Literary Magazine 2021 by LHS Statesman

PERSEPECTIVES LHS LITERARY MAGAZINE-2021 art by maia morrison- "Breadth"

FRONT COVER

"Breadth"-Maia Morrison

"Calvin" by Samantha Hansen "Hello"- Ryanna Washegesic

O F

"Body" by Rowan Brown "What Will I Do"-Benton Keller

"A Conversation" by Isabelle Schroeder "That Day" by Priscilla Gonzalez

T A B L E

"Body"- Maia Morrison "Kaleido Perspective"-Victoria Raveling "Skin Deep"-Riane Menke

"My Mother" by Sonia Mugorewera "Field of Serendipity"-Victoria Raveling

"Pronounced: Fee-an-go" by Rachida Mahamed "Reaction: Covid-19" by Milaana Wollman "Menstrum"-Ella Ratliff "How I See Myself"-Benton Keller

"SO[U]L" by Daniel Bethke "Autumn and Apples"-Erin Zimmer "Shady Shore"-Lauren Miller

"LOL" by Joseph Barnhardt "Rural"-Levi Streedbeck

"The Brightest Star" by Benny Rojas

"For Riley and Lauren" by Eden Hodgins "With Each Step" by Trevor Fredenberg

15 "Wannabe"-Ella Ratliff Isabella Helgerson Aubrie Lehmann "My Brotherly Poem"-Owen Horsted

"Swamped" by Emina BelHajAmhed "Raindrops" by Izak Benitez-Lopez

"Cannery" by Michael Pagone Mary Wiederrich

"Mood" by Luke Henrichs Art by Emma Campbell- "Untitled"

C O N T E N T S

"Untitled"- Ethan Maguire "Sun Drop Georgia"-Kennady Kanta "Go Chasing Waterfalls"-Madalyn McQuistan Levi Streedbeck "L'Homme Dieu Yacht Club"-Ava Breems

"Unimaginable" by Avery Roth Art by Ella Ratliff

BACK COVER "Absent"-Emma Campbell

CALVIN SAMANTHA HANSEN

Ryanna Washegesic-"Hello"

His head cocked to the side, Resting on an airplane neck pillow. Brows pulled into a permanent scowl. Shaking hands, Twitching feetA body that can’t be still. Grey hair twisted Into a storm Atop his head. Hands permanently cemented into fists. Thin lips stretched Into a smile. His mind was gone. But his wife stayed. And that is what kept him going.

BODY ROWAN BROWN It started at the ripe age of nine years old. I noticed that my legs-particularly my thighs- squashed onto my chair more than the other kids’. At least, that’s how I saw it. I compared myself constantly to the skinny, white, upper-middle-class, blonde girls in my grade. My stomach stuck out too much, my arms were too thick, my shoulders too broad. My skin seemed too tan, nearly dirty next to their perfect paleness. Wide legs, peppered with dark hairs would never match their slimlegged-peach-fuzz-flawlessness. Secondhand clothes, purchased from goodwill or handed down by cousins and family members, would never stand up to their Nike leggings and Adidas sweatshirts. My dark hair tangled and oiled, theirs curled into soft amber-blonde ringlets or rested gently on delicate shoulders. I felt different, and over the next four or so years, I would try anything to change those things. I still struggle with these thoughts, but recently with the realization of my identity as a non binary person and a lesbian, in addition to a long road of body acceptance, things have changed. My broad shoulders and thicker arms are a source of confidence for me, and I’ve realized that having wide thighs isn’t a bad thing. We’re all taught to hate and judge our own bodies. And unfortunately, it takes time,

Benton Keller-"What Will I Do"

dedication, and strength to start deconstructing these preconceived notions of what beauty really is. Additionally, it’s important to realize that this isn’t an issue that only affects one group of people. Beauty standards affect us all, and its actions and consequences are deep-rooted in misogyny and xenophobia. Equally important though, is that we acknowledge that it does fixate on some groups more than others. For example, people of color, neurodivergent people, women, and transgender people. So where to go from here? We’re all hardwired to be super-

