Atelier 2016 by St. Catherine's School

ATELIER

2016

IX Elle McNeill Isabelle Gaenzle

STAFF

IX Elle McNeill Isabelle Gaenzle

XII Sarah Stuart Horsley Emily Margolin livia u n Joanna Yan

X Maddie Dugan Madi Haine Addie Simkins

XI Riley Alvis Vanessa Revilla

Editors Zoe Alexander Izabela Clarke Caroline Gaenzle Liza Martin Madison Wilkinson Abby Villanueva

Faculty Sponsor John Morgan

XII Sarah Stuart Horsley Emily Margolin livia u n Joanna Yan

X Maddie Dugan Madi Haine Addie Simkins

XI Riley Alvis Vanessa Revilla

Editors Zoe Alexander Izabela Clarke Caroline Gaenzle Liza Martin Madison Wilkinson Abby Villanueva

Faculty Sponsor John Morgan

The 2016 Atelier Editors

If I Run Away With the Passionate Shepherd Yes, my sweet shepherd I shall be your love You speak of the life from Heaven above. Your compassion, honesty and gentle care ra s e in as our signi cant air Yet, I do not need the extravagant lures For you my shepherd, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m already yours. Do not buy gifts down to your last cent, For I promise sweet shepherd, I am already content. In this spring season; your home is vibrant, My heart is open but exclusively private. You live in the countryside; I live in the city, But with you my love, our life will not be tricky. We will swim through the rivers, nd cli stee ountain gures he valle s, groves, elds and hills, re all leasures o hich heart is lled Flowers fade and clothes become worn-out, But our love will be opposite, I do not doubt. As time goes on, so shall this honest bond, For you my shepherd, I truly respond; If I run away and live with you, li e ill e signi cantl ne If truth be told from your shepherd tongue, Our love shall remain true and young. Charlotte McGraw, X

Elizabeth Artz XII

Seren Bilgeturk, X

Elephants One of my favorite animals. A mammal with grey skin, And a big heart. They live almost longer than you, Only eating grass, their favorite food. When they walk all you hear is thuds From their big feet. They have long trucks, That I wish was a slide. Some people ride them, But that would be treating them like a horse. Rainforests are their best friends, They always are looking for food. They travel in herds, And are the sweetest animals. I have a picture posted on my wall. A picture of one as a baby Looking so adorable. Since an elephant weighs about 8,000 pounds, They are my 8,000 pounds Of happiness. Isabelle Gaenzle, IX

Sarah Roski, XII

I once heard someone say that the thought Of the ever expanding universe made them feel small. We are tiny and ephemeral and inconsequential, she argued. But I stood on a cliﬀ overlooking the ocean, staring up at the stars, And i never felt larger. I felt connected and I felt a part of something. For the stars are in the ocean and in the earth, And what is in the earth is in me. The universe is inside each of us. And that, feels like a dream. Shala Munn, XI

The Frame I rest on a wall Composed by four corners of metal Holding a precious memory inside Everyday a young girl looks at me She watches She cries It’s a sad joy To have someone look at you for so long Inside of me there is a photo of her past A photo of days gone by She watches because it’s all she has left She cries because she needs more Time passes as the cracks in her skin grow wide I see her pour herself into me She isn’t the same girl as before Her eyes are like holes where life should have been Her stormy blues are now dull azures They are empty and cold Those eyes watched life pass them by Those eyes only wanted me Sophie Hood, VIII Allie Tattersall, XII

Je ne sais pas Tout le monde me demande “Que tu vas faire pour ta vie?” Tout le monde me dit “Tu dois savoir.” Mais je ne sais pas Je ne sais pas parce que je suis encore jeune. Pourquoi dois-je savoir tout sur ma vie maintenant? Je ne suis pas adulte; Je suis enfant. Tout le monde me dit “Maintenant est l’heure de décider.” Mais ce n’est pas vrai Je vais décider quand je serai préparée Maintenant je ne suis pas préparée Parce que je suis encore enfant. Maintenant je vais apprécier ma vie Sans le stress de la trentaine Parce que je n’ai pas la trentaine Je ne suis pas adulte; Je suis encore enfant Et je suis heureuse que je ne sois pas adulte. M.E. Williams, XI

Lauren Fleming, XII

The Last Colors the last colors of the sun’s gleam before dark moving together with the ripples of the current in the salt-water

Mason Jordan, XII

Catie Nolan, XI

Carvings

He draped slices of ham over a length of bread with the obsessive precision that only comes from a madman, a mathematician, or an artist. He choked the cylindrical form of his lunch with one hand. With the other, he traced the crossed notches in the wooden doorframe. He felt the shallow, eroded marks, one horizontal for his departure and one vertical for his return, that co e orated the rst da he second, third, and ourth airs all sat in a er ect ladder, each nestled directl a ove their predecessor. For the next fourteen days, the marks grew messier, mocking him as he left each morning. He glazed over the nineteenth and ost recent t in slashes ith the rough ad o his thu ild ecks o ood s rang ro the gash in their source, threatening to splinter the dead skin that suppressed them. He violated the doorway with his knife then dragged his skeletal form over the threshold to meet the twentieth morning. is last co issioned hours is ngers t itched at his sides, lood laced ith otential ulsing through their ti s he ind assaulted his haggard ace is cheeks e ack in ear then reddened in e arrass ent at their co ardice e averted his s uinting e es as he assed en earing suits as dra as the ove er sk he lucked u ing cigars ro their ouths to shout lo , ut he as dea to the sound o his o n na e he a their voices cracked and the leaves ell ithout rst turning a searing orange those i er ections rightened hi e rushed into the sa et o the s ooth arcs and stone alls o the cathedral heir uiet strength envelo ed hi as his e es scoured the tiled oors and stained glass windows. His weary eyelids fell as he inhaled the dank smell of peace. Seconds later, Eloy’s chocolate pupils met the light again and fell upon the mass of walnut watching him from the balcon ro his lace eters elo , it see ed to have alread taken its intended or he ings s read ide and o en, read to receive the utile ra ers that esca ed ro scri ted unda asses he hands ca e together and delicatel touched at the ngerti s and the outer edges o the al s he carvings o the ro e a eared like ne cotton sheets dra ed over the Renaissance form. he head rested cocked on an angle, ondering h lo ust stared as the sun ran to the to o the sk to ark ti e s esca e e rushed to collect his rusting tools the elt heavier than usual as he lodded u the inding ights o stairs ri ing over the nal ste , he arrived ithin closer vie o the angel he re e ered a a ed gure, ithout the is details o a cheru s ace and o ing cloak ro here he stood, the rough, ugl ack ade itsel kno n Over the past two and a half weeks, Elroy had focused only on the front side. He made the sculpture beautiful for the con gregation to admire from below, while he left the back a raw mess. For the purposes of the commission, it made sense. He had ul lled the re uire ents and et the deadline, leaving a sound roduct ehind But a hand ul o hours still re ained before the sculpture left Eloy’s charge. And in that time, he could make it perfect for his own satisfaction. Detail and further intricacy failed to entice him; rather, he simply sought smoothness and composition. He wanted a sense of perfection that he couldn t attain ro the ckle outside orld here he had no control ithin the s here o his art, he reigned as od With metal and wood, he could create stability and permanence. He wanted to know that he left his work pristine and unblemished. He brought out his chisel for the last time and began to chip at the outlying wood shards. hen the screa s egan Echoing through the hollow sanctuary, they made him quiver and pulled him out of his artistic ecstasy. He tried to shut the out, closing the door to his ind, olting it ith a lock and even arricading it eta horic ith chairs But the ersisted, orcing hi to start hacking at his angel statue ro all sides e hacked oﬀ the inched nose and egan scarring its cheeks hredding the gloss ar s and slashing oﬀ eticulousl or ed curls, lo ell to the ailing sirens B the ti e darkness ate the sun, the statue no longer held the or o an angle It reverted to a rough lock o ood, ust as it had started. It as nothing he nothing as ever thing and it as nall er ect Eloy started running. His feet carried him past the men with the cigars who shouted his name again. He remained deaf to the But not onl dea this ti e he no elt ute, lind, and ro ed o ever other sensor rivilege one can ear riven ure instinct, he ke t u ing his ar s and s itching his eet until he arrived at a at eld ith a large stack o fallen trees in the center. he t entieth hori ontal ark never received a vertical co anion he house e ought hoards stories in ever corner, indo , and all and es eciall in ever door ra e I sit ith head in hands and el o s on the lastic ta lecloth, gu ith generic rand soa residue he curious arks in the door a u stare e do n and eg to learn their histor I agree and ick u orn ournal I ve al a s had a ild imagination anyway.

