Leaves of Imagination 2010

Leaves of Imagination

Leaves of Imagination 2010-2011

Roland Park Country School

Table of Contents Literature Author Author Author Author Author Author Author Author Author Author

Art

Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artisit Artist Artist Artist

Madison Ossmus, 2012 - Oppobrium.............................................................................. 2 Tess Edwards, 2012 - No One Found................................................................................ 4 Dylan Otterbein, 2012 - Landscape................................................................................. 5 Maya Panlilio, 2010 - Oneiroi........................................................................................... 6 Tess Edwards, 2012 - Steadfast........................................................................................ 7 Anonymous - She Said Yes............................................................................................. 31 Madeline Kaufman, 2012 - Ambiguous Heart............................................................... 32 Audrey Todd, 2012 - When Image Strikes................................................................. 34-35 Jill Downing, 2010 - Memories................................................................................. 36-41 Anonymous - Sunset...................................................................................................... 43

Kimberly Credit, 2013.................. 3 Catherine Crozier, 2013............... 4 Jenne Matthews, 2011................ 5 Heather Loughran, 2010.............. 6 Sydney Ramer, 2013.................... 7 Casey Merbler, 2011 ................... 8 Alex Zimmerman, 2012............... 9 Alexis Padusis, 2011................... 10 Jenne Mathews, 2011................ 11 Jenna Jacobs, 2011.................... 12 Angela Song, 2013 .................... 13 Katherine Bailey, 2011............... 14 Kate Geraghty, 2010.................. 15 Ellen Kauffman, 2010 . .............. 16 Ellie Murphy, 2011..................... 17 Cameron Steadley, 2011 ........... 18 Katherine Bailey, 2011............... 19 Kalli Bouloubassis, 2010............ 20 Hannah Foster, 2012.................. 21 Kelsey Lynch, 2010..................... 22 Katie Kim, 2010.......................... 23

Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist Artist

Kelsey Lynch, 2010..................... 24 Lindsay Wong, 2011................... 25 Maddie Muth, 2013................... 26 Shelby Kalm, 2010..................... 27 Molly Cantrell, 2012.................. 28 Katie Johnson, 2012................... 28 Sarah Riedel, 2012..................... 29 Jinny Kim-Baker, 2011................ 30 Elizabeth Grandy, 2013.............. 31 Daniela Eppler, 2011.................. 33 Anatasia Keramides, 2010......... 36 Maya Panilio, 2010.................... 38 Catherine Mitchell, 2011........... 40 Kate O’Donovan, 2012............... 42 Sydney Rogers, 2010.................. 44

*Cover Art by Kitty Close, 2010

1

Opprobrium

Madison Ossmus, 2012 The most chilling part of the slaughter was not the opprobrious regime But the brazen, brutal apathy of those with cogent power to wield While machetes quieted the grisly sound of eight hundred thousand screams

Miniscule bands of stultified soldiers sent into combat to redeem Epithets of the “good” leaders whose accountability was concealed The most chilling part of the slaughter was not the opprobrious regime

Argute eyes turned themselves away, as the sanguine rivers began to teem Watching as sinless children were murdered with nothing to pose for a shield While machetes quieted the grisly sound of eight hundred thousand screams

A hundred days dissolved like the fatalities were only a bad dream Even Dallaire’s determined and brave soldiers were eventually repealed The most chilling part of the slaughter was not the opprobrious regime

Rape, murder, and acts of war could not force the abandonment of the theme Of refusing to call it genocide, though the evidence swamped the fields While machetes quieted the grisly sound of eight hundred thousand screams

Rwanda’s tears left by cruel, needless terror will not soon be fully seamed A formerly resilient people left hurt and scarred, not soon to be healed The most chilling part of the slaughter was not the opprobrious regime While machetes quieted the grisly sound of eight hundred thousand screams

2

Kimberly Credit, 2013

3

No One Found

Tess Edwards, 2012 Her head sways back, she’s finally free, Lingering just long enough to seize the sun’s beam She glides gently down to the floor of the sea.

Previous presence of cold-clouded misery Withering and aching, her heart’s redeem Her head sways back, she’s finally free.

Lungs bursting with salty rusted debris Afraid of fear; her bravery’s only dream, She glides gently down to the floor of the sea.

Prolonged analysis of insanity A lack of muse, her young life’s theme, Her head sways back, she’s finally free.

Muffled rejoices her final decree, With bloody trident, concluded regime, She glides gently down to the floor of the sea.

