. I started having flashbacks about the times when I was with him. I remembered the time he took my cousins, my sister, and me to a science museum in Ohio. He paid for a movie, but when we got in there I felt sick because the screen was surrounding me. I felt bad that he had paid for it because my sister, he and I left to go see other stuff while my cousins stayed. I hadn't cried about him before. I was alone, so I figured this was the time. I couldn't cry in front of my sister. I had to be strong, but my sister and I didn't share a room. I wanted Grandpa Spike there to tell me everything was going to be okay. I cried like I was back at my old preschool and it was my first day. I hadn't wanted my mom to leave me there with people I didn't know. I cried hard that day. I thought my mom would never come back. I had a very vivid imagination, so I could just imagine her leaving me there and not coming back, even though she obviously did. Likewise, my grandfather was important to me. Just like my mom on the first day of my new preschool, I couldn't let go. My grandpa would always be with me, just not physically, which made me sad. But in my heart, he would always be with me. Forever and always.

The women was a pencil,she approached her old house in the woods, It was an odd time of year, the birds chirped in the dead trees. She was alone, all alone in that Big,Yellow,House. So alone... She bent down to retrieve the key, on the creaky steps, Now she wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t alone. The men were there. They tied her up right there All alone,on the porch, in the middle of the woods, In that Big, Yellow, House. She kicked, and struggled, But the ropes became tighter. I never saw the men, they were like ghosts, once they were done they left. They left that Big, Yellow, House, In the middle of the woods. They left her lifeless, with blood, drip, drip, dripping, from her mouth, They left her eyes wide open filled with pain. Just like they left me, cold and lifeless, drip,drip, dripping eyes wide open and filled with pain. Just praying he will deliver my soul the big, yellow, house, sighed In the middle of the woods. by Emma Downey

Roller Coaster by Sam Burgoyne The ride arrives, The lead car is mine for the taking, My friend and I snatch it, “Blah! Blah!” Says the operator. “C’mon!” Chiga! Chiga! Click, Clack, Cackled the coaster As we crawled towards the top, We finally commence our long descent, “Woohoo!” Up and down, The ride travels, Racing, rocketing, racketing, As we shoot around the track, The cars screech to a stop, We scream, “One more time!” Our wish was granted, Once more the ride begins, “Woohoo!” We all exclaimed, For the last time that day.

Hibachi Grill by Olivia Taylor Chop! Chop! Vegetables sliced. Carrots, onions, peppers, and meat mixed with rice. Sizzle! Sizzle! Liquids jump. Teriyaki sauce sprinkles the grill. Bang! Chatter! Bang! Knives fight, as the chef prepares our orders. Spices, sprinkle my mouth. Food, fills my stomach. Laughs, lift our souls.

Kate Steinberg

Sweetie by Becca Hamlen When you are six, you think nothing bad will ever happen to you. Your mom and dad protect you from everything. The world revolves around you and your feelings. That's what I thought until my beloved hermit crab, Sweetie, died. I thought my life would never be complete because my hermit crab that I was afraid of was gone. I was afraid, but I just loved knowing this creature was mine. She might have been a crab to some people, but to me she was family. I loved watching her climb up her log, then going upside down. I called her Spidercrab. I was not prepared for what came at me that rainy morning, but I never would have been. I came skipping down the stairs, all excited because I was going to teach Sweetie to dance that day. I lifted the poorly made pink lid off the cage and waited for my pet to greet me. The cage smelled odd. “Sweetie,” I yelled impatiently, “WAKE UP!” She didn't budge. “SWEETIE!” I screamed while picking up her motionless body. I moved the shell and her legs were not attached. Skinny little red legs lay scattered below her body. I stood next to the table in shock. I ran in circles and screamed, “MOM, Sweetie's legs fell off! AHHHHH! Where's the glue?” I trashed the cabinets looking hard for the Elmer's glue until my mom came over. “Honey, I think Sweetie is dead,” my mom said. My heart sank down to my toes. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” I moaned. I ran and sat on the couch, crying so hard I was shaking. My mom gave me a juice box, hoping it would calm me down. My first pet was dead. I was no longer the proud owner of a small pink hermit crab. I was no longer the cool girl that had the only hermit crab in the school. I was nothing. When you are six, you are going to be a princess or superhero when you grow up. But then, as quick as a blink, you realize that life is no fairy tale.

Cruise by Justin Leeman “OOOUUU” the horn hallows happily through the air. We were on our way I see the cars arriving almost aimlessly. I hear it again, “OOOUUU” I noticed water slides, mini golf, ping pong. All on the sky deck. But what I saw for the first time, was leaving the country.

Isabella Bachelder

Being Sick by Rachel Male Cough, hack, gasp! Powerful pulses pound the inside of my fragile fair head. Hammers beating against my brain and skull. I have to sit up to help slow the Cough, hack, gasp! That is so violent I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t breathe. Blood gushes out of my nose a million miles a minute, faster than the fastest waterfall. Cough, hack, gasp! Why wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t this worsening pain stop?! The scene of a car accident lies in my hand covering my nose. I wish this was something, anything but what it really is, blood. Spewing from my nose, splashing out of my hand, splattering on the snow white carpet as I make my way to the bathroom. Screaming for help as I run down the hall which seems to be growing longer as I go. After forever of my dad rubbing my back the sounds of cough, hack, gasp! all slowly subside so only my tears run the blood has stopped.

