Changing Tides Changing Tides
Etched on the Head of a Pin Vol 54
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 year’s literary magazine definitely holds a special place in my heart because there were so many times during it that I was considering giving up. However, these were some amazing pieces- including literary, photography, and art-and they deserved to be showcased. So thank you to all the amazing creators who submitted their work and dealt with me being a mess. You’ve done great. I hope you enjoy it, welcome to the 2023-2024 Literary magazine. Happy Reading!
Sincerley,
Abby Hosler Editor in Chief
Table
By Abby Hosler
By Jona Nguyen
by Monica Mastin
Watching by Monica Mastin
Watching by Monica Mastin
Art: Aspen Floyd The Fear Chameleon by Abby Hosler
You By Chris Prom
Sorrow of Autum By Jona Nguyen
Depression and Anxiety By Sienna
Depression and Anxiety By Sienna Art: Jona Nguyen
By Jona Nguyen
The Cage Opened By Evelyn Lobelle
The Cage Opened By Evelyn Lobelle
Up By Ella Morofsky
Photo by Thaddeus Lendzion
Photo By Ty Stergeon Photo By Thaddeus Lendzion
Photo
Where The Light Begins
They leaned against the wall in the shadow of an alleyway, one arm holding them up, the other clutching their side. They took deep, silent breaths.
They took a staggered step forward.
They halted with a cough. They hacked and rasped, but nothing would come out. They let out a breath.
They took another step.
A sudden, faint rush of air brushed the space in front of them.
They looked up.
At a distance, a subway train hurtled by on elevated tracks, the semi-lit windows seeming to twinkle as they blurred past. They could almost make out the silhouettes of people inside the cars, backlit with warm amber light; then the subway passed out of sight, leaving them with a view of the skyscrapers and streets below it.
The lights of the city shimmered pale orange, yellow and white, golden, windows and street lamps and headlights glowing against the grayed concrete, black streets, and dark sky.
They took another step forward.
The mouth of the alley just behind them, strings of lights hung between buildings glittered alongside their illuminated shop windows, they took a few hesitant steps without the cover of near-black shade.
Flecks of sunlight seemed to flutter down as snow began to fall. They held out their hand. A flake fell in, melting after a moment.
They almost smiled.
Standing up straighter, they saw other people walking by, going this way or that on the sidewalk. They soon found the others falling away from them; then the lights of the city were behind them as well, the gentle crash of waves ahead of them as they took a step onto the beach.
The dark waters of the ocean reflected the dim stars, the few visible shining pure and cool as they painted the night sky. They glanced around them; from here, the buildings coalesced into a singular, far-off glow.
They were alone.
But before them, across miles of pitch-black waters and navy blue sky, the smallest hint of fiery red-orange peaked above the horizon. Dawn.
They stifled a breath. Then another. Their breathing quickened, and sobs began to rack their chest; then they threw their head back and laughed. They laughed and cried and snickered and smiled. Bittersweet catharsis. The widest grin painted their face as they took in the beginning of the sunrise, the reflection of the sun off the sea mirroring itself in their eyes; they beamed. Slowly, they turned away. Back towards the city.
The golden light of the dawn peeked through a little bit more.
Sophmore, Leah Kusisto
Senior, Aspen Floyd
Watching
There is a monster in my house. It watches me. I know it.
I can feel its gaze piercing my skin, cutting through my flesh and veins, going straight for my organs. It sits there in the corners, watching me. My every movement, my every breath. Sometimes, it sits there with wiry limbs, curled up into its concave chest. Long, dirty nails picking at its dry skin, occasionally breaking through to the black blood beneath its hideous exterior. Hollow eyes following me wherever I go. Other times, it’s an oily, writhing mass on my floor, no discernible limbs or features, but I know it’s still watching me. Or it’s a tangle of roots and mold, seemingly burrowing miles into the walls, into space that can’t exist; carefully studying my face as it tempts me. Or it’s a pitch black shadow in the shape of my silhouette, with its only feature being bloodshot eyes that aren’t mine, staring right into my soul. I’ve never seen its mouth before, but I know that it’s biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and swallow me whole. I know that it smiles when I turn my back to it.
I’ve never seen it move, but I know that it does. It leaves marks all over the house. None of the doors can lock any more. The windows have clouded over. Black stains occasionally appear on the walls or floors, taking the shape of either a trail of liquid or a mangled hand. I can hear it as it slinks and skitters through the walls so that I’m never out of its sight. It’s loud. It laughs. I swear that it laughs at me, like a predator enjoying playing with its food. A few times in the dead of night, I’ve heard it sing. It sounds like groaning and wind chimes and growls and a bell tolling somewhere off in the far distance. It sounds like a dead and hungry god. It sounds familiar. It sounds like fate.
