OMNIA 2020
LITERARY MAGAZINE MOSES BROWN SCHOOL
OMNIA SPRING 2020 EDITOR IN CHIEF ABIGAIL GERRISH '20 EDITORIAL TEAM T R I S TA N C O N N E L L ' 2 0 S O P H I E K R AV I T Z ' 2 1 JULIA MCGUIGAN '21 LAUREN METTERS '21 N A I L E O Z P O L AT ' 2 1 SAVA N N A R U S T ' 2 1 F A C U LT Y A D V I S O R S KRISTIN S TREET W I L S O N TAY L O R
COVER: "WE ARE ALL THE SAME" SAMMY SHANG '22
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F E AT U R I N G WORDS A LY S S A B A K E R ‘ 2 0 ABIGAIL GERRISH ‘20 K E L LY G R A Z I A N O ‘ 2 0 MILES KAUFMAN ‘22 LAUREN METTERS ‘21 LOURDES NICOLELLA ‘22 N A I L E O Z P O L AT ‘ 2 1 SAVA N N A R U S T ‘ 2 1 C O U R T N E Y YA N G ‘ 2 0
IMAGES S Y D N E Y AT W O O D ‘ 2 1 BEN BAMFORD ‘23 C AT H E R I N E C H E N ‘ 2 0 JADE CYRUS ‘20 MARYBETH FITZSIMMONS ‘20 MADDY GERRISH ‘22 LANEY GOODRICH ‘20 V I B H A K A M AT H ‘ 2 1 MADELINE KLIPFEL ‘21 OLIVIA KLIPFEL ‘21 ISABEL LUDES ‘20 L U L U LY U ‘ 2 3 JULIA MCGUIGAN ‘21 ELISE MILNER ‘21 REKA MOSCARELLI ‘21 A B B I N AYA N A R AYA N A N ‘ 2 0 J I L L I A N PAQ U E T T E ‘ 2 0 JAIME RAMPONE ‘22 ELI REVILLE ‘21 HADLEY R-L ‘22 LILA SALAZAR ‘22 SAMMY SHANG ‘22 ZACH SOLOFF ‘23 YUFEI XIAO ‘20
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E C S TAT I C ELISE MILNER '21
Introduction Abigail Gerrish '20 Editor-in-Chief When the world falls to pieces, we all need somewhere or something or someone to turn to. There is solace to be found in people we love, there is solace to be found in the places and things we love, and there is solace to be found in art. Many of the submissions to this year's Omnia were created in the months prior to the outbreak of COVID-19, and more specifically, to the closure of Moses Brown School and subsequent shift to distance learning. Yet, somehow, many of these pieces capture the feeling of chaos and disorder, of instability and unbalance, that this global pandemic has brought upon us all. This is the beauty of art. One of its many purposes— and perhaps its most important one—is to reassure us that we are not alone in what we feel. Art provides us with a visual or literary manifestation of the multidimensional human experience. In its essence, once created, it belongs to all who view it, and its interpretation varies accordingly. But rather than divide us, art unifies, because it encourages us, as long as we allow it, to believe that our struggle is not limited to ourselves. In other words, if we let it, art can give us hope. The many forms of art that can be found on the (virtual) pages of this magazine can give us hope. And in times like these, when uncertainty reigns and few of us have seen each other for months upon months, hope is a very good thing.
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what'll it be Lourdes Nicolella '22 so what’ll it be, friend? what will the flashing sunrise of your life unite you to but a destiny you make out with your own honest eyes? how will the first drops of afternoon fall on your face, colliding with the nebulous beauty of a soul so proudly unprotected? the fierce winds of neptune are no match for the bombastic cosmos you hold clenched in your fists ready to whirl and spread to create an atmosphere bigger than the hopes of seven billion so real it hurts. you will bump and pollock your way through landscapes of love and hate and bear nights of vivid, wild despair. you will feel painfully alive and living and breathing may feel impossible but you’ve got to go on. you’ve got to go on. follow the maps of the lines on your hands that lead to the place where heroes can only dream of. meet with the flames of dawn and dance to the firefly buzz of the city. scream your name until all the planets you haven’t met yet know who you are. unfold your hands and venture out into this beautifully bizarre world. a sleepless chaos waits for you.
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D E F E AT E D A B B I N AYA N A R AYA N A N ' 2 0
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My Fears anonymous I’m afraid of falling from high above or falling in love. I’m afraid of the monsters under my bed and the monsters in my head. I’m afraid of growing old, and being told that I’m nothing. Nothing. I’m afraid of nothing.
