Ursum Issue Three
Chief Editor Emily Brewer Co-Editor Bryce Gauvin Teacher Advisors Mrs. LaPlante Student Editors Theresa Abrahamsen Anna Mikalonis
Cover Photo by Sami Stahl
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Table of Contents
Editor’s Note
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Nature, and her Earth
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“Eulogy for the Trees ”
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Lemur
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“Perfectly Im-Perfect”
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Self Portrait
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“In America”
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Shells
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“Light Swallowed by Darkness ”
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A Nameless Thorn
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God of Smelting
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“A Collection of Poems ”
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A Little Birdy
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Lillith
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“Empty”
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“On Living in the Digital Age ”
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Self Portrait
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“Daisy in the Weeds ”
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Rabbits
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Little Wing
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“The Meeting, Part Three ”
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“Palimpsest”
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Yawn
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“No Words ”
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Submission Information
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Editor’s Note
Dear Reader, Welcome to the third issue of GMHS’s Literary Arts Magazine, Ursum, established to provide a creative outlet where student art and literature can be displayed and appreciated. We look for independent thinkers and powerful communicators who convey a message relevant to not only the Granby community, but to our society as a whole. Art, both visual and written, is a form of expression necessary to the growth of human intellect and to our understanding of the world not only as it is, but also how it could be. It is imperative that we, as a society, continue to create, foster, and value art in all forms in order to expand our views and knowledge. The works included in this issue of Ursum do just that. They remind us, confuse us, and empower us; they open our minds to possibilities and realities alike. To those of you that created and submitted these works of art: thank you. Thank you also to all of our readers; this would mean nothing without you. To Imagination,
The Ursum Team
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Nature, and her EarthÂ
Bryce Gauvin
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Eulogy for the Trees
Madame Godard
One day appeared a lovely small pink ribbon on my bark flapping in the breeze. How lovely, like a butterfly alighting upon my trunk, to what did I owe this luck? Many sunrises after, the whine of chainsaws cut the air, the distant deafening thuds echoed as they fell, one by one. Soon we grew used to the sounds, yet bit by bit the clamor approached, closer and closer, ‘til the great orange machines finally rumbled to a stop in front of us. Our turn had come. Our only crime: to have taken root in the soil below, the ground from whence we grew, home, now a cursed spot. For countless winters we’d stood side by side with poles whose wires radiated a gentle warmth to our slumbering branches in the depths of winter, Yet when the wind or ice proved too much for our weakest branches, we let go, a letting go that wreaked havoc on man’s comfort in their warm homes. And so we are no more, no longer will creatures call us home, no longer shall we provide a pool of freshness in the sweltering heat of August. The massacre is complete, we lie slaughtered, witnesses to the passage of time.
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LemurÂ
Andrew Phillips
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Perfectly Im-Perfect
Safiya Fahrudeen
Dear My Perfected Self. You are everything I dreamed to be. Sure, you aren't exactly what most people call “perfect”, or any sort of it. You’re, how should I put it, Unique. Amazing. Proud of who you are and not afraid to say exactly what you want, when you want. You don’t conform to society or defy it. It’s beautiful. Words don’t define you, you do. Things like “I’m a girl” or “I like girls” don’t even leave your mouth. Gender and sexuality don’t exist to you. Respecting both others and yourself. It’s a unique talent you have. Keeping in mind the thoughts of others without ever losing your own. Somehow you also have a pleasant balance of conviction and stubbornness. When you decide to lose weight and still eat what you like, you find a way. There are no “If’s” when you want something Your beauty never ends. Yeah, You may not always be happy Or have a small amount of friends. People may look at you and say bad things But you are perfect. Perfectly imperfect. From your music choice, To your fashion sense, Even your flaws. The things that make people cringe. So, sure, you may not be everything they wished you to be Or have the IQ of 180 Yet despite all that I believe you are perfect. From you hair to your toes. Sincerely, Your Not-So-Perfect Self.
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Self PortraitÂ
Michelle Dingivan
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In AmericaÂ
Daniel Molloy
So young, so handsome, so mild.
Brown - not black or white.
Of a culture so different from mine.
Taught the lesson all humans must,
to be fully human.
So young, so ugly, so brash.
White - not brown or black.
Of my culture, no different from me.
Learned the lesson all humans must,
to be fully human,
and now, beautiful.
