The Scribbler 2013 by Pine Crest School Communications

COV -ER 1

Cover art by Chelsea Hartney 3

Sam Drucker Joseph May Valeria Balza Alina Edep Louis Browne Madison Herin Divya Bhansali Seren Nurgun Kate Peters 4

Song of Dreams by Lindsay Sack

Primordial by Louis Browne

Life is Like a Conversation by Taylor Estape

I Am Impassioned by Anonymous

Who Are You? by Ellie Botoman

Self Exploration by Luke Glassman

Nature by Kyra Noel

No Way Back From China by Lea Stempel

Only There to Behold by Destiny Arlotta

Men to the Left by Jonathan Farchi-Segal

Unrequited (mine to hold, but never to keep) by Anonymous

I Walk the Path of Life by Catherine Lott

When by Alexis Chestnov

Phoenix by Yuchu Ma

Darkness by Anonymous

I Laugh Too by Angela Cureton

Nowhere You Can Turn to in Your Prayers by Gabriella Mayer 42 The Unknown by James Crissy

Stress by Anonymous

Drip by Madison Herin

47 5

Faces by Michael Varnerin

The Flu by Marco Levy

Although I Could Not Stop Death by Anonymous

Fading by Stephanie Fernandez

Shredder by Ivy Kilpatrick

The One I Cherish and Love by Benjamin Frantz

Quite Horrific by Nicole Swords

The Time of in Between by Catherine Lott

In the Last Golf Match of the Year by Austin Colon

Strange How One Could Feel So Deeply by Siobhan Boroian

Her Happiness by Anonymous

March 4th (Warren) by Gabriella Mayer

Founder’s Council Keeli O’Brien

The Bull’s-Eye by Lea Stempel

The Factuality about the Truth by Anonymous

Not a Single Snowflake by Anonymous

The Walls are Talking by Michael Varnerin

English Lovers by Anonymous

Love by Seren Nurgün

I Stand Alone in Fear by Anonymous

Between the Branches by Anonymous

Inhale, Exhale by Lindsey Swartz

Incomparable to Any Other by Miriyam Ghali

100

I Hear the Ballad Through the Door by Ismail Ercan

102

The Sea Soaks in the Life of Mine by Divya Bhansali

103

Freak of Nature by Anonymous

104

Screaming by Madison Herin

105

An Old Cassette by Lauren Salamon

108

C’est La Pluie Qui Tombe en Gouttes Fines by Estrella Levy

110

I Am Surrounded by John Koch

112

L’Art de la Cuisine/The Art of Cooking by Louis Davis

114

Asparagus by John Marchetto

116

Peaches – Life? by Gabriel Leibovich

116

Pent Up Unfulfillment by Madison Herin

118

The Guilty Crown by Drew Doughty

119

The Savior by Imitaz Fatteh

120

Home by Jessica Frankel

122

Making Ugly… by Angela Cureton

124

The Runaways by Lea Stempel

126

A Tree Stands Lone in the Valley by Daniel Meisel

132

Four by Sydney Korsunsky

134

Song of Ages by James Leahy

138

Dad by Lea Stempel

140

Dissonance to the Ear by Anonymous

141

Today is a New Day by Catherine Lott

142 7

Lindsay Sack I celebrate dreams, and sing dreams, Though not every tune rings bright. Too large, the mind at rest, Too large, the spirit awake. Those illusions enchant, Those demons disguised, Left hollowed and bare. Comfort only in fantasy, Reality reflected, magnified, Unrecognizable in its form anew, Fiction is my better half. Though with control comes prosperity, The unexplored brought within reach. Propelled forward, Greater, stronger, Stopped only by the cease. That unattainable in theory, Oft brought forward in the mind, In the light found lesser than perceived. Dreams are but the start, A guiding push, Propelling forward. Though the truest end, Is not one of reality, But one of dreams. 8

Tia Blais-Billie

Louis Browne

Winner of the 2013 Scribbler Short Story Contest

From a distance, the moon seems to illuminate the sand floating upward after the slick track of the rushing black curves of the car. The violent echo of shifting gears reverberates across the desert valley as the car climbs the cliff. A white scarf flies out; rippling in the background, but nothing is lost. The girl-- her face turns from the drifting fabric and back to the man driving the car. Her green eyes catch his. They shine with fear, contrasting the purplish haze of the sky. He says to her, “You’ll never be alone again,” and his forearm tightens as he shifts into another gear. Faster; Upwards. The car’s exterior becomes a blur. Nothing is visible; everything is visible. Clicking, there is a clicking that is becoming more and more present; and harsh circular lights trace the ground. The sirens begin to sound. They are almost there. The terrain is now filled with boulders, larger than the mother-ship itself. She twists and looks back; the cars are after them. “They’re getting faster.” He pulls the wheel to the right, sharp, breaking off the mirror on her side. She sits back and looks out the window. The color of the encompassing rock changes to yellow, illuminated by large pools of bubbling green. They have to get to it first, but Authority, Authority is closing in behind them. … 10

The car halts, “Go,” he says. They have reached the summit. A giant crater lies before them. At the center of the depression sprouts a single majestic tree, surrounded by tall green grass. She runs out of the car, her white gown presses through to reveal her perfected figure in the wind. Lightning flashes across the purple sky, he takes her hand in his. Faster. She grabs at the bottom of her dress as they go through the gray muck, struggling. The grass is thick, the thickest he’s ever seen for naturally developed life. It grabs at them, wrapping around their ankles, begging them not to go forth. Authority has arrived at the crater. The men gather around the edge in black suits, hollering into earpieces as they brace against the storm winds from above. … After ten final steps, he smiles at her. They have reached it. He grasps upwards towards the tree, pulling for it with one outstretched arm. A helicopter flies over head, illuminating the scene with a single harsh light. He hands her the red fruit. She looks at it with innocence as she takes her final bite. The sounds of the rotors and of the roaring wind drown out the screams of the men behind them. Her face turns to horror while the apple’s acid begins to eat through her face. A scream of love and betrayal pierces the sky whilst she spits out the apple. It’s too late. A blast of blinding light and energy emits from her disintegrating corpse, illuminating and consuming everything with it. … The end has come, and the beginning has started. 11

Taylor Estape

Life is like a conversation That all depends - on Words What is said and what is not said Purpose, Intentions blurred These words can be - Misunderstood Or they can be misused Not just poisonous - but Deadly Either clear or confused Humans - as creatures - seek the Truth Truth - is fabricated Through Light - Truth shines on shadowed paths However complicated Both Truth and Lies are found in words For Darkness is a Veil For much more Lies than Truths are told So Truth is most unreal If Lies were not hidden in Truth All need for lies be gone All would know the truthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s true Power And Truth could stand - Alone -

Anonymous I am impassioned; Every bird a dove, my heart a steady beat of love; My mind and soul are yours— a two way street. I am genuine; A novel, I cannot be read in a day or easily placed back on the shelf, Every page a mystery waiting to be unraveled, Waiting for you, only you. I am never perfect; Though a day with you makes me feel as if it were possible. A whiff, a glance, a taste, a touch, Will you ever leave me? I am you; You are I; The never now the forever. Its mysterious taste that once eluded me, Has become the center of my palate, and the only taste that is truly sweet. My face has been splashed with cold water. I have entered a new world, ready to explore and be understood. I am a china doll; Delicate, with my cheeks color’d red, Red— the color that comes to the surface of his fingertips when he places his palm on my heart I am different; My mother always told me I had a chameleon soul, But you see me. You fill the empty space I’ve had in my heart I must have done something right To have you in my arms

Ellie Botoman You are not a name. You are not an age, a measurement, A dress size or a shoe size Or a grade point average You are the books you read, the songs you sing, The music you listen to each day You are the friends you laugh with, the people who make you cry. You are the breakfast you eat on a Sunday morning The movies you watch alone You are the sweat that clings to your shirt The hair that whips in the wind as the car barrels down the boulevard You are the love you share with others, secrets you keep to yourself You are the time you spend up all night and the hours you waste sleeping through the day And in moments of weakness, you are anger and jealousy bitterness and remorse all wrapped up in one You are a broken heart, on the verge of mending But not quite there yet You are the stains on your shirt, the mess in your room Each flaw you see when you look in the mirror They are parts of you even if they are unwanted You are not just a pile of bones A brain trapped in a skull, fat that clings to your thighs You are desires, emotions, confessions. You are not what others tell you to be You are so much more than that to me. 14

Alec Bloch 15

Luke Glassman The moment I stepp’d out of the car, The sweet smell of wet grass surrounding the air. I knew this would be something I will never forget, Going into unknown territory, not knowing a soul, Playing a game I loved so much, yet afraid at the same time. I’m all alone, surround’d by strangers, Three thousand miles away, No brother. No sister. No mother. No father. This will be my biggest challenge yet. Early mornings, late nights, We work harder and harder each day. Coaches howling, balls scorching, Like a wheel on a bus, over and over again all I hear, Farther. Straighter. Farther. Straighter. Thousands of balls each day, Whack. Wham. Thump. Wallop. All I hear for 5 straight days, the noise…natural. Competition intensifies, tension escalates in the air. Sweat trickling down faces, soaking in the skin, Temperature at eighty, feels like one hundred, Dehydration approaching, stiffness engulfs the body. The sun down, The moon up, Fatigue enters along with friendship. Once competitors, now comrades, Rivals become companions. Bind’d by what we love, share bonds forever. Once a fright, now a treasure. 16

Ryann Clarke

Kyra Noel I gaze Upwards – Towards the Branches of an aged oak There stands a Young – bird Wings uplifted- Head held high Step, step, step – Towards the Edge she goes Hesitantly – cautiously Picking up speed – Tenacious Until there’s no branch, just the bird and the sky I Wonder if she will succeed, there – so high She soars – albeit Unsteady- she soars Her first Flight

Tristen Vaughan 18

Camille Houle

Carly Demarest 19

Lea Stempel There was a man who thought he could dig through the world to China. For a long time he thought that the task was silly and meaningless, but he started to dig and he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stop. If someone were going to get to China, it would be him. No one understood why he did it. As the hole got bigger, he wasted away. His family begged him to stop and sometimes he wished he could. He did not understand why he continued to dig the hole he was in and one day he tried to get out. He couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. He had gone too far. Dug too deep. The only thing left of the world he once lived in was the small hole in the sky that brought him light. He climbed and fell and climbed and fell. Sometimes he would begin to dig again and others he would try to ascend. One time he almost reached the top and saw the crying faces of his family waiting and once again he fell and tried again. Every time he got near the top and saw their blurring eyes and sad faces, he wanted to reach the sun and be there with them. He wanted to stop, but began to dig again. But one day he fell to the bottom of the hole and didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get up. He just looked at the sun and felt the earth to China. He dug too deep, but not deep enough. There was no way forward. There was no way back.