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FA L L I N G C AT H E R I N E C H E N ' 2 0
May 16 anonymous I miss your touch, The way your soft fingers traced my temple, The way you laced your hands within mine, As if we were intertwined, invincible even I miss your voice, The way you coaxed me into believing I was perfect Despite my evident flaws I miss the feelings you gave me As if I meant as much to you as I thought I did As if my beauty was derived from my mind You captured my soul, and haven’t released it since May 16th
OSPREY J I L L I A N PAQ U E T T E ' 2 0
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Hiraeth Lauren Metters '21 Whether naive or sanguine, I cannot discern. For certain, ineffable— resigned to this, I try. My fingers quiver as the ink streaks across a page that no one else needs ever to see. They whisper trustfully of this poisoned limerence. This ephemera, anticipated, cherished, and withdrawn. I remember the euphoric hums of passion syncopated only by my own enduring shame as I yearned to taste the elixir of your lips. For once, I dared. The moment feigned an ethereality that I unmasked— it was fleeting. As if slipping through the spaces between these same fingers as they struggled to reach my fogging eyes. You were my hiraeth, my halcyon vision, and my hamartia, alike. For once, I dared.
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CHERRY MARYBETH FITZSIMMONS '20
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FRACTURED ELISE MILNER '21 12
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Mars Abigail Gerrish '20 I am passing red rock canyon sailing back toward the fringes of civilization and it feels as though I’ve only just left
and I feel as though if I pick up my phone and answer the messages I’ve received (108) I will have re-entered for good everything that was as if nothing has changed as if I have not changed and I do not want that
I am trading one world for the next Do I belong in a place apart from everything from everyone?
and there is no one else to understand it but him and he is miles and miles away
I have not showered since I left it all behind and I’m sure I’m covered in a thin layer of quiet dust a thin layer of desert and I do not want to wash it down the drain because I am afraid that if I do I cannot be sure that any of it was real
and I am afraid I’ll never see him again and afraid he wouldn’t mind. Silly girl did you really think you could get away without feeling?
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Blood Red California Sun anonymous We stand at the edge of the track, on the hard white bleachers, turned seedy by time and use. The sun beats down hard. It's September, the season just beginning for some. Not for us though, we’ve run. Through the summer watching the skies turn from clear blue to a gray, under the blood red California sun. UNTITLED OLIVIA KLIPFEL '21
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CROWD YUFEI XIAO '20
UNTITLED REKA MOSCARELLI '21
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NEW MOON JAIME RAMPONE '22
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BURNING EARTH V I B H A K A M AT H ' 2 1
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Tangerine Courtney Yang '20 already was it speckled above with the creamiest Creations! a Whispering etched itself into the hardwoods, nestling comfortably within their branches. thoseTearswereglinting, so misty! inside them could I see my own. in the Wet earth, all was Right as candor burst, dripping
And even these long Lonesome years later the mist Slides and snakes like the eastward bending straits that tracked me here. they carried a pocketful of hollyhocks (poltergeists) (ashes, ashes). I see that mist now; Like a tangerine
fever
Dream! P U R P L E -T H R O AT E D M O U N TA I N G E M J I L L I A N PAQ U E T T E ' 2 0
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On the Creation of a Desert Miles Kaufman '22 Dreary is the droplet that In gray visage falls from grace Ended within the space of a splat Thus to land upon the face Of earth dark’ned by loam then black Therefore to lose it’s form, not being For resurrected it surges back Through green troughs of scented seeing. Dreary is the day upon Which the droplet falls to scorn; No more to water receiving lawnIt gathers in a puddle worn. But rather than to flow about, Rather than to cease! Rather than to die in drought, And bring to heat-oppressed ease It rises from this pitiful state Made light by that which leaden beats Down upon and upwards hate: From desert arises water, it meets It’s creation once more, in floating vessels! Great formations of white, in fine countenance Never destroyed, it hereby has wrestled Not for existence, but for eternal presence. Therefore is it laid to rest. In infinite cycle calls it usThough we may the rains detest, Clouds result where desert must.
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SEA SAMMY SHANG '22
CALM MADDY GERRISH '22
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SELF L U L U LY U ' 2 3
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My Window is a Picture Frame Alyssa Baker '20 My window is a picture frame Everchanging with the seasons, High-tide flood, Low-tide beach Sun-rise, Sun-set The bay is calm Beachgoers bring their beloved pets To run free and get wet No need to leave my bed
MASKED ISABEL LUDES '20
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Shades Savanna Rust '21 Faint clouds fade in between shades of ocean blue As strong winds wrap their arms around me, My caramel complexion peers into my soul At the edge I stare deeper into the water A familiar reflecting pool…
RIPPLES REKA MOSCARELLI '21
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REFLECTIONS LANEY GOODRICH '20
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AMBEDO ELISE MILNER '21
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I stared into the eyes of Reliance. Lauren Metters '21 I stared into the eyes of Reliance. Articulate, he spoke. He poured falsehoods into my ears, and drizzled every last unfulfilled promise into the half-empty glass. I am Trust, he said. I believed him. Better unrequited than unafraid. Impudence is death. Dissent is dying. He told me such things. I believed him.