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ShellsÂ
Abigail Phillips
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Light Swallowed by Darkness
Theresa Abrahamsen
I try to open my eyes. They burn. My mouth quivers as I hold back a scream that digs its nails into the back of my throat. I should be used to this by now. I’m always the one left behind and beaten by the memories that follows. Sitting up, I look at the damage that was carved into my skin like how an ax cuts into wood. The scars taunt me. Laughing at me for believing in you. Believing in every lie you said to my face. Every little glimmer of hope you gave me was another way of feeding me with your poison. “How pathetic am I,” I ask myself as I wipe the dust and some dried blood off of my pale snow white skin. “I say pretty dumb, Hestia,” Anemone snaps, his silver velvet eyes sharpen as he looks down at my thin figure. “You knew that it would never last.” “Shut up,” I hiss, showing my teeth. “You don’t know what I’ve been through! Stop acting like you know me, Anemone!” The Windwaver hunter grabs my wrist tightly and got down into my face. I whimper as I feel his grip tightening. Anemone was never gentle to anyone. He’s always strict and stern with everyone he associates with, even his leader, Ciro. He doesn’t take weakness and giving up for an answer. He would push you until he knew that you had enough. Sometimes, he doesn’t even stop then. “Hestia,” he hushes me as I try to scream and run away from his grasp, “You have to move on. You know that s-” “SHUT UP,” I shriek. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” “HESTIA!” Anemone snarls my name. I feel a hot burning sensation on the side of my left cheek. Before I know it, I am on the ground again with my check turning as red as the sun’s glare by the Red Sea. Anemone now straddles me as I struggle with putting up a fight. I try pulling his white hair, but he only twists my arm. I howl with agony and let him go. He holds me down until I stop with my outbursts. “You finished,” he asks, pulling me to my feet again. I swallow down the lump in my throat and nod. He sighs and pulls my blond hair out of my face and fixes my ponytail. “Listen, Hestia,” he says calmly, “I know it hurts but you’ve got to know when to move on with your life.” His eyes lock with my amber ones as I listen to him. “You know I’m right,” he adds, doing his best with trying not to sound snotty. I looks away as my eyes burn with hot angry tears. I hate to admit that he is right. He always is when it comes to… my eyes cloud when I think about that person. The one who lied. The one who said those things. The one I trusted. The one who… “Hestia, stop thinking,” Anemone growls, as if he were reading my mind. “All it’s going to do is bring up more pain.” “I know,” I say, “but it’s so hard to do.” I look up at the sky and throw my hands in the air. “I should’ve listened to you! You were right! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!” “Getting mad at Him wouldn’t do you any good, Hestia,” Anemone snaps at me. I roll my eyes. 11
“It’s not like He tried to help me anyway,” I say through my teeth. “For anying, our leader is a sadist!” “Hestia!” “Well it’s true! All our god did was watch my heart be torn out and ripped to bits!” The Windwaver snarls and his gust of wind throws me down onto the floor again. “Stop doing that,” I seeth and bare my teeth at him. He only looks away and strokes the fallen leaves. “The seasons are unbalanced. I wonder how the Fernbreezes are holding up.” I look at the orange and yellow leaf that is tangled in my hair. He is right. The seasons haven’t been the same since the Fallen of the Elements. Maybe it’s because you’re gone now, I think bitterly to myself as I feel fire swirl around my clenching fists. “You Sunspots sure love to use your flames,” the Windwaver sighs. “Does it help bring your anger out?” “Possibly,” I answer flatly as I begin to follow him deeper into the woods. I fix my sleeves and turn to see Anemone looking at me with pure sadness. “I don’t want your pity,” I state, trying to act like I don’t care. But deep down, I do. I realize I’d almost forgotten how it feels to rely on someone and feel like someone understands you. Don’t rely on anyone, I order myself. C’mon. You just learned that the hard way. Anemone offers his hand to me but I slap it away. “I can make it to Hollow Tree without your help. I’m not weak like little Bubbleshine I see you around.” “That little Bubbleshine is someone who I’m training, Hestia,” he growls in a low voice. “She means nothing more than an apprentice to me. I’m not like you who befriends others from other sprites.” Fire sparks around my knuckles as my eyes turn gold. “Are you saying that I’m a traitor to my own kind? Because if you are,” I pull him by his collar of his vest so he can be close to my face as I whisper, “I can tell everyone what you did two months ago with Coventina.” The Windwaver steps back and stares at me. I smirk and cross my arms. “Be careful who you pick fights with, Hestia,” Anemone says in a rough voice, that sounds monotone. I click my tongue and start walking off. Turning my head, I mutter, “Same goes to you.” “Hestia, I’m warning you. You light is being impure with darkness.” I stop in my tracks and slowly look back at him. A cold smile is drawn on my face. “Anemone, I may be a Sunspot but it doesn’t mean Darkshadow blood doesn’t run within me.” “You’ll break, Hestia.” “Oh Anemone, how can I break if my heart is already broken?”
