The Meridian 2024

The Meridian 2024

Art by Annabelle ‘24

I remember it in little snippets

Like a dvd that won’t stop skipping. It was a summer day

Back when the world seemed brighter, golder, smaller.

My hands reaching out to a pair

Of blue earrings

In the shape of little teardrops

Promises of wearing them

My mom caved in and bought them, And probably forgot they even existed

After a day.

I wore them at a party

Along with a colorful dress that didn’t even match

But it didn’t matter; I forgot about them too.

They’ve wound up in my sock drawer, Along with other fragments like it:

A cord from a pair of headphones

A keychain from an old friend

Buttons off a dress that no longer fits.

One’s broken now,

The little teardrop now a little nub

And what’s a pair of earrings

If they’re no longer a pair?

Farmer’s Market Earrings

Maddie ‘26

I tossed them in my trash

But stopped with a slight hesitation.

As I picked the unbroken one out of the bin I remembered.

Isn’t it funny how we forget?

How something that seemed so important back then

Ends up lost?

I hung it on a board in my wall, A little reminder of little me

And a memory of a golden afternoon

That almost seems like yesterday.

Art By Ella ‘26

Point A

Is the moment my grandfathers each asked: “Wouldn’t a house on a lake be nice?” And, though hesitant at first, both their wives replied: “That’s a lovely idea.”

Point B

Is the moment my four grandparents met each other, Neighbors who decided to share sugar and meals and eventually stories and hearts.

Point C

Is the moment my grandmothers decided together that my parents should meet each other, So they plotted and schemed (and now they take all the credit).

Point D

Is the moment my parents met at a lake in New Hampshire one summer, At the age I am now, exactly 20 years before I was born.

Point E

Is the moment I arrived as the sun rose from behind the mountains, A Virgo born on August 23, just a little too late to be a Leo. Points that form a line, once connected.

My existence, Graphed.

My Line

By Ella ‘27

Fall

By Hannah ‘27

In the fall - I am happy

When the weather gets colder - I feel the earth,

When the leaves glow of red, yellow, and orange - I am alive

When the pumpkins come out - My skin tingles

When thoughts of the holidays tickle my brain - I get excited

When animals go to bed for the winter - I feel ready

When Mom decorates the yard - My eyes sparkle

In the fall - I am sad

When the weather gets colder - My feet numb

When the leaves turn red, yellow, and orange - I feel dead inside

When the pumpkins come out - there is no more pretending

When the thoughts of the holidays tickle my brain - I feel stressed

When the animals go to bed for the winter - I feel lonely

When Mom decorates the yard - I know summer is over

Photograph by Norwood ‘25

Art by Adi ‘25

Together – yet apart – we stand, over the bay.

Just Two figures. At the edge of the day. As it collapses around us.

The lighting is sharp, piercing the bay.

Between Us

By Ellicott ‘27

And yet drowned out. By the distance away. Between us.

Becoming a show, lighting the bay.

Clapping in rhythm. The lighting decays. Until only now and then.

Bittersweet

By Molly Smyth ‘27

I love you. You’ll never ever hear the words

You aren’t worth fighting for.

Deep down I know I will never be good enough for you. You are perfect the way you are. You say You love me too. Do you mean it? All these words feel so untrue

Coming from a person like you.

Am I good enough for you?

(Read from bottom to top)

Art by Norwood ‘25

Art by Elena ‘25

In A Perfect Little Town

Something is yelling. Loud. Eyes bound, I am unmoving. The noise is getting louder. Yelling. Eyes bound, muscles tight—the noise, louder and louder. I reach into the unknown, yet I am conscious of my actions. The noise, now louder than ever, stops. My hand rests on my alarm clock. Just another day has arrived. It couldn’t have come faster. I roll out of bed with a grin on my face. I slip on my overalls and company shirt, and just down the hall, I smell fresh hash cooked to perfection, as usual. I flick on the newsman and scarf my meal down. No bad news (there never is), just the forecast of sunshine and a pleasant temperature. I throw my plate into the dish zone, which will be clean when I return. I grab my toolbox, and out the door I go. My shoes leave the steps and onto the pristine sidewalk. Every one of my neighbors is standing in uniform outside their door—8:00 for work. I drive my van, for I am a carpenter, I have always been one. I make houses look just like mine. I have a perfect house. Everyone does. I feel my head shifting toward the stereo as it makes mechanical noises. After waiting a second or two, it prints out a ticket with an address. I am driving as I always do, but today is different. I go past all of the houses, past all of the stores. The bright displays of the endless products line the road. This house must be far out. I drive, following the ticket’s instructions, and arrive at a house of design like I’ve never seen before. I pull into the driveway, open the van door, and flip over the ticket to see my assignment. I scan the brownish-gray paper. As usual, I need to clean it up, and convert it. I turn toward the vacant house, feeling the rubber grip of the toolbox. Standing idle, walk up to the old house. It taunts me—time to get to work. I turn the latchkey and walk in the door—a thin layer of dust on all surfaces. I repress fear for my inevitable job. You know, it isn’t that bad. I hear myself mumble. After long hours of work, it’s looking up. Just the stairs left to fix, but I’m tired. No rush. Time to go home. Yelling ears bleeding. Skin, muscle, bone. I jump out of bed, not entirely awake, slamming my alarm clock. Stumbling down the stairs, stairs. I

