VOLUME 2 ISSUE 1
Table of Contents 7 9 10 12 14 16 19 20 21 24 26 28 31 32 34 37 38 42
a burgundy bird, a box of bones by Max Franks, 10 Day 7 by Drew Braaten, 11 Giving by Menaal Nasir, 10 Simon Says by Sierra Mackiwicz, 12 Untitled by Elli Nelson, 12 The Businessman by Jsh Kloss, 10 Mr. Glassman by Chip Meyers, 12 Terra Firma by Rebecca Helmstetter, 12 Untitled by Danh Le, 12 Moon Clock by Emma Knutson, 12 Untitled by Therese Giersch The Fisherman by Jacob Zeller, 12 Untitled by Mariam Ali, 12 Lion Scratchboard by Elizabeth Khomenkov, 12 Various Cinquains Spotlight by Adam Blatz, ‘18 Laudation to my eyes by Dion Goodwin, 12 Two Worlds by Anvesha Mukherjee, 12 Paradox by Chip Meyers, 12 Isabella Meyer, 11
Unnerving Reality by Lily Norman, 12 Kat by Clara Huskin ‘18 Winter by Will Condon, 12 Cabin Fever by Emma Straszewski, 12 Dear Mother by Bella Gabor, 12 Hands by Clara Huskin, ‘18 Traitor’s Hero by Menaal Nasir, 10 My Heart by Gabe Friedrichs, 12 Day 49 by Drew Braaten Pretty by Alxandra Grosso, 9 Sorrow by Isabella Meyer, 11 Welcome to Society by Shelby Parker, ‘18 Untitled by Drew Braaten 11 Lie by Jared Schneider, 12 Untitled by Isaac Vincent, 12
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43 44 46 48 50 52 54 56
Truth by Michael Morway, 12 Word of the Phoenix by Chip Meyers, 12 Peacock by Anvesha Mukherjee, 12 Every Single Day by Emma Knutson, 12 Untitled by Isabella Meyer, 11 What Else the Dog Knows by Rebecca Helmstetter, 12 Untitled by Isabella Meyer, 11 Concrete Jungle by Lily Norman, 12 Day 51 by Drew Braaten, 11 Elixir by Megan Siatcynski, 12 Untitled by Therese Giersch, 11 Pirouetting by Jessica Griner, 12 Master of the unierse by Chip Meyers, 12 Burning Words by Shelby Parker, ‘18 Untitled by Emilie Gerdisch, 12
Letter from the Staff
The Soliloquy staff chose Rebirth as the theme of this issue for the universality of the idea and the applicability to the high school experience. From the phoenix of Greek mythology to the resurrection of Voldemort to the transformation of a pre-pubescent fourteen-year-old into a young adult, the idea of rebirth is omnipresent in the human experience as well in our creation of art. We hope to inspire readers to consider each piece through the lens of Rebirth, whether or not the text addresses the theme directly. No matter where we are in life’s journey, the idea of evolving as individuals and as communities suggests the potential of positive change and new beginnings. May the creative expression, manifested here in the form of written words and visual art, compel you to embrace your own openness to new perspectives and capacity to reinvent yourself.
Soliloquy / 3
When life’s got you down, and nothing’s going your way, “Turn over a new leaf,” is what they always say.
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Soliloquy / 5
Day 7
Drew Braaten, 11 6 / Soliloquy
a burgundy bird, a box of bones Max Franks, 10
You are a bird, sallow-faced, hollow-boned enough to cut what holds you to the earth and fly away. You are a jumble of loose limbs and unwanted parts, and you nest somewhere I cannot reach you. I miss you like God misses Adam, like mea culpa, like I let you go. You flutter away from me, trailing burnt feathers, when all I ever wanted was to be yours. You are still the skeleton in my closet and I refuse to bury you skin and bones. Soliloquy / 7
Elli Nelson, 12 8 / Soliloquy
simon says Sierra Mackiewicz, 12
Smile — For You i’ll pretend to be somebody i’m not. You are the ringmaster And now i am happy — laugh Giving “I am being absorbed. Slowly a figure appears above me. First it steals the shape of my face, then my skin, then my features. It captures everything from pale cracked lips to the smudge of mascara below my bottom lid. My very self. A thought flashes through my mind: Is it taking or am I giving it away?” -Manaal Nasir, 10
Simon says It’s not a big deal — it’s okay Simon says Put on a mask And perform the Same act every day — action Now my strings are pulled And i no longer Maintain control — enjoy the puppet show i tell myself That it’ll be okay And out i’ll go from My cave But Simon says fear- i hide And free i’ll never be Smile — For You i’ll pretend to be Somebody i’m not.