Cont. on next page

It as nothing he nothing as ever thing and it as nall er ect lo started running is eet carried hi ast the en ith the cigars ho shouted his na e again e re ained dea to the But not onl dea this ti e he no elt ute, lind, and ro ed o ever other sensor rivilege one can ear riven ure instinct, he ke t u ing his ar s and s itching his eet until he arrived at a at eld ith a large stack o allen trees in the center he t entieth hori ontal

ark never received a vertical co

anion

he house e ought hoards stories in ever corner, indo , and all and es eciall in ever door ra e I sit ith head in hands and el o s on the lastic ta lecloth, gu ith generic rand soa residue he curious arks in the door a u stare e do n and eg to learn their histor I agree and ick u orn ournal I ve al a s had a ild i agination an a Kate Oelkers, XI

Dumpster Diving In the deni colored night I dro ed hands into one o the card oard o es that lined the street neigh orhood atch sign loo ed ust eet a a I uickl ulled out a s eater ro the neglected o es tu

noti ed the s in c cle led ith the laundr

ho ore this e ore

thoughts

e Izabela Clarke, XII

Virginia Fralin, XII

Kimmee Gottwald, XII

White Noise When the river becomes quiet When the train glides silent When the cries of children simply fade away When the repetitive typing Or the continuous crying Or the monotonous warnings Cease Can the lawnmower’s whirl disappear From one clock stroke to the next To the next To the next? an an itch si ling dee er into esh Scalding the body into physical vibration Drone into numbness? The sulfuric stench softens with time Sunshine’s thrill grows mundane Stabbing pain slows to dull throbs Until ambulance cries lose urgency Until death tolls become numbers The fascination of life The trauma of death Find middle ground For we no longer cry when looking at war Our humanity calluses We become immune Vanessa Revilla, XI

Catie Nolan, XI

As Time Goes By As time goes by and frustration begins to show The meaning of true love becomes clear to all Days and nights of yelling and screaming All for a short time of progress and prosperity So let our love be put together Through mistakes and confusion we try forever The utter madness and overall frustration Is always worth it for the excitement of love The shifts in our relationships seem so clear Until a mistake and pure anger appear I ou can t nd the right ath in love You feel like you should just give up But everyday we wake up and try again Until the sun goes down and our eyes keep closing To get every piece of love put in the right place o that e a nall have an e i han So everyday you must try, try again to do and undo all of the mistakes that make our love so hard to handle but show that what we have is true As a six sided, six colored rubik’s cube Our loved is a jumbled mess of frustration Where every move we make could mess up everything That we have worked so hard to achieve Our love is a puzzle that we navigate Something that we will never give up on Even if it causes blatant frustration I will always go through the twists and turns of love with you

Henrietta Clarke, XII

Lindsay Everhart, X

Ignition

Innocence

Lungs screamed with steam delight to the bite of red-orange christened jewels; How they glimmered, simmered, ascended so beautifully. Hair singed and skin warm, Hands burned to the ceiling. A chandelier of charcoal bones and lashes Alight like cosmic clashes,

My innocence was freckles splashed on my face, tennis out ts, ike rides around old lack oint, lock uster trips, penny and serena, pigtail braids, ghost stories, smiling mom, laughing dad, golf courses in pinehurst, swim lessons in south hampton, bubblegum icecream, running around until i couldn’t breathe, children’s church, annie’s mac and cheese, all this moving in my li e ast like a roll o l until so ething suddenl broke and everything went silent. A red stain spreads on my white dress. You gave me my dose too early, i wasn’t ready. Now everything is bedroom windows, bad poetry, sad movies, staring at my phone, a frantic hapless mission to nd so called inner sel hich is too retentious to even mention, immature views on the world, desperate attempts for some sort of pathetic validation, carb overloads, escapes to the stage, occasional trips to the river I’m not ruined, my life isn’t gray But i’m tarnished, and my life is now a deep purple Take that as you will I wish i had a choice about what you took

Cries escaped like the caged bird could not. By the quakes of a crackling crescendo so tantalizing that the moon cowered, Walls withered, and tsunamis raised. The sun eclipsed its sister, her empyreal radiations dipped in moonbeams, and she accompanied the seraphs, dancing in prismic haze. As the beacon descends in spring, A phoenix is born from the ashes laid: she is eternall lovelier and righter that the rst Madi Haine, X

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

Kat Colin, XI

Vanessa Revilla, XI

Sarah Roski, XII

Personal Physics One day a man came up to me. He said that he could touch the sky, He said with work that I could too, I said that’s something I might do. ll li e, I ve earned to , It seemed unlikely, but why not try? You’re given an unwieldy pole, And spikes that go on your shoe sole. You wait for a break in the wind, You grip the pole and then begin. ith s eed, ou lant, take oﬀ, and soar. You ascend then start your fall. You meet the mat, and watch the bar. You learn new things and get stronger. ventuall our ight gets longer My path has had both ups and downs, But my coach is not inclined to frown. t rst it s eas to i rove, Later it takes more commitment, Further progress seems allusive. Some feats are measured by success, Each time I vault, the bar speaks last. Anna McKay, IX

Moon Rise

A moon rises The same moon that men had been staring for years And women of course The earth has cast its doubtful shadow Squeezed the golden juice Into a sliver of blade Against the peachy pale blue ...The clouds—white, grey, black Stationary—transient—deformed—curled As the road sinks lower into the southern hemisphere I want to escape to the Caribbean’s Into a timeless place of mirth—with my lover, oh whoever that will be! Time had forced the colors of trees (and road signs, cars, and buildings that were grey already) into the sky, the beautiful pale blue sky whose end is turning orange, a sign of rotten evening light is gone, no more photons to strike their surface no more comfort on the retina fear-but oh how peaceful the world is under my wheels in the cool breezy dusk warm with the smell of honeysuckle light ith the ho e o re ies and where are you, my mischievous little darlings where are you on this dark night, when I seek no one else but you where are you when I am lost in a world of wheels where are you when I cannot see the way home...I do not see lights that belong to my house (light does not bend, else I would see it) nor the people in there why is it that I have longed for such nostalgic moments, but hate it when it comes...why is it that I have threw away my old self, the ugly, mean, malicious soul, but embrace it when she visits why is it that my strength have left me, but I refuse to lie down or maybe I cannot lie down in peace, and at once fall asleep God save me and light my way Why have I dismissed my mother, as I sink in multitudes of work I missed an exit, but it’s okay I have been here, on a rainy day I as so e cited or a o er I had longed for a pink, hazy night I had gone too ar, into areas o ight I should, or no? turn back and make peace of the whole matter Yueming Chen, XII

Emma Nester, X

NoCal The Grass Roots are playing on the radio As we cruise aside the narrow coast, passing roadside avocado markets covered with cardboard roofs; There are people on the beach dressed in scarves and sleeves, huddled together. Only one brave man is swimming in the cold waves. We pass Redwoods and a palms, interspersed perfectly, complemented by In nite cascades o dark, desert rock and hill overlooks Everything about this place- the earth and the air- is rough and harsh, but balanced by a certain, gentle coolness. B no I ve counted over ve otorc cle gangs the real thing, not the wannabes of the East Coast highways. They are the only things that I can count besides the houseboats, the lighthouses, and the skeleton shrubs here and there. I notice that my brother, now a permanent San Franciscan, already looks like some hybrid of a California hipster and a 50’s Beatnik, clad with thick-rimmed glasses and a red beard to match. How coincidental that his favorite place here is the City Lights bookstore. He’s selling Cloud software nowadays, but then all I can think about is how there are no clouds in sight here- just palish grey skies and a permanent, looming overcast. We are still riding, passing through suburbs with streets with names like Hacienda Dr. and Eldorado St.; Like a modern Wild West; I imagine most of the people here work for some tech start-up, or perhaps Google or Facebook- like cowboys of technology. Tomorrow we say goodbye to this microcosm of a country, where time and culture collide into a beautiful kaleidoscope masterpiece. Belle Pace, XII

Sarah Roski, XII Tides Are Changing We meet on the beach my toes in the sea hers in the sand and when it calls to me beckons to the dark and deep she takes my hand “stay on the land” she says “Stay with me,” she doesn’t say And I know that I am the sea I am the tide, and I must always go back to the sea but she is the land my stable ground and knows that while dark waters might pull me away, I will always come home to her Because she is the land and I am the sea, the tide that tickles our feet And each time the waves meet the shore I love ou oats in the ind and she holds me close I’m not going anywhere Jeannie DeWire, XII

Vanessa Revilla, XI

Lost and Searching

She stands not in her shoes But in the emptiness of a shadow It’s darkness starts to feel like home Her thoughts fade into a labyrinth Of Augustan worries and hope Until the footprints disappear like nothing Creatures jump into holes like they were nothing ntil the lack arks start to ru oﬀ her shoes And then she’s clean and full of hope Again and again until fear overcomes the shadow With frantic thoughts grows the labyrinth And farther away does now seem home Feet hit the gravel searching for their home ongst the lack s oke nding nothing She feels the barriers shift like throughout a labyrinth s ngerlike roots and vines ull her her shoes She starts to look for the infamous shadow By which she placed a house of hope

Izabela Clarke, XII

Her eyes rotate backwards and forwards until they’ve lost their hope And with no following sidekick, alone is home She feels the cold familiar presence of the shadow Only to be tricked by the preluding nothing She looked down and saw her own raggy shoes And discovered her mind had trapped her like a labyrinth Intertwined beneath the skin had festered the labyrinth Eating a breakfast of delirious and delicious hope Bare, as feet with punishment with no shoes For with no stable place of rest, our minds serve as home Knowing all this before and still learning nothing She cowers away into the safety of the shadow Behind no single body lies the shadow And through no refuge there be a labyrinth ntil she enters ghting ever thing ut nothing Finding lost specks of what was her hope In a shado , she nds no eace or ho e Only safety will be found running in her shoes Within the nothing arises the hope As the shadow shrinks being engulfed by the labyrinth Leaving her with no home but a pair shoes Bridget Tinnerino, IX

Emma Phillips, XII

My Brothers Striped Shirt In your bathroom there is a frame shaped like a basketball with a photo of us sitting underneath the kitchen table holding Cabbage Patch Kids. Your arm is around me and it looks like I’m having an allergic reaction but we are both laughing so hard that you’re fuzzy cause the camera caught you in motion. You’re wearing a green, purple, and black striped shirt. I found it the other day and held it up to my face to feel what Arlo Gray, IX