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A Nameless Thorn
Anna Mikalonis
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God of Smelting
Natalya Vicencio
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A Collection of PoemsÂ
Anonymous
Â
i do not believe that you cannot love someone else without loving yourself first struggling to accept yourself does not mean that you are incapable of love and incapable of giving and incapable of being and creating happy do not feel guilty for falling in love with someone else before you do yourself
it is not at all that you are not good enough for them it is just that your eyes tell stories of which even the greatest person cannot bear to read
how badly i wanted to scream the thoughts that had eaten my sanity until the stars collapsed like rain
it is important to remember that you were already a star before you made constellations with him
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you just want someone to scream into your ears that my dear you are worthy but you seem to forget that you have a voice to scream with too
i was so busy trying to feed your hungers that i didn't realize it was myself that was starving there is such thing as loving too selfless
those tears fall from my eyes and my nose and my mouth and my ears you exhale and my face is dry
you weave through me like the sun weaves through the pedals of a flower you do not ask me to change you simply help me to grow
i always gravitate to the sad ones like an unconscious attraction between broken things
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A Little BirdyÂ
Serena Morris
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LillithÂ
Natalya Vicencio
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Empty
Vic McMillian I just got off the phone with my mother.
She called me by the wrong name, and I said it’s been two years. Her response was to guilt trip me about not talking to her enough. It sounds familiar, like a song I knew before a time I can remember. It reminds me why I left. Well, one of the reasons.
A song plays, with a lyric I feel every time I hear it, though, for the life of me I cannot think why. “I’m gonna free fall out into nothing, I’m gonna leave this world for a while.” It makes me feel the way I did on the edge of the rock in the state forest a few miles from my house. The guitar is familiar, though not the original. All I can say about this version is that it’s pretty. 19
10:08 and I haven’t regained my connection. It isn’t so much a distance as a question. What’s missing? Where did it go? And how come I can feel its absence but not its presence?
I think of color, and how come, if I’ve decorated it, the white of my walls still feels too big. Too infinite, like I could step through it, and it would never ever end. Even with sound, this room is too quiet.
10:13 Where did I go?
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On Living in the Digital AgeÂ
Mr. Dunn
Â
I look forward to a time when I grow my own tree and it matures and I cut it down with a handsaw and I build a fire upon which I place a pot that I have made with my own hands out of very local mud and that I fill with water that melted from a glacier from which I brew a cup of tea made from leaves drying at their own pace in an old rusted metal box that looks like it might at one time have been a microwave.