ADRIFT ELISE MILNER '21
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More Tree Than Me (an Ode to Poison Ivy) Abigail Gerrish '20 today I learned that it has reached my blood the stuff that makes the rashes start for they appear in places I know I have not touched and I’m afraid that they will spread to cover all the skin I know is mine and I will disappear
a selfish part of me feels betrayed by nature somehow I thought that like a bee as long as I respected her she would not harm me but I am so covered with what feels like hatred that I now wonder if I do indeed deserve it
it is not lost on me that poison ivy is no disease and thank god it is not in my lungs and the steroids I’m taking are both helpful and unnecessary
and if I’m so easily defeated by blistered skin and ooze that reeks and shines and drips like tree sap (though I am not a tree) who am I to tell myself that I am stronger than the others?
but I have not slept much these past few days for the burning and what is logical is in some ways outside my reach
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UNTITLED OLIVIA KLIPFEL '21 SPRING 2020
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UNTITLED S Y D N E Y AT W O O D ' 2 1 28
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Dandelions Savanna Rust '21 I peer out into a quiet pond filled with tranquil thoughts… As the pale soft clouds fade into rich light blue I hold onto the image of my mothers eyes Staring into my chocolate brown iris As the never ending sky reflects off the slow current Vivid dark blue waters wash over patches of dandelions at the shore, Reminders of when I ran across hills of soft, green grass as a little girl And as the dandelions begin to regain their vibrant yellow after yet another dire winter I hold one in the palm of my caramel hand As I’m reminded of who I used to be… As light as it may seem, it feels heavy in my palm Carrying the weight of yesterday And the day before that… I hold onto it As I grow As I regain my strength I hold onto its petals As I leave… And promise to carry it with me while time passes And the leaves change Before I return home…
SUNFLOWERS ISABEL LUDES '20
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Metal Beast Miles Kaufman '22 I awoke in a wooded clearing. I wasn’t entirely certain of what time of day it was, as a dreary sort of twilight prevented me from interpreting whether it was early morning, or late evening, nor of where I was, in fact, but that wasn’t concerning to me. What was concerning was the raven.
dozing elderly man in an ugly brown sweater seated on an equally ancient spruce chair. The red carpet atop the floor did little to muffle the cracks of the floorboards as I approached the man. I took a cloth from a nearby bookshelf, draping it about my loins. The man stirred.
It sat on a branch opposite me, glaring into my being with beady, shining eyes. No teleological monstrosity could produce such a fiend, I thought, gazing at it with intensity. It pruned itself, settling back to the staring contest it seemed to have magistrated for this evening. The gray branches swayed about it, their bony, leafless fingers extending into the sky.
He sat up suddenly, his eyes considering me with laconic calculations. “What do you want?” He asked me. The door slammed shut behind me, carried by a fresh gust of wind. “I was wondering where I could get some clothes. It’s really quite cold outside,” I said. “Damn straight, it is,” said the brown sweater man, leaning back. He seemed to remember himself, and sat up before rising slowly to his feet, holding his back as if in the expectation that it would escape. “You poor thing,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit short. It’s difficult living out here, you know.” He shuffled into a nearby room, gesturing for me to follow. It had a high, vaulted ceiling, with a wooden cross at its head.