Filters, airbrushing and editing galore plaster the walls of Instagram. But out of sheer and complete luck, I ended up finding a positive feminist account. It was chock-full of aesthetically pleasing text posts and imagery, detailing how a person’s body is their own, how it doesn’t matter what’s on it, and that it’ll never change your worth. Body rolls, stretch marks, hair, and birthmarks. They were all normal and natural. And it was a view-changer for 11-year-old me. You didn’t have

critical to people who don’t match the standard, including us,

to be pale, skinny, and hairless to be beautiful? How

but how do we fix it? Well… it’s hard, and it starts with loving

had I not realized before?

yourself. My struggle with body acceptance is only just beginning, and I don’t see it ever ending. When it began, I

To conclude, there is no perfect body. It’s harsh, but

didn’t quite understand that I had problems. I diagnosed my

the world will always, always find ways to nitpick the

lack of eating as “portion control” and my hatred for my

way you look. Nobody, not anybody, is perfect, and in a

breasts as just “not filling out yet”. But my first step to

way that makes us all perfect. Many sugarcoat it, but

acceptance was body hair. All my life, I had manifested the

the way to acceptance is brutal. It’s hard. It’s

idea that female bodies were supposed to be hairless. Aside

something you and everyone else in your life has been

from the scalp, essentially bald. Surprisingly, this changed

doing since the time you could recognize words.

when I was introduced to social media. Specifically,

Terrible, isn’t it? But the first step is to recognize it,

Instagram. Now, much of the app is horrible when it comes to

and try.

body image.

A CONVERSATION

ISABELLE SCHROEDER Oh, I can’t reach a conclusion! What a chore it is to cause cooperation. Cap, cardigan, coat. Should I consider a captivating carmine Or contemplate a cold cobalt? Contrast or complimentary? No, that can’t be correct. I catch sight of my costume, Joseph’s coat of many colors. Maybe neutrals would suit me better. I’ll camouflage like the common looper, No longer the capricious chameleon.

THAT DAY PRISCILLA GONZALEZ I anxiously walked towards your room Knowing that what I was about to see was going to hurt My heart felt like it was erupting from my chest But I knew I had to take these steps to grow stronger As I sat there Holding your hand I was speechless, tongue-tied, silenced by anxiety But in my head I was telling you a thousand words Your body was like an empty shell You lied there motionless Your hand didn’t feel the same It was stiff and heavy But I wouldn’t let go I couldn’t.

Maia Morrison- "Body"

Victoria Raveling- "Kaleido Perspective"

Riane Menke-"Skin Deep"

MY MOTHER SONIA MUGOREWERA When I was little I would always ask my mom why she didn’t have many kids like other parents. I would tell her that If she had other kids I can be their teacher, my older brother can be their doctor, and my little brother could be the driver and drive them around. Another time, I found her praying while also crying. I asked her why she was crying, and she told me God listens to those who cry for him. I started praying and crying with her. My mom inspires me the most because she never gave up. My mother has gone through things some people don’t go through in a lifetime. At the age of seventeen, mom was arranged to marry my twenty-three-year-old dad. She soon fell in love with him. At nineteen my dad left her with my older brother and went to military school in a different country. My dad’s family mistreated her and my brother, but because of the love she had for my dad, she stayed and endured the harshness. She and my dad tried for years and years to have more children, but every time she got pregnant the baby would die, until me. Eight years after my parents had my brother, they had my twin sister and me, but she didn’t make it. After my birth, mom got sick and needed blood or else she wouldn't make it. Some lady, staying in the same hospital as she, offered her blood. Three years after me, my little brother was born and exactly eight months after his birth, my dad