Soliloquy / 9
The Businessman Josh Kloss, 10
A dim streetlight sets the bleak, bare setting The pace he walks hums with a dull drumming. He carries his head down low, His feet dragging across the asphalt. Tap, tap He moves faster. Crrr, crrr What could lurk behind him? Thump, thump The monster behind him Pursues him with an insatiable appetite. Tap-crrr-thump The man removes his shoes, his tie, Anything that might weigh him down. He resists and wrestles and fights, but still— the man falls Reduced down to rubble, made a fool. The monster spits him out. In a pool of sweat and strain, lackluster and mute, He lies still in weakened morale. He longs for the early days of jungle gyms Because the concrete jungle just isn’t as fun. Tap, tap Splat, splat And just like that — Dried blood is all that’s left of the poor businessman who was losing the race from the start.
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Mr. Glassman
Chip Meyers, 12
Soliloquy / 11
Terra Firma Rebecca Helmstetter, 12
In Philadelphia, a living room is cluttered with wax figures and stained sofas. Dust clogs the pores of the cushions, heavy on the velvet. My mother had laid out a clean sheet for me, but we were talking late. Her face sat, creased and shining, on the rim of her water-cup. We watched the clock on the stove. She spoke to me long into the morning, while I sat in a kitchen chair, knees into chest, and drank tap water. And upstairs, another pilgrimage: Grandmother, still in bed, with the covers pulled over her eyes. When I shook out my pins and needles and found my mother’s keys, the house was still crowded. Dust in the velvet, sheet on the carpet, death-watches in the walls.
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Danh Le, 11
Soliloquy / 13
moon clock Emma Knutson, 12
The moon remains steady throughout time. Whether people have noticed or not, Its cyclical consistency Has never changed, Waning and waxing, new and full. The moon remains steady throughout time. For centuries, humans have looked up. It is the connection between generations, Its constant silvery glow, always reliable. The moon remains steady throughout time. It has witnessed all that has ever happened, Evolutions to revolutions. It is a constant reminder Of the past, present, and future. The moon remains steady throughout time. It provides the opportunity To broaden our narrowed mindset, For the first life and the last life Will see their faces in the mirror of the moon.
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Therese Giersch, 11
Soliloquy / 15
The Fisherman Jacob Zeller, 12
I see him every day The same spot where he’ll stay To him, no attention was ever demanded Every time, he went home empty handed A passion I’ve never felt Returning no matter the cards he’d been dealt By now you’d think he’d know the outs and ins Nevertheless, the house always wins Then one quiet, warm morning of May I woke up to see him perched where he’d normally stay I thought nothing of it and went back to bed Until I heard a shout like a winner of Sheepshead I shot out of bed as fast as I was able With energy greater than a Vegas craps table He pulled it left, he pulled it right It must have been the jackpot, the way it put up a fight The beast flopped on the dock with a final swift jerk The man’s persistence had proven to work And just when I imagined it hanging on a plaque The fisherman smiled and threw this fish back
Mariam Ali, 12
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Soliloquy / 17
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cinquains Frances Mackinnon, 12 Failure grips into the souls of the most innocent suffocating the forgiveness of self.
Max Franks, 10 Lost halls – Ashes, ashes – Swallowed by centuries Of sand, drowned in epochs of lives Like dust.
Rebecca Helmstetter. 12 Birdsong edges the leaves of this vast, quaking wood. In the grass, nestled, blue, inert eggshell.