Shape Poem by Matt Pisini

I the one who wields the metal keeper has the choice of prosperity and death to stain my saber and rid the world of harm or to stay my blade in courtesy of his intentions, what one would do for his life is not known until his life walks the line, For buried is the sword in the stone of my grip unable to escape its job it is forced to do the bidding of the abominable a merciless eagle distinct in all ways silver winged tips slice through all peace rudimentary it stays no matter the millenniums since its birth death will always be intertwined with its crimson extremities

The Rock Cycle . . . IN SPACE!! by Claire Nicholson My tail curled comfortably into the sleep-pod as the glass cover lowered with a hiss of steam and sealant. Before the clear glass could turn opaque, I turned my head to glance at my friend Luka in the pod across the hall. “Please keep still,” whispered a pre-recorded voice from the speaker above my ear-hole. I tried to relax. This was it. What I had been waiting for. Training for. Longing for. “Please take deep breaths. The sleep gas needs to enter your system.” Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Blackness tugged out the edges of my vision. Black light. White glass. Black. In. White. Out. Black . . . “Please exit your sleep-pod.” I felt like I was being pulled from the deepest of slumbers. I didn’t want to get up or move. I wanted to . . . zzzz!! My back bone arched as I writhed, trying to escape the painful sting of the electric shock. “Please exit your sleep-pod.” Was it just my imagination or did the voice sound more forceful? I clambered onto the edge of my pod, the glass cover already open. Around the ship, dozens of pods were already opened and my fellow passengers massaging their stiff legs and yawning widely. Luka flashed me a tired grin. I mouthed to her, “How was it?” She shrugged, signifying that her trip hadn’t differed greatly from mine. Luka and I have been friends since we were ten and had been enrolled in Young-School together. We had gone to the university together and both excelled in geology. Which was why Yermin had chosen us for this trip anyway. My race as a whole tries not to interfere into human’s lives or even visit Earth that often, but our geology society had demanded a trip to Earth to gather rocks. To most humans this probably would be the most boring thing aliens could do while at Earth, but on our home planet of Juki, our rocks were completely different. Our rocks used sunlight and water to grow and to change, but the rocks on Earth underwent a strange transformation called the “Rock Cycle”. Our government had granted the geology society with enough resources to send an expedition to Earth - including two newly minted geologists, me and Luka. “Alrighty folks!” Yermin, our expedition leader, called, standing up from her seat on her vacant pod. “Our space craft has cut through the layers of space and time and we have literally jumped from Juki to right beyond Earth’s moon! The boring part is done! We’re going to gather our rocks tonight and then all authority reverts to these two.” She jerked a thumb at me and then Luka. “The lab is set up in levels two, three and four of the craft. Remember, our goal is not just to collect rocks, it’s to study them. Fyn and Luka, come with me to oversee the rock collection, the rest of you loafers, get this dust-bucket flying!” I followed Luka out the door after Yermin and onto the motorized walkway leading to the lab. Our race as a whole is not known for its fast pace. With three legs 46

and a dragging tail we are forced to a quick waddle, thus, moving walkways dominate most of our buildings. We arrived at the neat, white, round door to the lab. Luka and I were both bouncing on the tip of our tails; neither of us had seen the the lab yet. Yermin quickly punched in the key code and stood back, allowing us to rush forward. The space craft was massive, and the lab took up most of that space, but I couldn’t have imagined how big it actually was “This is incredible!” I burst out, the excitement in my eyes mirroring Luka’s. A small mountain of dirt sat in the middle of the room surrounded by a glass cube. I could see the heat modules below it, ready to create magma. Across the room was a pit with a huge crusher that would supply the pressure. Lined on the wall were shelves of bones and feathers that we would use to create fossils. “Look at these heat sensors! They’re at least model 2.0!” Luka edged toward them. “2.4, actually,” corrected Yermin, “But that’s not what we’re here for. Come.” She led us to a smaller command center off the side of the room. “This is where you’ll supervise the collection.” She continued, “We’ll be at Earth in about ten minutes so you’d better get ready.” Before we left Juki, Luka and I, along with another team of geologists, had pinpointed the best locations for the rocks to gather. We had learned plenty about the Rock Cycle from the human’s books and emails, so we knew what we were looking for. By leeching off the human’s Internet we had gathered that there were three different kinds of rocks: igneous, metamorphic, and sedimentary. Igneous rocks were magma that had cooled and hardened - hence the mini volcano. Metamorphic rocks were rocks that had been changed under extreme heat and pressure. And sedimentary rocks were stones whose sediments, smaller pieces of rock, had been cemented and compacted. But what we didn’t know is what occurred to certain rocks when the processes that were applied to different types of rock happened to them. Like what takes place when extreme heat and pressure is applied to a sedimentary rock? “Ready?” asked Luka as we sat down in the comfy seats for the collection. We each operated a joystick that moved a giant metal claw below the the ship and mine was feeling sweaty beneath my scaly hand. I couldn’t risk dropping rocks or alerting the humans we had been here - or even of our existence. The space craft was disguised in a light-reflecting camouflage that made it look like there was nothing but air. The only threat was other air crafts like what the humans use to get from place to place. I tenderly began to move my joystick, practicing with the claw. It was surprisingly easy to operate and responded to my every touch. I lightly pushed downward and from the sight-screen in front of me I could view the claw darting toward the rocky Earth. With a small press of the green button on top of the stick, the claw reached and scooped up some of the rock. We knew from research that this was obsidian; right now I believed we were over the western part of what humans call “North America.”