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Self Portrait
Anthony Spica
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Daisy in the WeedsÂ
Nez Ahmad
Emotions that are trapped inside. They toy with you. They screw your mind. They feed off your fear. They leave you in tears. And I'm left to wonder why. People you love, hurt you then run. And the shock of it all's like the blow of a gun. You count on them, to return. You count on them, but the truth only burns. And I'm left to wonder why. The frail stranger with smiling eyes. Silent yet kind, but hurting inside. They're tortured within, They'll never win, And I'm left to wonder why. That little boy with a missing front tooth. Giggles with innocence, Smiling like a goof But at home, his smile trades out for a frown. His giggles for cries, dulling his eyes. And I'm left to wonder why. The business man so engrossed in his phone, He falls to the ground and lets out a groan. Too busy to notice the source of his trip: The outstretched leg clad in jeans full of rips. And I'm left to wonder why. That pretty girl dressed up in Louis Vuitton Michael Kors bag and high pumps strapped on Face perfectly powdered, not a hair out of place Privileged and clueless to the strife in others' day She struts past that kid in hard search of food Too ignorant to absorb the pain she just viewed And I'm left to wonder why. 23
We talk. We all talk. Just to hear ourselves speak. Almost constantly. Our words like a stream. Pouring from our mouths. Like a faucet with no knob. Rapidly flowing, no way to turn off. I guess I wouldn't really mind. If we weren't so damn blind. For our words can hold great power, If we so choose. Yet we would rather Snapchat, than turn on the news. We simply speak to speak. Acting as if it's not weak. Ramble off what's on our minds, Or simply give out a load of lies. See, our words, they mean NOTHING! Until we get up and do something. Actions speak much louder than words. And the words I hear are softer than the chirp of a bird. I mean look at us! We're healthy, we're clothed, we're housed, we have satisfied bellies, we're even blessed enough to be educated, and on top of all that, we have an abundance of luxuries we take advantage of every single day. Yet when asked how we are, we respond with "just okay". So often it is that people just say what pops into their heads. They make promise after promise, just to break them in the end. So think before you speak. Never make a promise you can't keep. Deep breaths before you act. Or you might stray off of the path. Open up your once blind eyes, So you can finally realize, The world is full of pain and sorrow, But with some help, we'll all see tomorrow. Take a moment, just once every while. To do something kind, make someone smile. For your tiny act may be all someone needs. To find the stray daisy buried deep in the weeds.
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Rabbits
Theresa Abrahamsen
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Little WingÂ
Ashley Bailey
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The Meeting, Part Three
Emily Brewer
The damp air crept under the collar of Fear’s coat as he made his way down the dark hallway. Each step he took echoed around him, as if the walls themselves were walking with him. The passage was longer than he remembered it. The air pressed in, growing stronger the further he went. He ran the side of his thumb along his scars. They had healed years ago, but they still burned. A drop of rainwater fell onto Fear’s face as he passed under a square of wood set in the stone ceiling. He pulled a knife from his coat and a handgun from his belt and pulled on the handle on one side of the wooden square. It swung open, releasing a rope ladder. Fear held the knife between his teeth and climbed up the ladder and through the door. When he pulled himself onto the floor, he could feel the presence of another in the small room. “I am armed,” Fear growled in a warning. “So am I.” A click sounded, followed by a light flickering to life, revealing a man Fear knew well. “I hoped you would return, but not like this.” Fear eyed the pistol in the man’s hand, poised away from his body, ready to fire. “I’m not going to do what you want,” Fear said, stepping forward slowly. “Then why are you here?” Fear paused. “I needed to see for myself. You know I don’t trust you, Walter.” “And you know that I don’t trust you, Fear,” Walter replied. “Why are you really here?” “I just told you.” The hard lines that made up Walter’s face shifted as he pursed his lips. “You’ve come for the boy, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me.” Fear took a step back, bowing his head. “How did you know about him?” “We’ve known for a while,” Walter said. “Since before I left?” Walter nodded solemnly. “And you know he’s not mine?” Fear said, meeting Walter’s gaze. “Just hers.” He nodded again. “He’s safe.” Fear’s shoulders relaxed. “How long has he been here?” “A couple months. Eve brought him here before she...” he let the silence finish the sentence. “Henry has stayed with us since.” Fear flinched. “Don’t say his name.” “His father is dead.” Walter stepped closer to Fear. “Another reason why the boy should be with me.” Walter shook his head in frustration. “Like you said, Henry’s not yours. He’s safer with us.” “The Society is crumbling,” Fear said through clenched teeth. “It’s not going to win against the Shadow again. He’s already tearing it apart from the inside.” “Another reason we need you back,” Walter said, on the verge of pleading. “Eve will listen to you, and if we can get her back...” “You think you can defeat him?” Fear cried, his voice echoing in the small room. “You can’t. He’s too powerful. There’s nothing you can do.” 27