Emma Straszewski, 12
Margarethe Berger, 10 Bursting Out of prison Ashes beneath my feet My wings unfurl behind me now Freedom
Midnight fading stars dance The clock sings its last song while wandering minds drift to dreams farewell Alexandra Grosso, 9
Lion Scratchboard Elizabeth Khomenkov, 11
The wind Blows the pieces Of fallen memories Through your subconscious, resting as Sweet dreams Soliloquy / 19
SPOTLIGHT Adam Blatz, ‘18
The swarm is in your head How you’re looking for today “What will they think of me?” she said. Or forgot to do your hair It’s surely nothing good, It’s no reason to pray But really, it’s nothing at all. But if they did see You’ve still not slept, Your utmost mistake And you’re clutching your chest; Sick over the future, but you forget And threw away mercy They’re meritless snakes. You’re not in the spotlight. Neither am I. You’re not in the spotlight. To ourselves we are inclined Neither am I. To strain our eyes. To ourselves we are inclined Nobody else cares To strain our eyes. 20 / Soliloquy
Two Worlds
Dion Goodwin, 12
Laudation to my eyes Inspired by “Homage to my hips”
Anvesha Mukherjee, 12
these eyes are big eyes they need space to look around they won’t fit in a cramped restricted, limited space. These eyes are independent, self-ruling eyes they don’t like to be covered. these eyes have never been blind, they look where they please they do what they want. these eyes are powerful. these eyes are captivating eyes. i’ve had them all my life. i’m told they can put a charm on a man or women and swirl them like going into a blackhole.
Soliloquy / 21
“What’s the point?” I ask. “Take a look around, the more leaves I turn, the more fall to the ground.”
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Soliloquy / 23
paradox Chip Meyers, 12
The volume of silence screams the loudest Life’s truest promise is death, And life’s natural order I s c h a o s. We are blinded by our vision, Muted by our voices, Deafened by our hearing, And separated through t o u c h. Listen to life’s deafening silence, And find something. Hear a faint choir Singing to you, your p u r p o s e. This life is a paradox, A paradox of darkness, That is, until you listen closer To it’s deafening s c r e a m.
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Isabella Meyer, 11
Soliloquy / 25
unnerving reality Lily Norman, 12
Pain twinkles in my nerves Like stars upon the night sky, Only seen at night by those Willing to linger late. Shooting stars awaken me In the night and Meteor showers rain Fire against my skin. When day breaks, I throw On a smile like I throw On that day’s clothes. On my mind, What is socially acceptable? Leggings Sweatshirt Smile That smile only a few Know is fake That smile only a few Know fades away once The stars come out Only a few know that Just because you can’t See stars during the day Doesn’t mean they aren’t In the sky somewhere.
Kat
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Clara Huskin, ‘18
Soliloquy / 27
Winter Will Condon, 12
Snowflakes fall with the thought of winter Yet smiles overtake the crowd in the park — fractals contain a luminescent glimmer. Light flourishes in the still dark air. No leaves linger in the sight of bodies below. White encapsulates the bushes, yet A pathway lies covered in frozen dust. Those out walking shiver and know their blood rushes. Oh! How holiness could be so godly, Watching from above the white icy gust. But, the trees don’t seem cold or bone-chilled, and The people persevere through the hardship of wind. On the path, the cold are more than willing. Seeing the snow as a forceful guard ship, They sprint to the bright lights for shelter. Nature wins the war of adversity Forever waging, forever growing Appearing lonely, forgotten, despite The squirrels who romp among great dispersity. The wind berates them with heavy blowing. While inside, the walkers grow warm — Snowflakes falling still at end of their path.
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Emma Straszewski, 12
Soliloquy / 29
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Dear Mother Inspired by These Yet to be Us Bella Gabor, 12
Your plush hands tuck my hair behind my ear. The way you love too hard squelches my innocent heart in fear. Dear mother, you are my everything.
Why do you cry? Why are you my suffering?
You plead with your god to save me from my sins. Your utter disappointment shoves the knife deeper in. Fate jerks the suckling child into the arms of grief. Why can’t you see me crying? Who is this love stealing thief? I crouch alone in darkness, no longer swaddled in your love. I hear your distant calling to the gods above. You await in anguished patience for my frazzled heart to come home. Dear mother, you taught me everything. This sinner’s crawling home.
