2023 Etched on the Head of a Pin

Etched on the Head of a Pin

Vol 53

The Rival Poet

The column of your book titles, always introducing your latest one, looms over me like Roman architecture. It is longer than the name of an Italian countess, longer than this poem will probably be. Etched on the head of a pin, my own production would leave room for The Lord’s Prayer and many dancing angels. No matter.

In my revenge daydream I am the one poised on the marble staircase high above the crowded ballroom. A retainer in livery announces me and the Contessa Maria Teresa Isabella Veronica Multalire Eleganza de Bella Ferrari. You are the one below fidgeting in your rented tux with some local Cindy hanging all over you.

Billy Collins

2001-2002 US Poet

Laureate

Dear reader,

This will be the 53rd consecutive year that we publish our literary magazine, while we didn’t get as many submissions as compared to previous years, we still received some great work. While going through the submissions, we started to see a common theme: love. Many of the poems had to do with love for themselves, others, and the world around us. The photography and art reflected the same thing. Our small, but mighty, staff is so proud and excited to bring you the latest edition of Etched on the Head of a Pin. Once again thank you to everyone who submitted their work. Enjoy.

Sincerely,

Abby Hosler Managing Editor

The

by Sean Durbin

Art by Brenna snyder

The

15 16

by Sean Durbin

17

by Abby Hosler

18

by Minaleah Koffron

Art: Brenna Snyder The

by Micciah Serne

Photo: Abby Hosler

Heartbreak Hurts by Micciah Serne

Photo: Abby Hosler

Heartbreak Hurts by Micciah Serne

Photo: Abby Hosler

Your Sprout by Alice Kraatz

Photo: Mason Alston

The Lovers by Alyssa Preston

Photo: Ainsley Kesman

Photo

The Last Sun

Alice Kraatz / senior

The Last Sun

The saddest words I ever heard Were said with a cavalier smile, And though I thought I’d braved it all, Those words rang their knell for miles. Through thick and thin our arms were tight ‘Round the other’s gallant breast

Where just like so we’d ride our hope To where the sun sets in the west. Now in that fading, rosy light, I thought we’d found our rest, But the phoenix yearns to start anew Through the flame of the motherly nest. Its blazing beauty fills with awe

Base gazes from afar

Which stoke with harsh naïvity What reaps my heart of tar. Through many nights I now have wept, As in cold and dark I lie. I crave your tongue, however cruel, Though for an empty echo I cry. That tender grey is coming now, Yet my sun will ne’er rise true, For you, my dear, have left me with Those saddest words: I Love You.

Mason Altson / sophmore

Floating Below

Micciah Serne / sophomore

Falling deep into the ocean below Hands grasping for something

Anything to grab onto

Breath, gasping for the cold thin air above Faint screaming heard from about the thick waterline

Vision going blurry

Going dark

Cold metal wrapped around my now-soaked, screaming body. What has become of me

World breaking like a tall neverending mirror

Trapped like an hourglass

Shaken and moved

Constant stress of the unknown

Hiding in this hole, this fear of the unknown haunts me

Haunts me like a shadow following you

Following you down alleyways

Down dark streets and never going away

Never stopping

I’m tired of being followed

I’m tired of fearing the unknown

I’m tired of living in the world above Of falling in a world only meant to float

I shall fall into the ocean below

The darkness

The unknown And yet

For just a second

I feel as though I’m floating

For once

Ysa Cerbo / junior

Multiple Choice; You Choose

Layssa Loubriel / junior

Start of Test

Worn like ancient Greece at my age of youth. Powerful Motivated by letter grades and angry red pens. Discouraged

As if smeared ink and percentages will raise drop my morale. Slumber filled deprived midnights to sustain GPA mental-health

Without question, academics enhance drain my livelihood. End of Test

My Constellation

Alyssa Preston / junior

Abigal Hosler / sophmore

I love you

Micciah Serne / sophmore

I love you.