Irritation I really do not like it when people step on the back of my feet Here I am minding my own business, walking down the street When my friend or foe Tries to step on my feet and toes

our childhood felt like. That shirt is the size of my head now. Has it been so long since we had that much fun together? Olivia Ruﬃn, XII

I really do not like it when I lose all of my things estro ing all o roo ust to nd a little ring Drawers, shelves, all left in rubble When the ring was just in my personal bubble I really do not like it when people rub spoons I makes me want to call them a goon The screeching sound vibrates in my ear Causing my eyes to welt up tears I really do not like it when people eat my food It really changes my joyful mood They munch and crunch through my cookies and chips And now I just want them to trip I really do not like it when bugs invade my space Sometimes they come and leave without a trace Their crawly legs speed on my walls And I sit and pray that they fall Emily Peters, IX

Isabelle LeBey, X

Izzy

In Memory of Izzy McKinney

The girl who gave the best late night art inspirations and taught me how to laugh like crazy in the mountains. Eleanor Goldstein, X

My Sweet Brunette

Sometimes in my bed I lie awake Eyes open, eyes closed, I just lay and think What could have been, but what will always be You’ll always be a hero, day and night But it feels like everything will never be just right I will never forget your charm and grace The way your face glows, oh that beautiful face I miss you more and more each day They all just pass, can’t think of what to do Cause I never really got the chance to say... I love you, Izzy, with all my soul So still in my heart there’s a gaping hole A grand toast to you, and all your years I promise I’ll try to stop the tears Please know that I will never forget Your smiles, your eyes, my sweet brunette Anonymous

Izzy

We are all wearing buttons. It’s so Izzy and she smiles. nd i hone ere on I d take a sel e right no I s iles o e eo le uild ca res a res or ar th, or s ile, or stories a res or co unit , ca res or light I uilt ca res he uilt ca res or all o us I love girls, each year an advisory of new family, two years ago a Garden... As she should walk towards our room or we passed in the halls of Bacot I would usually call out, “IZZZZZYYYYYY!” and her response? “Mr. ASTRROOOOOVE!” As I was looking for some of my advisee comments from two years ago I found the answers to questions I had asked my students in preparation for their dreaded Student Led Conference. I asked each for a quote. Izzy’s: “Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.” There it is. When I read this I immediately remembered that on Robert Louis Stevenson’s birthday last month I posted that same quote on my Facebook page. Seeds you plant. Izzy, among many things, was a planter—a wonderful planter… Mr. Jim Astrove

Dear Izzy,

All through Lower School we were really good friends. We made fun of the fairy houses everyone built and ran to dig in the dirt instead. Then you taught me how to make my own way, something that I try to do every single day. Middle School came along and you grew more and more into yourself; in Miss. Dix’s Science class you introduced me to a world of music beyond Miley Cyrus and what was loved by everyone else. Black Veil Brides and the tattoos we promised to get; of Andy, his lyrics, I’ll never forget. We went to camp and became even more connected, by picking up rocks and making them our babies, and acting like our whole cabin was married. The year you left to go to Maggie Walker was the year we slowly stopped talking. I knew you were having fun so I didn’t worry. Fast forward a couple years and I hear that you’ve moved on. Before I can do anything, I remember that you taught me to forget the would-be’s and the couldbe’s in life, and love what you’re doing, be proud of what you have done and appreciate where you are in life. I miss you more than words could ever say, but I hope this shows how important you are to me. Thank you for helping make me, me. Because without you I don’t know where the hell I would be. Bix Lowsley-Williams, X

Madeleine Dugan, X

Write your own poem in this space.

The Canyon

Catie Nolan, XI

I look up to see the looming rock walls, red and enormous, huge arches appear, created by nature, as if they were chiseled out by hands just like mine. The rock has fallen from inside.The arches, and nature is satis ed but just until next time. My perspective is gone. Lost in the wind, I see tiny specks up above me Oh, wait! Are those people? All they would like is a sel e with nature’s great beauty, The walls up above didn’t seem so big...Until I saw all the people up high-Our busy lives They matter so much, But the world keeps spinning It won’t stop for us, We are all tiny pieces Of this nation, this world But we’re very important pieces, indeed, The rocks don’t care who’s around when they fall, and the people on the rocks, just tiny specks to us all. Sallie Lumpkin, VI Grace Murphy, X

The Flight Of Our Phoenix Every summer we sat and watched the rain In the place where rain could be as bright as stars. Raindrops hit the river and I would look at you, Feeling more peace than the highest soaring bird. It was like that every summer in the kitchen; You watching the rain through the window with me. But in the blink of an eye, everything changed for me. It got darker and it as hard to nd eace in rain You no longer saw the light in the kitchen, and I could no longer compare the rain to stars. Something shot through the air and hit our bird, Our phoenix, and soon raindrops were just tears for you. I would sit and hide, watching you, ilentl ho ing ou ould co e nd e I would hear you crying and worrying for our bird, While he just sat still in the rain. At night, I would look for the light in the stars, But strangely, I always found the slim rays of light coming from the kitchen. We faced our fears that day we met in the kitchen. I found the bird, but he wouldn’t listen to you. He was lost while exploring the stars, and bringing him back home shouldn’t have been this hard for me. So I too sat still in the rain. ou ound e and e ourned the ight o our ird da ca e hen he shed his arti cial eathers and e sa our real ird The boy weeping in the kitchen. He told you, “sometimes everyone gets caught in the rain”, But I could still see the pain knotted inside you And releasing it seemed impossible for me. I tried making you laugh. I tried showing you the stars. But what I wanted to show you couldn’t be found in stars, Nor could we compare him to a marvelous bird. He screamed out and I replied, telling him it was still the same me. He took my hand and I led him to the kitchen. I led him to his mother. I led him to you. We sat in the kitchen, looked out the window, and found the everlasting sun behind the mask of rain. e looked at e and nall laughed in the kitchen The stars painted the walls again and we didn’t think of our bird. I thought of my brother and I thought of you, dancing in the rain. Arlo Gray, IX

27 Club young club 27 club say twenty-seven think twentyseven not prime: {1, 3, 9, 27} rather: the fountain cracked the foundation spilt a waste a waste a waste burgeoning sprouting poets and channels radio towers capturing the frequencies of interstellar transmissions and sending them to us [from brainwaves to soundwaves] roy sullivan strike smash sizzle simmer scream snap spark seven times struck and still living on but one too many surges killed twenty seven Sasha Savenko, XII

Lily Horsley, XII

Strange thing.

trange thing o strong, et so ckle hanging ith the ind ne a ong thousands, et roli c o could so e thing so variable, be so powerful? How could it move so many, and how could some condemn it so readily? True belief lives deep within; people see it in the eyes, in the smile. True belief enhances, it is not protean. A true believer never avers, even in the ercest te est hose ho conde n belief are afraid. They know its power, its reach, and it sparks fear in their hearts, for they are of the crowd that does not believe. Suha Minai, X

A Splurge of Thought what if death was one big dreamlike thing like you could either have a beautiful dream or an awful nightmare and it all consisted of a contemplation of your experiences and thoughts. But you were never aware of any of it. and as soon as one thing happend, you’d forget by the time you got to the following experience it had caused. so you’d basically be forced to live in the moment, because the rest would be a

mystery what if every time you slept you got small glimpse into death you wouldn’t know your own past, so you wouldnt try to control your future, and you would contantly confused on how you got to the place you were. what if every time you slept you got a small glimpse into death Noor Samee, XI

The Drive

Levon Helm singing, “Everything dies baby that’s a fact” never gets old. What am I going to do in li e h can t I ust ack u and leave ich ond he conte lation dances in head tlantic it is one of those deep, profound songs. You know the kind that completely changes your mood and makes you think about what’s next. The type you love when you are alone. I frequently get these thoughts in the car. The cliché, heartfelt meditation looking out the window like I’m in a sad music video. But it doesn’t always have to be sad. I actually think that musing time is comforting. It is the thought of adulthood that moves in my head. During a long drive alone with the music, I am home. My mom and dad stood on the side porch waving goodbye and blowing kisses. I pulled out the drive a ith a ull tank o gas I as oﬀ rst long car ride on the high a sel I as headed or harlottesville on est I as ree o one to tell e to slo do n or to turn the usic do n o I turned it up. And there were the words again, “Everything dies baby that’s a fact.” All the other lyrics were a blur. Something about the car ride and this tune make my mind pay more attention to my thoughts. I think about the switch from childhood to adulthood. My intellect along with the song wrestles with the inevitability of death and the hope of rebirth. With little control of my life now, I imagine what my life might be like once I’m 23. I dream about the places I might travel. The thoughts have no limits because humans are predestined to die. They are priceless. The melodious tune turns my mind away from the moment. I am lost in thought I da drea a out ho I ant to nd sel I don t have a avorite su ect or a certain talent I don’t even have a favorite color or food. This lack of knowledge of myself makes me wonder what I might do or be in life. After about twenty minutes into the trip, I need to crack my back. It distracts me from my daydream. Let me begin by telling you that one of my legs is longer than the other, a good 1/8 of an inch longer. As I write this, my small birth defect seems meaningless. But it is the beginning to all my physical problems. I have scoliosis. This sideways curvature was found by Dr. Tuten in 2011. I’ve learned to live with it. Field Hockey requires a down-low position. It puts a major focus on your back and leg muscles. As I pass the Goochland exit, I can hear Don Warner say, “You don’t deserve it, you earn it.” I will never forget the lessons he has taught me. I remember him saying, “I don’t believe in the word fair; life isn’t fair.” His words have given meaning to me. Warner taught me to accept the unbroken meaning of the word fairness and how to obtain grit. evon el s tenor hel s e think a out uture he guides e to re ect on sel I actuall hate the popular, free-spirited phrase: “live in the moment.” Why not fantasize about what might come next? hen evon el sings, But a e ever thing that dies so eda co es ack, he nishes the hrase ith uncertainty. This verse reminds me of the unpredictability of my future. With only the road to worry about, I have the ti e to ocus on e o re ect on a s o sho un oreseea le drea s nd to onder what might set me on the right path. I don’t have a destination, but I will learn how to get there. Carmen Manganello, XII