The second thing that concerned me was the fact that I was not wearing any clothes, and that it was quite cold indeed. I sat on a bed of moist, rotting leaves, all the color seeming to have been leached out of them and stored in some ancient vault deep beneath the topsoil. There was a deep silence that blanketed the forest, and as I shuffled through decomposing patches of gray bark and grayish mud, I noticed that my own breathing seemed strange, a sort of wheezing. It was likely the cold, I thought, as the greasy-feathered raven flapped noisily after me. I didn’t have the energy to yell at it to leave. Eventually, I came upon an ancient, whitewashed building, it's partially sagging rooftop’s spine reaching up towards the sky. The raven soared ahead, swooping around another tired, gray clearing before settling on a vantage point from which it could observe me. Nothing stirred as I approached the building. It had an ancient wooden door heavyset in an oak frame, which swung inwards with surprising ease to reveal a 30
“You live here?” I asked. “Heavens no,” said the brown sweater man, “this is a church. Where are you from, anyway?” Before I could answer, he cackled, and said “Laura! We’ve got a nude visitor here. A regular loonie, by the looks of him.” He turned to me. “If you’ll pardon the expression.” I nodded awkwardly. A middle-aged woman appeared in a doorway at the end of the long, vaulted room. She paused, considering me for a moment as the elderly man had done, before hurrying into a side room to fetch clothing. She brought me a white shirt and gray cotton pants, holding them with reverence, as though I was a sort of deity. I attempted to thank her, but all that came out was a sort of mechanical croak. “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” she said, stepping back as
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UNTITLED REKA MOSCARELLI '21 SPRING 2020
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if retreating from a growling dog. I changed quickly in the front room. The brown sweater man stepped into the room three seconds after I finished, as though acting on a delayed cue. “Here, let’s take you into the back room, son, and you can tell us all about yourself, okay?” I nodded dumbly. He hobbled ahead of me, walking with a slight penchant for his left side, and in an unusual hurry, as if he wanted to escape from my wheezing. Laura held another oaken door for us, which opened into a small communal space with a stuffed animal seated on a nearby cushion. A massive book entitled The Holy Bible sat at the center of a round table, and the brown sweater man hurried around me to the opposite end, followed quickly by Laura. He motioned for me to sit. “So, where are you from? Are you hungry?” He asked. I didn’t know which question to respond to, so I said I didn’t know where I was from. Both of them looked at me for a long moment before he repeated the last question. “I’m not very hungry, no,” I said, as I was unfamiliar with the concept. “Are you thirsty, then?” Asked Laura. I may have said “no” a bit too loudly, as both of them recoiled suddenly. I don’t truly know why I did, but the thought of water, or any liquid, made me shiver. I apologized hastily. “Alright, son. Tell you what, we can take you into town, yeah? We might be able to find someone there who’ll be able to take care of you.” The brown sweater man shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he said this. “Sure, of course,” I said, “thank you again”. They both murmured an affirmative, guiding me from my seat to the cold outdoors. When I came outside, the raven was perched on a fencepost opposite the church, eying me with suspicion. For the first time I saw that a small trail led from the church to what was presumably a town, though nothing was visible. A small black figure appeared 32
on the path, dancing about with surprising speed— Suddenly, the air was pierced by an immense wave of sound. I fell to the ground, clutching my reverberating skull. The brown sweater man stood over me, a rifle in his hand. He looked down at me with something approaching pity. “Oh, I’m so very sorry, son. I ought to have warned you,” he said. I looked around. The raven was gone, but at the foot of the pole was a crumpled black figure, a red stream issuing from it slowly. “They’re pests,” said the brown sweater man. I ran to the remains of the raven, cradling it in my hand. It opened its beak weakly, croaking as though pleading for a moment further of life, before dropping its head into my arms, now limp for death. I stroked it, my hands becoming covered in its blood, and yet I didn’t care, how could I care? Here was an end to life— could mine end as well? “Let it be, hey?” Laura had stalked out of the church, and presently she stood behind me to my left, sadly shifting her gaze from the raven to me. She patted my back softly. “Let it be.” I lifted my gaze to the path. “There, did you see it?” I asked. “See what?” She countered. “There was… ah, nevermind”. The figure had long since disappeared, though a semi-opaque purplish stain blotted out a small portion of my vision. A black bar, not quite an object but a lack of sight (as I attempted to focus on it, yet could not) slid across my vision, and then was gone. The purplish stain continued to subside, and I realized we had been walking along the small path I had seen from the church door for a length of time, now, with both denizens of the church a safe distance behind me. The path meandered to a rise, from which the “town” could be seen sprawling along the floor of a valley like the scattered toys of a child interrupted during playtime.