Casey Francis

Destiny Arlotta Every flowing wave rolls Crashing across the everlasting beach The ebb and flow of tides Controlled by the vibrant moon The restless sea is the masterpiece But from up above, you would never know The secrets that it keeps, The treasures that it encompasses. The mysterious jellyfish, a wonder itself With every pulsating squeeze of its stomach With every movement so poised and perfect Yet with every tentacle Ready to sting its next victim I can do nothing, I am only there to behold.

Patricia Reyes

Patricia Reyes Although that predator is small in stature Only one can defeat it The gentle sea turtle glides with ease Thinking of no harm to come its way Until a plastic bag Until a bottle Until seemingly harmless materials Become debris And join the path of the turtle I can do nothing, I am only there to behold. The threat of extinction So pertinent to the turtles Without warning they will be lost Without warning they will be missed Without warning the masterpiece as we know it Will be overruled by the small, yet mighty I can do nothing, I am only there to behold.

Jonathan Farchi-Segal Men to the left, Women to the Right, Words commenced this endless night, Everyone out, Leave everything inside, We are lost nowhere to hide, So much death and so much sorrow, Wonder if I will live tomorrow, Trapped like rats in the boxcar wood, Lost our bond of brotherhood, Scratching, biting, pulling hair, Fight to drink a little air, Blood on the kinder, Their bodies to cinder, The Beadle was right along, Juliek performed his last song, He played his life through the strings, Morning he rose with angel wings, Golden teeth, golden crowns, 25 whiplash sounds, Doomed and rootless, Hungry and toothless, Hitler has kept his promise to the Jews, The hate that lit Europeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fuse, For a ration of bread, The living murdered the near dead, 24

No food no water my stomach’s aching, Now I’m sure my mother is baking, Scared confused without a clue, All because I am a Jew, Faster, you flea-ridden dogs, As they rejoice and ate like hogs, Icy wind whipped my face, Don’t worry, we’re close keep up your pace, Warm in snow with no more drive, What a burden it is to be alive, Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my god, and my soul, Nothing left of what was once whole, Gasp more than breath, Stolen from me before death, My father’s ashes hit my face, A thought that I cannot erase, No tear ran down my cheek, We work we sweat we reek, Wastes of food are the sick, Filled with fleas rats and ticks, No more faith, no more hope, Washed ourselves with human soap, We thought Germans were humane, All aboard the Auschwitz train. 25

[mine to hold, but never to keep] Anonymous The sun is hot; and thick. The air is, cold, like my contemplation. Cold as your sharp blue eyes pierce my own. Piercing all that I have: my thoughts, my dreams, my fears. You are all. A playful smile shines across your lips; Or is it just a reflection? It shines like the moon, Its light unobtainable, but always observable. The sun reminds me of my place. I back off momentarily; but your gaze is curious, never offended. It’s a gaze that asks, ‘I am curious as to why you’re curious?’ But you know. I ride off, leaving my confidence and ambition trailing in the dust as I feel your gaze. A tease to turn the tables. I still feel you. But I’ll never know if you will be the one to throw me against the old sycamore tree and bid farewell to your restraint. To finally give into the passions. Like me. Emotion is all, that ever is, that ever was. No. No Marianne. Thine eyes play the devil’s game. Be washed in the waters of reason, in the salty tears of those who have loved before you. I run to the ocean shore. I strip and cleanse myself in the virginity of the water. 26

The fantasy fades, and only the moonlight is left. It is all I’ll ever have, but I am calm; and cool. I return to the old sycamore and see you with her. And as observations never cease to plague my mind, I am subject to strange fits of passion; You are a part of me. Everything with and within me, culminating to nothing. Call me by your name. Arcadian stag, with your blue eyes of ice and something more. You’ve fooled me once again. And I still don’t care

Louis Browne 27

Catherine Lott I walk the path of life, Approach the awaiting sunset, Blind under the restrictions of society, the monotony of lifeAh, but one day A bird sings its song, A new song, A song that pushes me on To be my own man. I now walk that same path of life, But with a new stride, a new spring in my step, Whistling that song of Individuality!

Juan Vazquez

Alexis Chestnov When? “When do I know I have accomplished life’s tasks?” It is questions like this I once pondered When I was lost Amidst the murky pool of the unknown. I simply could not find the light I could not illuminate the dark. That feeling of entrapment, of being alone It is utterly suffocating. To this day, I cannot explain that phenomenon. Why was life so dark? No, I correct that Why was my mental state like that? What a rhetorical question. I simply could not find the light That is so prominent in my life now; The light that dominates my mind And brings me joy and happiness. I no longer drown in the meaning of my purpose I am no longer troubled by life’s secrets. Rather, I appreciate the unknown No longer a pool of blackness, But a tunnel of endless luminescence Opening up new experiences flooded with light Welcoming me into life’s warm opportunities. I no longer fear not knowing my life’s tasks There is no “when” Life is not planned But lived in the moment. And I love every bit of it.

Andrea Levy

Yuchu Ma Chichi-Chichi-ChichiChichi-Chichi-ChichiCapacious universe, cruel as iron! Capacious universe, dark as lacquer! Capacious universe, rank as blood! O universe, universe Why do you exist? Where are you from? Where do you sit? Are you a limited empty ball? Are you an unlimited whole piece? If you are a limited empty ball, Then the space that is hugging you, Where does it come from? What else is there outside you? If you are a unlimited whole piece, Then the space that you are hugging, Where does it come from? Why are there lives between you? Are you a living animal? Or are you a dead machine? Looking up, I ask the heaven But heaven, reserved and aloof, has no knowledge of these things. Looking down, I ask the earth But the earth is dead, has no breath. Looking out, I ask the sea, But the sea is raising its voice in grief. Ahâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; 32

Living in such a gloom and mire world Even a diamond sword would rust Universe, O universe Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m railing at you with all my powers: You blood-besmirched slaughterhouse! You prison fulfilled with misery! You noisy graveyard, where ghosts are yelling! You hell with dancing demons! Why should you exist? We fly westward, The west is a slaughterhouse. We fly eastward, The east is a prison. We fly southward, The south is a graveyard, We fly northward, The north is a hell. Live in such a world, We can only learn from the cry of sea. Chu-chu, Chu-chu, Chu-chu Chu-chu, Chu-chu, Chu-chu I cried for five hundred years, like a cataract I cried for five hundred years, like a candle Tears that will never end Filth that will never be washed away Shame that will never disappear Where can we live to spend the rest of life? OOur misty life, Is like a lonely boat on the sea. To the right is unbounded water To the left is unbounded water No lighthouse ahead No shore behind 33

The sail is torn, The mast is broken, The oars have floated away, The rudder has rotted away. The weary boatman merely sits and moans, The angry surge rolls over in the sea. OOur misty life, Is like the dream in dark night Before us is sleep, Behind us is sleep, Coming like wind, Going like smoke, Sleep behind Sleep before In the midst of this sleep We are only a fleeting breath of smoke. Ah! Where is the freshness of our youth now? Where is the sweetness of our youth now? Where is the pleasure of our youth now? Where is the splendor of our youth now? Gone! Gone! Gone! All is gone! All have to go! We are gone, You have to go. Grief… vexation… desolation … decay… AhThe fire burns The smoke smells good The time has come, The time of death has come. All outside me, 34

All within me, All in all, Farewell, Farewell Ah-ha! Phoenix! Phoenix! How useless have you been the most mysterious! Are you dead? Are you dead? Since now I will be the most powerful in the sky! Ah-ha! Phoenix! Phoenix! How useless have you been the most mysterious! Are you dead? Are you dead? Since now please look at my bright feather! Ah-ha! Phoenix! Phoenix! How useless have you been the most mysterious! Are you dead? Are you dead? Where does the sweet smell of mouse flesh come from? Ah-ha! Phoenix! Phoenix! How useless have you been the most mysterious! Are you dead? Are you dead? Since now see the contentment of docile citizens! Ah-ha! Phoenix! Phoenix! How useless have you been the most mysterious! Are you dead? Are you dead? Since now listen to the brilliant speech of we orators! Ah-ha! Phoenix! Phoenix! How useless have you been the most mysterious! Are you dead? Are you dead? Since now see the pleasure of we dancers! We are made anew. 35

We are purified. We are resplendent. We are steeped in fragrance. The one that is all is steeped in fragrance, The all that is one is steeped in fragrance. Fragrance steeped are you. Fragrance steeped am I. Fragrance steeped is he. Fragrance steeped is fire. Fire are you, Fire am I, Fire is he, Fire is fire. Soar then, soar! Sing for joy, sing for joy! We are vigorous. We are free, We are fearless. We are immortal. The one that is all is immortal, The all that is one is immortal. Immortal are you, immortal am I, Immortal is he. Immortal is fire. Fire am I, Fire are you, Fire is he, Fire is fire. Soar then, soar! Sing for joy, sing for joy! We sing for joy, we soar, We soar, we sing for joy! The one that is all sings for joy, The all that is one sings for joy. Is it you who sing for joy, or is it I? 36

Is it he who sings for joy, or is it fire? It is joy itself that sings for joy! It is joy itself that sings for joy! Only joyfully singing, Only joyfully singing! Singing! Singing! Singing!

Nicole Maharaj 37

Anonymous Darkness falls over me and I am lost without purpose The dreary season envelops my thoughts Leaves crumbling; â&#x20AC;&#x201D; a subtle crunch as they fall back to the earth The beaver runs, the bear hides. Where will the fish go? As I stare past the horizon the winds whisper to me If you go with me you shall see A swooping gush; a swift turn to the left leaves me bewildered Gray dark skies Black I feel alive Burning with passion like the birds moving north Their wings catching the air with short and shallow breath Breaths that I long With the snap of godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fingers the birds fall to the floor I look up and the clouds once again become my thoughts And desires. Lost yet again, alone in the bleakest of seasons. Who am I? Where do I belong?