On Death

Venice is sinking. bit by bit, Dark water eats at stone. One day, The stately Buildings (romanticized by tourists worldwide) Will lie submerged entirely: silent. Kathryn LeBey, XII Henrietta Clarke, XII

My mom likes to cook. I like to cook up stories. To her, butternut squash is an opportunity. When she sees it, she envisions all the dishes she could make: chili, risotto, maybe soup. That’s what my sense of humor is like: recognizing potential. I incorporate every experience into a larger narrative, and that’s how I process the world around me. My delivery changes: an anecdote in the lunchroom, a Facebook post, a screenplay. No matter the package, I want to nd the co ed in li e nd this is reci e Isabelle’s Humor Yield: Serves at least one. Intended to share. For larger batches, results may vary. Ingredients: 2 cloves Critical Observation 3 packets Leavening Optimism (RapidRise) 1 pinch Stoneground Humility teas oon on dence

tract

Instructions: I get rst ingredient ro conversations I have ith recording app. It’s not blackmail just research.

riends I

ight take notes or ull out

voice

Sarah tells me, “I’m, like, the opposite of what a boy would want.” Yeah, boys hate tall, blonde dancers. But I not eredith I not the ideal londe I graham crackers I’m like graham crisp!”

like an oﬀ rand londe ro

not even

Now, I understand her perspective: to her, tragedy is a discount snack. She’s going to be OK. When developing characters or ilot, I go to note ad dding a dose o ti is lightens the atch, es eciall ith arod It s ore challenging to ake satire ro a lace o ad iration or instance, school has trou le ith the cold no da s a e us irginians e cancel school or so e urries, then hen a real li ard hits, e can t iss an ore class hus, I osted this satirical letter on Facebook: “Ladies, St. Catherine’s will have a 35minute delay on Friday. We realize that transportation may be an issue for some families, so we urge our girls to travel in large groups with harnesses and pull their backpacks on sleds behind them. No need to look out for cars, as there will be no others on the road...” My school encourages us to value our education as strong feminists. I admire that. But we’re also southerners with a fear of frozen rain. They say, “The sky’s the limit for educated girls!” They just might be right. It’s possible to laugh at something and still respect it. Regarding Humility: selfdeprecation is my signature ingredient. When I laugh at my own mistakes, it makes my classmates feel more comfortable. In chorale class, we raise our hands if we sing the wrong note. That way, the ensemble can recognize the error instead of letting dissonance hang in the air without explanation. I’m just doing that throughout the da e , look I done goo ed e re ok I can e stu id nd I love telling eo le a out it ure on dence can e a rare ingredient in high school uckil , it can e re laced tra irgin akeittil ou akeit il he est art a out this s itch o od can tell nd graduall , ou restock on con dence Notes from the Chef: I’m always workshopping material, like how Mom scribbles in the margins of her cookbook. This is what fuels me right now, but it’s not static. In elementary school, it was mostly junk food (100 cups outbursts, 0 parts humility). Now I tr to alance it and kindness, sel de recation and sel orth nd I hear taste uds change a e at t ent ve, I’ll like shrimp, or Jimmy Kimmel. u or is co ort ood It s ade at ho e and eant to e shared nd I ant other eo le to en o hat I ake, but I can’t change to appease everyone’s appetite. In second grade, Mrs. Trice taught us an idiom to respect each other’s tastes: if someone criticizes what’s in your lunch box, just tell them politely, “Don’t yuck my yum.” Bon

Isabelle Andrews XII

Living Miserably hat s rong ith our eet l ost ever erson I ve ever et, ro teachers to riends to strangers assing on the street, has asked me this. It’s a question I dread receiving, yet one that has plagued me my entire life. I have something called miserable malalignment syndrome—which sounds made up, but I can attest it is, in fact, a real condition—which essentially means that the bones in my legs and feet are turned in opposite directions, resulting in a unique swagger that resembles that of a penguin. My condition has been a source of great insecurity for me, and the subject of a countless amount of jokes at my expense. It has hampered me from playing any land-based sports, and has made shopping for shoes nearly unbearable. I have spent thousands of hours donning uncomfortable orthodox to straighten my feet out, and even underwent two surgeries in an attempt to correct distinctive tread ll eﬀorts have een ade in vainit see s I destined to live a li e lled ith ignorant comments and insulting gestures regarding my awkward walk. Perhaps one day I’ll magically decide to embrace my special stride, but until then, I’m doomed to live a life of misery. Emily Margolin, XII

Dear Teacher that Asked Me Where My Friend is Today

Dear Teacher asking me where my friend is today, I could simply respond with I don’t know, Just like every other day that you ask me this question, But toda I eeling a little diﬀerent So ask me again, sk e here she is toda Because even though I don’t know and won’t know every day of the week where she’s been, I can tell you that maybe she slept in, But that would be annoying because, Sleep, Is the ght she had last night ith her est riend Sleep, Is the cousin o death said as ut is so eﬀectivel taken into account. Sleep, Is never apparent to her because her dreams wrap her in a cloth of destruction. he is ondering in a eld o uncertaint na le to nd her a out Just like when she opens her eyes in the morning Having to talk to her dad, Having to yell at her dad, To wake up too. She needs to get to school, you say, I know! But school, just like sleep will bring her fear of what is behind her eyelids. I have struggled so long with myself accepting that I can be stable, that why can’t we realize and see that We as a whole are in some way Unstable,

nd that e need each other to reali e that ushing and pulling at someone's mental stability is never ok,

no matter how stable we think they are We never see what's going on behind the scenes Or maybe even in front of them. I never want to hear the words “Where is your friend today.” gain Because I know that Today Tomorrow Maybe even a week from now I’m just going to respond with “I think she slept in.”

Sarah Stuart Horsely, XII

Belle Pace, XII

Izabela Clarke, XII

Seren Bigelturk, X

Caroline Gaenzle, X

Poetry It eels like the static on our , ou kno , those s uiggl aves o gra dots that vi rate across the screen and ake sounds like ro en eans eing oured into a etal ot It as rst grade, e ore soccer ractice, hen I rst had this an ious eeling Initiall , it as stationed in the it o stomach. I clasped my hand on the side of the passenger’s seat in my dad’s car to keep it there. Slowly, to my dismay, it pushed through my body and my dad pulled the car to the side of the road in antici ation or hat ould ha en ne t s the static e anded ast the restraints o sto ach, it caused an eruption of hysteria and, disgustingly enough, what was left of my Nutrigrain granola bar and Capri Sun. Since then, I’ve carried that same static curse; the one that thrusts a plague of clammy hands and nausea upon me whenever I feel the slightest trepidation. In high school, I felt like someone put a magnifying glass over this static issue that had already consumed a large part of my life. The static was anxiety. My school counselor delivered this news to e a ter rst visit oon enough, I elt o ligated to nall talk to a ro essional, es eciall a ter one of my more disgraceful encounters with anxiety. Poetry Out Loud class competitions happen annually. Students are required to recite one medium length oe in ront o their class ro e or class as co rised o a out teen or so students, most of which were close friends and all of which I’d known for years. Regardless, I spent the entire ree eriod, the hole ort ve inutes, e ore class kneeled on the athroo oor in ront of a dirty toilet, retching whatever was left of my sparse breakfast. head as held high as I alked into the roo ith a alse air o con dence to aintain hatever scra s o co osure I had le t hich, looking ack, ere ro a l le t on the athroo oor ith my dignity). The facade of courage I tried to put on was brief; as soon as I slumped silently into my chair, the waiting game began and my nerves started to take complete control. The poem I had been e ori ing a eek rior shu ed ack and orth through ind until I as sure I d e a le to re e er he ell nall rung and I as rst to resent he rst line ent ell he ne t line as none istent ind at lined and teacher egan to ask e kindl i I needed the rst ord o the second line I insisted strongl against it I as a ove hints a arentl nd so I started the rst line over I started the rst line over ourteen ti es, not ithout lent o h no, I so sorr s mouth felt like a dry sponge and my head was full of jumping beans instead of poetry. Somehow, with lent o hel ro teacher ho, in the end, started and erha s even nished several lines or me, I got through it. I failed Poetry Out Loud, but what I gained in mental perseverance transformed my approach to anxiety. This experience pushed me to reevaluate how I managed my disorder. With a few selfhelp an iet ooks, a editation oga class and a h siologist, I ve gured out rett ell ho to not let the nerves control e dile as o a k ardness, orti cation, and sickness s urred a change in mental regimen and a heightened sense of determination. By junior year, when Poetry Out Loud week rolled around once again, I recited my poem without any hiccups whatsoever. I still have a while to go in guring out ho to tackle such an o structive orce in li e, ut ith each ti e the static appears, it gets easier to tune out. Zoe Alexander, XII