Luka and I took turns collecting great scoopfuls of rock as the ship flew across Earth to the best areas of rock. We deposited the rock in a holding bay at the bottom of the craft. Other workers were now sorting them into different boxes which would be sent up to the lab in a matter of minutes. “Can you stand it?” I asked Luka. “No, imagine, us. Us! We’re the pioneers of the rock cycle!” Her eyes shone. “Sample one . . . .” the voice that had spoken in the sleep pod sounded. It let out a loud “Beep!” from somewhere as a large hatch in the wall opened to reveal the treasures of Earth. Luka and I rushed from our seats to the hatch and examined the rocks. “Sandstone . . .” I mused, “Sedimentary. See, you can see the bits of smaller rocks all squished together.” I rubbed my thumb over the rough rock. “Fyn!” Luka chided, “You’ve contaminated it! Put on your gloves.” I snapped a rubbery pair of gloves over my hands as my face burned. Already I had messed up. Carefully, I extracted the piece of the rock and tossed it into the trash chute. I wouldn’t make a mistake like that again. I could see Luka scribbling in our notes as she asked, “Which do you want to start with?” “Uh . . let’s use the heat and pressure thingy.” Luka nodded and carried a sample over to the vat where we would experiment. She emptied the container of sandstone into the pit as I punched the right buttons on the control panel. “Applying heat . . . .” the ever-present voice stated. I could see the heat gauge on the control screen blink on. It rose slowly, white, yellow, orange, red. “Applying pressure . . . .” The crusher lowered down on top of the sandstone. “And now we wait.” Luka glanced at the timer ticking downward on the screen. “And now we wait,” I echoed. We stood in silence and excitement imagining the rock changing. I was broken out of my thoughts by the voice (which was starting to get on my nerves) “Sample two . . . .Beep!” Luka and I scrambled over to the open hatch and switched out our gloves, not wanting to mix samples. “Granite,” Luka declared. “An igneous rock.” I peered at it; it was speckled with bits of gray, black, and white. The little flecks reminded me of sediments, but they were flatter and smoother and more solid. “Let’s see if we can turn this into sediments.” I nodded and lifted the box to a glass tube set in the corner of the room. I dumped the rock into the middle of the tube and shut the door, sealing it tightly. Luka pressed the button labeled “Start.” The chamber was simulating weathering, a process that broke down rocks into sediments using wind, water, and ice. First came the wind, blowing lightly at first and then picking up speed. Everything in the lab was done at a much higher “frequency” than in nature. If we tried to simulate nature exactly we’d all be dead before we could see the results of our experiments. Which is why the “wind” cut away easily at the stone. Suddenly the air stopped blowing and water poured from the roof of the chamber, running smoothly over the rock. Faster and faster it gushed.

“Sample three . . .” croaked the voice. I stayed and watched the water stop flowing and freeze, cracking the rock. Luka went to the hatch and called back to me. “Metamorphic, gneiss!” She pronounced this like “nice.” She began preparing for the rock to heat and melt under the volcano and turn into igneous rock. “Hey, did you know that there are two different kinds of igneous rock? Intrusive which is formed inside the earth and extrusive which cools outside the Earth,” I asked as I strolled over. “What’s the difference?” Luka looked skeptical. “Intrusive igneous rocks have larger crystal grains because they cool slower. Extrusive rocks have fine grained crystals because they cool faster.” Luka made a grunt of agreement. “And did you know the difference between magma and lava?” I pressed. “Magma is molten rock inside the earth and lava has erupted from volcanoes.” “Okay Mr. Facts . . . help me set up the heat modules.” Luka grinned. A little while later, Luka and I were spinning in the comfy chairs we had retrieved the rocks in, waiting for one of our experiments to finish. “This is sooooo long!” Luka whined. “It’s better than millions of years,” I pointed out. She stuck her tongue out at me. A loud buzz interrupted the rest of our conversation. “The sandstone!” I gasped. “It’s done!” We quickly dashed (or waddled in our three-legged case) over to the sample. “Hey!” I cried looking down into the pit. “Did you switch the samples?” “What? No! Are you crazy?!” Luka exclaimed. “The sandstone looks exactly like the gneiss we just stuck in there!” I pointed to the mini-volcano. “What the . . .” Luka stared downward. “Fyn! We’ve been so stupid!” she shouted. I goggled at her. “The rock cycle! Cycle! The different types of rocks change! The sedimentary sandstone becomes the metamorphic gneiss!” I gaped. “So . . . we just changed this rock? Just by using heat and pressure?” Luka bobbed her head. “No way, people will never believe this!” “Way, Fyn. We just need to finish up the notes on this. Foliated or non-foliated?” “Hmm?” I asked. “You know, foliated, the minerals are lined up in layers. Or non-foliated, the minerals have formed but not in layers. Metamorphic rocks are either foliated or nonfoliated.” “I’d say foliated.” I examined the gneiss. “Me too.” Luka scribbled quickly in her notebook. “So if sandstone turns into gneiss under heat and pressure . . . what does gneiss turn into when it melts and cools?” We were eyeing the volcano out of the corners of our eyes when the loud “Buzz!” rang out. Excitement fueling our steps, we rushed to the glass cube. Using a large pair of tongs I extracted the rock from the outside of the volcano. 49

“Extrusive,” muttered Luka. I grinned as she drew a tray full of tools and chemicals toward her. “I’m testing whether it’s Basaltic, Andesitic, or Granitic.” “Speaking of what it is . . . what kind of rock is it?” “Granite!” Luka exclaimed. “The gneiss turned into granite when it melted and cooled!” She sprinkled some drops onto the lump of stone. “Just what I thought: Granitic.” “Light in color and light in density,” I clarified. “Not to mention high in Silicon - ” “Unlike Basaltic, which is dark in color and heavy in density and high in Iron and Magnesium,” I finished for her. “Or Andesitic which is a mixture of both,” Luka added, not to be out done. “And the final question is . . . ” “Buzz!” “ . . . what does granite turn into?” I concluded.

“Alright . . . what do we know?” Luka asked before we opened the chamber. “Sedimentary rocks can be detrital, chemical, or organic,” I answered. “Detrital rocks are rocks that have been weathered and eroded and then cemented or compacted. Organic rocks are rocks formed from once living organisms. Chemical rocks are minerals that come out of dissolved solution.” “Definition of weathering . . .” Luka prompted. “Weathering is when wind, water, or ice wears away rocks and breaks them down into smaller parts called sediments. Eroding is when the sediments are moved from place to place by wind or water. Then they are deposited where they can be cemented or compacted together.” I took a breath, “What are the four sizes of sediments?” I challenged. “Umm smallest to largest uhh clay, silt, and ahh sand and then gravel,” Luka smiled in satisfaction. “Last question, what’s the difference between compaction and cementation?” “Hard one.” I frowned. “Compaction is when layers of sediments build up and the top layers press down on the bottom ones and make the small sediments stick together. Cementation is when a solution of water and minerals soaks through the sediments and act as a natural glue.” “Ready . . .” Luka pressed the open button to the chamber and the rock was revealed. “Sandstone!” I yelled. “It’s a full cycle!” “Remember Fyn, these are just three rocks,” warned Luka. “I know, I know,” I protested. “But this is amazing! When sedimentary rocks undergo heat and pressure they turn into metamorphic rocks. When metamorphic rocks melt and cool they turn into igneous rocks. And when igneous rocks break down into sediments and then form solid rock, they’re sedimentary rocks!” “You know,” Luka mused, “I bet it could work the other way too . . . sedimentary rocks melt and cool into igneous rocks. Igneous rocks go through heat and pressure

they turn into metamorphic rocks. And when metamorphic rocks break down and reform, they’re sedimentary rocks.” “Not to mention all three types of rocks can break down into sediments and melt into magma! This is incredible.” I sighed. “We truly are Juki pioneers of the rock cycle aren’t we Luka?” She nodded and we went to close down the lab, imagining the things we would discover tomorrow.