Floating alongside coral-colored anemone Lingering just long enough to engulf moonbeam Her head sways back, she’s finally free She glides gently down to the floor of the sea.

4

Catherine Crozier, 2013

Landscape

Dylan Otterbein, 2012 The body is prose for the tongue-tied child, written for war torn voices and subtle silence of sullen apocrypha and true Baltimore blue, the crevasse of our affection and innate afflictions.

Like breathing, like not wanting too, unfakable, And forgotten like ancient mantras, or God. But I still remember when my ma taught me that future was more than just a word, which makes it more than just a noun, which makes it more than just an idea.

And my sisters would pull my hair in the morning because I was asking too many questions again.

Jenne Mathews, 2011

5

Oneiroi

Maya Panlilio, 2010 Night unfurls its influence, envelops us, Smothering and unmanageable as wet velvet.

It unleashes its saturnine sons, free to whisper to us In warped underwater voices as We sleep. Those nighttime fabulists transfer Vistas in a tongue indecipherable, Our dreamscapes fill with concentric spheres and Oceans without tides, Ancient and silver in moonlight.

It left us flooded, dripping.

Waiting for dawn’s release and relief From cloying disquiet.

Heather Loughran, 2010

6

Steadfast

Tess Edwards, 2012 The big black wind whispers in the night Outlining still-life portraits of people I can’t find Somehow I can’t do anything right.

Face after face flashes, Apollo’s blinding light With relentless hope the world becomes blind, As the big black wind whispers in the night.

I stumble over frail intentions to find insight: Wanting to rage, instead my vocal chords bind.

Somehow, I can’t do anything right.

And the moons howl at the wolves in fright, Knowing they’ll always be eclipses behind The big black wind that whispers in the night.

The stars gossip on whose shine is more bright I know my incandescence is strictly confined Somehow, I can’t do anything right.

The children will make their escape tonight, Dirt-encrusted fingernails and hands intertwined As the big black wind whispers in the night: “Somehow, I can’t do anything right.”

Carley Callis, 2011

Sydney Ramer, 2013

7

Casey Merbler, 2011

8

Alex Zimmerman, 2012 9

Alexis Padusis, 2011 10

Jenne Matthews, 2011 11

Jenna Jacobs, 2011 12

Angela Song, 2013 13

Katherine Bailey, 2011 14

Kate Geraghty, 2010 15

Ellen Kaufman, 2010 16

Ellie Murphy, 2011 17

Cameron Steadley, 2011

18

Katherine Bailey, 2011 19

Kalli Bouloubassis, 2010 20

Hannah Foster, 2011 21

Kelsey Lynch, 2010

22

Katie Kim, 2010 23

Kelsey Lynch, 2010 24

Lindsay Wong, 2011 25

Maddie Muth, 2013 26

Shelby Kalm, 2010 27

Molly Cantrell, 2012

Katie Johnson, 2012

28

Sarah Riedel, 2012 29

Jinny Kim-Baker, 2011 30

She Said Yes Anonymous

Skin clutching to her frail bones, she said yes Trying to be better than the very best Her distorted body, lost to the stress My parents’ demands she could not transgress With college and grades they were most obsessed Skin clutching to her frail bones, she said yes Her real thoughts inside she tried to suppress Studying for weeks for one single test Her distorted body, lost to the stress While I was proud of her striking success I feared she had lost her will to protest Skin clutching to her frail bones, she said yes

Elizabeth Grandy, 2013

Her changing body I tried to address Making her eating become more suppressed Her distorted body, lost to the stress I watched her body and spirit regress I saw her pain in her pale sunken chest Skin clutching to her frail bones, she said yes Her distorted body, lost to the stress

31

Ambiguous Heart

Madeline Kaufman, 2012 Out of place within congested, empty hallways Aside from silent thoughts of those studious Aside from undecipherable secrets gossiped Laughter and smiles parade through the corridors Possibly irritating, interrupting the minds of those who think too much, or too little Only inscribing another humorous memory into my uncontrolled thoughts Cobwebs embrace the corners of this dark, meager room Moonlight shining through a small window, a mere break in a pool of nothingness Emerging from the ground, elderly translucent figures Emotions undetectable, yet so obviously alone Ironic how caked in mystery they are, competent in being so invisible And where do they go from here, the only viable escape being that small window fastened shut?