A Childhood of Water My sister and I call them Ram rides; Dad calls for us to hop in his white truck We grab our denim JoPa baseball caps, Pull on our muddy sneakers, And clear the backseat of his papers, tools, calculators, and pencils; There are post it notes on the dash with names and numbers in his messy scrawl; Sometimes he lets us ride in the back, nd e can see ashes o ar land and orest ass us I ve seen a illion dirt roads, corn cro s, lonel gas stations, and rust ail o es Urbanna, White Stone, West Point, hristchurch, a ahannock, oto ac e clai s he s driven the circu erence o the earth ti es We watch our dad- an architect, a chemist, A carpenter, an artistWalk the backyards of small and large estates, ith ools that have degree angles or s uiggl hourglass sha es or a er ect oval outline We watch him test water, look at blue tiles, touch concrete, check pumps, and draw rectangular designs on the ack o a hlets o eti es eorgeanne and I get to do the easuring, or look at the ater lters, s i to re lace lights at the otto o ools, or scoo out rogs and leaves ith a tall net ro the ater We've gotten used to the sound of his boots crunching over piles of dirt and rock and the way he answers the hone ith hello he est art is hen he takes us to his avorite near docks and arinas, re iniscing his Bright Idea e s driven otorc cles and o n lanes ut he s al a s loved his old ooden oat he ater is his ho e e sa s i he ever can u another oat he ll take us around the orld or real Belle Pace, XII

Megan Tattersall, XII

Allie Tattersall, XII

Perseid he rst eteor ca e right a a , right hite ash in the sk , and It roke heart instantl We run frantically to a parking lot and lie down, Backs to the street lamps, training against the s nthetic light n hour asses and nothing else co es Though it is mid-August, my body shivers against every breeze And I feel my heart thicken and sink deep into the pavement beneath us, Tugging the rest of me downward as if there were a corresponding magnet t the center o the earth ird ies and I all in love ith hi (for only a moment) We walk back disappointed, holding hands nd I re e er ou still have acket Abby Villanueva, XII

Lily Horsely, XII

You are Worth It i e is co licated is the ost overused sa ing e all go through e eriences that ere hard or challenging entall and h sicall I things are so hard h do e continue to live aith, ho e, love, eo le, and e ories are hat kee the orld alive I have seen ull ing and eo le eing shut do n or so ething the can not hel he idea o so eone eing ga , eird, different, etc has such a negative ull on the orld I have a voice, ut I rarel use it Because honestl I res ect eo le ho are different, even i riends do not eel the sa e a eaking u and ad itting our differences is one o the ravest things so eone can do he orld ill never be free of judgement or hate because no matter what someone will attempt to put someone else down just or the thrill o it Bod language s eaks volu es alking in the halls seeing udge ent s eared across ever one s aces ot letting others affect the a ou see oursel is the ke to li e I a e and no one else in the orld can tell e ho I a or ho I should live li e lthough this see s to e e hasi ed on negative con ce ts, I love the orld and the eo le in it o one is er ect and od created each erson in his i age Battles are ought ith ar ies, not alone I kno li e is co licated ut it is eant to e ver good thing in li e ill not co e eas ight or the good things ecause once ou have the it ill e orth it Grace Williams, X

Martin Luther and The Church

Martin Luther had 95 theses and a dream: he hurch could e ed hi , or so it see ed He lived through a thunderstorm and to give thanks e oined the onaster , ust one in the ranks When he saw the worst the Church could do, e ca e u ith an old ashioned a to sue co unicated and anished, he decided to sta e translated the Bi le into er an that da 95 complaints to get freedom from The Church, But he sided ith the rinces hen the ser s ent erserk “The freedom is religious,” he said; “that’s for sure!” But the ser s sa reedo as the er ect cure reedo is or all the did declare, But the one ho ins ired the said on t ou dare he rinces are right, get do n and o reedo s not or ou, so ack do n no reedo it as called, ut I don t kno hat to sa Instead of one, it was two religions which were now okay; ore or others ere ust not allo ed he reedo , as it reedo I don t kno or right no His whole life centered around just a storm ne so large it see ed to shake his dor In his thanks he went and studied religion to ing his la career or such a s all condition “If I live through tonight, I’ll live for you, God!” ra ing through the thunderstor , his a s ere so a ed on aking in orning, he sa he as alive e oined he hurch his religious vigor revived o artin uther is a ous through toda , istor teachers teach all the ords he ould sa ere the ise I don t kno e s not alive an ore Lily Blankenship, X

Belle Pace, XII

Are You Afraid of the Dark? Mistaking my heart beats for the sound of footsteps up the stairs I’m staring at the door hoping it won’t creek open he lights alread surged once and the nu ers on clock are ashing It says 12:00 am but it’s only 8:29 My mom said, “not to scare you but, our house is a prime robbing location” hanks There was a time I was no longer startled by the sound of the ice machine ver since it roke I ve had nothing to reassure sel it s so ething else I hate eing ho e alone at night, I hate it Olivia Ruﬃn, XII

1 “I love you." We’re sitting on the porch chairs, weather-stained, as the sun sinks over the trees. A pinecone cracks on the ground next to me. The glass in my hand twitches, but otherwise there’s no response. Brie , a ird its , ollo ed another e itting a screech I atch assivel as the lue one, the rst, de tl angles a ing to avoid the hite, ooden oards o the house noth er screech and a whack. I on eet ithin seconds, at the rail uick enough to see the red ird still lu et ing to the ground It lands ith a thu , arel audi le, and the grace ul ing t ists awkwardly outward. he shado ehind e lets out a sigh he s still in her seat, and I can eel her e es drill ing into ack e t, the ottle clinks on the ooden oor lo ootste s, u ed socks kee ing out the chilled evening air I can s ell her e ore I see her, the cool int sha oo and her s oke lled s eatshirt er hand rests on the ooden rail ne t to e, ut I can eel her ehind like she s ressing into ack Belo , the red ird t itches, li ts the health

ing, colla ses again

“You love me?" “The bird down there — did you see? Where did the other one go?" The wind pushes on through the trees, and the red bird stills. Katie Turner, XII

Lily Horsley, XII

Izabela Clarke, XII

Catie Nolan, XI

Two Houses Two houses both alike in dignity, e arated an ancient con ict, nter on the stage al ost liss ull Separated into sides that depict utual hate o one another, ivided into sides o red and green, e using to call the other rother, Montagues and Capulets. We have seen

uliet through the air like a kite, o leting eauti ul t irls, u s, and spins As the ballet rises to a new height. But soon enough the tragedy begins: Romeo and Juliet end their lives, Death taking control due to twisted lies. Abby Craig & Abbie Smith, IX

Reasons Not to Follow Pavement rnatel sca rous, kno l , coarse, ith s ots o red, ink, and ro n is not a pleasant sounding descri tion o the otto s o eet ine ho ever, on an given da , are ost likel covered ith unusual calluses, dirt, listers, and or sca s his is due to the act that I have and do al a s en o running around on uninha ited ground, usuall ith too uch eagerness to concern sel ith shoes t the end o the da s in li e s ent e lor ing ild non ave ent, I take ride in the act that eet are a a o the ground u on hich the have alked he have cuts and scra es ro the rocks at the otto o the river here o taught e to ski stones, or calluses ro the u ountain trails where my dad used to carry me when I was too little to walk the whole way. ave ent eels stiďŹ&#x20AC; and constricting to eet that haven t ressed against it, or an at sur ace, in a onth It cannot e ani ulated a ste It is solid and redeter ined ground u on hich illions o others have strode I consider sel e traordinaril ortunate to have the unusual lu ur o considera le ti e s ent ar a a ro ave ent cto ers ato alachian ountain su its, eekends addling do n ide rivers that s ell o o en ness, and, once, a cluster o t ent eight da s lost in an un redicta le and un a iliar orld kno n as laska s alkeetna ountain ange uring an o those da s, I as cold, et, tired, or all o the a ove, ut during all o those da s, I elt ore co ort and content ent than I have in an other environ ent I lived ith intention ever tin choice I ade had a distinct purpose. I was never distracted, because everything I had held a vital importance and as there or a reason I didn t orr , ecause I kne that laska as in control and I ust had to co e ith hatever she thre a I didn t drea , ecause I kne I as already in one. I as a akened hen I returned ho e, hen a ar ed and loving a il greeted e But I elt aggressivel un elco e I tossed and turned in co ed at night, ish ing I was on the ground in a tent being rattled by Alaskaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wind and slapped by her rain. o e ork assign ents, uestions a out lans or the uture, and gossi riends o arded e s uch as I anted to ignore these distractions, I a sor ed in the I elt ore ho esick than I ever did in the ountains I re oved the leather oots to hich eet had olded over the onth o t car et tickled the skin that as used to gentl ressing against thick, arsh tundra ard ave ent sent shock aves u s ine ith each heav ste In ore routine li e, eet ress against a side alk that leads e here I should go I alk the sa e ce ent ath that so an others have e ore e his ath is esta lished to the oint that it is orn, and it does not leave a single ark on eet I eco e a le ing, ado ting the to ic li est le to hich ever one else see s to e i une he arts o me that are closest to the earth are pale and blank. There comes a point at which I know that the onl a to retain sanit is to ollo a dull, aved road until I co e to a river, here I ill take oďŹ&#x20AC; shoes and ski a stone Liza Martin, XII

Rooted

Sarah Roski, XII

Right now I am Rooted Deep down where death dances below, Causing Little bones to break and elder bones to groan. But death has not captured my attention today, Right now I am Rooted. As sprouts have sprung and branches spring, o n in seeds ll lungs and irds reach their rings But li e has not ca tured attention et, Right now I am Rooted. he ranches t ist and ache in an atte t to nd the great in et een, here li e does not ane and death not so ean o the des eratel loving, or the everishl hating the are one in the sa e , o those ho cannot co rehend li e s continuous eighing he ranches reach and at their ti s o the uds o lungs, Bloo ing into a rosia lled osies on high ranches hung The drip halts as days darken, And the birds will be hushed by deathâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s toe-twitch alarken. But neither li e nor death should look at e ith such e es Right now I am, Rooted.