Patricia Reyes

Angela Cureton Don’t laugh at me… Don’t dare laugh at me. You think I don’t hurt But your eyes are like knives And…I…still…bleed Your voice a fist That I can feel… I just bruise a different color than you Don’t talk about me… Don’t dare point your finger as I pass What have I done to you? Do I bother you that much? I thought I was unimportant… But apparently I’m on your mind Your corrosive mind… Don’t think about me ‘cuz I don’t think of you I think of you… I think of you only when I see my wounds Only as the hurt comes back Only when you break my back Only when I’m lying flat On my back Accidents happen…not to me I don’t hurt easy… But I do hurt Your words your stares your laughs They hurt me…but I won’t ever let you see ‘cuz guess what? I laugh too I don’t have to think of you 40

I laugh too I don’t need to talk ‘bout you I laugh too And that is something new…I hurt, I cry, I try to hide But I laugh too

Divya Bhansali 41

Gabriella Mayer Sitting in the church, kneeling, an old man prostrating himself in the lonely light of the candle. Illuminating the Bowl of Sacred Water standing on the pillar. The priests will find him there the next day, in position but limp with tears on the floor sparkling in the sunlight. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s midnight as the old man prays as he wonders where last July went when he still lived in a world with his love. And not when he became desperate, and not when he hurt those children and women, and not when he took food and valuables away, and not when he killed. But, With sunlight, picnics, parties, generations of children running around, tender moments, held hands. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I love you.â&#x20AC;? He looks at the cross centered on the ceiling, covered in diamonds, reflecting the candlelight 42

becoming argyles on the floor right where the old man kneels. Kneeling, he holds his homemade rosary tighter in his hands as he mumbles, knowing he is never forgiven. Knowing as he kneels thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nowhere he can turn to in his prayers.

Stephanie Holt

James Crissy Click. Clop. Click. Clop. My boots striking the marble floor. Surrounded by a sea of white, The markers of fallen soldiers. Here I am, marching, marching, Protecting those who will never be known. They are the unknown soldiers, Nameless, without a home. This is their tomb, A memorial for the thanks they never received, The tears never spent. Their mausoleum, their final resting place. These are the true unknown heroes. I am the unknown soldier, Fighting alongside my brothers. The foxholes are my home. I fight for my country. I fight for what I believe in. I fight for a better tomorrow. The cold biting, body numbing, stomach grumbling, Each day containing new horrors, An ongoing nightmare with no end in sight. Hope is a precious resource, But supplies are too quickly running out. “Onward!” “Stay strong!” “Not much longer now!” Words can only do so much. Every last instinct telling me to run, hide, get out, A just cause is my only respite. It is hard to keep your head up in the face of gunfire, But I am a soldier, And a soldier never quits, 44

A soldier fights through the toughest situations. A soldier keeps his head high. I am the unknown soldier.

Jason Wallace & Ali Oshinsky 45

Anonymous What is Stress? Is it a beaver losing his dam, Having to rebuild it again? The spotted hawk, Swooping down for his mouse, to have the meal run away? Stress is nothing more than a deception, a disappointment, a frustration or deceit The tendrils of stress, its tenacity and determination, Exist only to grasp you, to bring you down, to ruin you, Yet we fight this fear everyday, we fail to fall Do you ever surrender? Do you ever give in? Do you yield to such evil, let yourself be carried away? We fight, we battle, but we never cede We struggle, we contest IT, but we never abandon our cause This conflict is not rare, it happens everyday A beaver loses his dam, a hawk loses his meal Do they give up? The beaver rebuilds his dam The hawk swoops around once more Why give up? A beaver doesn’t build a weaker dam Nor does the hawk swoop for a smaller prey Should you strive less, for weaker, just because of One frustration: Stress? We all join this cause, whether we like it or not Don’t falter, don’t aim lower, follow the Hawk, or the Beaver Aim High, Strive for Better, because You Only Live Once

Madison Herin Drip, drip, drip Tears running down my cheeks Plopping faintly on my clothes As I sigh Sorrow lingers deep Inexplicable Press it away But it always Lingers Until late at night When it overtake I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t breathe With the pressure Peel away skin Slowly Peel away the layers Until there is just bone Enjoy The feeling You cannot name It may be pain But it feels real And it takes away The sorrow Just for a moment

Michael Varnerin Faces pass you by As time continues to fly These faces are puzzles And one may find All different kinds Of faces through time A man's face contains clues Of whether or not he's singing the blues The face shows strength or weakness The strength or weakness Cause the face to have uniqueness Showing the lives of millions A woman's face, Can show great grace Of a delicate and beautiful flower Conversely it shows age After internal wars were waged Conflicts we all face A newborn's face Serves as the base For a new life, untouched by burdens This face is a mystery Not showing the newborn's history To become good or bad, only time will tell Faces are puzzles Some parts may fit snugly Some parts may fit roughly Some parts may not fit at all Only time will tell, What pieces fit well 48

Marley Edelman

Valerie Zundel

Marco Levy I blow and blow yet still blow Flat and frail my voice – squeaks – My drums expand, in agony I lay with weak physique The old – dull – soup – lays there untouched Sleep is never enough This never-ending bug moves on Cause we are all not tough I now proceed to inform you The sniffle isn’t – Gone I’ll get it in the coming weeks From someone’s dirty – Yawn

Rachel Cagnetta

Dani Pendergast

Anonymous Although I could not stop death, He took Him anyway, He took my Father quickly, I miss Him to this day. Time elapsed Slowly, Feeling remained the same, Bitter, sad, and, scared, My world changed when death came. We passed the homeWhere it all took place, Watching the new family smile, laugh, and play, Memories pouring through my brain. Pictures and recollections are all that is left, His legacy will Never be forgotten, If only He were here to see me today, But his soul remains in his favorite place-back in our northern den. 51

Stephanie Fernandez I’ve slowly been Fading away, Trying so hard to hide For I can’t let People see- See That I’ve already Died. It’s too much for me to handle Shut down - I Feel no more Let me fall into a deep Sleep. Slow - I sink to the Floor. Minutes pass - I start to feel Light. Soon it will be the End. This is what I wanted - Needed. Do not cry, my dear Friend. Now - with a real reason to Smile With Nothing left to plea My last Breath - a sigh of Relief. It’s my turn to be Free.

Ivy Kilpatrick Must I rip your dreams apart at the seams? Day and night that’s all you do it seems In the bottomless pit of your subconscious… trapped But like the architect you’ve got your fantasy mapped To cease living in our world you’ve shown Rather traveling to this world unknown Not real, not true, you are living a lie And I will not simply stand by To watch as reality towers overhead Waiting for you to arise from bed I will rip your dreamland to the smallest shred If it means clearing out the mess in your head

Jarryd Rauch 54

Jennica Anglin

Benjamin Frantz The one I cherish and love And what you say will always be right For the reason I am here today is because of you You heal and warm my heart You warm and calm my mind in the midst of madness I see from your vision I learned to see through your thoughts And think through your eyes Teaching me to be a man And how to do right in every situation Always loving and caring, I speak with you in mind Love that you have given me will live on I walk in her footsteps And I strive when sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s with me All of my decisions are with her in mind In a bad situation and an important choice The sound of her voice whispers to my ears And then I know which path to take No matter which path I take I only want you to be proud of me In any time of illness You fix me up something that is good for my soul You would do anything for me And give me anything in this world You always put me first Even if you had to put yourself last 56

Through thick and thin she supports me Whether I’m on a high Or if I’ve fallen down

Sara Henry

Nicole Swords Quite horrific – the idea – Something so sweet – Evanescent Snatched in a moment’s notice! A Flash – Bright – Iridescent Warm Arms – latch on for an Embrace My Pain – slowly released – Chills – shivering – alone in space Yet – here – my Mind is eased. Now – drifting down this River so – Memories – Flowing through – Falling Asleep – I close my eyes – My existence – adieu! Flickering – near – a white Light glows Darkness now in the past – Body and soul – tingling – warmth flows – Serenity – at last –

Jennica Anglin 59

Catherine Lott The Time- of In Between- is hereSome Leaves are Dead- as GhostsOthers shine Bright- as the SunlightAnd evanesce- are GoneTheir Shriveled Bodies- on the DirtTheir Remnants there- so ColdBut- over there- Light- they ExertOf Red- of Green- of GoldThese leaves of- Death- are not AloneTheir Roots are in the TreeThe tree- a Life- Expresses what It Feels- as HumanityThe Human Mind is- at some TimesHelpless- and- UnclearNebulous- a murky pondNot knowing- no IdeaLeaves still Alive- like Humans BreatheStill living NonethelessThe Crinkled leaves are Turbulent, Confused- feel Lost- are deadThe time that humans feel this wayFall’s end- and Winter’s startAutumn- Cognition, Winter- DeathKnowledge Speared at the heartThe Leaves- are the succulent FruitOf the tree’s DespairThe Human Ghosts Fall down- and downBut some Live- Right up there60

Paloma Rodriguez 61

Austin Colon The greens cut back – the course watered – I was ready to play The sun – Shining onto the Fairways In an elaborate way I was one Up – after the turn My team – Counting on me The Tension of the Final holes – Shown on my face – Clearly. As the match approached the Finish It became apparent – That the Pressure was on the rise – I – could hardly bear it. The Final hole – the Final shot – I had a putt to win. I read the line – and hit it Nice But it did Not go in.

Taylor Bogdan

Siobhan Boroian

Strange how one could feel so deeply For a place rather than a person, It is often that I visit Daufuskie Though I have not traveled there in years, The hammocks remain straining against the pines, The path remains lonely and untrodden, The needles remain upon the ground, And the sea remains ebbing at the shore. Strange how the memories crawl through The labyrinth of my mind, struggling To piece together every forgotten treasure, Closed is the inn where the young were wed, Closed is the pool where I learned to swim, Closed is the diner on the dirt road, And closed is the door of the cottage by the sea. Strange how the lightning broke up the Sky, and how the summer grass used to Shelter our falls as we tumbled about Slipping and tripping and dripping in chlorine, Birds still chirp, even louder now, Weeds still grow, even wilder now, Rain still pours, even harder now, And tears still fall for the forgotten wonderland.