Back against the lockers I sit, not unaccompanied I scribble classic hearts upon my class notes Using imperfect, jagged lines brought about by giggles Sitting isolated in a dark room visited solely through imagination I scribble hearts upon my list of regrets impossible to recant Bloody pumping hearts, rarely recognized, often discarded

32

Daniela Eppler, 2011

33

When Image Strikes Audrey Todd, 2012

I lie down underneath my warm and commodious yellow comforter Closing my eyes: dozing into a sleep Image Strikes The aged, ebony wood floors crack With every subtle movement The shrill of a bird’s call echoes as the clock’s hand hits twelve Pitch black, not a single speck of light is visible Trapped against the tall arched frame Feeling a chill as the night’s breeze crosses the doorway Formidable solitude-------------Until one momentary, vibration reverberates through the vicinity The floors did not crack I did not move I jolt upwards for a momentary awakening Soon sinking into a deep slumber One sneaker in the midst of the vast plain The sole remnant of the prior day Tall stalks of dry, pear green grass Encompassed by numerous towering Cedars Flooded with leaves that will soon cascade down to earth’s surface Two adolescent girls Walking through the meadows Ten thin, delicate fingers interlocked into one entity 34

I rouse briefly Long enough to realize the wide smile upon my face I once again regress to repose A slip of paper slowly blackening into charcoal Within the amber flames Heating all on that cold snowy eve The sound of burning wood---comfort Seven chairs scattered about the floral sapphire carpet Not a single vacancy Everyone united around The one faint crackle of the fire That keeps them calm, tranquil, and together Once more, I awaken This time, conscious long enough to see a glimpse of light Glimmer through the window blinds The images of the previous night reluctantly fade away As preparation for tonight’s new sights begin One momentary, vibration reverberates through the vicinity Ten thin, delicate fingers interlock into one entity A slip of paper slowly blackens into charcoal Fear Happiness Warmth When Image Strikes 35

Memories

Jill Downing, 2010 Her doughy soft hands disappeared under the cool water, but only for a few seconds. With expert hands she smoothly transferred the blank paper to the next basin.

The delicate wrinkles around her eyes began to pleat and fold as she squinted to see the newly developed image appear under the soapy liquid. Puzzle piece patches of black and white started to coalesce. The picture she had just developed was of a young couple holding hands with their backs turned towards the camera. The woman in the picture was short compared to the tall and slender man next to her. The two of them together defined happiness.

Audrey stared at the Anastasia Kermides, 2010 reflection of her younger self and let out a sigh mixed with anticipation and a hint of sadness. With her left index finger, she traced the outline of the man in the picture. Closing her eyes, Audrey imagined his scent, his touch, his heartbeat, and his warmth.

She missed him dearly.

It had been seven years since Audrey’s husband had passed away from Alzheimers disease.

She remembered the first day Jonathan started showing signs of forgetfulness. She had gotten up early one morning to get a start on her gardening for the day. Jonathan, not being an early riser, snored silently in their bed as Audrey dressed. After about an hour, Audrey finished her gardening and went back inside. As she entered the kitchen, she felt something wasn’t quite right. She ascended the stairs to the bedroom and heard water running. Though this wasn’t out of the ordinary, Jonathan always took a shower as soon as he got up, Audrey still felt as though something was wrong. The door to the bathroom was closed and steam was billowing out from under the door. “Jonathan, dear?” Audrey asked. She sat down on the bed and began to

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take off her gardening boots. “Jonathan!” Audrey asked again, this time a little louder. Audrey walked to the bathroom door and opened it. At first all she could see was a thick cloud of steam. Then her eyes began to adjust and landed on a still figure standing in the middle of the shower. It was Jonathan. This wasn’t what worried Audrey. It was the fact that Jonathan was standing in the middle of the shower with his pajamas still on. Rushing towards her husband’s side, Audrey quickly yanked the shower nozzle. “Jonathan what’s the matter?” Audrey asked, her voice frantic. The room was still for a moment, and then he responded. His voice was small and uncertain. “I’m…I’m not…sure?,” he answered with a look of confusion on this wrinkled faced. At this, Audrey’s heart sank.

She knew her husband was a bright man; after all he had been teaching as an English professor at the local college for over 30 years. Audrey had always been thankful for everything she and her family had been given. At the age of 71, however, she knew there were a handful of things for her to be worried about. With old age comes unwanted difficulties and illnesses. Hip replacement surgery, cancer and Alzheimers were at the top of this list for Audrey. Helping her husband out of the shower, she questioned whether she had prayed hard enough.