never finished the stairs. I don’t want to go back to that house. I’m sick. Headache, fever, runny nose. I feel like a baby overwhelmed with loud noises. I have never felt this before. If I finish the job, I’ll feel better. Overalls, shirt, hash, go. As I pass the stores and colorful signs, I feel odd in my head. Drip, drip. Blood on my pants. Is my nose bleeding? It is! I feel as if I’m dying. Continuing to drive with a bloody nose, I arrive at the house. I stumble onto the porch and lean toward the door. I reach for the handle, my hand aquiver. All vision is blurry. Hands are limp. Come on, just open the door!

Take a deep breath. That’s what I’ve always been told to do. Inhale. Exhale. My vision focuses, and my hand listens to my commands once more. The door swings open. Stairs. I remove my crowbar from my toolbox. Make my way over to the first step and pry at the wood. THUNK. The smell of rot fills the air. The plank came up the second I pulled. I t urn back toward the step to see red. Under the board of the step, there is a pulsing carrion with no face, yet it is alive and staring at me.

Art by Elena ‘27

Determination

By Isabelle ‘27

The monster that squeezes the heart

The monster that pounds on the chest

Struggle.

The being that tears us down; yet, never picks us back up

The only thing that can beat it is you…

Determination.

The light in the dark

The flame of the match

The beating of the heart Drive.

The willingness to fight, to push

The fire inside us

Inside me, inside you

Burning struggle like a piece of wood in a fireplace

Struggle is the monster

Determination is the sword

I AM

By Anna Lucia ‘25

I am the gentle waves brushing against the shore I am the warmth of the sun on the golden sand My footprints fade but the memories stay

I am whispers of the ocean breeze

Filled with laughter and music

Tales of sailors old and new

The secrets I hold are deep and untold

I am where the blue and green mix together Where pink and yellow mesh into gold Where the ocean and sky meet at the horizon IamwildandIamfree

Art by Elena ‘27

Them is my mum

By Lily ‘25

I want to cry. Not in my room at 1am into my pillow because I don’t want anyone to hear me. I want to sob while hugging someone so tight I feel like I’ll never let go. I want them to tell me how proud they are of me and how much I mean to them. I want them to tell me how happy I will be when I’m older. And how they can’t wait to watch me grow up and find my way in the world. I want them to cheer me on when I graduate. I want them to help me pick out a wedding dress and approve of the man I am about to marry. I want them to hold my hand in labor and take care of my kids as if they were there own. I want to have birthdays and picnics, go on hikes and see the world with them. I want to be able to tell them how much I love them and how I will never stop. There are things I wish I could say to them. Things I couldn’t say to anyone else but they make me feel safe. Like nothing could ever hurt me. I want them to hold me. As tight as they possibly can so that the hug is imbedded in my brain for the rest of life. I want them to swim and dance. To snuggle and to laugh. All together as one. As my family. Them is my

Love , or is it ?

By Nafi ‘24

Love.

What is love?

Can love be defined?

What is love if two souls intertwine but still not come out as one?

What is love if two cultures cancel each other out giving no room for two souls to even experience this love?

What is love if two souls are pulled apart due to the fear of the unknown?

What is love when two souls kiss but the kiss can only last for so long knowing they’ll never meet again

What is love when the presence of one’s leaving leaves you sad and alone?

What is love if the two souls are all grown , questioning what could of been, or even, what would have been

What is love if the two religions can’t get along ?

What is love if the words that once warmed your heart leave you cold and dry?

If two souls can walk by each other as if they fail to recognize one another

And the joy is over Was it really love?

by Annabelle ‘24

Art

A Poem PJ Will Never Read

Not the nicest to me the whole time.

Nor am I the nicest to you. That is how it’s supposed to be… right?

Like every brother and sister we have our arguments, but why can’t it be that simple that we’re always friends?

Although it has been almost ten years I remember when you were just born.

Our grandparents came to our house when our parents went to the hospital.

As soon as I saw you I remember your hair. When you were just an infant it looked like you had a mohawk

We know each other so well. so why I ask can’t we always

Art by Annabelle ‘24

Alarm Companies

By Teddy ‘25

The boss in the t-shirt at the head of the table sat down. He threw the newspaper at the center of the table, it landed 3 feet short.

“So what’s the deal with this ‘electrocution’ thing? I thought that was what we did.” He asked everyone else at the table. The PR man in suspenders spoke up. “That is what we do, and we haven’t done anything wrong. It was some World-Health-Organization-Junta-Thing that adjusted the voltage requirement for ‘humane electrocution,’ so now all of our products are technically inhumane, even though they haven’t changed at all.” He said.

