Apotheosis 2019

APOTHEOSIS BENILDE - ST. MARGARET’S

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LITERARY ART MAGAZINE 2019

5/6/19 12:26 PM

BSM Apotheosis Letter from the Editor

Hey friends, Woah, I can’t believe this is finally in your hands. The Apotheosis staff has worked long and hard to create a place where all students can share their work. I could have never done this by myself, so I owe it all to my fellow board members: Gary Antonio, Sophie Dobos, Cece Golinvaux, Max Jensen, Claire Lorimor, Ellie Mitchell, Gabriella Schmidt, Flynn Skahan, Jacinda Smith, and Rebecca Twite, as well as our dedicated advisers Mrs. Onkka and Mrs. Preus.

For the past two years, I have been able to be a part of this team,

and it’s a team I will dearly miss as I move onto college. Our team is extremely proud of the students who put themselves out there and submitted their work; without their courage, we wouldn’t have such an amazing publication. Art can be a way out for so many people, and with that, we request that you respect the stories that are being shared within this magazine and online.

Artwork and writing have given me the ability to share my story, something I thought I wouldn’t ever be able to do. Each person has a story––one that is worth sharing. If you have a story to share, Apotheosis is

an amazing place to let it out, and I hope you value this safe space as much as I do.

Cheers to all. Cheers to you.

Cheers to 2018-19 Apotheosis!

Sincerely,

Em Paquette, 2018-19 Editor-in-Chief

Publication Policy

Staff

Submissions are created by students and Apotheosis is produced by an Editorial Board at Benild-St. Margaret’s School. The views expressed in this magazine are the opinions of the writers and not necessarily those of the Editorial Board, advisers, or BSM administrators. It is distributed for free to all BSm high school students.

Editorial Board: Gary Antonio ‘19, Sophie Dobos ‘20, Cece Golinvaux ‘19, Max Jensen ‘19, Claire Lorimor ‘20, Ellie Mitchell ‘19, Em Paquette ‘19, Gabriella Schmidt ‘19, Flynn Skahan ‘20, Jacinda Smith ‘20, Rebecca Twite ‘20

Benilde-St. Margaret’s School 2501 Highway 100 South St. Louis Park, Minnesota, 55416 Contact kpreus@bsmschool.org or nonkka@bsmschool.org

Editor and Chief: Em Paquette ‘19 Designer: Flynn Skahan ‘20 Advisors: Kaia Preus and Nan Onkka

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Artists Gabriella Schmidt ‘19 Clare Lynch ‘21 Sally Calengor ‘19 Ruby Verrett ‘22 Ellie Mitchell ‘19 Ava Keller ‘22 Annabella Bolin ‘21 Emily Platt ‘19 Sydney Wilharm ‘20 Finn Murphy ‘21 Claire Lorimor ‘20 Izzi Benham ‘21 Trevor Metz ‘19 John Landry ‘19 Alice Petty ‘20

Carter Chapman ‘19 Xiomara Guzmán ‘19 Jennifer Meraz Barrera ‘19 Rhys Duffy ‘19 Meagan Steck ‘19 Mae Munkeby ‘19 Connor Lawler ‘19 Gary Antonio ‘19 Solomon Doyscher ‘19 Matthew Hansberry ‘19 Kailyn Pedersen ‘19 Walker Neibergall ‘20 Malinda Beason ‘19 Claire Larson ‘21 Gracie Anderson ‘21

Kennedy Harris ‘19 Kathryn Gefre ‘19 Karen Martinez-Beltran ‘19

Caitlin Fox ‘19 Kayla Farrey ‘19 Alana Kabaka ‘21 Grace Juckniess ‘19 Kayla Grendahl ‘19 Julio Marin-Beltran ‘19 Julia Hoover ‘20 Estelle Beutz ‘19 Taylor Anderson ‘19 Lucy White ‘19 Aaron Latterell ‘20

Check out all the other artist’s work on our BSM Apotheosis website

https://bsmapotheosis.org/ 2019 Spring 3

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my depression

Ellie Mitchell ‘19

My depression creates another person out of me.