Not in the way a friend says to another friend when in reality they only tolerate them

A real way

A unexplainable way

I love the way your hair naturally frames your beautiful face

The way you laugh when someone tells a stupid, immature joke

The way your arm fits perfectly in mine when we need to be close

And hold me in your arms when the stress becomes unbearable when you simply need affection I am the last resort

The way you hide who you are because you want people to love the real you

And the way you are kind to everyone you meet

I love you so much that your flaws seem like an illusion

Barely existing

And that part of me knows you dont love me nearly as much I Hate Being a sensitive romantic

Because i know that no matter how much i try to make the peices fit You don’t match me in the way I want you to

You will never love me the same way I love you

It breaks my heart in ways i cant explain

Knowing that someone so amazing can’t see me the way I see them

Salty Tears rolling down my face at the thought

One after another

I see a fairytale ending with you that will never be finished

That will never be completed

A hole incinerates in my heart

I feel as though I will never love someone like this again

So much I break over and over again

More and more

Your so beautiful in way I can’t explain

And my heart breaks more and more everytime I hear your name next to someone else’s

Jealous at the thought of you loving someone else

Because I love you

But you love me in the way that is only tolerateration

Only temporary

But I love you anyways

Abby Hosler / sophmore

A Hummingbird

Focused, determined, A symbol of devotion and love, Such a fragile body of verdigris fluff Hovers about; Your eye Spot it, and Longs for the attention It gives; You have mean’t To hurt it, and it hides; You want to Stop it -- and it continues to fly And get away from you -The memory it leaves Comes like fog, and it Engulfs you.

Alyssa Preston / junior

Abby Hosler / sophmore

Brennah Snyder / sophmore

The Material, the Commercial, and the Purity of Greed

Sean Durbin / senior

A barrage of droplets from the sky meet the concrete; a man wearing a bright yellow acid coat dodges the rain as it melts the sidewalks. His face is clean-shaven and his silvery hair is caught by the soft glow of a street lamp–his emerald eyes dart from left to right as he dashes across the road, the sound of distant cars music to his ears. He stops suddenly and stares at the dark gray sky–he sees the blinding light of the New Moon, a beautiful man-made display created to replace the lackluster natural moon of the past. Instead of a useless surface of rock, the New Moon stands as a shining example of industrialization, providing billions with internet and reception all over the planet. The man wonders what the sky looked like when it was marred by the ugly crater-filled orb of the past–how unfortunate people were before the days of the Syndicate when nature was left unregulated by man and areas were left barren of modern technology for no reason at all rather than to preserve their “beauty”--after

all, what is more beautiful than human ingenuity?

It is difficult to imagine a world where every city does not look identical, plastered with billboards, neon signs, and smog-spewing vehicles. He quickly dismisses this thought and continues to speed through the rain.

At last the man arrives home; his mailbox reads “John-18934 & Jane-17546 Smith” in shining gold symbols. His name is one of his greatest prides, for when a citizen reaches the age of 18, they shed their birth name and buy a new name from the Register and an accompanying number. Each number costs the buyer a fortune, the first indicator of a citizen’s prestige to all being how high of a number they are able to purchase if any at all. Those unable to afford a new name are forced to keep their natural name, an embarrassing stamp of their inferiority. John-18934 struggles with the door handle before it finally gives in and he stumbles in; his home is filled with objects of all shapes and sizes, the majority of which he cannot name or even describe. All that matters is that he owns them; John-18934 will boast to his friends of his worldly possessions, and they will marvel at his superiority: the worth of an individual, as everyone knows, is directly related to their material possessions rather than any arbitrary indicator such as “good character” or “actions” as they were in the Old Age. He takes off his acid coat and hangs it to dry by the door and sits down in his most valuable chair; he reaches over to grab his standard Syndicate-provided book: A History of

the World by the illustrious leader of the Syndicate, Thomas M. Peters. He flips to his favorite passage and starts to read:

“Before the days of the Syndicate, humanity lived divided with no voice to guide them; there was no consensus on any issue and productivity had permanently stalled due to an obsession on what was “right” over what was most profitable. A reckoning was needed to save the people from their idle concerns and unite them under the purest Doctrine: materialism. And so, the Syndicate formed, a gathering of major corporations across the world with the sole goal of bringing this concept to fruition; they spread their message on every form of communication possible–and the world united behind these saviors. As the Syndicate declared the world an organized anarchy, they released the principles that guide our society today:

1. Taxes are abolished.

2. The success of the individual is the sole responsibility of the individual.

3. Possessions are the purest indicator of superiority.

4. The Earth’s resources are rightfully that of humanity”

“...and so the Syndicate had created a Utopia, conceived in materialism, and the people cheered for the New Age.”