Mark Rabin

Anonymous My powers are all virtually none I am undeniably very weak Able to protect not a single one Watching death come for those who are much sick Everyone does eventually die Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just how the concept of our lives is We all look at our ephemeral lives Many of us accept it with much bliss But I see the detestable myself And the one person I did ever help Dark thoughts in the back of her mind did dwell Yet she saw the light of hope in herself If her happiness is all that I see Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s more than enough happiness for me 65

Gabriella Mayer I curse being stuck in an unfaithful memory. He is not worth the thought, but I still think Of what he did, but I can’t let go of the past now. It is ingrained in me and I don’t know whether the Fear of him plagues me or the Fact that He has a mental illness that I could have in me My mother said it’s unlikely that I have it now. Then again, she still wonders why he did What he did to us as a Whole, as a family. I’ve cried in my heart for so long, I can’t handle it. It’s not enough that my mom is convinced That I have created alternative Memories and personality of him, which isn’t true. My feelings about him are like my own Belief in G-d. I know they are there, but I don’t know Where their real side is. I’m sorry but it is true! I may not remember my childhood, (well, most of it anyway…) but I will always remember how I felt As I was told the Real Story of why he left. That day’s forever in my Memory. Why do I dream that he will kill himself On my 18th birthday, deliberately? No clue. Is it a prediction? Will it be true? If he doesn’t continue to take his meds, perhaps… Even so, I know that I will cry for him and his life. Life we could’ve shared as a Family. And I will be the last person to say his own name. 66

Louis Browne

Lea Stempel

The smell of fresh cake journeyed through the house leaving a path of almost edible air. Marietta stood in the kitchen watching Mama spread the buttercream frosting. It engulfed the yellow like the wrapping of a present. She just wished that she could have one bite. Then she promised she could wait till after dinner. Mama didn’t even look up from her job when she said no. Mama did not waste movements. Marietta eyed the blade as it pushed the white cream across the sponge surface. The thick layer of frosting came to a perfect flat on the cake with every stroke of the woman’s gentle hands. Marietta licked her lips in anticipation. Mama took out eleven candles from the drawer. Ten for age and one for good luck, Mama told her. Mari asked, why not add more candles, if the extra are for good luck? Wouldn’t it be more good luck? Mama laughed and petted her head. That meant that she had asked a stupid kid question, so Mari frowned. She went back to watching as her mother went back to doing. Fingers placed each candle with deadly accuracy around the outside of the circle cake. It was perfect, a dessert comparable to a Greek temple, each column standing tall and equidistant on a flat pure white. One lone candle, for good luck, stood in the center. A bull’seye hit. She sat in the kitchen, after Mama had finished, looking at the 78

cake, wanting it so. Her neck snapped to the right as she heard the backdoor open. Raffaele stepped inside the house with a huge grin. She knew why her brother was happy and gave him a great hug. Happy birthday, she wished him and he pulled her in tight. She pointed at the cake with excitement at sharing her desire and he commented about stealing it. Mama yelled over from the living room not to even think about it. Mari pouted and Raf laughed as he saw her face. Raf told her about his day. About the messy boys that sometimes came over to demand food and drink. He explained to her the big kid games that had stained the new white shirt Mama had gotten him. She loved most when he told her about the exploring. Hearing the stories of when he went into the woods and ran as far into it as he dared was by far the best. She wasn’t allowed that far away from the house yet and every story of the mile high trees and the magnificent creatures inside made her want to grow up that much faster. Words barely satisfied her curiosity. She wanted to see the green and brown shelter. Every so often Raffaele’s eyes would drift to the door. His ears would twitch at the slightest sound. She could see the wish, the wish to hear and see a blue Chevy pulling up to the door. Mari did not know why he thought today would be different. He might have promised her brother, but when had he even actually pulled through. The pledge would never mean as much to Raf as it would to him. The little girl just wished that her older brother would give up on the man because reachable expectations would never be met. Time continued on. It never did stop and as light hit the ground, Mama called for dinner. The three ate. Disappointment fell heavy on the table as the forth chair continued to be empty. Mari did not know why they cared. He never came home when expected. He never acted as expected. He never really cared. Maybe Raffaele knew something more about the man. Maybe three more years gave Raf enough time to know something she didn’t about the man. Mari had never seen him act differently though, so she cared not for a regular event. She merely bundled her fists at the thought that the man had once again ruined Raf ’s birthday. Mama tried to brighten the mood. She laughed at comments 79

that werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t funny and asked endlessly about people and events to keep the dying conversation alive. Mari responded back with normal vigor, Raffaele with barely formed syllables. The pair of females tried to make the night better for the boy, but he wanted to wallow in the feeling of disappointment for just that much longer. The cake was set in front of Raf and the first real smile of the night crossed his face. The kids were daring each other silently to take a piece of frosting from the desert, while Mama tried to locate the matches. The sound of screeching stopped all movement though. A beat, blue Chevy came barreling down the path to the house. Hazy turns, that had rubber meeting plant life, made at top speed. The car did not slow down on the approach to the house. The tires did not stop turning towards the house and as it tapped the front porch the car lurched forward and stopped. The wood where it hit was already damaged from nights before, but the newly made bruise did not help. They were told to go upstairs. Raf argued. His previous sadness transformed into fury and planted itself on his face. Mama repeated herself again. This time there was no room to argue. Raf did try. The look he received shut him up quickly. Marietta had not moved and merely followed along up the stairs when Raf grabbed her arm. The door slammed as they reached the top. Raffaele tried to pull his younger sister farther into the second floor. Her feet would not move and her eyes could not be pulled away from the scene obstructed only by the small wood bars that made up the stair railing. She crouched down and let the shadows cover her. Raf tried to pull her into his room, away from the dispute no doubt about to happen. No motion to leave came form his sister. He sat down to her left reluctantly, between Mari and the beginning of the stairs. The view from the top of the stairs could not give them the whole view of the fight. There was no view of the kitchen that lay under the platform they crouched upon. Though, they could definitely hear better than they could from within one of the two rooms on the second floor. When they settled themselves into comfortable positions, the door slammed open. A balding, round bellied man shut the door with as much force as he opened it. Father had come home. 80

He passed under them towards the kitchen. Mari could almost smell the gag worthy scent that circulated Father. He left a trail of the nausea-inducing odor as he stumbled pass. A demand shouted for food. A loud question of the location of food came next. The words warped and twisted, but the intention and vile emotion in the words were clear. Mari studied Raf for an instant. His fists were clenched and his breath harsh as he tried to keep from going down stairs. Mari just trained her stare back to where the light from the kitchen shone under her and listened. Mama’s gentle voice sounded stern, edged with ire. She said there is no food left. You should have come home on time, if you wanted something to eat. That started the yells. Words flew that Mari did not know the meanings to. Another glance at Raffaele showed his eyes struggling to hold back tears. The sound of a crash had her head flying back to the light. It made her flinch back. She wondered what had caused it. A mere second before she caught sight of something smeared across the unilluminated floor that spread out from the entrance of the exposed kitchen. Pieces of ceramic spread across the floorboards. The plate had ruptured on impact leaving the spearheads dotted across the floor. Mari could guess what the white substance that splattered was. The object of her desire, her brother’s sweet rite of passage, her mother’s hard work shattered, ruined, and destroyed. Everything that man touched broke. Why had she expected anything different? Tears silently dripped down Rafaele’s face and Father stumbled angrily into sight, diagonally below them. Her brother got up and pulled Marietta into her room. The tears disappeared before he even reached the doorknob and his face set to stone. He said for her to go to sleep, that he was going to see that Mama was okay. Mari just nodded her head and hated the way his eyes showed nothing. When Marietta closed her eyes, the sound of the crash haunted her ears and Raffaele’s cold eyes implanted in her mind’s eye. Sleep felt unnatural that night. The darkness engulfed her mind though and at that moment she was dead to the world. Awaking without hearing her mother’s voice call to her startled the girl. The light outside of her window was too high in the 81

sky. She crept down the stairs, her oversized pajamas falling loosely on her shoulders. Mari’s head peaked slowly around the corner into the kitchen. Mama and Raf sat at the table still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Father left earlier that morning. Her feet moved forward into the room and as she called out their names Mama and Raf looked up at her. A metal object rested in his hands. Raf had stopped his motions midway. He had been putting a handgun back together. Marietta moved closer. A rifle, now in her sight, lay across the kitchen table. Mama had her fingers lightly touching the polished wood. Mari asked Mama, are we going to school? No, she replied, I think you can skip a day. Mari just nodded. Mama got up to get breakfast started and told Raffaele to finish putting the handgun back together. Raf did that with quick fingers. Mari questioned the need of the gun. He just gave a smile and told her it was something all boys learned when they turned his age. She accepted that, but then why did Mama teach him? Could she teach her too? She asked her later question aloud. Mama’s sight moved directly to Mari. The look confused her, but clenched her stomach as it continued. Mama said never to ask that again. Mama said that Raffaele should never let his sister shoot. Mari let go of any metal wielding dreams in that moment. Raffaele just nodded and knew. Mama’s back stayed straight as she cooked. Mari looked on as Raf put the guns in the living room. The people around the young girl continued to be in motion as she sat and watched on. Soon Raffaele returned to the seat next to her and their mother came next. Plates of food presented in front of them. Mama told them what they were doing for the day. A trip to the forest a short distance behind the house. A dream come true for the young girl and as her brother’s eyes told her for him too. She did not mention what they would be doing, but Raf seemed to know and Mari wanted to too. She persistently asked. The reply, just wait and see. A change of clothes in order for all of them dispersed the 82

group throughout the house. They escaped after through the backdoor and walked straight until leaves covered them in shadows. Mama carrying the rifle strapped across her back looking oddly well fit for being dressed in a worn cotton dress. The forest was not how Raf described it. The trees grew big, but not a mile high. The creatures that crawled differed in no way from the ones outside the tree line. Mari felt disappointment for a second before it became better. The leaves, the colors, the darkness in the light, everything in the brown and green could not be changed or altered. She moved her gaze to the light streaming through the trees and squinted as it hurt her eyes. A small clearing opened and Mari wished she could just stay among the trees. Mama picked a tree and took a piece of chalk to it. Flawless circles set within one another contrasted stark white against the dark wood. Mama positioned herself across the clearing, Raf and Mari by her side, and she shot. The bullet rippled through the clearing. Raffaele looked on in awe. Mari watched the target. The metal crashed straight into the middle of the circles. The children were silent. Mama cocked the gun and let loose another shot and another, another, another. The bullets inside the gun had all been thrown in the tree. Mama stopped. Mama took them over to the tree, a large hole created in the middle of the trunk. All the shots pierced at the same point. Mari now knew why Mama was going to teach Raffaele. She had a perfect shot. The gun exchanged hands. Raffaele felt the weight and then clumsily loaded the magazine Mama gave him. He aimed and pulled the trigger of his first shot. Like Mamaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the bullet ripped out nosily, but unlike the bullet that went straight, Raffaele went back. He fell to the ground and let out a grunt of pain. Marietta giggled, Raffaele glared, and Mama smiled. Mama explained the recoil and Raffaele looked like he would never forget it. Never forget that the weapon could control him as easily as he controlled it. The pain in his shoulder was a consequence he never wanted repeated. He repositioned and shot again and continued. The magazine emptied and bullets hit nothing. Every metal could not be tracked. 83