Victoria Raveling-"Field of Serendipity"

passed away. To other people, my dad was a hero. He saved

I remember when we first got here, at the time we didn’t

thousands of people, including my mom and brother, from

have a car, and it was the middle of winter. We were at a

being arrested and killed in Congo. In my eyes my mom has

new school, and on that day, there was a severe winter

always been the hero. In my culture when a man dies, the

storm. The school canceled the rest of the day and sent

wife either stays with her in-laws and remarries to one of

us home. My little brother and I didn’t know how to get

their sons, or leaves and doesn’t take her kids. After dad

home, so we called our mom. She walked all the way to

died, his family wanted my mom to stay and raise us there.

our school in the middle of the storm to get us with extra

She refused because the place had no resources and wars

blankets to cover us on the way back. My mom does not

were happening all of the time. Mom decided to leave and

have a single selfish bone in her. Over the years, she has

start a new life with us as a single mother. She later told me

been our rock, gluing my brothers and I together. She has

that she couldn’t bear having us live in the same conditions

been nothing more than selfless to us, gave us everything

that she had to grow up in. When she left, my dad’s family

we need and more. I remember once, we were going to the

was angry and told her if she left she had to leave us there.

store and some homeless person asked us for money. She

She went against their wishes and left taking us along. Soon

didn’t have cash on her, but she felt the need to go back

after that, they stopped trying to communicate with us. We

home and get money she had there. Now every time we

were able to survive with the help of her many siblings. We

see a homeless person, my fourteen-year-old brother

never lacked or wished for anything she wasn't able to

gives whatever he has on him because he saw mom do the

provide. I used to always ask her why she wouldn’t remarry

same thing long ago. I believe that my dad was a hero to

when she was still young and able to; she would say that she

more people than my mom was, but he would never have

can’t imagine anyone taking the place of her husband, our

been able to do the things my mom does now. She has

father. We moved around countries in Africa -looking for

been a father and a mother to my brothers and me; never

somewhere stable and safe- until we ended up here in Sioux

once did we wonder what it would be like to have a father

Falls.

figure around. She is our world.

Ella Ratliff-"Menstrum"

Benton Keller-"How I See Myself"

PRONOUNCED: FEE-AN-GA

REACTION: COVID-19

RACHIDA MAHAMED

MILAANA WOLLMAN

Take me to Fianga,

Today,

Allow the land to wallow in my presence,

Like all other days,

Let me hear The thunder louder,

The World is Ending.

aching with people power.

But the Trees still Sway;

Take me to Fianga,

Every State, City, Person,

Bring the spices and flour, Let me breathe in,

Engulfed in Fear or Denial, But the Leaves still Fall;

Wet land, And red like mars from the sun.

Worried faces Covered by Masks

I want to hear the birds sing,

Quickly pass by others,

And see endless moon beams.

In a hurry to get their groceries,

So, take me to Fianga,

And get out of the store.

Let me sleep under the eternal night, And feel the gaze of the herds.

Politics Dominate our lives

If not Finaga then no place else.

as much as the Pandemic.

The people here legendborne,

People scream Fraud and people scream Silence

Born a crime to the savages,

It seems the Truth isn’t even Out There.

But their eyes were watching god.

No one knows What to believe.

They are our true secret to divine love. For they were never conquered by anything but divinity

But Time still ticks, The Ducks still fly South, Winter will still Come and Go, The Sun still sets and rises, Each day; Like it Always has, Like it Always will, A neverending Constant In times of neverending Chaos.

SO[U]L DANIEL BETHKE

One hopes for a day past these stained eves Where the grass will grow emerald and the sky will smile favorably Upon a voyage far from here. All have grown tired and all have noted their desire to escape, To escape the monotony and the bustle and the hurry without real cause, And to be free of the shackles and fiats unjustly imposed by others. Come torrential rain or come blistering drought, we reject the status quo Accepting any alternative as long as it stands in sharp contrast to the myriad issues we now face. And yet the sun will rise. I want to evade the concert canyons and the digital duality, To care not about the wants and actions of others, To sit under the light and to drink the fresh water in which I see myself. I want to sit under a tree whose fingers read deep into both Earth's soul and mine. Take me to the beacon, where I can be happy as in a dream, where I can unit with myself And feel the Earth's thundering heartbeat, And view it as mine. And yet the sun will rise.