Tate Porter

The flag waves at the children at school. Watch them grow up and watches them learn. As they start to crawl, to walk, to run. The flag waves as the children learn. About science and math, of reading and writing. The children grow up and become new born people. They start to pair up and they start to leave. The flag waves as the young go to work. Watching as they scribble for deadlines and salaries. The flag waves as the young go to war. With guns and rockets. The flag waves as they grow old. Wrinkles and canes. Prunes and bingo. The old get nurtured by the new, and rest their heads on their soft beds. Their young go off to school. To learn as they learned, to crawl as they crawled, to walk as they walked. They pledge allegiance to the world, to keep it safe and happy. And to the people, for which it stands for. It’s a world of war, it’s a world of pain, it’s a world of worry and a world of the insane. As the old lie in bed they think and remember. Remember the friends, the people they loved. Remember the fathers and mothers, the daughters and sons. The cousins, the uncles. The aunts who cared. They sigh as they sleep. They sleep as they sigh. Their heads fall on their soft cotton pillows. And the flag waves. Co re y Mi tc he ll -L aB ri e

Poems from Mud City by Mariah Belisle

I am from rolling hills, sheep and goats From rising with the sun to falling asleep with the moon I am from a small village, living in a small world, never leaving my village, until now From a life as a shepherd to a life as a refugee I am from a lonesome jail, framed for something I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t do From sitting, waiting, wondering, why did he frame me? I am from being bailed out by a tall, dark stranger From a new life of happiness to being kicked out onto the streets I am from a refugee camp, working five jobs just to keep a life going, a life for me and my dog From walls as tall as the trees, formed out of mud, mud city From hunger, eating out of the trash and dump, if Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m lucky, scraps from the butcher I survive by keeping all hope alive Survive because of dreams, dreams of sailing the seas to England Survive because of thoughts of becoming free Survive because of hope, and desperation I survive.Â

Where I'm From by Maddy Beaulieu I'm from the growing hatred for refugee camps, filled with hundreds of other young girls. I'm from the ruined land of Afghanistan, Fleeing from bombings and explosions. I'm from the loss of my family struggling in Afghanistan, if they're still alive. I'm from the passionate love for my dog, who's stayed with me through thick and thin. I'm from the adventurous and independent side of my family tree, ready to conquer the impossible. I'm from the fervent love of France, hoping one day I may venture there. I'm from the powerful opinion of women's rights, believing they should be treated equal. I'm from the insanity of doing anything to get a job, even dressing as a boy, to earn money for France. I'm from a hard-working disposition, doing chores and working for my dream adventure. I'm from the land of horror and dismay I'm from the hopeful beliefs of thriving I'm from the family I lost long ago I'm from the refugee camps of Pakistan I'm from the optimism of my adventure I'm from a self-sufficient character Victorious over anything in my way.

Mud City: Shauzia by Ben Williams I am from bombshells and war. I am from heat waves and dirty clothes. I am from mud and dirt. I have met the homeless and the hopeless. I leave Pakistan, tired and worried. I am from those who have left their past behind. I am from children with no hope, no future. I have seen those who change themselves for hope of a better life. I am from the city, loud and buzzing. I have lived in refugee camps that trap humans like rats. I am from those like me. Those who have lost all they ever knew. All they ever had. I am from Mud City. Working my way to the sea. I have lost my identity. I disguise myself as a boy, changing who I am. I wonder of my family, of my lost life. Do they think of me? Are they still alive? It is only the unknown that scares me.

Memoir by Ali Swaney It was a chilly evening, the sun partially covered by its soft blanket of clouds on the day that it happened. Both of my parents had picked me up from soccer, which was a rarity. They even picked up my sister, Caroline, as well. We talked about the drills in soccer practice, and how the fields were still sloppy from the rain the previous night, and we chatted throughout the entire car ride. Our parents listened but did not seem fully engaged in the conversation. It has not struck me until now how odd it was that they picked us up together. They would rarely do that. It did not seem a special occasion, just a coincidence, and I had ignored it. I’m glad that I remember them doing at least this one thing together, because now it is a memory that I hold close to me; it was the last thing that they did together. They seemed grim, and, remembering seeing them fighting in the kitchen one day, it occurred to me that something momentous was going to happen. The exciting conversations about soccer ended when we walked into the house. Then my mom spoke, “We have something very important to discuss with the two of you.” My mind spun with the endless possibilities, trying to figure out which one made the most sense to me. Then, out of the blue, I said, “Are you guys gonna get divorced?” From then on I understood what the look of complete and utter astonishment looks like. Imagine how complete and utter astonishment appears- that is how I would describe my parents’ faces in that moment. They did not reply to me, but simply said, “Well, lets talk about this honey,” and ushered me upstairs to their bedroom, the meeting place for all of our “big talks.” I sat down on the giant king sized bed, still smiling at getting the answer correct, but still not understanding what the answer actually meant. “What’s deevorcet mean?” asked my little sister who was six at the time. “It means,” I blurted out, “That mommy and daddy are going to not live together anymore, and they are gonna get un-married. It also means that-” My mom cut me off. “Honey, me and daddy aren’t going to live together anymore.” I didn’t understand why she cut me off when that was exactly what I was saying, but I did not interrupt her. Hearing those words emanating from a voice box other than my own sounded very different. From my lips, it all just sounded like a joke. From my mother’s lips, it sounded like the world was going to collapse. I burst into tears, quiet at first, then I began to sob. Pity for myself emerged from my lips, and I felt as if I could implode and explode at the same time. Mommy? Daddy? Bleh? My mind couldn’t think straight; only one steady thought held tight. Is it my fault? 56