- A History of the World by Thomas M. Peters

John-18934 sighed as he closed the book; he called out to his wife by her nickname in his natural monotone: “46?” His wife appeared in the doorway; she had long black hair that fell to her shoulders and dancing indigo eyes that sparkled in the lamp light–but her most attractive quality, the reason why he married her, was her wealth. While many others had to settle for a spouse of a lower wealth bracket, John-18934 counted himself lucky to wed a woman of as high a status as he held.

“Yes, 34?” she replied, gently shifting her weight from foot to foot; 34 thought she seemed different today, like she was withholding something from him.

“I wanted to see if you heard the news today; the leading members of the syndicate have increased their wealth two-fold this year,” 34 recounted with a touch of enthusiasm in his voice.

His wife’s expression remained blank to his surprise, and he motioned for her to sit down next to him. “Is something wrong?” he asked. 46 hesitated for a moment, as if she was afraid of what she was about to say, before reluctantly starting to speak.

“Today...today I saw a homeless child. She hid from me as all the inferiors are supposed to, but, for some reason, I stopped,” 34 showed no indication of being fazed in the slightest and simply leaned back in his chair as his wife continued. “She looked so helpless, so pitiful. I laughed at first, knowing that her failures were her own fault and that she got what she deserved for her laziness. But then, something came over me, a sensation I have never felt before. I started to...” she paused for a second as if regretting what she was about to say next. “I started to sympathize with the girl. And then I did something that I am ashamed of. 34, I gave her money.”

34 just stared back at her, saying absolutely nothing. His wife was an anti-materialist, the sworn enemy of every supporter of the New Age; she had blatantly defied one of the principles he lived his life by everyday. She was the one person he thought he could trust, who would never betray him; and now, like so many before her, she had chosen the wrong path. He clasped her pale hand and a single tear ran down his cheek, falling to the floor.

“You know what I have to do,” was all he said. His wife only nodded and buried her face in her hands. 34 slowly stood up and walked over to the phone, gently pressing the numbers 2-9-9 for the first time in his life–he then said one word into the receiver: “Compromised”. He heard a click and hung up the phone–he counted to ten as he waited before he heard a vigorous knock on the door. 34 walked to the door and opened it–in front of him stood six men dressed in black armor with the yellow letters SES printed on their breastplates: Syndication Enforcement Support. He nodded to them and they entered his house, handcuffing his wife and leading her out the door. She did not shed a tear as she was escorted outside, and did not even flinch as the rain burned her skin. One officer lingered for a second.

“You’ll be notified when her re-education is complete,” was all he stated; he then turned around and left 34 standing alone. 34 remained still for a minute before returning to his chair. He gazed out his window as the soft patter of the rain gently lulled him to sleep.

l Etched on the Head of a Pin

Abby Hosler / sophomore

The Black Sheep

Micciah Serne / sophmore

They aren’t different

I know that now

But part of me hoped they were Hoped they were different from everyone else The black sheep in a crowd of white The yellow apple in a orchard full of red

The beauty surrounded by the ugly

But they were beautiful

So beautiful they clouded my brain

My thoughts

Made me believe in the unbelievable That I could be loved

Loved in that kind of way of course

Loved in a way seen in fairytale stories

Unaware that in reality

I was being loved by the villain

the entire time I was like glass

Completely see though

I told all my secrets

Showed all my weaknesses

And now I’m on the floor defenseless I am like a weakened soldier without a weapon Alone

Etched on the Head of a Pin

even when in a crowd

Why couldn’t you have been different I thought I finally did it

I thought that maybe you were a black sleep surrounded by white But yet you were like every other sheep

Every other apple

And now I feel more alone then before

I knew I’m my heart you weren’t different

But sometimes

The beautiful sheep are just too amazing to ignore The apple looks too amazing not to bite

The poison hurts

But at least we tried Right?