Mama just patted his head. She told him to try again. Told him to see where he wanted to hit and shoot. Stop thinking, she said, and act. The gun loaded once again. Shots went off, too high, too low, a little too much to the right, and then to the left. Half the bullets left holes in the tree. Mama handed him another clip and said, again. Today, they smiled. Today, they laughed. Tomorrow, they would go back to school. Tonight, they hoped that Father drank enough to just stumble into bed. Today, Mama and Mari watched Raffaele shoot. Today, Raf enjoyed the sun and the light. Hours, days, weeks, months, years, they blend together until they become the past and the future is the present. Raffaele grew and shot. Mari grew and watched. Mama stayed forever the same, frozen with her gentle smile in time. Father stumbled and yelled and demanded. This is the middle, not the skip to the end. The clock slows down for just one moment in time. A day the boy held thirteen years and the girl ten. An afternoon spent in the woods stringing bullets loose. A Saturday vacation that meant no work for kids or parents. The siblings charged out of the house midafternoon. The rifle slung across Raf â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s back. The handgun tightly held in Mariettaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s right palm. Mari smiled as she followed her brother to the clearing. She sat under a tree and watched from behind him. His muscles tensed as his eyes narrowed in on the tree. Sweat dripped down his face and over his brow as the sun tried to beat his body into submission. This weekend differed in no way. Hours spent out at the mercy of the elements. They had nothing they would rather do. Raffaele shot and Marietta watched. Mama stopped coming with them years ago. She said she would come when Raf hit her shot perfectly. Darkness descended. As pitch black covered the clearing, Mari knew they were late. Raffaele lead her back towards the house in a run. Mama would be so mad. Mari stumbled a little through the forest almost blind. She watched her brother curse at every root and twig that obstructed his path. They pushed through the tree line cautiously. Mari studied the line of small houses in front of them. The dirty backs of each build84

ing faced the duo and she eyed each carefully. Lights lit the murky windows framing familial scenes. Mari signaled a go. Raffaele followed her, watching carefully. No one saw them exit with the arms. Grass squished under their feet and controlled breaths set the running pace. Mari lead to the plot that held their home and stopped. The lights had gone dark inside. Mama did not stand waiting to scold them. Raffaele tried the backdoor. Mari stood with a confused expression. Raffaele rattled the door. Pushing, twisting, and yelling, the door would not budge. Mama locked them out. She never did that. Raffaele gave Mari the rifle and went around the front leaving with a stern look. He appeared minutes later opening the back door. He looked slightly relieved when he spotted her sitting in the exact same spot. Mari just handed him back the rifle along with the handgun and went inside the house. Raffaele locked the backdoor and flipped on the lights as they continued in. He threw the guns into the back of the closet and made sure that the worn thick coats covered them. An overwhelming smell, like when they would sneak into the public pool, permeated the air. The kitchen held nothing. Dented pans that usually filled the shelves disappeared. Most of the yellowed dishes evaporated with everything else. Dull knifes were gone from their place. The tablecloth vanished leaving the rusted metal table under it. Raffaele ran towards the master bedroom. Mari just looked at the floor. White, too white. She bent down and looked under the cabinets. Red, too red. She shot up and scattered away. Raf ran back. He said Mamaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s things were gone. Mari already knew that. She asked about Father. Carâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not here, Raf replied. His eyes kept shifting. She could see his mind racing. Suddenly light illuminated the room through the windows. The Chevy stopped before it hit the busted wood. Father walked out of the car. Raffaele flew out of the front door. He stormed down the stairs and demanded to know where Mama was. Mari watched just outside of the doorframe the shadows of night draping across her 85

face. She felt sick. She didn’t speak up. Father’s gruff voice said she left. Abandoned them and took everything. Mari just thought about the red, too red. He pushed past Raf and went towards the door. He moved inside without a look her way. Raf just stood there. He did not turn around. His back bathed in the light shining from the house. Shadows darken her figure till it could barely be seen. Mari called out. Raf did not answer. Mari did not try again. They both just stood. A simple question a brother asked his sister one day in the near future could not have held their end, but it did. Raffaele asked, are you scared? No, Marietta said. Red, too red beat in her head though and time moved once again. Raf quit school at one point. He started working at the garage down the road. It was the only place that would take the town drunk’s kid. Mari asked, why? Raf said, just in case. Every day Marietta would watch Raf go out and shoot. The old tree that he had started on had so many holes in it that he had to shoot other trees. Every once in a while though, Raffaele would take a shot at Mama’s tree just to see if he could make the shot that would bring Mama out to see. One day he stopped shooting. The guns stayed hidden in the closet and there was ammo too. So Mari asked, why? Raffaele said he didn’t feel like it anymore. Mari couldn’t go to the clearing by herself. She just couldn’t. The two just sat in the house in the afternoons. It wasn’t right. It looked so wrong for her brother to be without a gun. He looked so tired and scared. His face started to pale. He needed the shots. He needed to shoot. Mari left the closet open one-day before school. Raffaele and she were in the clearing again that afternoon. He seemed to breathe again. His shoulders relaxed. The sun beat down on his face. His smile could be seen from her place in the shade. Every once in a while Raffaele took off from his routine. His eyes look ruined by hidden tears and then the next day he would take the guns from the closet and try again. Days continued on again and the question was asked every so 86

often. He asked, are you scared? She looked at him and remembered the red, too red and his ruined eyes and said no. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. Are you scared? No. And one for good luck, are you scared? Yes. The day Mari woke up to see a bruise on Raffaele’s face she knew it was the end. The night before she hid and he stood. Father drank, drove, hit the wood, and then hit again. Raffaele said nothing. He protected the staircase. Father got bored and passed out. He asked her the night after. After she had seen the purple that covered his cheek. After she had seen his ruined eyes. After she had seen the red, too red. Are you scared? Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. The next night Father came in. Raffaele stood with his back to the alcove that hid the staircase. Marietta sat on the stairs hidden from sight. She watched the muscles in his back tense and wished to see his illuminated half. His fingers wrapped around the Beretta. The metal warmed under his right hand. Father yelled. Raffaele stood quiet. She heard Father take a step forward. She saw Raf ’s hand lift, his arm tense, his body ready. A shot ran forward, only once. Marietta sprang up fast enough to see the cause of the impressive thud. Red, too red crossed the floor once again. The siblings walked closer. Raffaele tried to push her back, but Marietta just moved forward. A hole placed right in the middle of the target. A greasy forehead ruined by red, too red. A shot Mama could never take. She had a perfect shot, but Raffaele hit the bull’s-eye. 87

Anonymous Reality is inevitable - as is the truth Speak as if the world is behold Gawking, gaping The sun, the moon - gaping Speak as if the sincerity is an infant! A gentle and benevolent child Awaiting, depending on sincerity and serenity Otherwise reality will set itself, burden Atop the deceiverâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shoulder And rest there like a peevish mite Awaiting to spew the blatant facts of life

Anonymous Not a single snowflake, Falls at all the same â&#x20AC;&#x201C; And no two butterflies Beat their wings, at exactly the same paceBecause no two souls Can live and take exactly the same steps. I may be nobody- the same as you. But truth be truth, were different nobodies. And that makes us a separate two.

Max Willens

Tony Alfonso

Michael Varnerin All around me, The walls are talking Whispering tales of the past, Alluding to the future For those who do not know the past Are doomed to repeat it in their future The walls are screaming All around me, The walls are screaming Shouting for joy, Sorrowful shouting For both good and bad have passed by these walls And the walls see the people of the future The walls are weeping All around me, The walls are weeping Mourning death of the past, Mourning death in the future For there always has been death And forever will be The walls are silent

Sabrina Zingg

Anonymous

The boy and the girl were in English class They always had the best chemistry But it was always hard for them to agree He was always caught being such an ass And every time she had to pass He was forced to respond aggressively Generally, she was left breathlessly They knew it would be hard for it to last They would go home and talk for hours the boy and girl were different he was tall, loud and annoying He tried to win her by bringing flowers She loved him because he was ignorant But in the end, he was just toying

Seren Nurgun A starry night, too high above the sky So many stars that twinkle everywhere Love so powerful, it feels like a high Exuding bright light, they make a great pair With the universe full of empty space Comes stars you wish upon in the night For money, power, or to win the race But love fills your heart with extra delight However, that love impairs your visions And clouds your ever-so-changing judgment That your blindness leads to bad decisions A fault in the stars lies in attachment Love is passion that has worldly wonders But it dines on other-worldly blunders

Anonymous I stand alone in fear Waiting for my destiny The only purpose of my life; to be eaten and slaughtered by others I see my babies for the last time Listen to them cry I cry knowing that the same fate lies Ahead of them I am inspected to make sure I am good enough God I wish I was not I watch my friends that I grew up with next to me one by one dying, bleeding, hung upside down I am next It is my turn What did I do to deserve this? What did any of us do wrong? As I try to fight back I cannot For I am restrained by shackles I feel a sharp pressure in my skull as my blood flows out My vision fades I pray Hoping that one-day things will change That my kids life will not be based solely on providing a meal for one man But for them to be free But for this to happen, Man must Change A drop of blood falls past my eyes As I join my slaughtered friends My last image With that I go as many have before me Hoping I taste good Hoping Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m worth it But what am I I am just a cow. 94

Marelle Rukes 95

Anonymous I see a sloth dwelling among the treetops Care free, worry free No doubt, it has its enemies as do I Which lurk below the jungle canopy But they do not fear them For they can not see them For they can not reach them For they can not hurt them Isolated, but not alone Peaceful, as nature is O how I envy you Never rushed With claws gripping the thick wood Slowly swaying between branches But he moves with purpose Extending his claws towards the sweet leaves that rustle above Which reside in surplus among the forest Every meal comes with ease He has no places to be And no one to meet And no one to impress And no one to entertain He comes and goes as he pleases But never moves quite far away The clock does not control his day He sleeps and wakes as he desires He sets his own barriers Living wild and free

Junjie Zhao

Lindsey Swartz Inhale, exhale. I breathe in and out as I take the next consecutive stroke, I realize I am far behind my competitors, those who challenge me to jump barriers and push myself harder than I have ever expected, I realize I am closer behind, close to their feet, closer to becoming faster and stronger than I have ever been, I realize that with each stroke I take I am nearing the end of my race, One step closer to victory, one step closer to becoming a better athlete. I feel the blood pulsing through my veins as I pass 1,2,3 of the girls that were once in front of me, I tell myself I am the leader, I am the victor, I can, I will, I am, Bang! I smack the wall with my hand like a lion pounces on its pray, I realize what was my last breath, last stroke, last chance, I realize I am the winner, the victor, the champ as I had not so long ago told myself. Shouts, screams, and cries of joy I hear, from coaches, friends, and family. I reach my hand to those whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve lost, but see, not slain persons, but hardworking and motivated athletes whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve worked as hard as me. Have you seen the coachesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; smiles that shine as bright as stars? Or have you seen the tears of sorrow that fall like dreary, cold rains from the skies? I say good job to those who seem they have fallen but have risen above the challenges and overcome the many obstacles of the sport.