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DESIGN A B B I N AYA N A R AYA N A N ' 2 0
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LIGHT LINES MADELINE KLIPFEL '21
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UNTITLED ELI REVILLE '21
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Presently, I noticed blood dripping from y hand. Looking down, I saw that I still held the raven, cradling it’s spent husk in my left hand with strange reverence. Slowing, I placed it into a bowl-like depression in a rock directly off of the path, then continued on my way. Brown sweater man caught up to me, his breath visibly suspended as though a hung corpse. “I’m sorry I shot that little guy, eh?” He looked at me apologetically. “They’re pests, like I said, pests.” My breath caught in my throat. “So pests don’t deserve to live?” I asked. My vision blurred, and I smacked the side of my head, expecting the anomaly to clear quickly, however it remained. “Hey, don’t tear up, friend,” said the brown sweater man, “there are many more where that raven came from, believe me.” He smiled ruefully. “Are you a man of God?” He asked. I paused for a moment, for though I knew God, I was uncertain as to the meaning of being a “man of” God. “Yes.” I nodded uncertainly. “Good,” he said, nodding. “Good. That’s good.” We had reached the town during our conversation, and a small child stared from an equally small townhouse’s window at my bloodied hand. I waved with the other hand, and attempted to smile. His face disappeared from the window. “Here we are!” Laura stepped ahead of us, gesturing to a squat longhouse with rusted iron hinges tiredly supporting faded oaken doors. The brown sweater man plodded to the doorstep, delivering three knocks. The door opened to reveal a man with a messy head of brown hair. A woman stood behind him, eying me with suspicion. She, too, had brown hair, and yet her eyes were a stunning azure blue. “What is it, Ralph?” Asked the middle-aged man. Brown sweater explained how he had found me buck naked, like some insane demonstrator, and how I was a man of God and loved all of his creatures, and how I was probably some naturalist nut who didn’t know up from down, and could he take care of me until I was back in my right mind? The younger man absorbed this with a measure of hesitation, nodding, glancing at
me, nodding. Suddenly, the young woman spoke up, at the same moment that the man seemed ready to reject my staying. “Of course he can stay.” She elbowed the middle-aged man lightly. “Yes,” said the man, as if on cue. The woman turned to me. “Well, come on then,” she said, “you’re probably freezing”. I turned to bid brown sweater man and Laura goodbye, but merely saw their distant figures. I walked into the home, and was immediately accosted by a blast of comestible scent. “You can probably smell that I’m making bread,” said the woman, beaming. I was silent. Suddenly, a noise akin to a roaring animal pierced the air. I turned around to see a child storming towards me, a miniature stool grasped in both of his pudgy hands, before he collided with me. I tumbled forwards, my legs compensating by wheeling about before finally connecting with the surface of the wrought-iron stove with a resounding and unsettling clank. I felt no pain, and only fell to the ground numbly. The child struggled with the stool for a moment, before marching away, only to be intercepted by his mother until everything was blotted out as a jet of blue and black warped my vision and there were words and there was a message and the message— Someone screamed, the inhuman sound tearing through their chest as a foghorn blaring through a serene evening. Gradually, my vision cleared, and I could see my leg (or the remnants thereof)... sparking, a metal rod defining the shin, the skin peeling back as though rubber; above this, I could see the woman, her eyes shifting from my destroyed leg to my eyes, from my destroyed leg, to my eyes. She opened her mouth, shutting it just as quickly. The world was silent. Finally, she found the courage to speak. She said: “You metal beast.”
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ikea clock lungs Naile Ozpolat '21
and right now i can tell i'm suffocating, my lungs wrung together and ripped apart, yet i can still feel the ticks of the red ikea clock dance along to my heavy breath and the gears meld into me as slow as chilled syrup. today i am mechanical, a girl made of iron and splintered wooden slabs, yards and yards of skin, some of it soft and some of it rough, (but never too rough, for i haven't experienced enough, haven’t gotten stories carved into my body) stretched over the barely working joints, hammered together by an amateur. i can feel it in the way my fingers creak as i bend them, in the way i never sit comfortably on the floor, the constant need for pillows and comforters to cushion my awkward joints. i am not independent, cannot function alone, cannot rest without the pillows on my bones, cannot breathe without the red ikea clock telling me when.
UNTITLED REKA MOSCARELLI '21 36
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PEARL EARRING SPOOF MARYBETH FITZSIMMONS '20 SPRING 2020
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A LTA N LILA SALAZAR '22 38
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MD Kelly Graziano '20 It’s not real they say, there’s no common thread Eighteen years pass, no answers to be found But why, why do I keep getting misled? PHDs, M.D., always butting heads Their education so very profound It’s not real they say, there’s no common thread Give me twenty dollars, wear down your tread Degrees on white painted walls, keep them sound But why, why do I keep getting misled? Blood drawn, negative results, push ahead Don’t know how many times I can rebound It’s not real they say, there’s no common thread Red, flashing signs go over their “wise” heads Answers under their nose, but still dumbfound But why, why do I keep getting misled? They don’t want to listen to the aforesaid Kids suffering but they don’t make a sound It’s not real they say, there’s no common thread But why, why do I keep getting misled?
SIDEWALK SCULPTURE A B B I N AYA N A R AYA N A N ' 2 0 SPRING 2020
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A Question for the Popular Girl anonymous
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Laughing, smiling, cheering. What joy, happiness... That I do not feel.
I wish that they knew how it feels: To not have someone wait for you after class, Or to not have anyone text you first,
I sit by myself, Like broken glass, Longing to be put back together.
To sit at a table of five empty seats, And not one person join you, To not have anyone answer,
Does everyone really think, That this smile is real? How can they?
When you scream for help, To not be invited, Or asked if you are okay,
Does everyone really, Think that I am happy? Constantly by myself?
To be forgotten or invisible... I wish they knew how it felt, To be me every damn day.