Hands
Clara Huskin, ‘18 Soliloquy / 31
Traitor’s Hero
A Gilded Soul Finn Donahue, 9
Menaal Nasir, 10
“Fight back you traitor!” I scream, grabbing the front of her shirt, the other hand curling back in a tightly clenched fist. A calm spreads through me, burning in a cold flame. Finela just shakes her head before looking me straight in the eyes and letting out a whisper: “no.” The only part of her body that moves is her legs beneath her. I’m sure that if I let go, she’ll collapse. She deserves it. No, she deserves much, much worse. A chuckle breaks through the silence in the room. We both move quickly, her trying to run while I keep a hold. From the corner comes a figure. “Oh, how some people turn,” says a voice with a humorous lilt. “It’s like watching a flower die and a weed grow in its place.” “It’s nice to see you again, Anibal,” I snarl. He swaggers out of the shadows, every bit the tyrant Fin and I remember. Long black hair and a suit that reeks of the pain caused hang from him. “I’ve got to say, it’s a lot more amusing watching you,” he drawls, looking down at a watch, pausing, and then looking straight at me. “What are you talking about?” I huff. “Are you getting excited over watching someone get tortured?” My mind traces through details, trying to focus in on why on earth he would be here. I shift back into a defensive position; my muscles are tense from the one-sided brawl but ready to move at a moment’s notice. “No, no, I’m just remembering something you said once. That you’d never hurt an innocent, you’d rather hurt yourself.” 32 / Soliloquy
I laugh. “She’s no innocent. She’s a traitor through and through.” “Has it ever crossed your mind that you should wonder why she betrayed you? Why one of your most trusted allies turned? It was to protect you. That was the deal after all; I wouldn’t even touch you with a finger if she gave me information on your plans.” He saunters forward with a lazy cat-like grace. “No... that’s impossible. She’s been manipulating me this entire time, getting close to me, helping, because she’s with you. She never cared about me or anyone else.” I turn to look at her, voice breaking. “Sol died because of your ambush! He was our best friend.” “Look at her in the eyes. Tell me what you see — isn’t real. She won’t even defend herself in your ‘fight’ after you’ve beaten her to a pulp.” I look at her in the face for the first time, really look at her. A yellow-green bruise has an emerging bloom around her eye. Blood leaks down her cheek from a nasty gash, from a broken nose, from the edges of her mouth. Tears stream down too, mixing with her blood. In the six years we had known each other I’d only seen Fin cry twice, once when she watched her hometown burn to the ground, the other when she had to bury a toddler she had saved only for him to die during a patrol. She hadn’t even cried when Sol had died. “Is it true? What he said?” Fin tries to speak, but all that comes out is a cough of blood. She tries again, wetting her lips before saying, “Yes. But it wasn’t just me. Sol chose to stay behind. He chose to sacrifice himself. He thought that if he was gone, you’d have fewer people holding you back and you’d use him as a reason to truly fight. Yes, we leaked the plans for Sracion City, but Anibal already knew where the base was. He was planning to attack. So, yes, yes I did.” She shudders once more before utterly collapsing in my arms. The confession took everything she had left out of her. “Look what you’ve done,” croons Anibal. “Such a pretty change to that perfect face, all that blood and bone. A work of art, I couldn’t have done much better.” My head spins and I fall to my knees, careful to gently lower Fin to the floor. There had to be something I could do. She protected me. This was all for me. Sol died for — me. I knew what needed should be done. “Heal her, please,” I ask, not looking him in the eyes. “Oh, my services aren’t free. We’ll need something, a trade.” “I’ll do anything. Just help her.” I can tell that she didn’t have long. My gut wrenches. I did that to her. Anibal walks up to me and grabs me by the chin, his hands surprisingly soft. He stares at me with piercing brown eyes. “Five years in my service. I’ll be nice and promise not to make you attack any of your friends, your pathetic thing you call a resistance is fair game, though.” I glance down at Fin one more time. Her crumpled frame seems so different from the fighter I once knew. She was the one who had pulled me into this. Placed me at the front of a revolution. He has asked me for everything. I move away and watch as the drape of his hair and cloak envelop her broken body. “Done.”
Soliloquy / 33
my heart
Gabriel Friederichs, 12
Excuse me, but have you seen my heart? I swear I had it a moment ago, but now I seem to have misplaced it. I gave it away some years ago, but I don’t think I ever got it back. What a tedious task that was making myself a new one, but I liked it so much better, so I held onto it for longer. Then one day, I gave it away again. She asked for my heart in exchange for hers. Oh dear, I think she might still have it. I just hope she’ll keep it safe.