My heart feels for those who have been conquerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d, I know, I understand, I feel, I am. I see what others may not, unsung heroes. People who have fallen time and time again but remain resilient and strong in heart and mind. Bravo to those who have collapsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d! And to those whose coaches have strived for their own athletes success! And to all of those athleteâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s parents who continually drove their children to countless practices! And to those athletes who encountered sweat, blood, and tears through endless days of training!

Remington Shea 99

Miriyam Ghali 1 I look out to the sea and its beauty, The majestic waves crashing on the shore, The wet sand glistens in the rays of the sunlight, The sun burns my cheeks, my arms, my legs, Not a cloud in the sky attempts to hide its presence, I bury my toes in the sand, And feel its warmth travel throughout my entire being. My already bronze skin becomes a luscious gold, My dark hair flows in the breeze as a wave glides in its ocean. I slowly slip into the icy water while the sunshine fights to keep me warm, Poseidon welcomes me with open arms as I enter his most sacred territory, And flatters me by commanding his aggressive waves to cease at my presence. The ocean is as free as the gently blowing wind, The fish swim at their own pace, They stroke their fins as they please, They have no rules, no thoughts, no worries, But I am not a mere fish, I am the shark, I command these oceans. The subordinate quake in my presence, They wish to please me, to share my love, But they know they are not worthy. 2

The conch shell sings its song at the depths of the sea, Its alluring tune is like no other, The shell mimics nothing, no one, 100

It knows it is too individual, Too magnificent, Too ravishing to be corrupted by the tune of another. The Lord handcrafted each shell so differently, So eloquently, So flawlessly that even I cannot comprehend such greatness. We are the Lordâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shells! We sing to the song He conducts, We dance to the beat of His drum. He is truly in control! I accept the command of the Lord, But I will not be controlled by the world, I will not be restricted by its ideas, I will not become an unnoticed piece in its immoral and unrighteous game, Because I am a shell, And I am like no other.

Marley Edelman

101

Ismail Ercan I hear the ballad - through the door Written for the pharaoh The mourning Melody - cuts through The Air-like an arrow Overshadowing-the graveyard Death-in all its glory I imagine-its composer Poor, old - servant - mourning Perhaps-again it will be - played And win-a noble prize Perhaps - I shall perceive it After-my own - demise -

Sara Henry 102

Noah Saltzman

Divya Bhansali The Sea soaks in the life of mine – And every Soul in sight – Grasping in all the gloom of Tyne– And the psychosis of life – The sea, is cold, ever-darkened – Abscond – and leave unscathed – Stay – be incapacitated – And lifeless I remain –

103

Anonymous Do you see When you look at me The freak I’ve claimed myself to be? Freak of nature From the inside Trying desperately to hide From judgmental eyes From strange rumors Disease, illness, maybe tumors But what I have Has not a name And still brings with it all the shame Freak, weirdo ...Me It’s what I’ve convinced myself to be In the mirror that’s all I see A freak of nature Looking back at me

104

Gabrielle Izhakoff

Camille Houle

Madison Herin Screaming, screaming - ever softly The Darkness creeps toward Engulfed in Fear I lay alone Cringe as it comes - Forward A thousand Voices scream to me But I cannot - get Out I slam the Walls - but Darkness seeps, Through the Cracks of my Heart Then time begins to blur-and I Suffocate within The Black that overwhelms my Brain Choking back a - grin

105

106

Conner O'Byrne

Ali Corominas

107

Lauren Salamon I watch her dance around in a teal leotard With tiny ballet slippers and not a care in the world She performs on a stage and jumbles her dance moves Her small feet flustering every step of the way Yet she finishes proudly with naivety. The old tape stops, and the girl pauses in time Sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be frozen forever, until I press, rewind, rewind, rewind And she can only be remembered by a tiny old cassette, Shiny and black like the color of her first ballet slippers. She is now long past her days in the cassette And she has thrown her first dance shoes somewhere in the back of her closet, And her clumsy feet have somewhat steadied and her pencils have sharpened, And her pile of textbooks has grown and her folders have become fuller. Through it all she is the same ballerina who once graced a stage Still the youngest of her family; her memories will always be the same Because she cannot forget everyone who came in and out of life Or every birthday party where she blew out candles Or every family dinner with foods she couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t pronounce With a mother and father and many cousins And grandparents who spoke in strange accents. Sometimes it is too easy to be swept away Into our own pride, selfishness, egotism, fears, ambitions, and stress. We forget to look at others and understand their complexities We forget to look at the bigger picture, we forget to breathe. With every new challenge that comes about that strains our skill and tests our wit It is easy to forget the bigger picture, which is, in my case, an old cassette 108

That is kept next to a pair of black ballet slippers, which have now dulled. I can become who I want or accomplish what I may But displaying itself inside the film of that tape filmed eleven years ago Is a tiny person who dusted problems away with ease And kept dancing the wrong steps over and over without minding a bit Breathing in every detail of life with simple splendor; When overwhelmed and lost in thought, I remember her And she is who I desire to be And sometimes I try, because I was her, and she is still me.

Lauren Salamon 109

Estrella Levy

The other day was what we often call “another one of those days”. A day that was the accumulation of many others- an accumulation of sleepless nights and stressed out frenzies. You should have seen me, exhaustion might as well have been written across my forehead in red ink. Drone on day in and day out, that day passed semi-quickly, as days have a tendency to do. I got home, made myself a cup of hot water (something that has become routine to me for reasons I cannot explain), and cuddled up in my bed by the window. At some point in my vain attempt at relaxation, the sound of thunder reverberated and was followed by the slow downpour of rain. I laid there motionless. Watched the rain drops splattering on my window then gracefully tip toe down. I traced the raindrops with my tired and always warm hands. I watched raindrops race each other down the glass separation- what hurry could they possibly be in. I started wondering why the rain falling, something so natural and routine, was so entertaining. It’s not like it rarely rains, I live in Florida. It was that the trickling of the rain was the perfect condition for my mood- a mirror and amplification of my draining energy. As each fine drop fell, all my lost souls of past, present and future thoughts seemed to come together and heat up my mind. This happens every so often, you know. Long nights with longer thoughts that seem to dwindle and wind on in an endless and pointless spiral of think and rethink. The feeling isn’t one of intense contemplation or one of numb apathy, but a cycle of thoughts running through my head and going through the motions- some thoughts crashing, some washing away, some that come back over and over again. It’s quite empty and mostly useless, a quiet waste of my time. Thoughts so fleeting and thoughts so persistent- both seem like equal wastes of time, a road to an invisible castle of enlightenment. It’s amazing how hours pass and raindrops senselessly drop as I bask in this time of futility. I’m turning thoughts, thoughts of things 110

that may never even happen and thoughts of things that already happened, into bombs in a sad effort at not exploding. Blame it on the weather, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d say. In summer, a happiness that we long to grasp and hold on to, to lock away for later, quickly vaporizes as August crashes through. In winter, a silent revolution of storms and introspection. In spring, a fiery hope and fervor for life is slowly renewed again. We are nothing but fragile as raindrops and nothing but as constant as rain, and thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s where the beauty lies. My spirit has not withered quite yet- in fact this hurricane of thought and contemplation has stirred up just enough to awake me and snap me back right into life. The storm has passed, the sun comes out and the fire was lit- once again, a new found adoration for living. These moments were worth it, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the rain that falls in fine drops.

Leticia Vazquez 111

John Koch 1 I am surrounded by buffoons, fools, idiots, dunces, simpletons, and numbskulls I am genius; no one can touch me I am confined to the infinitesimally small academic boundaries of school I am not challenged, instead I am bored to tears My genius easily surpasses that of other so-called intellectuals – da Vinci, Galileo, Newton, Mozart, Jefferson, Whitman, Einstein, Fischer, Hawking – all of them are beneath me There is not one being in this state, country, planet – nay, this universe – that “contains multitudes” the way I do I am incarcerated in this barren wasteland of intelligence called Earth I am locked up in this flimsy structure called “body” I am grounded, while my mind soars, pondering the universe, knowing the universe – and the universe knows me 2 Sometimes I think I am not of humanity, not of this earth I see the unseen, I feel the unfelt, I hear the unheard, I smell the unsmelt, and I taste the yet-to-be-tasted I am one with the universe, and I experience it through senses that cannot be described with the puny words of humans Humans are content only because they do not know the beauty that escapes them, the wonders that they miss I cannot describe these to them – they lack the capacity to understand 112

My mind is like a sports car – well built and blindly fast Others have minds like trucks – slow and clunky I zip around the bends and curves of problems and quizzes They must slow down nearly to a stop before proceeding I have yet to lose a race Am I immodest? Perhaps – But I am honest

Samantha Baizan

113

Louis Davis Preface:

The form and structure of my poem is parallel to that of Jacques Prévert’s poem “Le Portrait d’un Oiseau.” In his poem, Prévert outlines the process an individual must undergo to make a work of art that is aesthetically pleasing and captivating by using the example of a painting of a birdcage. After the entire painting process is completed, one knows success is achieved when a bird flies onto the newly painted cage, believing it is real. In my own poem, I use the infinitive of verbs, just like Prévert, to emphasize the tedious process necessary to make a completed work of art, which in my case is a delicious cake. Also, I use the small child as the source of “approval” of my work of art, much like Prévert’s use of a bird. The instructions in both my poem “L’Art de la Cuisine” and Prévert’s “Le Portrait d’un Oiseau” are universal, and are useful for any individual that wishes to create a beautiful work of art.