Madi Haine, X

For You I hate how defensive you are I hate the way you despise yourself I hate when you try to be funny and I’m just not having it I hate that you think I’m not going to succeed I hate how lazy you are I hate the way you expect me to have the perfect body like you did at my age I hate when you complain about your aching knees as if you didn’t do it to yourself I hate that you hum all the time and sing about everything But what I hate most is how I’m turning into everything that you are You and I are exactly alike and I hate myself for that Olivia Ruﬃn, XII

“What is he like?” He is a small cooked walnut. Vaporized by the setting sun on the surface of a planet one million lightyears away. He is the half-chewed tobacco that is shoved inside the sevent ve ear old soccer coach’s gums. He is the underarm sweat that you get after running to the grocery store to pick up almond milk. On the one day you forgot to wear deodorant. He is the smell of a rotting whale on the cold shores of Alaska on the longest night of the year. After you have been kissed by your high school crush who turned out to be, a rotting whale on the cold shores of ironically, Alaska. a

a a an l , XI

I a ll

Lesson A lesson told but a lesson forgotten The brown dirt of the ghost town gone By which the green of the grass is rotten The town which thrived with pure cotton Now dead with no fawn A lesson told but a lesson forgotten Men who used too much and boughten The fawn who blossomed are now drawn By which the green of the grass is rotten Before it was too late we were tauten That the brown of the dirt and the green of the grass shouldn't be a yawn A lesson told but a lesson forgotten We look over the importance of the forgotten And don't realize it might be gone By which the green of the grass is rotten For now all is torn and destroyed from the misbegotten I pray for the unfaithful spawn A lesson told but a lesson forgotten By which the green of the grass is rotten au n

in , X

I a la la , XII

lli

all, XII

May 13

Hannah Robertson, X

It hurt more than a mouthful of warheads or scraping your knee on the carpet or getting your hair caught in a fan or slipping on ice or eating bad sushi or stubbing your toe on the dishwasher or forgetting to duck under the bus door or eeling oﬀ sun urn or iting a o sicle ith our ront teeth or aking u at 5am or spilling tea in your lap or getting bitten by a red ant (or all of these at once) but if I had the chance, I’d probably do it again. Abby Villanueva, XII

Eight Eight powerful golden bodies lie in the bone-dry grass sharing a zebra carcass grace ul and indiﬀerent to our awestruck eyes. Seeley Yoo, XII

Izabela Clarke, XII

Underwater Underwater Underwater, is the best way to describe it My lids feel heavy and my body feels warm ver thing I hear is u ed, Blackness creeps around my line of vision Until soon it’s just a hazy tunnel I look down at the paper Push my pencil across the page My breathing becomes slow and shallow Somewhere between the forest and the second ring Rocking back and forth like a pendulum Then suddenly falling Out of the water and back onto land lungs ll ith air and heart pounds fast he light oods ack in vision Awake

, IX

12:57, I slip into bed I roll over and I’m out I roll over again around 2:34 The bed is damp from sweat I change the sheets and get back in The clock glares in my face Three weeks straight of the same Didn’t get to sleep that night l ia

a in, XII

, XII

Ribs Remember when I was really little and all my ribs showed? I was tall and lanky like a stick bug. The worst feeling was seeing my dad after a summer away and hi telling e I d lled out It wasn’t until you were tracing my spine and rubbing your thumb along my side I remembered they were there. Olivia Ruﬃn, XII

Temple Moore, XII

Unexpected The ability of choosing love Remains a struggle for the powerless The concept feels relentless Surrounding me everywhere I go Hit by the news of the big blow love is a risk that could go two ways The fear of hurt and feeling astray Hold on to the hope of success I chose love and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d choose it Over and over again Put together and focused But tempered by that one soul Pressing pause on all current goals Allowing the heart to run its course Never stop unless you feel the force Love hard, live slowly Izabela Clarke, XII

Grace Williams, X

Studio Art X-Term

Dark Night falls, but you do not. You lie quietly, An audience of phantom lights and false faces, dripping Through your brain. Disembodied hands holding you above an abyss, They will not let you go. Kathryn LeBey, XII

Hannah Robertson, X

Izabela Clarke, XII

The Language of My Ancestors I stared at the motionless creature. No matter how many ways I commanded it to move, it would not respond. My teammates expected tricks, and I couldn’t even make it move forward. I instructed, “moveForward” one more time and prayed the annoying thing would respond. Satis action ooded in hen the creature snuck or ard one oot I giddil s uealed and u ed up and down, to the amusement of my friends. No, I did nottrain a dog to walk forward, but I accomplished a much more exciting feat: bringing a metal box of wires and motors to life. My fascination with the world of ones and zeroes began looking into the magic box where other destro ed shado s ith a ke our ear old sel vaguel understood the diﬀer ence et een the orld here ou van uish ale cent ith a e lade and the orld here stuﬀed dragons sit li eless on our ed I oth ad ired and envied other s a ilities I atched ealousl as she co unicated ith the screen ressing uttons on a controller, and I longed to learn how to speak to games as she did. But I also wanted to speak the more literal language she knew. As the child of two Polish immigrants, she had spoken Polish since birth, and I worked to understand her cryptic second language. However, my impatience prevented my Polish vocabulary from going further than the phrase czekoladowe mleko: chocolate milk. Instead I learned how to speak to screens. Exceling at games did not bring me closer to my Polish heritage, but it introduced me to the larger world of technology that I would soon embrace. In er chool I u ed at the chance to oin the ro otics tea osed to science c tion throughout my childhood, I loved the idea of building an R2-D2- like machine. However, I allo ed rst t o ears as a e er to crush drea s o signi cantl contri uting to the team. Timidly waiting to be given something useful to do, I spent my freshman and sophomore years watching in awe as more assertive, older team members worked with drills and saws to build the robot. But by the second half of sophomore year, my inconsequential position on the tea dissatis ed e I decided that I ould learn so ething use ul e ore the ear as over During a week-long robotics class, I claimed the position of programmer before anyone could protest, and spent the week teaching myself how to code. I thought learning to program ould e like tr ing to teach sel a oreign language di cult unless started at a ver oung age. I feared that my attempts to learn the coding language would fail the way my attempt to learn other s native tongue had allen at But a ter riting rst rogra or our robot, I realized that I had discovered the true language of my ancestors. Methods and numers re laced ver s and ad ectives houghts neatl ended ith se icolons rather than eriods, and loo s encouraged the cri e o re etition I u led ith e cite ent as the ro ot a lessl carried out the instructions I had ritten I eca e a signi cant contri utor to our ro ot, and I no longer lived in the shadow of my bilingual mother because I now spoke a dialect that she could not comprehend. As I grow older, I know my passion for computers will never die. In AP Computer Science I discovered the clever tricks that make a method carry out its assigned task. My thoughts easily translate into code, and uenc constantl increases I ve seen the a lications o technol ogy to business through a Capital One internship, and I’ve explored the dark world of cyber security at the Governor’s School. I love understanding the world of computers and always having a new area of technology to explore. Although I have grasped some of the concepts of co uter science, I can t ait to seek continued uenc in this ever changing language

Aniela Macek, XII

Math

Parallel lines will never meet even if they are .1 centimeters away from each other on the numberline. Wouldn’t that be such a silly math problem to get. “Graph these parallel lines that intersect at x=1.5 and x=1.6” But anyways Your math teachers will tell you math is in your everyday life nd it hasn t een until no that I have reali ed ho uch o li e re ects ath ro le s No i’m not saying my world revolves around the quadratic formula But I can say that when I looked over to you today I thought about how much better you are at math than me And so since I express myself through english and not 1,2,3, I wrote about you Again. It s not eas to look over at ou and think a out the diﬀerent ti es that have passed us by and wonder why they ever happened I never wondered why I always came back to you until now But I get it now ou are the onacci se uence to e You just keep going in a spiral that will never end. I ish ou here nite, And every time they’ve told me to stop worrying about you, it isn’t good for you, I slink away into the darkness Only to return into your light wanting more Wanting what we had Wanting what it felt like the last time Seeking what it felt like the last time crea ing ith tears o o ecause, I nall get ou, I nall understand hat the is in a slo e or ula It is in fact the slope by the way. Which is also what you are, I wish I could move the linear line of your mouth into a wide curl like a parabola I think in e ruar hen ou s oke to e the rst ti e in a ear I thought that I couldn’t give back to you what was lost in freshman year I keep asking what did we lose What can I change to bring back the person I knew in seventh grade Curled up by my once best friend Hugging her like you never wanted to let her go, Even though, I knew just like the letter 0 not being a positive or negative integer you were so alone But, So was I And so I am now I look at the lines I’ve written and I don’t know if I’ve said enough And I know I can’t bring back that same person But it would feel nice if the person I knew now would recognize How I feel about them inside And how much I hide From what happened Just like I hide from my report card because I know my math grade is slipping. (Cont. On next page)