Day 49
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Drew Braaten, 11
Soliloquy / 35
Sorrow
Isabella Meyer, 11
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pretty. Alexandra Grosso, 9
When I was younger, I played with the dolls That people said Were beautiful. To learn the secrets Behind the skin, I popped off a limb And another And another And found the inside To be hollow. Hollow equated to beauty. When the girls wear makeup And short skirts To school The boys find them beautiful. Painted and primed was beautiful. Plastic was beautiful. So I painted my face And I hollowed my chest And I became a porcelain shell I did what they wanted So am I beautiful now?
Soliloquy / 37
welcome to society.
Shelby Parker, ‘18
Welcome to our society, Where everything is temporary. Please plug yourself in and Create your digital identity. Join our new generation Fill your profile with filtered smiles and Forced communication. Welcome to our society, Please take lots of pictures But never anything too revealing And nothing less than perfectly Aesthetically pleasing. Immerse in a contemporary culture Come Feed on false information. We push for self love When all we make are judgemental accusations. Welcome to our society, We hope you enjoy your stay.
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Drew Braaten, 11
Soliloquy / 39
So instead, I think to change the way things be, forget about the leaves, turn over a new tree.
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Soliloquy / 41
Lie
Jared Schneider, 12
Always lie Here’s why If you are to Always lie You can never be hurt If you are always lying You are a liar But that's better than Telling the truth The truth hurts The indisputable truth Will break you Like how a Lumberjack Takes down trees It happens Slowly and Surely You are the tree Dying each And every time The sharp blade Of the ax Hits you With All its force, That is how The truth Hurts Slowly it chips away Breaking you down Like a tree Getting cut down By a lumberjack The truth is not Worth being Spoken about Next time you Are asked about Something Do yourself a favor And lie Always lie
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Truth
michael morway, 12
Always tell the truth Here’s why The truth Can hurt And cut through to bone But will never be wrong The truth is the truth It will shine on the good And darken the bad Lies will break you Like a ball drop Each inch higher the ball rises The potential for pain escalates Each lie Building on the one before All resulting In one impact An impact which Destroys If we tell the truth first No rising deception no fall no impact no destruction Lies will change you Forever distort the mind Once you lie The rubble will always be there Until you die The truth keeps stability The truth must be spoken No matter what Do yourself a favor Tell the truth Always tell the truth
Soliloquy / 43
word of the phoenix Chip Meyers, 12
I was given nothing but ash On the day of my birth, But those who came before, They had been gifted wood. They expect me to build a giant fire, But have given only ashes, They tell me to be grateful, To get off my ass and make a fire, Like they did. Ashes can’t burn, They don’t seem to care though, But someday Flames shall rise from their ashes And they will finally stop yelling.
Peacock
44 / Soliloquy
Anvesha Mukherjee, 12
Soliloquy / 45
I lie awake in my sleeping bag Wondering the time. I unzip the tent Attempting to not wake the others. I step out The damp ground tickles my toes, And the still island Meets me with cool morning air.
Every Single Day Emma Knutson, 12
My tired eyes Must be playing tricks. This must be a dream. The morning is too beautiful. From the fire pit, A thin line of rising smoke Offers a visible memory Of the previous night. Beyond, the rippled surface reflects all: The towering trees, The water-colored sky, The sun partially peaking past the horizon. Nature is an abstract artist, The water its canvas Constantly changing Eternally. How easily I could have missed This Monet of a morning. What else have I missed While looking the other way?
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Isabella Meyer, 11
Soliloquy / 47
What Else the Dog Knows Rebecca Helmstetter, 12
Her first day home and she could not see through the smoke and the throbbing back-and-forth of suit legs altogether quite different from the milk-smelling side of her mother; and she lifted her head to sniff at the breeze from a window open by chance— and yes, no, the smell was sour still with the sun-warmed gutter garbage, turning cold the sweat of the woman beneath, arrived just then with the evening, and her anger. The men around her. Her downcast eyes. And a high-pitched whining laugh from inside— back away from the window — a laugh, and the dog knew what she would find. Myrtle in repose, one arm cast on her brow, her right index tracing idle patterns through the smoke.