It’s infected this house, and it’s infecting me. It’s the only thing I see in my dreams now. When I close my eyes at night, it’s still there in the corner of my mind, still watching me. I’ve dreamt of finally cutting a passage through that tangle of roots and crawling into infinity. I’ve dreamt of picking up its decrepit body and cradling it in my arms. I’ve dreamt of it finally winning, its limbs and growths finding their way into my mouth, my nose, my eyes. It rendering me paralyzed as it feeds off of me, ripping me apart, piece by piece. I’ve dreamt of it just disappearing one day, and taking the soul of the house along with it. I know that it’s standing there at the foot of my bed, watching me as I dream of it.
It leaves no marks behind in my room when I wake in the morning, but the hair on the back of my neck is raised because I know it was there, and I know it’s still watching me. It’s a struggle to get out of bed, the sheets don’t want to let me go. Even though it hasn’t touched me, I see all of the marks it’s left behind on me. My eyes now have bags from all of the restless nights, my teeth are yellow, my skin is dry and
cracking, my hair is matted, my arms are covered in scratches it told me to leave. Showers don’t work anymore, I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw but I still feel just as dirty as when I got in. It greets me when I try to find something to eat, and I can feel it leaning over my shoulder when I try to work. I don’t remember when it showed up in my house, but I know that I haven’t left since. I yell at it sometimes, just to fill the void.
I have to kill it. If I don’t, one day it will kill me. I’ve tried so many times in my dreams. But everytime I try to stab it, the tip of the knife always somehow points back at me. It taunts me. It asks me, with no mouth to speak with, why haven’t you gotten rid of me yet? Are you too weak? Have you come to enjoy my company? It tells me, look at how powerless you are. How helpless. I know that it is watching me as I scream and cry and seethe. I know it revels in it.
There is a monster in my house. I need to get it out. It’ll ruin me if I don’t. I want my house back. I want myself back. It’s so grotesque and creepy and mean and- and II haTE IT! I HATE IT! I HATE IT SO MUCH! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!
Junior, Monica Mastin
Senior, Aspen Floyd
The Fear Chameleon
I’m a fear chameleon
I bled into the dark
I hide from my fears
Hide so they can’t find me
But when I turn around they are hiding with me
When did I become the thing people feared
When did my fears blend with me
When did the line between who I am and what I’m hiding from fade
And why do the looks scare me the most
I want to scream
“It’s not me! It’s the fear! Please it’s not me!”
I want to unblend, unfade
I’ll do anything
I’ll run on shaky legs
I’ll crawl through endless forests
I don’t want to be my fears anymore
I’m not the little girl hiding in the dark alone
Wondering what it’s like to blend in with love
So fear me if you must
But know this
I’m done being afraid of you
Junior, Abby Hosler
Freedom
She heard it before she saw it. She froze where she stood, her breath catching in her lungs and her brain short-circuiting. Could it be? After all this time? She started to stumble, slowly at first, before picking up speed and eventually breaking out into a full sprint through the jungle. Leaves and twigs crunched under her feet as she ran. The sound of it had turned bitter long ago.
As she approached, the ground under her changed from damp earth to hard rock. She couldn’t believe her eyes as she stepped past the trees into the clearing. A small waterfall, cascading down from a stream about 8 feet up, steadily hitting the rock below before continuing to flow deeper into the woods. The water was hitting the ground with loud force, but not enough to pose any threat of being swept away. She became much more aware of the dirt that clung to her skin and hair at the sight. It was a sensation she had grown to ignore until now, but oh did she loathe it. Without taking her eyes off of the water, she hastily removed her clothes that were practically rags by now and stepped under the downpour.
Relief, sudden and thundering, washed over her. She felt her muscles relax for what felt like the first time in centuries. For minutes, she merely stood still under the stream, bathing in the saccharine feeling of the water rushing over her form, carrying the evidence of her struggles for survival far away from her.
It was cold, but she couldn’t care less. She had been on her own, far from comfort, for the better part of a year now. She had been in this specific jungle for almost a month. The journey had made her hands rough and the sound of her bones sour. At times, she had thought that the grime had become a part of her, never to be removed no matter how much she fought. But here she was, reveling in how the water by her feet first turned brown and then back to clear. A smile split her face ear-to-ear, warm and powerful. A smile she thought she had lost.
She carefully moved her hands through her matted hair, delicately removing the more stubborn pieces of dried mud. She scrubbed off the dead skin that had built up on her body. She let the water cleanse her of the ugly aches and pains that had become a part of her life. The water danced down her skin, and she savored the freedom of being clean once more.