About the direction I care not, About the aim I care not, As long as the clouds pass and the rainbow illuminates my path. The sands will glide and the water will crash,

Lauren Miller-"Shady Shore"

Erin Zimmer "Autumn and Apples"

And yet the sun will shine.

LOL JOSEPH BARNHARDT Laugh Out Loud. We use that phrase when there is something funny Or if something funny happened, But the still look you have on your face Tells another story. You are sitting in your room while friends, your friends, are sending you TikTok and Among Us memes. And yet, all you type is LOL while your face is straighter than a ruler. You post something on Twitter. You look over it a thousand times before realizing it sounded too sad. You pull the last amount of happiness out of your soul and type those words But it isn’t the truth; you typed them so everyone is thinking you got over it But you haven’t; you still hurt behind the mask of a smile, waiting for someone to pull It off to see the sadness behind it. You are human. Not an empty shell. You don’t have to LOL or pretend to laugh at someone's joke While you are hurting a pain of hell itself. Tell your friends that you're hurting if you need to, Just don’t laugh it off, Because otherwise you will hurt like trying to ignore the thorns on a rose.

Levi Streedbeck-"Rural"

THE BRIGHTEST STAR BENNY ROJAS Dorian is aware that most stories start somewhere that can be seen as a beginning. They start at the moment someone is born or when a certain incident is initiated or sometimes, if it works, right in the middle of some sort of grand event. Most stories leave some time to talk about, whether that time ends or is meant to keep going, even after the final words of the tale are over. But most stories are not Dorian’s story. His story starts here, now, as it comes to an end. It starts after a simple con gone bad, the wrong person getting hustled, that person getting angry about it. It starts moments after an attack, an ambush, a murder. Dorian’s own murder. Bleeding, choking, fading, it starts with him lying on the ground. Life draining, slowly, noticeably, painfully away in time with the blood leaving his body. Air becoming rotten and thick and rough and scarce, and small needles that jump, shooting throughout his body with each attempt to move, each breath, each singular moment. But all he can think about, despite the sharp ache, despite the unbreathable air, the pooling blood, the life ebbing away, is Cynfael. Cynfael. Dorian wants Cynfael. He wants to see his best friend, the friend he loves in some way different from friendship. The friend that he, not too long ago, didn’t dare to look at for too long, fearing he would fall in love with his hands and the storm-clouds of his eyes. The friend he fell in love with anyway because of his liquid silver voice and the words he spoke in that voice. The friend he still loves, that he could never stop loving. The curve of his nose, the faint red tint of his hair, the celestial music of his laughter, the devilish mischief of his smile. He is the perfect entanglement of an angel and a demon, of light and dark, good, evil, the hues of grey in between. And Dorian loves him, loves him harder than he’s loved anything, loves him more than the two of them loved the bread they stole together as starving children, loves him more than he loves the smell of petrichor, the feeling of a breeze in his hair. He’s fallen slowly, but fallen so hard. And he keeps realizing it over and over again, each time in a new way. Now is no different than the first time, years ago, lying under the stars. “That bright one? That one’ll always lead you home,” Cynfael had murmured, pointing one finger delicately towards the night sky. As if he could travel among the stars, Dorian at his side, with one gentle touch. “I hope so,” Dorian had whispered, looking at his friend, wondering, thinking, knowing that he was his home. His heart had stopped beating. And perhaps it had never started beating again, forever petrified and frozen in the moment of falling, just before hitting the ground. Dorian loves Cynfael, wants Cynfael, needs Cynfael, and now he wants to say it all. He wants to confess all of this, to tell his friend the feelings caught up in his chest, and to hear the same things said back. But as the blood gushes, life dissipates, pain goes from stinging to numb ache, he realizes he’ll never be able to. He’ll never be able to see the smoke grey eyes and charred red hair. He’ll never hear the melting metal, the perfect form of the words. Not ever again. It’s too late. Dorian will never say the words, and he’ll never hear anything back. He’ll never“...Dorian?” Distant. “Dorian?” Shattered. “Dorian!” Clearer. “Dorian!” Nearer. Glass, put back together. Dorian forces his eyes open, not having realized they were closed until now. They immediately try to fall shut again, but he fights with any remaining strength to keep them seeing and searching for the owner of the voice calling his name. It doesn’t take long. Cynfael is on the ground next to him less than a second later. Dorian tries to speak. His voice won’t cooperate, vocal cords unyielding, unwilling to move. He needs to say something. Say it. He begins to notice that he doesn’t even want to hear it back at this point, he just needs Cynfael to know. I love you. I love you. I love… I… “...love you…” Knives scraping on rocks, it’s a broken, rasping sound. Darkness. His eyes are closed again. Or are they? He can’t tell. There doesn’t seem to be much of a difference between light and the absence of it anymore. Cynfael may be speaking. Dorian can’t tell that, either. All he sees in the pitch black is one faint light, the star meant to lead him home, bringing them together one last time. He breathes once more. And exhales, like the final whisper of gentle wind in the leaves before a falling tree hits the ground. --Cynfael doesn’t see brightness fade from the colour, damp earth and gold dust, of Dorian’s eyes. He doesn’t see the last life of Dorian’s body leave in a final burst or anything of the sort. It’s slow and quick all at once, but Cynfael doesn’t know Dorian’s dead until he feels for breath and finds only cold against his fingers. The repetition of his friend’s name on his lips slows, a heartbeat coming to an end. Dorian can’t hear. He can’t hear his name, the birds singing far from here, the reciprocation of his final words that will never be spoken by Cynfael to anyone. And he can't see. He can’t see the tree limbs reaching for the sky. The final colours of the ending sunset. The star, meant to keep them together, and always bring them back home.