I feel like a puppet hanging on strings, and my depression is playing with me.

It creates another person with different personalities, someone I hate to be faced with.

It makes me start pushing everyone close away from me.

“Sadness is a normal feeling,” they all say. But no one knows what really goes on in your mind.

Weekly visits with my doctor and all I can mumble out is “I’m fine.”

Not a day goes by where my depression doesn’t control me.

Countless “sick” days because I could never seem to drag myself out of bed, Teachers and staff members yelling at me for missing too much school but I can’t help it.

Being extremely numb with sadness is an all too frequent feeling.

Numberless visits to the psychiatrists, psychologists, and pediatricians.

I feel like I’m crying out for help into outer space and no one is there.

Anxiety and panic attacks are a frequent feeling, and when my body starts to shake I don’t bother because I know what’s going to happen.

My mother forces me to sit down and eat because I’ve been skipping countless family dinners, crying in my bedroom.

But I don’t want to eat because anxiety eats away at my stomach.

Flashbacks have become a daily routine in my life.

At night it gets worse, when I sit alone in my bedroom, in the dark, I shake.

I sit alone but I can feel the overpowering monster of depression behind me.

The doctors are always trying to find the right medication for me.

But no one will find the weapon to take down the monster that controls me.

“Ew, I’m like totally triggered,” you hear a teenage girl yell out at something irrelevant.

I want to scream at them for saying that, but I have to control myself.

They don’t know what triggers really are and how they take over your teenage years.

Taking your innocence in an unfamiliar way.

The bulk of my teenage years weren’t normal, they were breakdowns and hospital visits.

But I am so proud of myself because I never gave up.

When the razor was in my hands or the suicidal thoughts were at my worse, I kept living.

I have survived 6,624 days on this planet.

I have been through hell and back.

And I have felt pain like never before.

But I kept living.

That is the battle depression doesn’t want me to win.

But here I am, beating the battle.

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the valley

Meagan Steck ‘19

Japanese Tea Tray and Cups

Alice Petty ‘20

2019 Spring 5

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Dear Dad

Katherine Grendahl ‘19 Dad, why don’t you call anymore?

Why did you give up on me?

Why don’t you care?

I do.

A birthday card from just your mom once a year as a reminder that you have forgotten again.

That you have let me down again.

Abandonment is my only birthday present this year.

Holidays are reminders that half of my family is missing.

That there are two sisters and a brother who are with you in Chicago and not here with me.

You broke my heart when you left before any boy had the chance to.

A cat call on the street is my first experience being recognized as beautiful by a male.

8 years without seeing my siblings is too long, dad.

You say you can’t afford it but I see your Facebook posts and you just bought your 3rd fiancé a ring whose diamond value could have brought you to see me.

I talk to your oldest, Colette, and she wishes we would talk.

I tell her it is complicated, but I know it is not.

A father’s job is not complicated.

A father is supposed to be there to protect me.

A father is supposed to bring me to the daddy- daughter dance. to give me his oversized t-shirts. to tell corny dad jokes. to embarrass me in front of my friends.

And to tell me he loves me and actually mean it.

A father is not supposed to dump his job on my mom who now does it all and is constantly judged for being a young single mom.

But, you are not my father.

You are only Joe to me now.

I just so happen to be half of you.

It’s crazy how distant you can be from someone, yet technically they are supposed to be almost the closest thing in the world to you.

You stopped paying child support because I am 18 now, or rather the government stopped forcing you to pay.

But, God knows you stopped supporting your child long before the paychecks stopped coming through.

I learned quickly what a man was not supposed to be.

I am doing great things without you.

My mom always tells me that you don’t deserve to know me.

She says that he missed out on getting to know a great kid.

A kid who literally felt like she was a bad daughter for not liking her dad.

Who felt guilty that she didn’t want to pick up the phone when yours was the caller I.D. because she didn’t want to be yelled at for her grades upon which you had no influence.