The next day Audrey called for a taxi. Audrey looked silently out the window, watching the scenery change from the luscious green of New York countryside to a cold gray of the New York City jungle. The taxi pulled up in front of a marble building. The gleaming gold plate on the front said Dr. Eric Luvarc, but Audrey’s eyes read you’re not going to leave this building happy. Dr. Luvarc was a long time friend and former colleague of Jonathan’s. They had both taught at NYU before Jonathan left.

The reception area where they were told to wait was the color that one would expect a waiting room to be. The eggshell color on the wall, Audrey guessed, was supposed to give off a calming effect; however, it only made her more anxious. She looked over at her husband. His calm demeanor only made her heart pulse faster. “Mr. and Mrs. Graham, the doctor will now see you.” ….

After the photo had been completely developed, Audrey crossed the room and carefully placed it on the drying rack. She turned off the light and exited the shed. It was early afternoon and the warm Canterbury sun was gleaming brightly in the sky. Audrey took her time walking back to her cottage, trying to soak in the warmth of the sun and the sounds of spring. There were days when Audrey would wake up and question whether she made the right decision by moving to England. She would question herself for a brief moment, but then reassure herself a second later by saying it was the best thing to do for Jonathan.

Audrey walked onto the back porch of her quaint countryside cottage and opened the door which led

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into the kitchen. After placing the teakettle on the stove, she walked into the living room and slowly sat herself down in Jonathan’s favorite rocking chair. She closed her eyes… ….

They made the call two days after he was diagnosed with Alzheimers. She wasn’t sure how he would react, but she was positive it wouldn’t go over well. But then again, why would it? Being told your father is dying isn’t something that goes over well with most people. Philip was Audrey and Jonathan’s only son. Especially gifted with math, Philip had the mind of a scientist. Throughout his childhood, Philip saw things differently than most children. Always thinking logically, Philip rarely showed signs of emotions. This worried Audrey at first, but she soon came to realize that it wasn’t that he had no emotions, but rather, he never thought it logical to or necessary to show them.

After Audrey told Philip the news, there was only silence on the other line. She expected this, but she didn’t expect what happened next.

Philip’s calm voice broke through the silence. “I have to go Ma, but tell Dad I said hi. Oh, and Zoe made you guys a pie. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.

Bye.” And with that the conversation was over.

The next day Philip came up to the apartment. “Heyya Mom. Pops.” They all walked over towards the living room and sat down. Just as it did on the previous day over the phone, silence filled the room. Audrey examined her son. Besides the fact that he hadn’t brought any pie, something seemed off with him. It had less to do with the way he looked and more to do with the way he acted, as if he were almost…excited about something. “He’s not going to die, mom.

Dad, you’re not going anywhere.” Audrey’s concentration was broken by what she thought was her imagination speaking. She looked up at Maya Panilio, 2010

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her son to see a huge smile attached to his face. Her eyes proceeded down to Philip’s hands, where she noticed for the first time what he was holding. In his outstretched palm lay a small metal chip the size of a human pinky nail. And that’s how it started. ….

Audrey opened her eyes. Though it had been seven years since Jonathan passed, she could still smell his scent on the fabric of the rocking chair. It was the first thing the movers placed in her small cottage after they had arrived in England. She remembered Jonathan sitting in that rocking chair the day after they had moved. It was early morning, and Audrey remembered being shocked because Jonathan rarely ever woke up before she did. She remembered coming down the still unfamiliar steps of their new home and seeing Jonathan sitting in the chair in their living room, silently rocking back and forth. When he heard her coming down the steps, he stopped rocking but didn’t turn his head to look in her direction. Still standing near the stairs, she could see the profile of his face. His brow was furrowed with concentration. His lips were tight in a straight line. After what seemed like ages, he spoke. “I can’t remember.”

“What can’t you remember, dear?” Audrey asked, still clinging onto the stair banister.

“Whose home we’re in. I know it’s not Philly’s apartment ‘cause that little pee wee of a dog isn’t yapping all over the place.”

“Where do you think we are?” Audrey tried to coach him.

“I can’t remember,” he replied.

With that, he continued his rocking, and Audrey took this as a sign to leave. ….

“Where is he?” Philip came barging through the apartment door.

“Where is who?” Audrey asked, still standing by the doorway.

“Where is Dad? This isn’t your decision alone, you know! He has a say in this too,” Philip replied, the anger in his voice rising with each step he took forward into the apartment.

“He went to the grocery store on 43rd to pick up some milk,” Audrey said back, her voice neutral and unmoved.