9| Changing Tides Junior, Monica Mastin Junior, Ty Sturgeon
11| Changing Tides
Be You
Be You.
Seek not to compare, Life won’t always be fair. Seek not to label, Keep thoughts calm and stable. Seek not to blame, Only you guide your friends. Seek not to read minds, Motives come in varying kinds. Seek not to castrophize, Your thoughts will only catalyze. Look inward, Not outward. You’ve got this. I promise. Be You.
Chris Prom
Sophmore, Thaddeus Lendizon
Sorrow of Autumn
Junior, Abby Hosler
Senior, Jona Nguyen
Depression and Anxiety
Come on inside step into my mind before you jump in fright and before you go and take flight let me explain the tangled web of these feelings that flow and ebb these feelings are no excuse depression’s not just a simple case of the blues a bit of time that’s bad or a season that’s unbearably sad you see, depression is dark grey a color of living death the dead skin of a corps depression is cold sharp, heavy and unbearable it’s from the consistent blues painted over and over a poison you drink every day until you are simply numb to it all depression isn’t always crying depression is a cold emptiness the feeling of dying that no matter how hard you’re trying, how great your will that hole won’t ever really fill it always manages to seep in what it means when you’re depressed is that you’re past feeling bad past feeling sad you’re simply past feeling your just painfully numb those feelings locked in a chest right next to your heart that you’d buried long ago it’s like a light shut off so you don’t see the mess in your room it’s the waking up, counting the hours until you can go back to sleep it’s the unbearable loneliness that you’ve become accustomed to the constantly being tired and feeling scared
the growing voice a constant reminder that nobody ever really cared every thought is heavy and it rests like a blanket making it hard to get out of bed and wondering if you’d be better off dead it’s being homesick inside of your own home
Depression is painfully numb Anxiety on the other hand it’s not just being fidgety or a little worried it’s not being nervous it’s the constant thinking and thinking thinking sinking deeper into those thoughts it’s constantly drowning with no release
“oh god why did I do that” “why did I say that” “stupid”
“YOU SCREWED IT UP LIKE ALWAYS” “God you can’t do anything right” anxiety is a bully always pushing you down beating you up making comments about everything you do your mind becomes a wasps nest the slightest disturbance setting of the stings it’s being claustrophobic inside your own mind it’s having a billion things to do but not knowing what it is you’re supposed to. needing to say a million things but you don’t know what and too worried to even open your mouth having a thousand emotions
having a thousand emotions but you can’t figure out which one it’s a mouth stitched shut keeping you quiet while the volume of your thoughts turns up= it’s pure energy your mind being electicuted and the walls of your mind close into you Depression is sad and anxiety is bad Depression is when you don’t have the energy to really care about anything Anxiety is when you have too much energy you care to much about every single thing and when you have both it’s an absolute living hell
it’s needing to escape but being too tired to move being terrified and exhausted at once not wanting to fail but unable to make the effort it’s caring about everything and then not caring at all it’s freezing and burning it’s wanting to have friends but hating to be social it’s wanting to be alone without being lonely it’s feeling too much and then being numb it not being able to tell if you’ve become void of emotion or if you’ve been overwhelmed by all of them it’s depression locking away feelings and anxiety eating what’s left of you
Freshman, Sienna Clary
Senior, Jona Nguyen
Senior, Jona Nguyen
The Cage Opened
Life is hard in the animal shelter. Sister and I are confined to a cramped, two level cage, surrounded by similar prisons with birds, dogs, weasels, ferrets, bunnies: any pet you could think of. It is bright, loud, cold, and overwhelming.
I am a scrawny, underweight, tiny black cat, a three month old American shorthair. I’ve seen humans pass by me and my sister dozens of times, always looking for cats of other colors, seemingly put off by our black fur. They say it’ll bring them bad luck.
Laying on the thin blanket we call our bed, I hear the bells that mean a new human is coming. My ears shoot up and I wake Sister, it’s a customer! She yawns and finds my eyes, clearly annoyed that I woke her from her nap. Then she hears the bells, too. We both walk to the edge of our cage in hopes that the human sees us. Before we’re noticed, though, the manager comes to greet the customer.
“Hello! You must be Rachel. How are you?”
“I’m doing well,” Rachel replies. She’s carrying a purse that humans would consider valuable. “Do you have them ready?”
“Of course! Right this way, please.”
We watch as the manager leads Rachel into our room. The birds and dogs start making noise in hopes of being seen by this possible owner; Sister sits down, wanting to look as good as she can for Rachel. I stay close to the edge of the cage, and for just a moment, Rachel catches my gaze. My breath quickens. Could she be the one to finally notice us?