She didn’t want to talk to you because of your harsh words and 400 mile away critiquing.

How you could make me feel like I wasn’t good enough for someone who didn’t care about me.

It’s a harsh reality when people make jokes about daddy issues and you laugh because it is all too real.

How come it’s my issue and not yours?

Your life goes on. You have 2 other daughters and another son but, where am I supposed to get another dad?

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Nevada Finn Murphy ‘21

Country Road Brianna Ehmiller ‘21

2019 Spring 7

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Solo

Frankie Lynch ‘20

Esquiando por el bosque La nieve cae y el viento sopla cansados Mis pies son Frías mis manos están Pienso que me perdí No se la dirección Solo sigo el camino y espero que regrese Ahora es noche y sigo esquiando ya comí, pero tengo hambre pero sigo esquiando Ya creo que soy cerca Puedo ver una luz Puedo ver una casa Llego, pero todavía soy solo

Raw Jennifer Meraz Barrera ‘19

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Gabriella Schmidt ‘19

Sally Calengor ‘19

Lake Harriet

Kayaking

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Trevor Metz ‘19

Primary

Drip Drip

Jack Keller ‘20

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Ni de aquí, ni de allá

Karen Martinez-Beltran ‘19

There’s this saying that goes something like: “Ni de aquí, ni de allá” “Not from here, nor there” You see, I was born in a different country than the one I’m living in right now. I was conceived from a tan mother and a light-skinned father. In the beautiful Country you visit while on spring break.

And no, I was not born in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, or Cancun or any other resort where you go on vacation.

I was born in the beautiful Cuernavaca, Morelos.

La ciudad de eterna primavera “The city of eternal spring.”

Now, even though I was born in a different country, I was raised in the great USA. My mother brought me here when I was only two months old.

Two. Two months, eight weeks, sixty days.

Those two months make a difference between my ability to vote, to travel, get a license, work, apply for FAFSA, for scholarships, grants—almost everything.

Those two months hold me back from doing so much.

Like an ankle bracelet that electrocutes my body every time I try to even look at something I know I won’t be able to do.

I can’t complain too much about it, though.

There are so many other people out there who wish they were in my shoes.

Who wish they could go to school, a school as great as mine.

My friends back in my city are always making jokes about my school.

About how “white” it is, about how “white” I am.

“You must go to a lot of fancy places, with all those white folks you be hanging around.”

And when they’re not joking around about my school, they joke around about me.

“You’re so white, you don’t even need to worry about getting detained.”

As if I don’t come from the same place they do. Speak the same language. Celebrate the same culture.

It’s as if I’m too white for the Mexicans and too Mexican for the whites.

“All you have to do is say: ‘Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish’ and ICE would leave you alone.”

“You look so white, you don’t even look like you speak Spanish.”

That’s what most confuses me, though.

At school, I’m the one everyone turns to when the teacher asks for a translation from Spanish to English.

The one they turn to when Mexico, 5 de Mayo, spicy food, or the movie Coco is mentioned in class.

The one they always come to for help with their Spanish homework.

And when I say, “I don’t get any of this, I’m sorry.”

I get hit with: “But aren’t you from like, Mexico or something? Shouldn’t you know this stuff?”

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What Music Does Em Paquette ‘19

The Pier

Sydney Wilharm ‘20

Jerking pain flows up through my leg as my body rejects the thought of a soft landing off of my balance beam.

It was no balance beam, of course, it was only the arm of the couch that I had been standing on. Well, to say I was standing was an understatement rather, I was twirling upon my armrest with ease until my unfortunate demise onto the floor.

I usually find solace in laying on my floor after dancing around my room for hours. Yet, right now I can only focus on the throbbing pain that is creeping up my ankle as One Direction still blasts through my headphones.

I have loved music ever since I was a little girl when I would sit outside my brothers’ bedroom door and listen to him as he played softly on his guitar. With him out of the house now, the closest thing I have to him playing in my headphones.