Of course, my parents repeated over and over that it had nothing to do with us, and that we should not feel guilty at all. I didn’t agree with that statement. I didn’t feel guilty, but I was the one who was being affected by this tragedy. That’s about the time the anger that I was unaware even existed inside of me bubbled to the surface, “What do you mean?! Of course we have something to do with this! We’re the ones that are being affected. You both get to have fun not loving each other anymore while we have to suffer through this without you understanding at all!” I could not believe how selfish they were. All of the incredible memories I had with them felt like they suddenly meant nothing, and in that one moment I wished that they weren’t my parents. I could feel anger and resentment burning throughout my whole body; I had never been so upset in my life. Now, again, looking back I realize how ridiculous these thoughts were, but they were my feelings, and I had all the right in the world to be feeling them. I am glad that I felt them then because I’ve learned my lesson: I don’t really think all of those things, I am simply mad and need to blame something. Everybody is like that; it’s just the way we work. My parents seemed to understand my outburst and calmly handled the situation with lots of hugs, kisses, and, “I’m sorry you feel that way, honey’s.” Soon after that I was ushered out of their room. Apparently they needed a little bit of time to themselves. In those moments I wished with all my little heart could wish that they would take it back, or say “April Fools!” They never did. Shortly after that they decided to show us where our dad would be living; I was fuming. I still could not accept the fact that they were getting divorced, let alone that he was already moving away! But my angry feelings changed when I reached the house. I loved it from the moment I saw it. I admired the hard-wood floors and the slight sugar cookie smell that I assumed came from the candles that stood ornately around the room. In those moments, I realized that I really was lucky, and I should accept that and appreciate it. I knew that this was not the end, but the beginning of a completely different life- a life that I was ready to start.

This Moment by Hannah Smith-Erb This moment is unique To be savored perfectly And yet I can't Why can't I? Isn't it easy? Have fun! Live it up! Don't worry! And yet I do worry You always hear In Oprah magazines And “Dear Abby” columns To live life to the fullest Except, how can you when it already Is?

Abigail Osgood

The Unknown by Matt Pisini From the perspective of Aristarchus, a Greek Philosopher from around 250 B.C.

I spend the nights looking for what is not known A whim for what is enigmatic consumes me If so, I am at the hand of gods Why have my anomalous ways gone unpunished I am criticized for what is my belief That in this world we claim to know There is but one thing we don始t The earth is inexplicable in her ways To be controlled by gods would demean her stature She has but one rule to follow her sisters and brothers in orbit In the pursuit of learning the ways of their progenitor May the day others realize that she is the one orbiting not orbited All those who doubted me will rue in anguish Until that day I spend the nights searching Into the abyss we call the heavens

Peace by Kathryn ParĂŠ Up the stairs On the left The one place I could call my own With music Pulsing throughout The perfect place that sheltered me From the outside world So that I would Muse and Ponder In peace

Julia Cunningham

Poetry by Sarah Johnson Long ago, there were real kingdoms of seven Now a land of red sun, howling sea, icy stone A time when children follow pathways to heaven And abandon the rest to walk alone. Home is in the blizzard, cold dusk and dark pine Home is in the mountains where the weirwoods lie Home is where the stars watch, and caribou go to flee Home is to the northlands, where we finally can be free

Ali Swaney 61

Untitled by Kathryn ParĂŠ A douse of cold water, brings goose bumps to my skin. Pounding small drops, each connected in its own way, form a wave that sweeps over me. Washed away is the weariness, and the feeling of clean, refreshing mountain water rises spirits. The work has been done, the exertion over, to be replaced with a reward. Calm radiates in a basin of clear, blue liquid that cleans away the dayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s remains. A flash of bluea feathered creature, navigating the skies. Wild orchids, ferns, and flowers blossom with a sweet smell that fills this pocket of the universe. Protected am I, from prying eyes, as the few moments of silence I get, wrap me in a blanket of security.

A Salty Impediment by Connor Rog This is a story, or rather a recollection, of the past summer’s learning curve. As you could have guessed by the expertly crafted title, it does involve the ocean. The sea is a seemingly endless expanse of liquid that, in its grace, contains a staggering amount of strength. It also involves courage, the ability to take on one’s fears and prevail no matter the odds, however slim. (this can often be confused with stupidity, but not in this case) It was a very steep learning curve for me and I have come away a more confident person, and much more self-sufficient. I stared off into the horizon, measuring the distance. I regarded the beauty and sheer power of the ocean. The wind blew strong into my eyes, and I had to look away. It was another day at SailMaine, Portland. The far off sound of the train chugging by East End beach slowly faded into the distance. I slowly walked towards the tent that the class would meet under. It was like walking on an edge. One side contained sure footing and safety. The other: uncertainty and danger. I started to wondered why my grandmother had signed me up for this, even though the answer was obvious. The sound of my instructor’s voice shook me out of my daze. “There you are Connor! Why don’t you get over here and we can get started,” he proposed. My head nodded slightly, unable to piece together words as I reflected on the previous lesson. I was skippering (manning the tiller and the main sheet) while my partner was crewing (manning the jib sheets). A safeguard of confidence had been formed from sailing with just the jib so I wasn’t too nervous. My confidence didn’t hold for long; as the main sail went up the wind took our boat and flung it pell mell into the sea. The slightest movement of the tiller shoved the entire boat to one side as we sped into the channel. The boat started to heel and I tried to hike out, but the I moved the tiller and the entire boat swung around. “Slow down!” My partner yelled at me. I let out the main sheet and the boat ceased to heel and decelerated to a semi-manageable speed. Shakes wracked my body like a rattle snake’s tail as I slowly turned our boat into a tack. We made it around the turn and we were getting some wind again when a sudden burst of wind gave our boat a jump start into action. I heard the far off cry of my instructor. “Pull in your sail, Connor! You’ll go faster!” “Isn’t this fast enough!” I thought to myself. My partner was yelling something at me, and I couldn’t tell what he was saying until I saw the yacht we were going for. “Dude what the hell are you doing! Tack! Tack!” I thrust the tiller away from me as hard as I could. I figured we had enough speed to make the tack, and we did, but avoiding the dock that I had just turned towards was a whole different question. The dock was soon to be upon us if I didn’t think fast. The tiller flew away from me and we began to turn away from the dock. I thought we were going to make it, but I was soon corrected when the port side of our vessel collided with the edge of the dock. Pitched to starboard near perpendicular to the water, I could have taken a drink from the murky green water. The flashback ended for the rest was just the same events repeated over and over. The only difference was the objects being crashed into. I “awoke,” so to speak, from my daydream to find myself standing around the table while the instructor began forming groups of two to crew the boats. I was partnered with some girl who I found slightly irksome. At least I knew how to sail. I was just a bit timid about it. I remembered 63