She gives me a quick look over, and her expression sours. The manager leads her into the next room, where the expensive breeds are kept.
For a second, I was almost sure that she was my human. That I could be her kitten. Instead, we hear muffled discussion from the other room. Sister slumps, and slowly walks back over to our bed, curling into the smallest ball she can possibly be. I stay at the edge, still hoping Rachel will come back.
Nearly 20 minutes later, she does. Holding a large silver Persian.
The bells go off. Sister rushes to the front of the cage again, but I stay put. Whoever is coming through that door will just walk past and forget about me and Sister. There’s no point in getting out of bed. I hear the manager sigh and walk to the door. He seems nervous. Interesting. The manager is always looking to make a sale and puts on a show for any potential customer. I perk my ears, curiosity overriding my better judgment.
“Welcome! How are you all doing today?”
“Very good, thank you.” A woman’s voice. Probably just another Rachel. “Well that’s good to hear. I unfortunately have some bad news for you folks. There’s been a mix up. The Siamese cats you were interested in are not here today. However, we have many more specimens to choose from,” explains the manager.
“Oh. That’s alright. In that case, girls? Would you like to look around?” asks the woman. A moment later I see two girls, sisters, appear around the corner. The shorter one has light brown hair, blue eyes that dart across the room, and an eager expression. Sister quickly cleans her shoulder and sits down, posing for this excited young girl.
However, the older one interests me. She has long dark hair, simple clothes, and an expression mirroring what I always feel. Overwhelmed. The younger one sees Sister and rushes to the cage.
“Aw! Look at this one it’s so cute and fluffy can I have it pleeeeeease?” she says, her words toppling over each other as if she can’t possibly get them out fast enough. Her hand reaches into the cage and finds Sister’s cheek. She leans into it and purrs loudly. The older sister cautiously walks forward and also puts her hand in the cage. Her eyes intently focusing on me. I stand up and walk to her hand, then nudge her for pets. Behind her, I watch the woman and a man walk in and see their daughters petting us. The man smiles and calls for the manager.
“Excuse me? Could you open the cage for the girls?”
The manager nods and fiddles with his key ring, eventually settling on a rusted key. The girls pull their hands away for him. After the warmth of her hand leaves, I realize what just happened.
The cage.
It’s open.
I back away from the edge and Sister follows me. The mother reaches in and picks up Sister. I’m eager for my turn, until the woman places Sister in the older girls’ arms. I walk forward, hoping to get another chance with her. The man picks me up and gives me to the smaller girl. I struggle and meow, trying to get to the older girl. Similarly, Sister is looking at the younger human. Noticing this, the mom carefully switches us. I’m given to the older girl, and she lays me on my back as if she’s holding a newborn baby.
It was like breathing fresh air after an eternity of smoke. She is so warm. So safe. In that moment of laying in her arms, I know this is my human,and I am her kitten. I snuggle in, purr, and look up into her gray-blue eyes. She smiles.
“You have officially adopted these two kittens!” says a staff member. “Now, you need to pick their names.”
Sister looks at me, ready to learn who we are. There’s some discussion about Sister’s name, but they eventually choose Rogue. Sis—I mean, Rogue, looks at me in delight. She has a name! Now it’s my turn. The older girl looks down at me and speaks the words I hadn’t realized I needed. Fortune. His name is Fortune.”
Sophmore, Evelyn Lobelle
| Etched on the Head of a Pin
Growing Up
When I was little, I longed for the teenage years
The years I’d be in high school
The years when I’d have more freedom
The years that marked getting closer to turning 18
Closer to graduating
Now that I’m here, I miss being little
I miss when school was easy
When insecurities weren’t a thing
When I didn’t have a care in the world
I miss the little girl who was always happy
The little girl who had the world at her feet
The little girl whose dreams were as high as the stars because she knew no limits
I miss the girl who loved without a care in the world
The girl who didn’t know heartbreak and sadness like she knows now
She was the girl who gave her heart to anyone who showed an ounce of affection
She wasn’t scared to trust and love
Now she struggles to trust
She struggles to fully fall all in
The damage has been done
She tries hard to let go of it but it’s not that easy
She wishes she could wear her heart on her sleeve like she once did
But life taught her a lesson
A lesson that made her put up walls
A lesson that taught her that love shouldn’t be given so easily
The world isn’t the place to carelessly give away such a delicate thing
Ella Morofsky
Junior, Ty Sturgeon
Senior,
Etched on the Head of a Pin
Portage northern high school
Portage, Michigan