Even when I was a little girl, music has been calming for me. Music is the one thing I turn to when all else fails. As someone with severe depression and anxiety, the opportunity to have little escapes from it, like dancing to music alone in my room, make my bad days a little easier. I assume it might calm me down because it is distracting.

Hearing other people’s voices and stories can make you come out of your own mind and change your perspective. When I listen to music, my mind flutters away from what might be dragging me down to the depths of my thoughts and it inspires me to keep going and pushes me towards writing to tell my own story.

Music naturally stems into my love for writing, as I grew up writing for my brother’s band. I jot down my worries, fears, and past memories in the form of lyrics as a way to process. Even though I didn’t start listening to music as a way to cope with my depression and anxiety, I feel as though music always knew what it was secretly doing for me. I never thought something as small as listening to music would help me through my toughest of times. However, I am glad to be proven wrong.

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From the Heights Whereon I Dwell Xiomara Guzmán ‘19

2019 Spring 13

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Downtown Finn Murphy ‘21

Looking

Gabriella Schmidt ‘19

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What’s Inside Annabella Bolin ‘21

2019 Spring 15

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My Actions

Taylor Anderson ‘19

People fear death, hate, rejection They fear others’ freewill so much they oppress their own, They live so long only to see their life amount to the spare change in their pocket Life is not simply meant for meaningless tasks, It is meant for interaction, experience…. all things human It’s meant to be messy, so why do so many of us fear what happens next?

Why do we shelter ourselves from change?

People fear one action altering their life eternally But aren’t alterations what make each of our lives unique?

It’s what separates you from your neighbor, Your teacher from your friend, It’s what makes your story worth all that you are When I was 4 my mom was scared I’d break my arm while learning to ride a bike When I was 16 my dad was petrified I’d get in an accident while driving the car Yet, I still scraped my knees, and I still hold the old license plate that was mounted on my back hatch If they were so protective of my well being why did they let me? Why would they risk their baby when they know these things could cause harm?

Who’s to say other life-changing decisions should always be made in the name of safety when everyday skills could be just as lethal?

Far too many people on this earth waste the time they find so precious, Far too many people don’t see what they miss till its gone, Far too many stay in their box because the outside is too uncomfortable Not me, I will not for the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, I ask you not to fear death, for death comes to all I ask you to embrace each action that creates a reaction, Because those define your story They define all that you are

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Night Up North

Meagan Steck ‘19

Destination Plate

Claire Lorimor ‘20

2019 Spring 17

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On the Water Carter Chapman ‘19

Oil vs Kraken Rhys Duffy ‘19 18 Apotheosis Apo Inside.indd 16

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we traveled to the moon and back together one blink, and my life was changed staring out the plane window we kept going up all i wanted was to go back tears filled my eyes bringing me to that day my life was in a state of confusion

Memories

the sun turned into the moon with one change bringing the memories of my younger days back it was all a blur with a look on my face that said confused there were good days and there were bad days the balloon left my hand and went up we were always together

Gracie Anderson ‘21

they watch the sky fall back remembering the past day the way my childhood was put together the rain hitting the slide on the playground on which i grew up it left me confused i was changed

the five-year-old self in me was confused christmas morning all of us sitting around the tree together my young days when your little things change i kept writing letters, but never got a response back maybe i was wrong, but i thought we could only go up my love for her went up the heart of my younger self was broken and confused i knew she was gone forever, and things would never go back she was my mom and i was her daughter, we should be together i wasn’t ready to change i can’t think about the day i was crying on the hospital floor, dreading this day my mom left me and went up this all broke me, with so much change the story of my life was now a blur, and i would always be confused i only had the memories she was never coming back my mind was gone and i was left being confused my mom had left nothing, but memories that is something i could never take back