“You did what? What were you thinking, Ma? Does he even remember how to get there?”

“Yes, dear. You forget he’s lived in New York his entire life. He’ll be fine. Would you like something to drink?”

“Ma, this is different and you know it! This is not the same; he’s not the same! He can’t be left alone to walk around the streets of New York by himself!”

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cab.”

“Of course not, darling. I put him in a

At this, Philip stopped and stared at his mother. The anger and frustration that was previously stamped on his face was wiped away and replaced by a look of exhaustion. Philip sat on the couch and ran his hands through his already thinning hair. Gently taking a seat next to him, Audrey put her arms around her son and pulled him in close. With this simple gesture, a dam had broken, and Philip began to cry into his mother’s shoulder. After the heavy tears subsided, Philip, still in his mother’s arms whispered, “You don’t have to do this. It can be fixed. Just let me give him the chip.” After a few moments of silence, Audrey replied, simply and softly, “No.” ….

Catherine Mitchell, 2011 ….

A siren was going off. Audrey jumped and realized she had left the teakettle on in the kitchen. Moving as fast as her feeble legs would allow, she quickly made it to the kitchen and removed the kettle from the stove. She poured herself a cup of tea and pulled the cup close to her face. The steam swirled around her cheeks like clouds…

She watched as the clouds were stretched apart like cotton by the plane’s massive wings. Next to her was Jonathan reading his favorite golf magazine. Audrey turned from the window and looked at the seat in front of her. There were a variety of magazines and pamphlets to read but none of them appealed to her. So instead, she reached for her purse and pulled out the crumpled newspaper clipping she had read and re-read

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at least 10 times.

“NEW TECHNOLOGICAL BREAKTHROUGH BY NYU PROFESSOR AND COLLEAGUES New York--Memory loss is now a thing of the past. Dr. Philip Graham, an engineer at New York University, along with Dr. Fred Kindle and Dr. Mark McGuire, has found a cure for memory loss in the form of a computer chip implant. Though the technology of the implant itself is incredible, what is more impressive is the system in which all of the data from these chips will be stored.

The government has taken over Dr. Graham’s project and created what will now be called The National Federal Memory Data Base. The building, located in D.C., holds some of the biggest storage systems ever created. Here, the memories of millions of Americans will be stored. Anyone with this implant can send his or her selected memories to the memory bank automatically. The loss of motor skills will no longer be a medical concern, as this chip has created a way for people with dementia to remember their motor skills. The moment the brain senses the person can’t remember something, a signal is sent to the chip, which then sends a signal to the database to receive that particular memory picture.

The government has made it official that, starting next month, all newborns and patients with mental illness such as Alzheimers will begin to receive these implants as required by law. For everyone else, getting one of these implants is quite simple and extremely beneficial….”

Audrey stopped reading and placed the newspaper clipping back in her bag. Philip would be mad that they left without even saying goodbye, but she couldn’t let him know, otherwise he might’ve tried to stop them.

Jonathan would eventually die from Alzheimer’s and she knew this. With the chip, he would have a second chance at life. Audrey decided, however, if God wanted Jonathan to stay on Earth, HE would be the one to grant him a second chance. …

Audrey opened her eyes and carried her cup of tea with her as she walked through the kitchen and out the back door towards the shed for the second time that afternoon. She turned on the light and headed towards the drying rack. Picking up the picture she had developed earlier that afternoon, she examined every aspect of it. She concentrated forcefully. After three minutes of staring, she let out a long sigh. “You didn’t need a chip.

And I don’t need one either. We’ll always have our memories no matter what.” With that, she put the photo back, walked towards the door and turned out the light.

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Kate O’Donovan, 2012 42

Sunset

Anoymous

His hands,

Harsh, and dotted with two, dark freckles, Tightly grasp the cup,

Like they used to hold mine In the cold, dark woods, when fear consumed me.

They were my sunshine, the light that led me back to my cabin, The sun that warmed my skin in the south But from this sun, I needed protection.

Because when I got close enough, He burned me.

Why, would you pull me so close, and then push me away?

What did I do wrong?

From across the room he meets my glance,

My eyes, so hurt and lost, Burn into his, trying to show him

My forgiveness.

But he turns away.

He doesn’t understand. I’m too scared to tell him.

Too scared to get burned again.

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Sydney Rogers, 2010 44

Roland Park Country School 5204 Roland Avenue Baltimore, MD 21210 Head of School Jean Waller Brune Upper School Head Joan Smith