“Then what are you going to do? Take the boy, save Eve, and leave the rest of the world to the darkness?” Fear’s stern eyes answered him. “Give me the boy.” “He won’t want to go with you.” “I can convince him.” Walter laughed. “No one gets anywhere with Henry. He’s too much like his mother.” “That’s why I need him,” Fear whispered. He raised his arm. A shot rang out. The bullet hit Walter in the shoulder, and he fell backwards with a sad grin still plastered on his face. “Sorry, Walter,” Fear said, “But you’re in my way.” As he stepped over Walter’s slumped body and reached for the handle of the metal door, the lights went out. Fear raised his gun and he peered into the darkness. A blackness was forming around him, though there was no light to cast shadows. Fear jumped as a voice filled the room. “And you’re in mine.” Fear reached for his box of matches and found the pocket empty. “Looking for something?” The voice filled the hallway, low and thin, like a snake slithering in the dark. “Where is she?” Fear demanded, scanning the hall for the creature that belonged to the voice. The creature clicked its tongue, the sound moving around Fear in circles. “You were always so impatient.” A pause. “I think I found what you were looking for.” A match flared to life behind Fear, and he whirled around to face it. A face like death hovered in the darkness, illuminated by the orange light from the match. “Are you confused?” Fear watched the face, frozen. “I bet you are. Go ahead, ask me your question.” “Where is Eve?” The Shadow smiled. “I mean the other question. About the fire. It can’t hurt me anymore. You want to know how?” Fear shook his head, his fingers forming into fists. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Shadow spoke first. “I know, I know,” he said. A pale, skeletal hand reached out to touch Fear’s shoulder, cloaked in swirling black robes. “You’re just here for Henry. But you don’t have to worry about him anymore, I have him. And I know you’re worried about your little Eve.” Fear growled, “Don’t say her name.” “But you don’t have to worry about her anymore either,” the Shadow continued, his snake-like voice soft and soothing. “She’s my little Eve now.” Fear swung his fist at the Shadow’s pale face, then stumbled when it met nothing but a cold pocket of air. The match dropped to the floor, flickered, and submerged the hall in darkness again. The Shadow was gone.
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PalimpsestÂ
Mr. Norris
Erase these words. Cross them out with emphatic strokes. Eradicate and obliterate this meager chicken scratch with a small cube of rubber. Where once the page was crowded with letters shaped by hand, fill it instead with dim projections, ghosts of graphite, echoes fading in the hush of elapsed seconds. Don’t study the remaining palimpsest of smudges and indents. You won’t find damning evidence or clues to be decoded. Only missteps and false starts, an awkward word transgression heading down a cul-de-sac lacking an adverb. Fill your bronchial cavities with a volume of clear afternoon breeze, and blow away this dusty bone yard of spent vocabulary. If necessary use the edge of your hand to brush the empty page, making sure that not a comma or period is left behind.
Write new words on top of this freshly tilled field of absence. Words to build a stairway leading out of your chair and over to the window, maybe even up on the rooftop for an unimpeded view. Words that reveal a mirror day in which the pencil point meets itself while making its slow descent down the page. Words that form a dome of blue over this snow covered battle ground, this past with no future. Words extracted from the thin air of Everest and transported by Sherpa, mule, bus, taxi, train, plane and finally by the hand that places them on the sand at the beach where you write with a stick beside the in-coming tide. Words like promenade, modicum, calisthenics, or spumoni. Words that you can ride on like a toboggan on a steep run, or a hot air balloon floating down the island of Manhattan.
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YawnÂ
Eberly Tirillo
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No Words
Anonymous Before the words disappear, Into the vacuum of my mind, I want to let them fly freely around, My sphere of friends until They all make sense again.
Before the words disappear, In order to dispel the fear, That someday words won’t spill Like flowing water over rocks, But rather through the dark crevices Underground, Where no one hears or sees them.
Before the words disappear, I’d like to wipe away The deep misgivings, The tortured sighs and Stinging lies, That cover kindness Like a blanket that tucks itself in On the sides.
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Submission Information Â
Thank you for reading our second issue of Ursum. If you are interested in submitting your own work, please see the guidelines below. Accepted types of artwork include short stories (no more than 1,500 words), poetry, photography, and artwork. Written work may be in other languages with the English version accompanying it. Content must be school appropriate, inoffensive, and original (please do not submit work that includes copyrighted content, including characters from published books or photographs from outside sources). We do not accept incomplete works (unless it is an excerpt from a larger written work, in which case the segment must still be a finalized product). Please title your piece before submitting. To submit, send your work to us via email to ursummagazine@granbyschools.org. We encourage all students to submit! If you would like to participate in the editing and publishing of Ursum, please contact Mrs. LaPlante or Theresa Abrahamsen. We encourage and welcome all students at any time of the year, regardless of past experience or participation. Please contact 20abrahamsent@granbyschools.org with any questions, comments, or concerns. Thank you!
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