the promise I had made to myself the preceding night: “Don’t be afraid of a little water. Tell yourself that you know what you’re doing and you will be fine.” I sure hoped I was right. I cavorted from the motor boat onto the loading dock with all the speed I could levy while carrying a sail bag. The set up was very tedious since I was the only one out of the two of us that actually knew how to set up a sailboat. Slipping the sails out of the bag, I told her to set up the jib while I got the main sheet ready. Progress was swift, so I thought I would take a minute foray from my work and check in on her progress. What I found lying on the boat with only the foot attached was the jib, and my partner nowhere in sight. I looked over at my friend’s boat to find her chatting with him. It’s rather galling to me that she would rather flirt than actually learn something worthwhile. She was from Falmouth, for crying out loud! It was practically a necessity to know how to sail if you live there. Their mascot is a freaking yachtsmen! With as calm a face as I could muster, I traipsed over to her and said in a casual tone. “How’s the jib coming?” She recoiled at the sound of my voice and let out a pitiful yelp. “You best keep those noises an octave lower or you might have to pay all the sailboat owners here for window repairs,” I remarked, fiddling with my ear to get it to stop ringing. “You scared me you really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that but yeah I’m really sorry I got off task but they needed help and I couldn’t let them just be here alone so I thought maybe I could help them but then I got distracted...” It’s a wonder how much air people can hold in their lungs. She kept going on and on until I gave up and just set up the ship by myself. The constant stream of banter from her mouth floated from behind me as I struggled with the pulley systems. The outhaul was finally cleated and we were ready to go. Strike that, I was ready to go. My partner was still yammering away to the other kids. “Man what a busybody,” I thought to myself as I called her name. She jolted around at the sound of my voice, and I saw her lungs filling with air. “It’s okay,” I said quickly, preventing the dam, that was her mouth, from breaking and spewing a new river of nonsense. With a slam, the hull of the boat hit the surf and generated a ripple of water particles. My eyes followed the ripple until it began to ebb and returned to its original course of action. “Connor!” The shrill voice of my partner jolted me from my pensive state. “You have to get in the boat and untie the main sheet!” “I’d like to see you do it,” I grumbled inaudibly, stepping into the boat and yanking the main sheet loose. “Come on, time is of the essence!” I nagged. “What does that even mean?” She inquired. “It means scoot your boot so we can get going.” I gesticulated for her to get in the boat. She put one timid foot in the boat, as if she was testing the water temperature. I had an ardent desire to rock the boat right then, but I was able to suppress the urge. The next foot finally landed in the boat. Waves gently nudged the vessel as I waited for her to finally sit down and grasp the jib sheets. “Are you comfortable enough? Or would you like a pillow to sit on?” I said mockingly. “No I’m fine just sail the boat al...” Whatever else came out of her mouth was drowned out by her screaming as we were “spirited away” by a particularly potent gust of wind. Fear began to grip my stomach as the boat began to heel. 64

“It’s okay you got this. Just have fun,” my mind advised me. I thought it over in my head. “Have fun,” My face lit up. I let out a loud guffaw, if not a little forced. “That the best ya got? T’is but a wee summer breeze. I can blow harder than that ya hear!” I mimicked. “What are you doing? Are you crazy!” My partner yelled to me. “Aye! We be pirates young lass! T’is about adventure and courage our work is! Plunder n’ pillage is what we do best; take everything there is, leave none for the rest.” A pillar whizzed by the boat only inches from my back. Amidst all her screaming I was finding this quite enjoyable. I got to scare the living daylights out of this girl and learn to sail. What more could could a guy like me ask for? I was really getting into it when the instructor called us in to dock. It was a tad bit arduous to get our boat in amongst the others, but we all eventually made it. We packed up our boats with minimal impediments and were on our way back to land in no time. I felt proud of myself for conquering my fear of the ocean and having fun. By the time I was getting in the car to go home I was already looking forward to the next day. The ocean was a bane to me ever since I knew what it was. Despite being a proficient swimmer I was always alarmed by its depth and power. It was mostly the fish that unnerved me. I couldn’t see them but they could see me. They also had home field advantage. When I was told that I was signed up for sailing I got really excited, but when I actually got into the boat I was terrified out of my wits. After coming to a consensus with myself I resolved to try harder to face my tribulation and have as much fun as possible. I found that laughter is more powerful than most think. Over all I have come out with a new skill under my belt that will hopefully benefit me as I continue down the road of life with more confidence and an enhanced character.

Makenzie Copp

Shape Poem by Katy Price

The serene loveliness and sublime glory of 1000 foot towers which always loom over the world, like a sky scraper waiting for its workers to flood into the watchtower as they tramp on its peaceful body soon to be departing and relocating on to another man’s land. She’ll be sitting a front the mountain when they come to rest after the exhausting hike through the water’s close friend, her brother in action, as the bugs skip across the ripples, like a sweater dotted with beads, hiding something beautiful underneath, each creature hidden like a toy in a box awaiting its escape, waiting for the day they can reach out and depart.