“Well who cares if they’re inhumane, we’re stopping trespassers, right?” The boss asked. Several people at the table shook their heads. A woman in a lab-jacket took a drink from her flask.

“Hey, uh… can we see your card?” The COO in a blue jacket asked. The boss took out his company ID from his pants pocket.

“He’s C4NB.” The COO said. The people at the table nodded.

“What’s that mean?” The Intern in a sweater vest asked the CAO in a green dress.

“Class Four Nepo-Baby, the highest ranking the AORAP can grant. He literally just has to have a pulse and enough muscle function to make a signature, that last part is the only reason we brought him in today.” The CAO said. The CEO with a bow-tie stood up.

“Well as you know, your family’s company, HIEST, is one of three major alarm companies in our dystopian society. We specialize in non lethal countermeasures to the home invasions conducted by the growing numbers of unemployed, impoverished, and probably-insane. Our systems employ a variety of electrocution based devices that are technically humane to deter or incapacitate intruders.” The CEO said. A TV at the end of the table turned on. It showed a band of people dressed in rags convulsing on a manicured lawn and another clip of similar people falling off of a wrought-gold fence that they were trying to climb.

“Oh yeah, we have one of those.” The boss said.

“Yes. Our clients are mostly religious, worried about their conscience, or are naive

enough to think their kids won’t find unspeakable violence elsewhere. That’s where our two competitors come in. First we have EMGID, which is most popular in regions prone to coups and the formations of rebellions. Their line-up is entirely military grade.” The CEO said. The TV showed people in uniformed rags entering a garden, then being liquified by a machinegun hidden under a sculpture, a heat-seeking missile exploding a van entering a driveway, and more people being liquified by landmines under a manicured lawn.

“Wait, won’t people who aren’t trying to rob the house be hit by like… stray bullets and stuff?” The boss asked.

“They have a floppy excuse for that. We have one for all the grid-failures we cause. Anyway, the last megacorp we have to worry about is BEHRV. These guys are weird, all of their systems are grown. They turn the entire perimeter of the estate into a hostile ecosystem which produces lethal flora and fauna to counter any threats. Their customer base is anyone who doesn’t mind having the “safety pheromone” on at all times to avoid this…” The CEO said.

The TV showed a timelapse of corpses being decomposed by vines, then people in rags suffocating from spores, then being mauled by lizards, then being impaled by shoots of grass, then being mauled by something else.

“Why are we in trouble again?” The boss asked.

“Because we’re no longer considered ‘humane.” The CEO said.

“So, uh what do you want me to do?” The boss asked.

“Approve the innovation that’s going to save HIEST.” The woman in the lab-jacket said.

“I approve!” The boss said.

“Legally, you’re required to see it.” The CEO said.

Art by Elena ‘25

“Fine, what is it?” The boss asked.

“Refined LUSPOT.” The woman in the lab-jacket said.

“It was this project for prison systems in a country that your family brought a while back. It’s a drug that drastically accelerates your relative experience of the flow of time and has a high probability of creating moments of life-altering contemplation.” The woman in a lab-jacket said. The CEO brought a piece of paper to the boss and held out a pen.

“I don’t understand.” The boss said.

“Either we put this in darts or disperse it as a gas. Any homeless person who gets LUSPOT into their system will— basically five minutes for us will be two weeks for them, or a century depending on how we mix it.” The woman in a lab-jacket said.

“And will that stop them from stealing stuff that doesn’t belong to them?” The boss asked.

“Well it will give the intruder no option but to just stand and think about their life-choices, and they’ll most likely come to the conclusion that as a member of the displaced working class in a world drained of resources and opportunities for a blue-collar living, they have no choice but to beg for sustenance while us few enjoy the lavish lifestyles that we were born into and that eventually wealth will trickle down to the impoverished billions, but if they attack us or show any kind of hostility, we’ll be less likely to be charitable even if they’re literally starving to death out there.”

“And it won’t hurt the poor people?” The boss asked.

“Not at all, it will help to convince them not to rob us.” The CEO said.

“Now do I approve?” The boss asked.

“Just sign right here and your wealth will be safe for another 5 generations.” The CEO said.

Art by Zeze ‘25

The Birds Stella ‘25

The season is changing,

Birds are spreading their wings and taking off I sit here and watch.

I watch the birds I’ve seen all year I watch the birds I’ve just spotted

The birds that I listened to every morning

The birds gather and soon fly away.

Onto another place, Where I will not be, Better for them but not me.

I think as they sore, Will they ever know I’ve admired their songs, their beauty, their presences?

Will they ever feel a sense of loss as they leave this place?

I watch the birds as they soar I wonder.

I wonder if they will be back, Did they like this place enough or will I be watching new birds as they soar next year.

Art by Mia ‘26

Art By Flynn ‘27

Art by Wendy ‘27

Art by Flynn ‘27

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Art by Lucas ‘25

Art by Wisdom ‘26

Art by Nicole ‘25

Art by Elena ‘25