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JEALOUS MARYBETH FITZSIMMONS '20
The Monster in my Mind anonymous My monster doesn’t hide under my bed, Or lurk in my closet. He doesn’t give me nightmares, Or drink my blood.
He dines on my insecurity, And exposes my vulnerability. He forces me to believe his every word, And refuses to leave my brain.
He whispers in my ear, And tells me that I should be afraid. He convinces me that I’m not the only one, And that my heart will break.
He chained himself to me, And continues his torture. He pokes me with a flaming stake, And brands my body.
He inhabits my brain all day and night, And makes me feel so drained. He calls me fat and ugly, And drives me utterly insane.
He molds me like a slab of clay, And plasters me green. He paints me like Van Gogh, And calls me his beast.
He persuades me to lose all of my trust, For the love of my life. He turns me into a broken vase, That is held together with duct tape.
I brush my feathers, And sharpen my claws. I look just like him, And mimic all of his flaws.
He chokes me while I sleep, And strangles me when I am awake. He fills me with my jealous rage, And tells me I am not worthy.
You ask me why I am like this, And wonder who I have become. Why don’t you ask my monster, Who has made me succumb?
He compares me to others, And points out my flaws. He reminds me of all of my scars, And carves out my stitches.
PEN JADE CYRUS '20
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The Road to California Naile Ozpolat '21 Content Warning I stared at the dusty road, my elbow propped against the window. There were only a few cars around besides ours that I could see. Aylee had the aux cord and was playing The Strokes. “Cam!” Aylee shouted from the front. I blinked and sat up, trying to recover from the faze I was in. “Yeah?” “There’s a gas station in a mile, but we still have half a tank of gas. You think we should stop?” “Alright.” I said. “It’s on the right of the road.” Aylee told Leo. I sighed and slumped back into my seat. Within a minute, we were pulling into the Shell gas station. There was a little shop on the lot, and two cars already parked next to stations. I clambered out of my seat as soon as Leo stopped, grabbing my phone to head to the shop. Aylee quickly kissed Leo on the mouth and followed me, ignoring his shouts of “Aylee, you lazy bastard! It’s your turn to fill up the tank!” We were putting our decisions in a worn red basket a few minutes later when Leo arrived. He sneaked up behind Aylee and picked her up from behind. She shrieked and hit him with a bag of Extreme Flavored Doritos, laughing. I smiled, dropped two more bottles of water into the basket, and exited the shop, leaving the two of them to their disgustingly cheesy teen romance.
The back of the building was chipped and graffitied thoroughly with strange symbols and garble. I stepped forward to look at it, wondering how such an obscure place got this many desecrations. “Wondering about the graffiti?” a voice behind me asked. I jumped and turned around, swearing. The owner of the voice was a short girl with slightly curly, pale-white hair and even paler skin, her eyes like large cracked stones set into her face, wearing a worn flowery dress. She cocked her head at my curses. “It’s old anti-corporation jargon, sprayed years ago. They can’t scrub it off for some reason.” She grinned, pale lips stretching upwards. “It’s kind of funny. I think.” I instinctively smiled back at her, something inside me shifting weirdly, and paused. “How do you know that? Do you work here?” “No,” she said. “But trust me. I can tell.” My eyes swooped over her strange features, and the weird feeling spiked up. She wasn’t beautiful by any means. Each part of her face, though relatively okay on its own, fit together awkwardly, as if she were a drawing done blindly. “Do I know you?” I blurted out. She frowned, and I quickly added, “You just seem really familiar. For some reason.” She glanced at the ground, and then back at me. Something in her had completely shifted. “No. Sorry.”
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UNTITLED LILA SALAZAR '22 SPRING 2020
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She wrapped a finger around a lock of hair, and her hands were almost translucent, but there were no veins apparent. My heart thudded in my chest. “Oh,” I said. There was a short silence, and then, “You leaving soon?” she asked. I nodded. “Do you need a ride?” It was probably the stupidest offer I had ever made. For all I knew she was a serial killer looking for tall freckled teens to kidnap and skin alive. “No,” she said. “But I’d like to come with you.” I smiled. “I’ll tell them you need to get somewhere but you don’t know where. A self-discovery. They’ll eat that up.” She laughed and nodded, gripping the straps of a backpack I hadn’t noticed until then. I pulled her in the direction of the shop. “Guys!” I announced as I entered. Leo and Aylee were at the counter checking out. They both turned to look at us. “My friend, er-” “Penny.” “Penny is on a self discovery trip. Can we give her a ride? For a state or something?” “Ooh, a self discovery trip?” Leo gasped. “How’d you get here then?” Aylee asked, eyeing her suspiciously. “Bus,” answered Penny. “Then I walked.” Aylee crossed her arms and thought for a moment. Her eyes flitted to Leo, who was paying the cashier while watching the situation. He nodded eagerly. She sighed.