2019 Spring 19

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Plug Walk

Annabella Bolin ‘21

Girl in Stripes

John Landry ‘19

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Honey on a Plantation Alana Kabaka ‘21

honey on a plantation grown in the creases of my arms curled behind my knees curdled in my hands i walk on the bones of the slaves on segregation i walk on sugar cane and cassava my bones seasoned by my mother with creole and cayenne dipped in molasses my skin the color of the silhouettes layed on the unmowed grass their blood there to water the ground because all we are is fertilizer all my friends are starting to become more familiar with their eyelids they can no longer hide behind their shadows white chalk lines filled in by black boys their tongues still dancing with don’t shoot screams for their mother maybe they didn’t scream loud enough or maybe their words just riochet off the bulletproof vest and sink into the ground people refuse to acknowledge that i exist it’s almost like my need for air is too big of a favor they say black don’t crack but we seem to be shattered with every n-word slipped from white kids lips every moan from gun shots honey on a plantation dripped from my fingers in the crevasses of my arms between my toes leaks a fortune of gold that i must have missed honey that my ancestors refused to give up

2019 Spring 21

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Albaze

Clare Lynch ‘21

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San Francisco Hill Claire Lorimor ‘20

Adventure in Mind

Ava Keller ‘22 2019 Spring 23

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Little Successes Matt Nachbor ‘20

This morning I was successful. I achieved success in brushing my teeth, in eating the small, unhealthy breakfast of Eggo waffles smothered in butter and syrup, and in successfully arriving to school on time. Little wins like the ones mentioned prior are something we all can take pride in. Throughout your day, if you pay attention, you will soon realize and appreciate the little accomplishments you make all the time. When you breathe and think and learn and laugh and cry and fight, you are successful. Every time you smile and wave at the old man walking his dog on the side of the road, you are succeeding. Don’t let the world around us brainwash you into believing that success is something that comes with the stereotype of being rich and popular. Refuse to believe in the silliness of that concept. Refuse to believe that the wealthiest and the most popular are the most successful. Never be afraid to do your own thing. Always stand up for what you believe in. Don’t ever forget who you are, and don’t stray away from being yourself. Pick out the little accomplishments of your daily routine and take pride in them.

The dictionary definition of success is, “the attainment of popularity or profit.”. But, success is so far from that. The most successful people I know are not the richest, and they don’t always have the most friends; they are the people who cherish every moment of their lives and firmly believe in who they are as a person. They are the people who find success in the little things, just as I do every morning when I toast my Eggo to a perfect golden brown.

Plastic Turtles Izzi Benham ‘21

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Rain Dance Emily Platt ‘19

2019 Spring 25

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picking up the petals of the stupid game

Alana Kabaka ‘21

picking up the petals of the stupid game he loves me he loves me not he told her to keep her voice down that her words were nothing but a road block when she would cry i put her head to my chest i look her in her eyes i tell her you are no damsel in distress that she was born with two legs and doesn’t need him to carry her to safety she can walk there herself thank you very much she told me when her palms got cold he would press his against hers lock their fingers together she said it made her feel safe i told her you shouldn’t deem your safety with his existence i told her he locked his fingers to make sure you didn’t run away because he knew what he did was wrong she was stronger then she made herself sound she believed that she could only be happy with him she must have forgot she was put on this earth for 16 years and for 15 of those years she stood tall and proud without a boyfriend she must have forgot there are things in this world bigger than her that in this fairy tale she doesn’t need a prince charming that she can figure the world out on her own she must have forgot how strong she stands alone

that her dark brown eyes were beautiful without being told so that her skin a national treasure that she had the most amazing smile that reached into people at took out their pure joy she must have forgot how beautiful she is it made me sad she forgot she is precious someone not to be messed with it made me sad that she questions how amazing she is she lays there tracing the outline of his body with her finger it makes me sad she thinks she’s not strong enough to fight a broken heart i hope she never forgets she’s no damsel that’s a tired thought that she doesn’t need him to carry her there that her fairy tale doesn’t need a prince charming that she stands tall by herself so we can stop picking up these petals of a broken relationship that she is better off without

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Eagle

Annabella Bolin ‘21

NYC

Ruby Verrett ‘22 2019 Spring 27

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Mountain Road Alice Petty ‘20

Reindeer

Sydney Wilharm ‘20

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Culture

Claire Larson ‘21

African American Citizen Madison Johnson ‘19

I am an African American citizen.