Ethan Maguire- "Untitled"

Madalyn McQuistan- "Go Chasing Waterfalls"

Levi Streedbeck

Ava Breems- "L'Homme Dieu Yacht Club"

Kennady Kanta-"Sun Drop Georgia"

FOR RILEY AND LAUREN EDEN HODGINS My name in your handwriting, a Santa stamp, a pattern in neon, a drawing of a sunset over the ocean, and a little something to make me laugh. I see these letters and I see your leopard print sweater, your black windbreaker, your smile at 8:30 every morning. I hear the rhythmic scratch of colored pencils, Jacob Collier in my headphones, light rain on the deck, robins singing, and the mail truck’s engine while it’s stopped at my mailbox. I read these letters and they sound like you calling me by a nickname, you describing how to make the perfect breakfast burrito, your laugh after I tell a silly joke. I feel the crisp corner of an envelope, indents on the page where you wrote, the curl of a stamp just peeled off its sheet, the backing of a sticker, and concrete on my bare feet. I hold these letters and they feel like my cheeks hurting from smiling, my chest about to burst with held back laughter, and a long-awaited hug from my friends.

WITH EACH STEP TREVOR FREDENBURG

Life is full of needles and nails Constantly wedged in your heels Each step forward feels like Stepping on the hottest part of hell But with each step forward The light that you long for begins to shine And you understand why you keep walking With those needles and nails in your feet The suffering now will be triumph later And the hell now will be heaven in the end The forward motion of life may seem unbearable But with each agonizing step comes The best experiences for the future With each step is a step closer to victory

Ella Ratliff-"Wannabe"