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UNTITLED JULIA MCGUIGAN '21
“No problem.” I beamed. “Truthfully, it was getting slightly tiring with these two. Third wheel and all.” “Oh, they’re dating?” She swung her head to eye the two. Aylee flapped her hand dismissively, eyes on the road. “No. We’re not confining ourselves with those labels right now.”
“Alright.”
“I see,” remarked Penny.
We tossed our bags into the trunk and then filed into the car with our purchases. Once we had strapped in, Penny turned to me, eyes shining. “Thanks for this.”
Aylee huffed and turned around. “I’m Aylee by the way. That’s Leo.” Before Penny could respond, she continued, “So, Penny, are you going to tell us about yourself?”
OMNIA
LUNAR ECLIPSE 2019 J I L L I A N PAQ U E T T E ' 2 0
“Oh, sure. Let’s see.” She ran her teeth over her lips for a few seconds. “My name is Penny. I’m seventeen, eighteen in a week, from Nebraska. I graduated high school a month ago. I’m trying to get somewhere cooler. I’m sick of Nebraska.” She paused. “I like the band Mother Mother a lot.”
of me, exactly as I remembered it. “My uncle gave it to me for my seventeenth birthday. Isn’t it pretty?”
“I love Mother Mother too!” exclaimed Leo. Aylee’s gaze softened.
Penny pulled her wrist back and grinned. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Mother Mother is good taste,” she agreed.
“Yuck!” shouted Aylee from the front. I smacked her on the shoulder. She laughed.
Penny reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her sleeve fell down slightly, and I caught a glimpse of an all too familiar jewel-patterned bracelet. My heart fell down into my stomach. God, noit couldn’t be- but I knew she looked familiar. “Your bracelet is so pretty, can I see it?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible, reaching to rub the back of my neck. It was freezing cold. Penny perked up. “Sure!’ she beamed, extending her thin wrist to me. I glanced down, to see the haunting reminder of March in front
I took a breath and looked up at her, trying to act unbothered. Lying through my teeth, I told her, “Yeah, yeah, it is. Matches the owner.”
We drove the rest of the day, Aylee switching with Leo after a few hours, and ended up in a small town in Utah. Penny and I had crossed ankles and settled into a comfortable silence by the time Aylee finally pulled into the parking lot of the motel we found online. Aylee popped the hood of the trunk, and we grabbed our bags, taking in the night’s fresh air. The flickering neon of the Caldwell Motel sign lit up Penny’s face in a nice angle, and just for a moment, my breath caught in my throat.
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GOING DOWN ZACH SOLOFF '23
Since there were four of us, there was finally enough justification to get two separate rooms rather than sharing one, which both Leo and Aylee looked quite pleased about.
“Cool, cool.” I walked to my backpack to pull out my pajamas and toothbrush. I could feel her watching me as I headed to the bathroom. We didn’t talk again.
Penny shut the door and then turned to me, a suggestive look in her eyes.
The next morning, I woke up to a bright light. I opened my eyes, and the sun was shining directly into my eyes from the small window on the wall.
I walked towards her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes followed my every movement. I could feel her breath tickle my cheeks lightly, and see her large pores caked by makeup. I ran my hands up her arms, and then dropped them, backing away a little. “God, I’m tired. But- continue this in the morning?” A look of hurt and confusion flashed on her face, but quickly disappeared. “Uh yeah. Sure. I’m tired too.”
Irritated at the cutting off of my sleep, I groaned softly and sat up, turning to the bed besides mine. The clock on the wall read nine. And Penny was still sound asleep, face buried in a large motel pillow. A few minutes later though, as I walked out the bathroom with my day clothes on, she was awake, her hair strewn about her face. “Good morning,” she yawned. “Good morning. You good?”
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She nodded and picked up her bag to make the trek over to the bathroom. I watched her move slowly before fumbling in my bag to grab something, which I stuck in my back pocket, and followed her. “Wait!” I called as she entered. She turned, surprised. “Yeah?” I walked to her slowly, gaze soft but steady. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and I brought my hands up to cradle her jaw. Her eyes dropped to my lips. “Can I kiss you?” I whispered. She nodded. And I did, and her lips were soft, softer than her cheek, and softer than the feel of my jeans as I brought one hand down to my back pocket, and softer than the handle of the knife I pulled from it. And much softer than her guttural cry as I forced it in between her ribs. She collapsed on the floor, one hand going to the blade stuck inside her. I beat her there and pulled it out, deep purple blood pooling out from the wound. She cried out again at the removal, eyes squeezing shut. “I know what you are.” I hissed, knife in hand, thumb running over the beautiful designs on the handle.