Préparer d’abord le four Où vous pouvez cuire votre dessert Penser au quel type de gout votre enfant désire Aigre, sucré, amer Chercher pour tous les ingrédients essentiels La farine, les œufs, la beurre, le sucre, le chocolat Et des fraises Parfois la préparation du gâteau est facile et rapide Mais quelques fois c’est plus difficile et lente Ca dépend si toute la famille aide avec le procès Conclure votre « œuvre d’art » avec des fraises en haut Aussi mettre des bougies des couleurs variées pour l’anniversaire de l’enfant

114

Si l’enfant mange seulement un biscuit et il pleure constamment, c’est mauvais signe Mais si l’enfant rit, sourit, et souffle les bougies du gâteau vitement, c’est bon signe Bon signe que vous pouvez signer le gâteau Avec glaçage blanc

First prepare the oven Where you can bake your dessert Think about what taste your child wants Sour, sweet, bitter Look for all of the essential ingredients The flour, eggs, butter, sugar, chocolate And some strawberries Sometimes the preparation of the cake is easy and quick But sometimes it is more difficult and slow This depends if the entire family helps with the process Finish your work of art with strawberries on top Also put candles of various colors for the birthday of the child If the child eats only a biscuit and cries constantly, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a bad sign But if the child laughs, smiles, and quickly blows the candles of the cake, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a good sign Good sign that you can sign the cake With white icing

115

John Marchetto I am Nothing! What are you? I’m an asparagus – How do you do? From my stem to my base – I grow big and strong – Till I’m fully grown – almost one foot long! As a vegetable, it’s tough to be loved – Living life on plates, being repeatedly shoved – Pushed away, no one will eat – To the corner of the dish, I accept defeat.

Gabriel Leibovich Peaches, very orange and fresh I harvest them when Ripe Not too young and never too old And then they are just Right Peaches - so Similar to life They grow, Live life, and die Their skin is so very SourBut inside Sweetness lies But one would never peel a peach They always eat it Whole In Life you can’t eat just the sweet There is a sour hull

116

Rachel Cagnetta

117

Madison Herin Pent up unfulfillment Energy fizzle I want to rip apart The corporeal Swim away Calm and frenzied Just to be unseen, unheard, unknown

Jason Wallace

118

Valeria Balza

Drew Doughty So everything that makes me whole I’ll give it all to you This double edged spear is what you control Breathe, and it’s you whom I fall into Use me, abuse me, do what they will Can you live without those you’ve killed? Cutting down the royal path With a guilty crown we face their wrath Crystal light in the hands that hold fate Everything they’ve done we’ll illuminate it So everything that makes me whole All belongs to you Because everything in me is everything in you I’m Yours

119

Imtiaz Fatteh

[1] Straight out the depths of the devil was this place dug, The air wet with the murk of depression, The grunts of life are all but done. The signs of ebullience are all but done. But with all of the dreadful, terrible, horrid traits of this blazing abyss, there is one who defies the lies of the lack of life and wits. I am the one who represents the goodness in this demolished society. Who makes days livid, and preserves humanity. I am the health in a blemished and unhealthy world. What virtue and prosperity is left in the shambles of this corrosion of a world is lies within the bounds of my body, and mine alone. Without what I represent, this world is hopeless, dreadful, and predetermined to failure. [2] Humanity, however, can be saved. Humanity can be saved by doing as I do; by being autonomous, and sufficient for themselves. Dependency is the culprit guilty of digressing society. With dependence results what can be seen of civilization today; catastrophe, loss, and the utter downfall of culture. With independence results opulence of our mind in a way that is unforeseen by most, but experienced by me. My speech is not one to be forgotten or neglected, however, it is one to be a driving force of people in their everyday lives. My speech is that of self-sustenance and individualism, not the cohesive behaviors of the Marxist philosophies. My speech is the speech that argues on behalf of the greatest driver of humanity: the human himself. The human can accomplish anything, by heeding his own advice, his own ideas, and his own mind, but will not accomplish anything by seeking advice of others. As of today, I am the only one who thinks for myself, but if humanity heeds my philanthropic advice, then and only then will they be saved. 120

Andrea Levy

121

Jessica Frankel Life is like a flowing OceanIt is blue like the sky Changes color in the nightglow, And the stars ride the tide. Memories flowing through the air The smell of salt water Around - . The sand lies underneath Between son and daughter. The world is full of fear and fright, But, the two have No stress They have their whole life to begin, Feeling the breath of wind.

122

Louis Browne

123

Angela Cureton Pretty women wonder where my secret lies, My beauty isn’t visible to their eyes. Broad lips and broad hips, Hell, broad don’t cover half of it! Tiny waists and tiny skirts Small, small, small, Hang the little paintings on the wall… Too perfect for my taste Such a thing is just a waste Perfection never did me good, Perfection — not of the real world Show it off ? Cover up? Whose job is which? Not I — Not I, Surely not mine! Little girls — momma’s blood red lip — showing off momma’s hips Since when did babies know pretty? Since when did God make ugly?

124

Patricia Reyes

125

Lea Stempel

Year 1: Initiation Lunchtime had become her version of hell. She couldn’t find her friends. Again. With dark shades blocking her eyes and fingers dabbing the screen of her smartphone, she walked and fake-texted. The snickers and amused eyes followed her back. Deep breath, shoulders back, chin up. Her rolled up uniform skirt and loose tie fit her in with the “Populars”, her lack of crowd surrounding fit her in as a loser. She refused to be a loser. Solitary came as slowly as her leisurely steps could move her body down the school path. Usually, it led to an isolated patch of grass. Usually, there was no one there, but the voices in her head. Usually, it was any day, but today. Today, though, she met him. The boy smelled like he hadn’t showered in days. Maybe longer. His ripped jeans were too ripped and faded with dirt in all the wrong places to be fashionable. His shirt stained and yellowed. The old leather jacket that wrapped his torso appeared to be the only thing that looked right on him. Fifteen or sixteen years letting him tower inches over her fourteen-year-old stature. “Can I help you?” The spiteful edge to her words shocked herself. Her chin lifted though and she refused to give any apology. Maggie would have done the same. Unfazed, he met her covered eyes. “Uh, yeah, where am I?” She cocked a brow, “Jackson Academy.” Eyed him up once again. Confusion swept his face, “Where?” 126

“Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Do you want me to give the zip code too?” This was no longer amusing. She should call security. “Ah, no, thanks, that should be good. Um, thanks for your time.” He started to step away from her lone patch of grass. It was probably because this was the longest conversation she had all week, but she said, “You’re leaving?” “Uh, yeah,” There was no sarcasm, just an answer. “Ah, come with me.” “What?” His forehead wrinkled in confusion again. She almost laughed at the reoccurring expression. “Just follow me.” She turned around and walked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him hesitate then follow behind, eyes moving back and forth in suspicion. She led him into the empty gym lobby. Her eyes cleared the room before pushing him into the boys’ locker room. “Um, I don’t think you’re suppose to be in here.” “It’s fine, everyone is at lunch. Now, get into the shower and clean yourself.” She gestured to his body and the stalls of showers behind him. “Okay,” He drawled and started to shrug off his jacket. Red welled up in her cheeks as he started to peel his shirt off. “Oh, um, I’m going to see if I can find you some clothes. Yeah, I’m going to go do that.” She sped out of the locker room as fast as possible. After raiding the lost and found, she clutched a gray T-shirt with the school’s name proclaimed in obnoxious lettering and a pair of green sweats. Coming back into the locker room, the shower was still on and his clothes were in a messy pile on a bench. “Hey, I’m leaving some clean stuff for you out here!” She raised her voice to be heard over the torrent of water. “Thanks!” She heard as she once again slipped out of the room. A few minutes later, he walked out dressed in his ratty jeans and the school shirt forgoing the sweatpants. His look topped by his jacket. His brown hair slicked back by water let drops of liquid run down his neck. A smile brushed across his face. She felt like she was looking at a different person. “Hey, thanks for this,” He said. 127

“Glad to be of service.” She turned to leave. Why had she done this? “Drake.” His call stopped her steps away. “What?” Her head turned back to face him in confusion. “My name. It’s Drake.” “Oh, I’m Sarah.” Year 2: Rapture He was waiting for her after school in their lone patch of grass. “You stink.” She said with a false scrunch of her face and an exaggerated wave of her hand. Indignant, he retorted, “You always say that.” “You always do,” accompanied by a simple shrug. “I showered,” his face stony at her accusations. “I’m sure you did,” matching his serious expression. Their eyes connected, neither backing down from the silent challenge. A moment passed, then two. Sarah broke first. A smile cracked her face into laughter. Drake followed clutching his stomach in hearty guffaws. The pair sprawled out on the grass letting the leaves of a nearby tree shade them from the light of late afternoon. Side by side, Drake watched the clouds, while Sarah covered the grass in unfinished homework. “How long are you going to be here for?” Her eye didn’t move from the work in front of her and her voice refused to ting with sadness. “A few days, no more than a week.” “Where are you going to go next?” “Not sure, you know, just keep walking,” a lazy smirk coming over his face. She rolled her eyes, “Of course, just keep walking.” Sarcasm ruled her tone. Drake sat up on his elbow to try and meet her eye. “Oh, don’t be mad. I wish I could stay here, but I need to keep going. Plus you’re having your own adventures. I mean Sarah and the Troublesome Trio. What are their names Mag, Hag, and Tag?” She let out a huff and met his eyes, “Maggie, Charlotte, and Taylor.” “Oh, I was pretty sure their names all rhymed because they looked so alike when they called me a ‘disgusting beggar’.” He sat up straight 128

and crossed his arms over his chest. A condescending tone filled her voice and she responded, “Well, I remember you running away after that encounter.” “I don’t remember you standing up for me!” He fought the urge to jump up and leave. “You think I didn’t want to! I have no one else here. You leave and I’m here. I feel like it’s me versus the world. I can’t face it alone and I can’t rely on you.” Her eyes held unshed tears. She wouldn’t let them fall. He stood up and walked over to her. She tried to shrug off his touch, but Drake sunk down to the ground and brought her to his chest. Her body relaxed and he whispered into her hair, “This isn’t the world. This is just one place. It’s nothing. The world is beautiful and big. It’s a place where nothing can touch you.” Sarah didn’t believe him, but she buried herself further into his touch. She murmured, “Tell me about somewhere.” “Okay, there’s this waterfall I like to go visit whenever I get the chance. It’s hidden away in the woods, away from the trails. Never know it was there. Out of all the places I’ve been it’s the closest thing to paradise I’ve found. The water is gushing and beautiful. All you want to do is take a swim and never leave. The most gorgeous place in the world and it’s hidden. Some people probably stumble upon it every so often, but they’ll never see it like I do.” Year 3: Confine “Where are you from?” She questioned him as his stomach pillowed her head. “Anywhere I want to be from,” He said simply. “Ha, ha, very funny,” sarcasm evident in her voice. “Really, where were you born? Where did you grow up? Anything, but where you’ve been to.” “It’s not as interesting as where I’ve been though.” “Everything about you can’t be interesting.” “Aw, you think I’m interesting.” He moved his hands to clutch his heart and smirked down at her head. “Cocky idiot,” she insulted and slapped his arm. “You know you love me.” “You wish.” 129