Haunted House by Bailey Willerson Whoosh went the wind, Bellowing its tune. Sending branches flying, Skyward towards the moon. Ding dong, the doorbell rang, Creak went the last stair. Just then, the door had opened, But nobody was there. Music hums from the grand piano, A melancholy melody. Then a girl let out a howl, Which erupted from the balcony. Sounds come from all over, Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nothing you can do. The only way to remain unfrightened, Is to believe hauntings arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t true.

Maggie Reed 67

Poetry about A Mango Shaped Space by Maddy LePage Setting: winter time, cold, but her colors let her see more than the cold. A swish of winter weather As the chills of the winter, come swooping in all I see are bright colors. The colors of wind, the colors of the weather. Just come swooping in.

Secrets to tell Will I ever be normal? I ask myself, the thought of not being normal, made me keep my secret for so long. Now lying in my bed, I know it’s time to tell. Will people understand? Will they look at me funny when I pass in the halls? I felt truly alone in this world. Until I met him, the one who changed it all for me! He told me my name was purple and orange. That’s when I knew I wasn’t alone in this strange world.

The struggles of colors

I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t remember the first time I saw my colors. They just came to me. floating out into a river of colors. First red, then blue with spots. Am I normal?Will the colors go away? I am in a big room filled with books, this is where they tell me I cannot be cured. Now alone in my room, I think to myself what would it be like to see the way everyone else sees? Though my colors cause bad grades, life with out them... would seem to be impossible.

Now I can see the change Now I see from another perspective, from the perspective of others. They changed the way I look at life for good. Now I know I am not alone in this world. There are others like me, who see colors in numbers and letters. Colors like blue and purple, some with dots and some without.

Poem by Josh Coyle The ropes creak and groan As they are slowly pulled upon Hoisting up the main sail Preparing for an all day trip. Cruncchh. Woosh wush wush Goes the sail as it bellies with wind. Welling up until it hits the top, and I take a break to look up I love the feeling of sailing. The “cabumps” of the waves hitting the bow of my boat soothe me, and I can’t help but savor the salty smell, swelling up from the sea. Soon, I will be in the middle of the ocean No land in sight, Just surrounded by the brilliant bright water. There’s no feeling like it. Free. Free from the feelings of normal life The only thing to worry about Is where I’m going next.

Kendra Anderson 70

A Life for a Life by Mick Washo That morning my mom and I were supposed to go to the Bowdoin dump and run. The Bowdoin dump and run is when all the students leave and instead of shipping their stuff home they abandon it. I could only picture the treasures. Treasures that were in the form of mini fridges and ski gear would all be laid out in the ice hockey arena. The day was going to be amazing. We would get up and go out to breakfast. It would probably just be at Mr.Bagel, but it seemed like the best thing in the world to me. Like shattering glass my day was ruined. I knew it right away, but once I found out why nothing mattered any more. Before I even knew what had happened, I began to cry too. I was only in fourth grade so seeing my mom sobbing was a scary sight. When my mom finally calmed me down, she explained what had happened. My uncle Sam had died in the night; he was confirmed dead at 3:00 in the morning. No one knew the cause of death at that time. He and I were never really close. There was no particular reason for that, just the fact that he didn’t stay in one place for long. When I was young, maybe 3-5 years old, I faintly remember him spending Christmas with us. But I have been told that I only met him a dozen times. After his death we went through his truck and found notes he had written to himself with our phone numbers on them. Sadly he had never called. That was probably the hardest part of his death; the fact that we hadn’t been in contact with him for six years. Maybe if he had lived just one more month we might have had some closure; I might have memories of my uncle. The night that he died he was in the town of Gray, just down the road from my grandmother’s house. I like to think that the next morning he was planning on visiting all of us. There was one good thing that came out of my uncle’s death. My cousin Hainesy, as we call him, had lived in Phillips, Maine his entire life. When he was sixteen he was a passenger in a car accident. The driver was his friend’s mom and she died in the collision. He was laid up for about a year and couldn't go to school. The doctors told him he would never walk again, but he did. He tried to keep up with his studies, but it was impossible without being in school. He had little or no family support. His mom, sister and best friend were alcoholics and addicted to drugs, but he was not. The teachers told him that he wouldn’t be able to graduate with his class. This infuriated him so he dropped out. Not the right choice by any means, but in his position I can easily see where he was coming from. There seemed to be no hope left in his life. I had never remembered meeting Hainesy before, and my mom hadn’t seen him in years. He came down for the funeral and told us all about what had happened in his life. In the end my mom invited him to stay with us for just a couple weeks after the funeral. He ended up making a week or two visit every other month. Then, after a little consulting with my dad, my mom offered Hainesy the opportunity of staying with us for as long as it took him to get his life back together. He finally got out of Phillips and into the real world. When he first moved in I thought it was the coolest thing ever; I finally had a big brother! After a week or so, though, I began to notice that he was around all the time. That wasn’t terrible; it just got under my skin. Every time I sat down to have dinner with my parents

and sister, he was there. Now don’t get me wrong; he’s a great person and means well. He just disrupted the flow of the family. Part of the deal of his stay with us was that he had to get his license by a certain deadline. Then the next big part was his getting a job. Tougher than it sounds in this economy if you don’t have a degree and have never had a job before. This is when I got frustrated. He would go out every day to look for a job in the late morning and would come back mid-afternoon. That to me seemed lazy, like he wasn’t trying. My parents have always taught me that if you’re going to do a job, do it right. Clearly he was not putting in much effort. We practically saved his life. Who knows what he would have done if his dad had just died and he felt that he had no purpose in life. In addition to the changes already mentioned, Hainsey lost 50+ pounds. He conquered his fear of driving after a life threatening accident. He also got a job, an apartment and a car. He now lives and works in South Portland. He’s not wealthy by any means, but he’s getting by. He must have eventually got the message my parents were giving me. After six months he moved out. Just as the college students moved on to a new life by graduating and getting jobs, so did my uncle and my cousin. That day many people’s lives drastically changed. My uncle’s death saved my cousin.