I slowly watched you unlove ne

Like an unstoppable hourglass

No way to stop it

No way to change your mind

I knew I had to enjoy it while I could

Before the apple goes bad

Before the poison kicks in

And you leave like everyone else

But while you left like everyone else

You hurt more then the others

Because I had hope

Because things felt different

They finally felt right

Felt normal

Felt like that fairytale

But every fairytale comes to an end

We barely talk now

And I sit and wait

Wait for the day you go bad

The day the apple goes rotten

And you remember I’m not worth your time

And you leave

Just like the rest

Alone

Alone without a sheep

Without an apple

Without a fairytale ending

Killed like a soldier

Without a sword

Abigal Hosler / sophmore

Heartbreak Hurts

Layssa Loubriel / junior

It hurts knowing you’ll never love me in the way I love you knowing that I am no longer the person you smile when you see The person you wrap your arms around in embrace and love the person you feel safe around when you need a breath of fresh air

But you’re still mine

And that’s what hurts the most

Part of me is still waiting

Still praying that you’ll come back

That things will be the same again

But the more and more I wait

The more and more I feel you pull away

Pull away like a paper flying in the cold, thick wind

I feel alone

Alone in a hole just big enough I can’t reach the top to pull myself out of I feel trapped

Trapped in an endless cycle of losing the ones I love most

Every person seems to love leaves and I go through the endless cycle of my heart slowly breaking more and more

And you were the last straw

You were the pull

And now my heart can no longer handle the pain that consists of this

Of trusting you

Trusting anyone

I never saw your flaws

The insensitivity

The misunderstanding

The anger

I only saw a person I adored

Adored like a sculpture

And in awe by tourists

Unaware that one move

One phrase

And that beautiful sculpture I so very much adored was crushed into pieces and I was brokenhearted

I was lost

Something clicked

And my brain turned off

And now I’m trying to function knowing you no longer love me the same

Time slowed down and thoughts turned dark

Crying every night and just wanted to love you again

Crying because I wanted to feel something again, feel that kind of love again

I loved all your imperfections

All your pain

And in return

You took away mine unintentionally

I knew you were struggling

But I was never aware that with that struggle

You would take me down with you

Take me down in ways I never expected I wish I could go back

I wish I could change what I did

As I said, just want to help you

Wanting to save you

But now I’ve ruined it all I did this to myself

I deserve this heartbreak

But that doesn’t change that my love for you grows like a long, deep river An ocean, always flowing and always growing I love you

And you’ll never know

And now I must move on without you

I never thought it was possible for you

You of all people break my heart like this

But part of my heart believes that maybe we can still fix this Fix this hellhole of a situation

You’ll come back and everything will be ok

Holding onto the dream that one day you’ll be a part of me again and the dreams, the overthinking and the pain will all be worth it

But I know in my heart that it will never happen that’s why this heartbreak hurts so much

Because I know you never will love me the same again But I don’t want to face it

And now I have to.

Abby Hosler / sophomore

Your sprout

Alyssa Preston / junior

My skin is like petals; It’s delicate and light, soft and pretty. But it rips rough like metal. And when it opens, I dig inside to find somewhere I can hide, dizzy; To look at the burgundy layers that make it so resilient and smooth. But when it rips, it bleeds and it bleeds -And it won’t go back together after the glue, so I cry and try to soothe. What was once so strong, now, has wants and needs. The petals wilt and dries to a leaf. And eventually the entire flower dies; it cries and is covered in vine. What was once so beautiful has lost its motif, And lost its shine, in this garden of mine.

My garden is like a sanctuary. It’s built on blood and bones, beetles and bugs. I worked hard to keep it growing, until came January. A new seed sprouted, and when it spoke it promised me of beauty and slugs. And I couldn’t resist the thorns it had, jealous, it made me miss A part of me I had ripped apart.

But when the sun came out and the seed began to grow, I dismissed the feeling of roots in my lungs, and the leaves wrapped around my heart. I had to kill you, quickly, to stop your disease before it was too late; But it already was. You grew too pretty with your deceiving. Now my garden, my home, is rotting; the lovely flowers were unable to escape. It’s a good thing that I’m forgiving.

Kait Cook / Freshman

The Lovers

Alyssa Preston / junior

Ainsley Lesman / senior

Submission Guide Lines

We accept submissions from October 1 to February 1 through our online contest submission system, and we welcome all different types of art and writing, including but not limited to: Poems and lyrics (40 lines or less)

Plays (one scene)

Photography

Digital art and illustration

Photographed traditional works (e.g. jewelry, canvas, etc.)

Authors may submit up to 5 entries

cation. Submission does not guarantee publication: all entries will be considered anonymously via panel discussion, and anyone is welcome to join the literary magazine staff. Authors will be notified as to the outcome of