“Phantom. I know you took over Penny’s body and were trying to kill me.” She opened her eyes, teeth bared. “You remember?” I tried to look menacing. “Yes.” The phantom laughed, and then started coughing. “Well good for you, but just know this. You’ll never beat us. We’ll keep coming back. You never will.” I fumed. “I just beat, you idiot!” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Look. All these people we’ve taken over to get you, and you keep letting them die to save yourself. You know we just want you. Why are you so selfish?” “You’re the one taking over their bodies therefore leading to their death!” I was livid at this point. She smiled, sickly sweet. “But we just want you. That’s all, Cam. You know that. You know it’s your fault.” I shook my head hysterically. “Shut up! Shut up! I’m sorry I don’t want to die! God!” I knelt down, head in my hands. “Why don’t I remember? Why don’t I ever remember this?” I screamed.
TA K I N G O F F BEN BAMFORD '23 SPRING 2020
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The phantom started laughing again, and so I knelt down and stabbed her again, further down her stomach this time. Her laughs turned into gurgles, and the blood was forming a sizable pool. I scrambled up away from her, breathing hard, watching as the blood began to boil and form a thick fog that formed over her body. Eventually the fog cleared away, revealing a perfectly intact girl laying on the floor, phantom gone, no wounds in sight. I knelt down next to her, brushing her hair back. She opened her eyes and whimpered weakly.
“I can arrange that,” said Aylee, smiling. At ten o’clock, the three of us, pancake full and eager to get mileage, headed down to the car. Huh, I thought, as I closed the motel door behind us. It was weird. Penny and I had been getting on well. Why did she just leave like that?
“Hi Penny,” I whispered. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. I felt her body going limp, and watched as she faded away until there was nothing remaining. I got up and put the knife back in my bag, feeling blank, the phantom’s taunts ringing in my ears. I knew it was correct. I knew I should give myself up to prevent the deaths of innocent people. But I didn’t want to die. A few minutes later, I found Aylee and Leo at the same table as yesterday’s dinner, two coffees between them. They turned to me as I approached, looking puzzled to see me by myself. “Where’s Penny?” asked Aylee, stirring her coffee. “She coming down later, or?” “She left,” I replied glumly, pulling out a chair to sit on. “Woke up, and she was gone. All her stuff too.” “Oh- I’m so sorry, Cam.” Aylee said. “That sucks, I’m sorry,” said Leo, reaching out to gently touch my arm. I shook my head. A silence filled the table. “It’s whatever. I just want some pancakes right now.” 48
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S TAT E H O U S E JADE CYRUS '20
RAKU CERAMIC FISH J I L L I A N PAQ U E T T E ' 2 0
MANDARIN DUCK J I L L I A N PAQ U E T T E ' 2 0
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The Manual of Life Miles Kaufman '22 A blind man had fixed his gaze at me, Through me, rather, for he saw Nothing and yet everything to see; Hence cascading waters meet brittle straw. A deaf man heard of my queries, Of a judge thought to be without law A scrap of paper to pavement scraping theories; Hence cascading waters meet brittle straw. Our vision is too broad to see the dance of the universe, Our sight too narrow to see its waltz. Chortling happily on his way to the darkened hearse; Hence straw cascading waters halts. The waters tremble in anticipation, Their ranks dance, son and daughter. Each molecule, atom, in a concatenation; Hence straw dries cascading waters. The paralytic stood to see The blinding light of future glee. And me, hearing, speaking, seeing, deaf, dumb, and blind as we; Hence straws are made to water be.
S TA I R WAY T O N O T H I N G S Y D N E Y AT W O O D ' 2 1 50
UNTITLED JULIA MCGUIGAN '21 OMNIA
PROW HADLEY R-L '22 SPRING 2020
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RECEIPT LOTUS YUFEI XIAO '20 52
OMNIA
I Can Only Imagine Lauren Metters '21 Here I am I lay my fortunes at your feet I bow down to you. And before you reach for the treasures I have presented to you, before you even look at them, you speak softly. It prompts the lifting of my gaze. Our eyes meet. For once, I feel worthy of this love. You take my hands, and lift me up. In the midst of all these treasures, you treasure my eyes. I stand distantly, and reassured by your gentle smile, I lean into you and put my head against your regal chest. The satin is soft, and your right arm cradles my back. Your left fingers interlock with mine. The music begins, and we dance. You have given me the gift of most perfect freedom. Allelujah, Allelujah!
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OMNIA MAGAZINE SPRING 2020
so what’ll it be, friend? what will the flashing sunrise of your life unite you to but a destiny you make out with your own honest eyes? FROM "WHAT'LL IT BE" LOURDES NICOLELLA '22