And the world might think of this as a sad poem A bad poem As a whining poem As a I “regret so much” poem As a why didn’t you just do your math homework poem But I did, I did my homework every night but that doesn’t change that there is so much to learn in such little time. And I regret so little from what happened that it taunts me. People may think this is just another poem by just another person who doesn’t appreciate the good and only looks at the bad. But I see the good and want to understand why the bad haunts me. h ou ve rought u on e this hollo eeling that I onder i it could ever e ul lled Why must we live with wanting what we can’t have. I used to think you were so easy to understand But ou started to involve varia les that I ust couldn t nd the ans ers too And as things come to an end As the story book begins to write a new chapter of our lives As the sequence grows higher in numbers I know that like perpendicular lines we shall never intersect again But thank you for intersecting with me at least once Because you’ve helped me realize that no one will truly understand math, But at least they can try. Sarah Stuart Horsley, XII

Kimme Gotwald, XII

Catie Nolan, XI

Ignition Lungs screamed with steam delight to the bite of red-orange christened jewels; How they glimmered, simmered, ascended so beautifully. Hair singed and skin warm, Hands burned to the ceiling. A chandelier of charcoal bones and lashes Alight like cosmic clashes, Cries escaped like the caged bird could not. By the quakes of a crackling crescendo so tantalizing that the moon cowered, Walls withered, and tsunamis raised. The sun eclipsed its sister, her empyreal radiations dipped in moonbeams, and she accompanied the seraphs, dancing in prismic haze. As the beacon descends in spring, A phoenix is born from the ashes laid: she is eternall lovelier and righter that the rst Madi Haine, X

Embrace It Love me I’ll forever plea hrough li e suﬀer ith e This love comes with rarity Showing perfection with such clarity Forever is a word I use In hopes to never loose The one who grasps my soul Forever exceeding my goals No words describe this love Simplicity between us as pure as a dove The long dark period of endless pain Ends with the help of delicate restrains The many years of self loath Become extinct with this pure loves growth Push away all the doubt and fears Allow myself to just love my dear The love will remain real When I allow myself to feel Grace Williams, X

Towsend Dotterer, IX

I’m Sorry (A poem written at 4 AM) I’ve always said it To everything I’m sorry Please don’t take that away from me Because I need to validate that things are ok And I’m sorry for that I guess you could call me a nervous person But I really just want everyone to be happy. And I’ve heard he only validation you need is your own But I can’t stop saying “sorry” To me it’s like cracking your knuckles So please don’t make me get rid of it. Sarah Stuart Horsley, XII

Maddie Fratarcangelo, XI

Riley There are two kinds of grief. There’s the dull ache The sorrowful fatigue That assails you after that person That you’ve often imagined life without Finishes Their long hard fought Descent. And then there’s the choking, uﬀocating loss Reducing you to breathless Tears Ugly sobs In front of a perfect stranger When you hear the awe-inspiring prognosis. Yes, He was a dog. And I loved him. Izabela Clarke, XII

Juliana Jiranek, XII

Maddy Fratarcangelo, XII

The Curtain Comes Up

We Sit and Wait

The curtain comes up, and the swords come out. The light creates a glare upon the swords. ancers glide across the oor ithout dou t There is much tension between the two lords

We sit and wait as music surrounds us. The theatre itself tells it’s own story. The dance begins. Though there’s much to discuss, In silence we gape in movements’ glory.

When love blossoms between the two households. Upon both families, secrecy ensues, And as the story begins to unfold, And the turmoil continues to pursue.

Spinning and leaping seem to be speaking, The timeless tale of two lovers told through two dancers in love, always sneaking among the two strong, disputing households.

Through silent movements, they show their story Is not yet done. For death is present still. Swords pierce through making the ending gory For Juliet, death becomes her own will.

Love whirls through the sets and beyond the stage. Romeo and Juliet share a kiss. The dance takes the language straight from the page, The audience applauds, feeling pure bliss.

Unfortunate timing causes more death. In each other’s arms they take their last breath.

Even as the lovers take their last breath, Their story lives on even after death.

Gracie Caplice and Bridget Tinnerino, IX

Arlo Gray and Kate Abbott, IX

Riley Alvis, XI

My Obsession with Time: A Story Started by Stars

“The profusion of the stars told him unambiguously that he was doomed to die, and the thunder of the sea only yards away—and the nightmare of the blackest blackness beneath the frenzy of the water— made him want to run from the menace of oblivion” (Roth 30). I have been in the same place as observed by the nameless protagonist in Philip Roth’s Everyman. When I go to my river house I anxiously wait for night to arrive so that I can ake a do n to the dock, here the in nite stars dou le in the ater hile lying on the wood planks I often question control. I live in an illusion of control. I thought I had control over which book I would read for parallel reading, but with this paper I realize the book choose me; or rather, my obsession with thinking about time chose the book for me from the image of a watch on the cover. Time controls me; time governs my every action, my every thought. It takes time to carry out each action and each thought needs time to develop. Watches give a way for humans to order the world, for illusion of control. As a boy, the protagonist in Everyman saw the dra er in the ack o his ather s e elr sho as a treasure chest, lled ith old atches he o took memories of these watches with him to his multiple surgeries, “he would distract himself by reciting under his reath the lists he d rst al ha eti ed as a s all o hel ing at the store a ter school ocusing all the while on the distinct look of the numerals on the dial of the watch as he intoned its brand name, sweeping from one through twelve and back again” (Roth 73). He could calm himself by ordering in his mind that which orders time. He comforted himself by directing his focus away from his lack of control as he lay on the operating table. Whenever I stargaze on the dock I must bring my iPod, not for the actual clock, but for the music to tell me the passage of time. I know each song is about 3-4 minutes long, and each song has a time signature; I know that time is moving and I can sense the speed it is moving at. Listening to music on the dock keeps me rooted to reality. I fear looking at the stars in silence; I am scared of losing control of my thoughts because they are the one place I feel that I can regulate what holds importance in my life. “Why should he imagine himself on the edge of extinction when the calm, straightforward thinking told him that there was so much more solid life to come? Yet it happened every night during their walk beneath the stars” (Roth 30). I don’t fear death; I know that it will come eventually. While I could take actions that might slightly postpone my death, such as eating healthily or putting on sunscreen to prevent skin cancer, my own death is ultimately out of my control and I have accepted that. The vastness of the night sky ro ts e to uestion control ould I, such a s all insigni cant iece o this earth trul control an thing Maybe I control my own thoughts, but when stargazing in silence, my thoughts could go anywhere. Sarah Hancock, XI

Emma Phillips, XII

Catie Nolan, XI

Funhouse

Catie Nolan, XI

I hate them Deep in the pit of my very soul They are terrors whose teeth sink into the esh o ha oung souls who fail to see the foam of venom on their lips Never have I ceased to don this costume And spread the bloody smear Across a slit beneath my facepaint, which curves upwards endlessly despite my blind, burning eyes that threaten to release a torrent of pain to wreck the beauty of my perfectly shameful mask Until I become a candle, Waxy tears bleeding from two empty black holes, my only lenses to the world in which all I see and feel is gray These eyes that stare back at me in a funhouse mirror, warp the vision of my true being Yet I still see, feel, and recognize the terror; The broken, bleeding, false smile, Cackling back at myself I hate them Maddie Dugan, X

Catie Nolan, XI

Home I don’t know what it is anymore but maybe it’s because my home has been destroyed too many times I cannot go back. I cannot breathe the New Hampshire summer air I cannot drink the sweet North Carolina Cheerwine Home changes It adapts. People are home, because they too come and go You feel like home, for a little while, but for sure you’ll be gone in no time Maybe this is a pessimist’s viewpoint, but really it’s not supposed to be. Its just that life changes Home changes. It adapts. So what is home? o e is a uttering eeling A feeling of serenity and of security like you jumped into the lake in New Hampshire Or you hugged her in North Carolina Home changes. It adapts. Sarah Stuart Horsley, XII

Intruding Laying there Asleep; Dreaming. But that was interrupted. The intruder tries To be quiet. Failing to do so. Someone is there. Hearing the Footsteps coming Closer And Closer to the room Is truly terrifying. Now the intruder is at the door, She’s seeing her short life ash e ore her e es Scrambling Desperately searching For something as A saving grace. Abigail Lindsey, IX

Emma Ballantyne, XI

Booklandia Booklandia, home to all books. All worn with love and age, ach and ever one ulls ou in like et i or a good movie. ver single one lled ith stories o all kinds All of the stories, oh lined up so neat on the dusty shelves, So wanting to be read again. Each one wants a child hungry for adventure, And for their child to read them on the school bleachers. When I read them i get lost in my own world, nd a s irled into ctional riends world. As only escape from reality, I must keep read no matter what the time might be. Ellie Gates, VI

Emma Phillips, XII

Come Live with Me Come live with me and be my love, nd let our love s ooth as doves The humps and bumps and troubles too, Will never stop what’s surely true. And we will live along the sea, To nurture a love that has to be. We’ll grow together side by side, And sit along the water’s tide. The storms will rage and seas relax The strange sticks and stones that life packs. With the warm sand between our toes, We’ll be ready when the wind blows. Like dolphins gliding through the sea, Surely our love was meant to be. No storm is perfect and rains will fall, But through the rains we must stand tall. Love is an everlasting gift And we have made the waters shift. Being with you is all I think of. Come live with me, and be my love.