Therese Giersch, 11
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Soliloquy / 49
Concrete Jungle
Lily Norman, 12
The cold metal grates against our little feet felt refreshing compared to the hot sticky air inside the cramped apartment. Outside on the fire escape my brother Mark and I played our favorite game: we ran, jumped, and swung from the railings pretending we were Tarzan. While the fire escape outside our apartment window was our own personal park, far below us loomed the alley, piling higher each day with trash from other people’s apartments. Mark and I would always try to come outside early in the morning or late at night when the smell wasn’t as bad. The hot sun cooked the sour smell which traveled the several stories to our apartment fire escape, so in the morning it was manageable, and by night the building had cast shade over the piles for long enough to settle the smell. While swinging from rung to rung, wearing only his underwear, with his long dark hair swaying as he moved, he looked like a real-life Tarzan — the city version of course. We had disrupted the dew that had collected on most of the structure by that point, but Mark had reached a point we hadn’t gone yet. The slick, wet metal let go of his tiny callused hands, dropping his fragile adolescent body onto more cold metal. The sound, like gunshots, rang in my ears as I stood speechless. Finally coming out of my stupor, I ran to him. By then he had sat up and realized his foot was stuck in one of the vertical railings. Not a scratch on him, he stood up and pulled hard on the leg of his entangled foot. He pulled hard three times before the tight, metal grip of the bars released him. Before I could react, he had already lost his balance, slipping once more. This time, however, he fell hard and long. I watched him sliding and rolling down three flights of stairs, falling in slow motion, like time tried to soften the times his body bounced. A loud yet descending “Anthony” came out of his tiny mouth. Crashing onto the hard, trash infested alley street below, his body lay still like a leaf on a windless day. All I could do was stare in a speechless, motionless state. Looking at his limp young body. He had hit the ground hard. Choking out a yell, I summoned my mom from inside. She shrieked and lept back inside to the stairs, rushing down to help him. At some point in her quick departure, she yelled, “What have you done, call for help.” Hours later, she and I sat waiting for the doctors to come out. A nurse finally came. It was almost lunchtime, but I wasn’t hungry, I felt sick. It was my fault, I was supposed to take care of him, and now he was in the hospital. I couldn’t scrape the image out of my mind of his body lying on the concrete jungle of metal and cement below me. “He’ll be alright,” the nurse was saying as I tuned back into the conversation. “It’s a bad break, so he’ll be in a cast for a while, but he’ll be ok.” “Thank you,” my mom said, letting out a deep sigh. Terrified to see him, I slunk into the back seat of the taxi, avoiding eye contact the whole way home. When we finally pulled up next to our apartment, I ran inside right away, leaving my mother to take Mark upstairs. I laid in my bed, looking at the ceiling when I heard an uneven gait coming towards me. “So when can we play Tarzan again?” he asked. “I can play the pirates that come to the island now that I’ve got this dumb peg leg.” A grin came slowly across my face and I jerked my head towards the fire escape and yelled, “what are you waiting for then, I’ll race you to the window!” 50 / Soliloquy
Day 51 Drew Braaten, 11
Soliloquy / 51
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elixir. megan siatcynski, 12
The shelf of borealis and auroras. The incandescense of the glowing coals turning the potions into shades of viridian, violet, and vermillion mixing with the dulcet taste they were born with. Each one a cordiform cordolium like all the men that left the witch because she wasn’t magical enough for them. Bubbling like the effervescence in the cauldron. Sugar glass bottles filled with liquid rhapsodies able to quell any false feelings she once had for them. She continues collecting the auras of the earth, breathing in the scent of petrichor wafting off the roof of her cabin, speaking jabberwock to the foxes that prowl among the trees. Sitting by the window enjoying the selcouth sky, watching the sun’s lantern-like light mackle into a painted, pastel atmosphere. She meets the fireflies that wake from their slumber. “The sun is down,” she says. “Go call the moon. The stars are ready to play.”
Therese Giersch, 11
Soliloquy / 53
pirouetting. Jessica Griner, 12
Let the audience look on as greedy thieves Always wanting more But never satisfied with what their eyes steal I’d rather be the dancer Graceful like water in a river To have the power to flow freely To extend my graceful movement To be robbed by many hungry eyes while I shine in the spotlight I’d rather be seen Than shadowed by closed curtains or paralyzed by stage fright Sitting, still as stone I’d rather create Than be destroyed If I could change the current Of the fluid water I’d rather be the pirouetting rapids Inciting chaos with the Point of my foot
54 / Soliloquy
Master of the Universe Chip Meyers, 12
Soliloquy / 55
burning words
shelby parker, ‘18 Words are the flames that are swift and delicate, Igniting on the paper, leaping and dancing to form something stunning. The fiery tongues, shifting shapes, tease the creativity and imagination of the artist. Those brave enough to embrace the flame, burn the page with ideas, and the ashes left behind, become the match that ignites a new flame. Words are the flames that burn with emotion.