Everyday I am reminded that my skin is different than my peers.

Their privilege blinds them, I don’t have the energy to fight. For that’s what their ancestors did to mine. I have to act like it doesn’t bother me that half the kids I’m in front of won’t feel the way I do, feel that every day someone is watching.. The looks, the comments, the actions. The actions… that kill me. Everyday a black life is taken by the hands of an officer, a neighbor, maybe a friend. The news covers the shootings as an accident, but the black person is at fault.

But it was the other whose fingerprints were on the trigger. Thousands of cases being taken to court, but does it ever work? No. Hundreds of people walk out, nothing but a slap on the wrist. But for the black kid whose life was taken, their parents are left to pay the price. Fighting to win a case that they know they won’t win because of the color of his skin. But they still try, because their flesh and blood was shot point blank in the chest, twice in the back.

Parents’ hearts heavier than the titanic, they’re the ones who just got shot… praying to God, the only one that listens to protect their child in heaven above. Wishing that this didn’t happen, blaming themselves for not being able to protect their child. They pray hoping that the person responsible will pay for what they have done. Fighting because one day, one case will wake the community up. When will be the day someone will have the courage to fight for all? But till then black kids will continue to die by the gun.

2019 Spring 29

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Not Enough Time Emily Olson ‘19

“OMG, can I be you?” “Wow, you look so good!”

I sit scrolling through my phone at these comments when I get home and the clock reads 3:30.

I tweet, post, like, share, comment, snap.

Its 6:00 now. I don’t even realize it as my eyes are glued to watching Meredith beg Derek to pick her.

8:00. My head starts to subconsciously ache and is filled with thoughts of homework I should be doing. I click on another Cody Ko video.

11:00. Where did the time go? Did I really just waste eight hours? What was I even doing?

We live in a world where I look up at a concert and can see more phone lights than stage lights.

We have more chances of meeting someone online than in person, and there are people pretending to be someone they’re not on social media.

We see someone we follow on Instagram, but can’t get up enough courage to say “hi” in real life.

We force ourselves to go out on a Friday night because it’s what we are supposed to do, not what we want to do.

We sift through VSCO filters and see the ones titled “F1” “C2” “A5”, but will never find the ones we are really searching for.

Affirmation. Appreciation. Admiration.

The society we live in is ever changing, but often I wonder, are we the ones changing it, or is it changing us?

Do we really know that girl on the screen, or is she just a masterpiece of society?

Are we happy with our lives? Or just happy with the picture we have painted?

Tick tock, tick tock.

The longer I stare at the clock, the slower the time goes.

The things I want to speed up always seem to be slow, the best things though, never last long enough.

We don’t realize we want something until it’s gone. We don’t appreciate someone until they’ve moved on.

This makes me think…

Time. What a weird thing.

I feel like I have an endless supply of it.

Like I have an invisible pouch stored away, full of seconds and minutes. Enough to fill a lifetime.

Enough time to reach in and take out more on the good days, but enough space to store away some on the bad ones.

Enough time to fulfill my dreams Enough time to meet my soulmate and to travel the world Enough time to figure out who I am, who I want to be.

I don’t though I am not Peter Pan, we are not in Neverland, and this is not a fairytale.

I know this sounds morbid, But people die. Things happen. Time runs out.

We must expect the best, but prepare for the worst.

We need to stop spending hours online- posting, texting, snapping, tweeting.

Stop spending time worrying about which filter to choose, or who we want to be on social media. We need to put down our phones at concerts and just enjoy the music.

Because time is a weird thing.

There just never seems to be enough of it.

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Reality

Ruby Verrett ‘22

Joshua Tree Cactus Garden

Malinda Beason ‘19

2019 Spring 31

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