Isabella Helgerson

MY BROTHERLY POEM OWEN HORSTED Of all the burdens I must bear, I thought my brother was a scare. My life-long opposer, The one I must get over It seemed like almost every night, My brother and I were in a fight. He went behind me like a snake, Always wanting to make me break. As we grew older, We became a bit closer. As I began high school, We started to become cool But now he’s gone, He went off to college. And he left me at home,

Aubrie Lehmann

Just me all alone. He started off my rival, But ended my idol. I thought he was here a foe, But turns out, he’s just my bro

SWAMPED EMINA BELHAJAMHED

She walks through piles of assignments As if walking through a swamp. Dehydrated, in need of a break. In the middle of nowhere. Help is not on the way. She keeps trudging, The river of assignments keeps flowing up. Flash flood. Determined to finish, She won't sleep. Due at 11:59 pm tonight. She must finish. She hasn’t gotten good sleep in days But that's what it takes for that grade. That A plus. That feeling of accomplishment. Walking alone against the current, She doesn’t know where she’s going. All she knows is that once she gets that A, There will always be another flash flood.

RAINDROPS IZAK BENITEZ-LOPEZ

The rain smacks me day and night Everytime I get pounded and knocked out But I take these beatings No matter how much they hurt For her It is the only time I get taken out Every other day I just sit around and Lament About what I did wrong

CANNERY MICHAEL PAGONE Your shadowing gray eyes gloom as they reflect the moon The stars slowly show the glimmer of your blonde sparkling hair And the soft slow whisper of a cold autumn wind slowly makes waves in your straight and silky hair Although the beauty of an image is never just measured by the light For without the shade of the cold and lonely street we would never be able to look at you with such fascination You stare down the empty chamber of the long-glazed street No one there but you You once had a partner who held your arm tight You used to love when the bushes rustled, they jumped in fright, and you all would smile, laugh, and sing, down these old autumn streets You'd go home thinking it'd never be that good again But now you stand there looking only at the one light that still shined The single streetlamp that you would always disperse at Is now the only thing that brings the whole memory to life It shines at the end of the empty tunnel as you stand there alone with no one to old you tight But you know that someday you'll have the courage again to run, dance, jump, and sing all the way down the street Reaching the light and finding closure to your past But now all you have is the faint flickering of the streetlamps above you Reminding you that you should be like the light your partner showed you You should dance and laugh That you should sing and leap To the end of the street Like your tightly held partner Would want you to

Mary Wiederrich

MOOD LUKE HENRICHS

There are times when I am on top of the world My confidence is unstoppable Other people's thoughts become irrelevant I’m the captain of my ship Some onlookers may stare in awe at the grand vessel and shout praises for the captain and others my silently judge his achievements and epic failures But in that moment, none of them matter to the captain All that he is focused on is the destination of his ship There are other times when I have no determination My energy is scraped away like mere honey at the hands of a beekeeper Days that would have been filled with the outdoors or making music or hanging with friends Instead, is spent in an arid box Where one feels confined to an invisible fetter The catch is that I could leave anytime I wanted All it would take is a few steps to the door Ten long, tedious, larborful steps It just takes too much effort A drowsy mood takes a strong resolve to change it A resolve that would be easy to achieve while I’m feeling good

Emma Campbell- "Untitled"

UNIMAGINABLE AVERY ROTH

It came out of nowhereNo one was expecting itScreaming “Happy New Year” with cheerBecause we thought it was our yearSchool canceled for two weeksWhat a fun and long spring breakUntil we find out The rest of the year was onlineIt felt like life stoppedNot being able to leave our homesThese new things called masksWe wore them- uncomfortably. Stocking up on toilet paperSomething we thought we would never have to do. Zoom call is the new meetingCar hangouts are the new partiesStay SIX FEET APARTAlways WEAR MASKSStay HOMEDo not GET SICKThey call it the CORONAVIRUSSomeone ate a batOr something else happened, But it is changing the world day by day drastically. Inspired by Emily Dickenson

Ella Ratliff

LHS STATESMAN

Emma Campbell-"Absent"