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Emilie Gerdisch, 12
Soliloquy / 57
STAFF
Frances Mackinnon Editor-in-Chief Alexandra Grosso Design Editor Rebecca Helmstetter Writing Editor Emma Straszewski Art Editor
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Menaal Nasir Margarthe Berger Emma Como Kathryn Hulce Chip McGee
Staff
Angelina Cicero Rachel Rauch
Writing Advisor Production Advisor
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Mrs. Rauch for your constant support and guidance. You allowed us to make this magazine far more than 50¢ of printer paper with black and white ink. You gave this magazine a true voice and presence in the school and for that we thank you. Mrs. Cicero for your unwavering passion and love for the creative process and everything this magazine contributes to the Homestead culture. You gave us a home in your room on Monday afternoons and allowed us to grow not only as a community of writiers, but also as human beings. Soliloquy has become a safe haven for us. Thank you. The staff for all of your hard work and the laughs. You have worked hard, and it shows in this lovely magazine we created together. -your editors The pieces were submitted by students in the creative writing club, creative writing classes and the school at large and were selected and edited by a commitee of students on staff. Art pieces were submitted by AP Studio Art and the school at large and were selected based on the connection to the previously selected writing pieces.
COLOPHON
The type in this magazine is Avenir Next 11pt. Titles are a combination of Bebas Neue and Times New Roman in varying sizes. Credits are Avenir Next 10pt. Varying sizes of Avenir Next and Bebas Neue are used on the title and table of contents. The magazine was designed using Adobe InDesign CC 2018 and Photoshop CC 2018. The magazine as printed in Milwaukee, WI by American Litho with body 70# offset and 10pt C1S for the cover. The book has Stitch/Box binding, and is printed using 4/4 ink and 4/0 on the cover. The book is 6x9 with 64 pages and a cover. This issue was printed 500 times and was distributed at no charge to the student body.
Soliloquy / 59
In a give whe con by a who who wai
Dear Reader,
Become one of our writers or visual artists. We invite you to engage with the theme for our upcoming issue of Soliloquy: Perspectives. We are linking the two issues this year through a new, interactive element, offering an opportunity for our readers to create, submit, and become a featured contributor in the next issue. Please consider drafting your a poem, story, essay, or visual art on the next few pages. If these prompts don’t compel you, create your own with consideration for the thematic focus on the kaleidoscope of human perspectives that make this world beautiful and challenging and amazing and multidimensional. Once you create a final draft, submit your piece online at soliloquyonline.com or share a Google Doc or .jpeg file with acicero@mtsd.k12.wi.us with the prompt included at the top. Thank you for contributing to the creative community in our school, and happy writing. Expectantly, The Soliloquy Staff
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In art, perspective is defined as “drawing solid objects on a two-dimensional surface so as to give the right impression of their height, width, depth, and position in relation to each other when viewed from a particular point.” Identify an often overgeneralized topic, relationship, concept, or object — one often handled in a cliche way — and offer a fresh, new dimension by approaching it through a unique perspective. (ex. Let the bench tell the story of the couple who meets there every day. OR Write of a tragic incident through the point of view of the person who died instead of the survivor. OR Draw or give voice to the self-conscious clock who can’t wait for the class to stop looking at it.)
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Surrealist artists often allow reality to melt or they manipulate the literal, creating optical illusions or distortions that allow the viewer to see something familiar in an unfamiliar way. Create a work that purposefully adapts or distorts reality for a comedic, dramatic, or satirical effect.
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In Latin, perspectus means “clearly perceived,” and the past participle of perspicere is to “inspect, look through, look closely at.” Often, we believe we have a full and clear perspective of something in life until an experience, idea, or interruption of the status quo opens our view and asks us to look more closely or to perceive reality from another point of view. Depict a time your perspective changed.
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On The Cover:
Dreams I’ll Never Get to See by Chip Meyers, 12
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