Sean Richard 72

Small Towns by Brooke Lawrence On a rainy Saturday afternoon, two people sat on a bench outside the yoga center. “I’m not sure what they’re doing in there, but I’m sure as heck it isn’t yoga.” Richard tried to hide the exaggerated sigh escaping his deflated cheeks. “That took you long. You’ve gotten soft, my friend, who am I supposed to discuss the latest pop culture figure with when I’m sitting outside the nail salon counting the days until retirement?” Andy considered this, but not long. “You aren’t obligated to usher her around like that. She’d probably prefer if her friends picked her up and they rode to the mall without seatbelts.” “Wouldn’t that be nice.” “Yeah.” Next to the building there was a small mini-mart, only big enough to hold a variety of produce and meat stands and a loud Mexican family. A man with a chiseled face and slightly unbuttoned shirt emerged from the back, rolling two mangled shopping carts and thrusting them into the yoga parking lot. “That’s definitely not good shopping cart etiquette, wouldn’t you say?” Richard looked over at Andy like he’d just noticed his company, and, glancing at the store, said, “All I see is a big mass of broken tar. Wonder when they’ll fix that.” “It’s not so much that they don’t fix it as the road officials drive down here every Wednesday to get their jerky and pay no mind to the obvious gorge in the road. Bastards. One more reason why I hate this town.” “So get out, leave, leave with the clothes on your back and your kids clinging to their pillows, nobody will care. Better than staying here and dying in your house only to be dragged to that pit they call a cemetery, Jesus.” “I think my grandmother’s cat was the only worthy living thing who ever had the pleasure of rotting in that place. One more reason why--” “You hate this town.” A bird broke the momentary silence. “Boomtown, Mass, the land of the downsized, the derisive, and the deserted.”

Freedom: Wild Stallions by Kieran Volk I stand around wild and free, running like the wind, with the wind No place in mind, no hope at all but the vast open plain I feel the wind blowing, pushing me along like the long fresh grass, blowing at my feet I move with my family, at my own free will no care in mind I watch stranger creatures watching from afar I see stranger creatures among us on others alike I watch in horror as my home goes to flames being demolished I know it will grow back bringing in my vast plain my freedom coming back I see stranger creatures again on others alike me I sleep with no thought in mind besides my freedom and thinking nothing is able to take it away I awaken to stomping running around the stranger creatures had surrounded us nowhere to run I fall asleep from the craziness

When I'd awaken all I was thinking about was standing around being wild and free, running like the wind, with the wind the only place in mind, my only hope at all but the vast open plain feeling the wind blowing, pushing me along like it does to the long fresh grass blowing at my feet moving with my family, at my own free will my only care in mind getting back home Where I can run with the wind like the wind

METAPHOR POEMS Born From Nature by Brooke Lawrence I am a means for spontaneous thinking Expressive in my simplicity and possibilities Used to right rambling thoughts into a masterpiece Constructed by man but born from nature My final appearance at the mercy of a single soul I am nothing and everything all at once Gloomy concepts weigh me down While I am fragile and fair-skinned Vibrant in language and in color Awaiting creation

The Finality by Sam Carignan The flash of life, seen in war and peace it brings much grief to all. and yet we march on, constantly contributing to its infinite coffers. Represented in myths, legends and lore by heavenly beings and dwarf planets alike. The final act in the century long play.

Held by my Sentence by Katy Price I can touch the lives of a thousand souls I have the capability to end a world, or create one I’m heard, written or told Many jobs like fortune tellers need me I bring emotion of all kinds I have more than one million meanings Most people use me every day Sometimes I’m more powerful than a thousand armies If used harshly, I will destroy a person in an instant Bringing people together or pulling them apart is half of what I do My old English meaning is the same thing I destroy

‘Zona. The New World. by Timmy Keith On my face there is a famous fellow who is shown in black and white. I come in many contrasting flavors, some superb, some not. Dryness repeals as saliva savors the moment. My saccharine taste of victory, all packed in one sole mouthful. I exist in a colossal cooler, never gone unnoticed. I convey you to a whole new world and adventure through me. In literal terms, I’m part of the Southwest. Except I prefer the homonym of me. You’ve got 99 problems? Settle it with 99 cents of me.

Earth’s Feet by Caleb Normandeau I am a fungus at the Earth’s feet, named puffball or stinkhorn. I’ve served as a habitat for smurfs and gnomes. My friends have been eaten but only some have passed away. I have saved people’s lives but all haven’t been cured. Of toxins and frights, hallucinations and delights. I am a fungus at the Earth’s feet.

A Surgeon of a Different Kind by Josh Verrill I devour most objects that get in my path. The trees fear my roar. The birds fly, as they are left drifters by my gleaming teeth. In horror movies I can be the culprit for much death. I drink the blood of the earth. I enjoy being used as destruction follows in my wake. It may take awhile to wake me up, but once I am awake you must kill me to stop me. as gruesome as I may be, a strong individual could tame me.

Balance by Kelsey Otley Some hate the motion I possess Equalization is the only way I will work decently Toddlers fawn over me My colors vary but are usually vibrant My qualities lie in length not width Grounds do not limit me Gravity can make me function 4 is my limit

The Tallest of the Tallest by Bridget Reynolds My flesh is rough waves racing in currents. My ever-changing colored seaweed hair has large and small strips. I tower over most things tall. In the wind, my arms tremble because of a fitful bark. Immobile, my legs sprawl beneath me. I may be sticky and I may be hard. Sometimes I tend to sway uncontrollably, while other times I stand straight. My insides swirl in random shapes, marking how long Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve thrived.

Dew Point by Connor Rog White angels accumulate, large and small floating gently bringing with them life and prosperity as with them black demons obscure and destroy great streaks of death arc from the gloom these great and small entities are often upholstered in silver they conceal what should not be seen and reveal what should often took for granted and cursed at often perceived as serious omens often misunderstood