Distraction was good. Just keep her away from it. “You’re really not going to tell me?” “Nope, can’t spoil my image as interesting.“ Sarah could almost hear him wagging his brow. “Oh, come on.” “Okay, fine I’m from Park Lane off of Smith Avenue.” “That’s a lie.” “Yep,” Please, stop asking for the truth. “Really?” She questioned sitting up to look down at him. “Yes.” The playfulness disappeared off Drake’s face. “Why is this such a big deal?” “Because it is! Leave it alone!” Year 4: Veracity Drake waited at their lone patch of grass and waited and waited. He had only been gone two months, maybe three. She couldn’t have forgotten him already. Sarah showed up after two days of waiting. She looked surprised to see him. “Um, hi,” He bit out. “Hi,” She eyed him up and down trying to decide if he was real. “How are you?” He tried. The awkward tension between them had never been this thick. She glared, “Peachy, how ‘bout you? Have fun ‘walking?’” “Well, um, yeah, I know I was gone for a while, but-“ “A while? Drake, you were gone for four months.” “I pretty sure it was three.” He mentally racked his brains for the date of his departure. “It was four. Don’t argue with me.” She shook her head in warning of her ill attitude towards him. “Okay, okay, maybe you’re right, but why are you so mad at me? So, I was gone for four months. I always disappear.” A flagrant shrug and a cocky smirk were his only offering of condolence. Angered, she cried, “That’s the problem you always disappear! You disappear when I need you the most!” He scoffed, “Needed me to what? Hear about how the popular girls don’t want to be your friend?” 130

She gave out an incredulous laugh, “Really, this coming from the boy who runs away whenever a problem comes up?” He face turned serious. “I do not.” “Really? You delude yourself into seeing some fantastical world, Drake, but when your fantasy starts to crack you just run. Whenever you get a glance of the real world, you run away.” “Oh, you think that you’re such an expert on the world because people don’t like you. You’re trapped in this small little city because you refuse to think there is more to the world than your insignificant problems. Grow up.” “Right after you. Don’t come back, no one will be waiting.” Year 5: Evolution Alone she walked through her old school. The empty halls were remnants of the lonely memories that filled them. Sarah did not know why she came back here. The artificial person who walked these halls had faded. When she found herself at their isolate patch of grass, though, she knew. She knew that the problems of her schoolgirl days would fade because they were insignificant just like he said that day. She knew he would not fade. Not fade away like some mistake, him and his smirk forever engraved in her mind. He would not fade away. He ran because that’s what he knew how to do. Drake wished he didn’t. Wished he didn’t every day. Wished he had stayed and listened. Stayed because that lonely patch of grass wasn’t so lonely when they were both there. But they were both there. She wasn’t wearing that skirt that was too short or that tie that was too loose, he noticed. She wasn’t wearing those stupid sunglasses that covered her beautiful brown eyes, he saw. She wasn’t concentrated on a text message that would not come, he noted. She looked free. She looked like home. “I thought no one would be waiting.” The words tumbled out of his mouth and she turned shocked to see him. See him there just as he always was with jeans too ratty, a shirt too old, a leather jacket too perfect, and a smile just for her. Truthfully, she said, “I thought no one would come.”

131

Daniel Meisel A tree stands lone in a valley, firm and tall yet desolate and forlorn, Wind flows by carrying with it the scent of edelweiss and the song of canaries, But the tree is withheld by its roots which sustain him, How the tree wishes the wind would carry him with it. The tree looks to the sky for light and affection, Its branches outstretched towards the heavens, With this light the tree spouts leafs so vividly green, Yet still remains so hopelessly blue, How the tree wishes the wind would carry him with it. Seasons come and go, With spring flowers bloom and the air grows warmer, With summer comes the laughter of children and rays of glorious sunshine, With fall leaves fade from green to brown, And with winter fall the white angels and cold hardship begins, How the tree wishes the wind would carry him with it.

A woman passes by one day and by her hand a seed is planted, And as time passes on, the seed sprouts opening its arms to the world, Spring passes, and the seed grows into a seedling, Summer passes, and the seedling grows in into a young sapling, Fall passes, and the young sapling grows into a young tree, Winter passes, and the young tree still forages on until no tree stands lone in the valley, And now, together and happy, they wish the wind would blow no more.

132

Junjie Zhao

133

Sydney Korsunsky 1 Sing oh bluebird, for the era of resurrection commences. Sing for the stumbling fawn beneath his mother’s bosom. Sing for the penetrating light from the void, for shoots of vitality breaking through crust, for fair maiden and lad scampering along with the great Mother. Sing for the elevation of life in this realm! I myself am renew’d, for this day is but a giant thrust among the mundane. The gathering begins, comrades, kinfolk, the very essence of my being in my presence. I belong to all, and all belongs to me. Sugary morsels are distribut’d to all, and the bluebird sings once more. Flames flicker and foxtrot in the eyes of those observing, shimmering amidst water as well. Why then, do we celebrate so grandly? For this day only signifies my rapid approach to the beyond, where all who lives will live once more. Bequests of all sorts accumulate in the background, waiting eagerly for their discovery. Behold! What is contain’d in these packages is perchance my heart’s one desire, or only the surplus endowment I shall receive, augmenting the offerings of friend’s own hearts. Sun falls as well as attendance. The world once more grows humdrum and hollow, empty of the warmth previously present. But the day shall come once more, as it does uniformly. The world shall awaken again! 134

2 Adolescents trudge homeward, though in glee At last! The final dissection of their minds has complet’d, leaving them to enjoy a time of freedom. Nights are almost endless; the days do not begin until midafter noon. One looks up should they awake at the wrong moment, and notice that, imaginably that a great star is in the wrong location? One travels across the globe, slumbering then waking then consuming, always running with not a moment to spare. One, as I have done, attends a gathering of peers for happenings of all genera for a time. I doze on a bus and awake to cheering of my companions. I dwell in a hefty tent with four others of the similar cohort, where all sorts of emotions and events run through. I face the good, I face the bad. I absorb the occurrences into my very essence, so as not to disregard what had been and what could have been. However, the pleasure and perfection of the place is ting’d with a disheartening to last an interval, perhaps stretching to many months. The girl does not know what awaits as she dances, and is approached by one counselor, in fact one of her favorites. The counselor leads the girl to a main bureau, where news, harrowing enough to tear one’s heart from their body, waits. The girl cries out, unable to comprehend what has happen’d. Why did this transpire, the girl asks. Why did this transpire now, the girl questions. Why do our darkest and most downcast occurrences in life interrupt what seem on the surface to be the happiest, but quickly turn sour.

135

Oh death, why do you attack at outrageous eras? Why not wait until when all affected can tend to each other? Perhaps only to end the suffering, whether in favor of all or one. 3 The world metamorphoses, converting once more, now from green to red. The squirrel gathers kernels and corners, anticipating the on coming storm of white. The atmosphere grows crisper, cooling in temperature as well as temperament. The time comes once again for learners to return to a place of learning. The cycle never ceases. Leisure becomes lesson, slumber befalls stress. Do I truly live in the moment? Or do I live only for the forthcoming? Will procrastination prevail? Or will the report become the ideal? I know only what I know, and nothing more. Once unfamiliar, I was, with the place I live. One autumn my roots were extract’d from polar soil, and transferr’d and plant’d in foreign loam. At first I resist’d, my roots did not take well to the new place. But now, I have grown accustom’d. No, I have thriv’d in this new environment! Conceivably this movement was for the best. 4 I wake from sleep. I peer out my window, to what sight greets my eyes? Frost! Upon the ground! The crystallization of water particles in the air proves to be a lovely sight, comparable to the spring blossoms of pink and purple. 136

I recall the earlier years of my life, where I lived in the northern hemisphere as a child. The joy of stirring in a warm bed, only to hastily make my way outside to play in the cold white substance. Prancing and running and jumping and falling, the snow is one of the great pleasures in life. I reminisce of metal on frozen liquid, the glide and whizz of blades along a an expanse of compacted molecules. Twirling, gliding, racing along with my brethren, perhaps once or twice stumbling to the hard surface, but always getting back up right to my feet. I am graceful, I am free, I feel on top of the world. The best part of the frozen time of year, plodding back homewards. The door opens to a roaring fire, steaming chocolate drinks with bobbing marshmallows. The white flakes flurry and flutter about outside. The coldest is sometimes the warmest. The warmest sometimes the coldest.

137

James Leahy I am the child who pretends to be a man, who is left on the street with little hope or hate, I am the son who claims the career of his father and mother as his own, But who knows not the meaning of what he says. I am the father that goes before the sun and returns after the sun, for a family that he never sees, I am the mother who takes her newborn to work because she is alone, But refuses the same for her child. I am the nameless youth, abandon’d upon the step I have never known, So that I might forever hope. The sun beats upon my back and the muck swallows my boots, Much as the ink stains my hand and the spectacles numb my eyes, While my breast is cover’d in dust and grime, from the ring of my picois To which the ring and beat of my neighbor’s replies, One of a kind. The chair rock’d to and fro, leaves none for me, Much as that child has done for leaving me, With naught but blind’d eyes and wrinkl’d skin, Stain’d hands, blister’d feet, and fail’d strength of some repute. For I am only as weather’d as the seasons that stretch toward the fall and back unto spring, Batter’d, But I am never broken.

138

Sydney Korsunsky

139

Lea Stempel This morning he breathed. He broke the silent air, With laughter and talked Of months to share. We got flowers for Mom And ate breakfast in the sun. Summer lived calm, But winter came like a loaded gun. Warmth drained from the inside, The sun didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even think to cry. Youth lied, And I never got to say good-bye. One beat gone, then another, Frozen in eternal summer.

Ian Edelman 140

Anonymous Tell all the People but tell them softly Say what you feel but slow-The meaning of the Words you say Could deal a lasting blow. We consume unfathomable thoughts From what we hear and read. Words dance into our senseless mind And take over our head. Those Lyrics invite Opinions, Positions, and Beliefs-Ideas arise, Judgments emerge Incessant Melodies Start running through this crowded mind-Dissonance rings aloud The chorus of unruliness Drives this being to the ground! Yet listen not, and go ahead Say something you shanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say-What you put out comes back to you Revisits you someday Be wary now, for yourself, I say For your time is very near Just one little sour Thought is heard And Your Chorus might appear.

141

Today is a New Day Catherine Lott

Today is a new day. We do not realize the possibilities, The endless opportunities That lie before us Awaken from your deep slumber, Penetrate the thick, heavy fog before you, Open your crust-shut eyes and behold! Ah, a new beginning!

142

Wake Up.

Molly Rose

143