Emma Ballantyne, XI

And when our time on earth is spent, We’ll reminisce where the time went. We’ll meet the sunset hand in hand And spread our memories like grains of sand. Jearice Black, X

Cereal Basic ingredients for pancakes include: Flour Eggs Milk Baking soda Salt Vanilla Why I love Wednesdays: Three hours of art Lots of singing Easy day My favorite color combinations are: Black and white Yellow and teal Pink and purple White and red Reasons to wake up early: Alone time Sunrise Full day ahead Eating cereal outside when it’s quiet Lies I’ve told: “I’m great and you?” “I have read and agree to the terms and policies” “I love myself ” eall , I ne don t orr a out it One day I’ll open a restaurant just for cereal. Olivia Ruﬃn, XII

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

As I look into the lacrosse goal I see the faded color. All the long nights and early mornings. All the hard work and eﬀort ut into assion he dull orange color on the ole re inds e o ho long I ve la ed lacrosse As it’s worn out and broken net bonds together my love for this sport. On the sides as the tape falls, I see the passion my family shares. The countless errors of trying to shoot through the taped corners. The ways that I accomplished my goals. This broken tape may be a little piece of the goal, ut to e, it is one o the ain ieces his ta e signi es errors and assion The importance of this lacrosse goal is not to give up. I feel as if I can follow my dreams practicing on this goal. The constant reminders of this helps as a player and as a person making me believe in myself. This lacrosse goal is not ust so e s ort e ui ent, it is a re ection o sel and ho I trul eel lai

, I

I Want An empty easter basket, “It’s tradition”, I yell, They tell me I’m being a spoiled Brat, That I have everything I Want That we have chocolate in the house, If that’s really what I Want That they were too busy That they buy everything else I Want I tell them it’s not what I Want They say then, I must have grown out of it That I’m too old, But maybe I just don’t Want to grow up Elle McNeill, IX

Hannah Robertson, X

Expectations You disappoint me deeply, with an ardent contempt. You have all the tools in your box: odern cla ha er, anti rust roo ng nails, ull ha el colored scra s o ood ittle akes o thin, grainy sandpaper Ultra strenght super glue and a shiny new chainsaw, Yet you turn them down To live out yet another dream. I have dreams! Things to do! Kiss the soft peach fuzz on a baby’s fragile head, laces to go he eaut o ain s language lling the streets, People to meet! Holding his soft hand tightly, glad to have him as mine. I ahve e ectations, uet the utter ot the ground like melting sleet Splashing into indistinguishable puddles of slush Oh, the things I can’t do, And the places I can’t go All the people who are already dead to me. I have no expectations. And so they sit, in their grey, murky puddle To melt and evaportate, Just to turn into even more sleet And joust me with cold and misfortune once again. Carter Vaughn, XI

Kimmee Gottwald, XII

The Dispatcher n rst da o ork, I as so e cited I couldn t even eat reak ast e ore I le t the house I alked into ongshore at e actl ith right e es and a er ectl ironed uni or I intended on aking such a great i ression that I ould e the star dis atcher o the ear he dis atcher o is not nec essaril a o so eone ould e so ha a out It s ostl rigging oats, aintenance, hel ing out the rent ers, cleaning u in uries he anagers even call us the uttscratchers I as at the otto o the orking heirarch , ut I as aking o n one so I as all or it I alked in and et ne anager, Bill e had long red hair that could er ectl e ut into a an un ut it as al a s covered ith a stra hat e had ust gotten ack ro a ear in a odia doing co unit service, and as ou can ro a l i agine ust this s all descri tion, all o the girl e lo ees ere in love ith hi e elco ed e ith a hug and introduced e to so e o the other dis atchers I ould e orking ith he rst kid as Brandon e as sh and uite re ith his err s and vine ard vines roakies I reall thought I could eco e real l good riends ith hi But no e hat riendshi never ha ened, and it still disa oints e a little to this da that e never got to ork the sa e shi ts n a s, the other girl as endra he had hal ro n, hal green hair and she as the kind o erson ho thinks she alread kne ever thing since she as on a sailing tea It as great e egan ork ith one o the assistant anagers, e egan to teach us ever thing e needed to kno ro diďŹ&#x20AC;erent t es o knots to racticing hat to do hen a oat egins to sail a a ro the dock ter eing outside or over hal the da ithout a reak, e ent inside u to the second oor o the school house I thought it as going to e a reak or ater or even or lunch But instead he u ed u on the ta le ne t to the indo and started sho ing us hat to do at ookout I anted to ask to at least get so e ater, ut I didn t ant the to think I as tired so I didn t I ke t listening to hi e lain h there as a dr erase oard ith arkers and ho to use the inoculars hile he as still talking, I egan to eel reall hot and tired I started looking around or so ething to lean on or to sit in But the onl chair in the roo as alread occu ied I started s eating ore and ore, and then sto ach gro led I as rett sure ever one could hear it, ut ust ke t on talking on and on a out ater currents and the ind and then, I as gone I ainted and ell right in ront o ever one I as co letel out ut I could still hear the ang od ade as it hit the orn do n ooden oor and eo le rushing around e sa ing ait till she co es ack, I ll get ater et ar s ack cushion or her head I oke u to , Brandon, endra, and , the o ner o ongshore, all looking do n at e I a ologi ed over and over again, ut ever one ust started laughing until I started laughing at sel It s ust luck to aint on the rst da o rst real o ter a little hile o sitting and eating to get lood sugar ack u , I started ollo ing around again or a lesson on ashing ka aks I a not have given the ost ro essional and hard orking i ression that I anted to, ut at least I ade it unn

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

Note from the Anthill on the Brick Sidewalk of Salt ant an o the a collecting salt ro crevices tri al savaging and creating dirt ho es or ou a I dro ning a ua an o ountainto sno salt e and lend e in and arr e oung to r es erate should I dro n Noor Samee, XI

The Beach

It is

Grace Murphy, X

hand in the sand I eel it sli a a hrough ngers It is rough ut so t It is ar ut cold sand ut at the sa e ti e It is also our sand nd the sa e sand ill al a s e there

he ater is a illion dia onds hining in the oonlight It is the ater that glo s uring night and da hen ou ste in ou are hugged the ar e race o love It is an ice ond ut not he ocean is here e have ade ur est e ories hen ou are on the each In urks and aicos ou have ade it to heaven ll ou see is the dia ond ater nd the gentle sand o in the ater r sta in the sand ither choice ill ring ou o Anna Padgett, VI Sarah Furr, X

Kimmee Gottwald, XII

Loneliness As we get older, life starts becoming real. Feelings start to matter and decisions you make are life changing eo le res ond to this diďŹ&#x20AC;erentl I isolate sel due to the ear o essing u Being alone in this orld is the scariest sensation I egin to crave the relie o rel ing on others e are told each da to s ile and e strong and ace the orld ith inde endence o, I don t think an ore I shut do n creative ind and gregarious soul ecause I have a ear o thinking and eing sel he ast e ears I have een told over and over that ho I a is rong hose ords cause ore ain than an h sical atter hen ever one around ou sha es you for being who you are, it is easy to start shaming yourself too. The constant belittling from others around e led to e losing sel his ade e reali e that I o n a shattered heart o hat used to e ull o love and thrust or ore e loration o the orld e es used to see a orld ull o ho e and love o , I look u and see a orld that ailed to lease od his orld is ull o so uch sha e eo le are ear ul o eing ho the are udge ent circulates in ever school, countr , and continent ll or er innocence is lost, and I do not think ill ever e ull recovered cce ting this atter is no eas task acing the truth is the rst ste to recover v er one needs to etter the selves in so e a no one is er ect Grace Williams, X

Beginning of September Beginning o

e te

er,

I take a s i arther and arther out ro the eace ul shore, ee er do n into the dark I have never een here e ore I en o e loring the dark at rst, But I a too ar ro the shore, ro the eace o shore But I have to kee going lore dee er, go do n darker, arther still ro the eace o shore loring eco es less un and ore suďŹ&#x20AC;ocating nd I iss the eace ul shore But I can al ost see the other side he darker I go, the clearer I can see the ne shore I a al ost there, ut I can t ake it I a dro ning, suďŹ&#x20AC;ocating But I have to kee going I s i aster, harder, one nal lo , and then It s nall su er and I ntil ne t e te er M.E. Williams, XII

ack at the eace ul shore

Caitie Nolan, XII

Belief trange thing o strong, et so ckle hanging ith the ind ne a ong thousands, et roli c o could so ething so varia le e so o er ul o could it ove so an , and ho could so e conde n it so readil rue elie lives dee ithin eo le see it in the e es, in the s ile rue elie enhances, it is not rotean true eliever never avers, even in the ercest te

est

hose ho conde n elie are a raid he kno its o er, its reach, and it s arks ear in their hearts, or the are o the cro d that does not elieve Unknown, X

Suha Minai, XI

Zoe Alexander, XII

Friend

Grace Murphy, X

Tuesday March 29th @ 10:32 pm. She’s a funny one you know. She’s got the lovable laugh that people can hear all they way across the green. She’s got the best jokes and her comebacks are witty. But aside from all of the funny and happy inside her, she’s got one of the biggest hearts I know. She’s there to love and accept everyone. She’s there to give advice to those who are in need. She’s there when hugging and snuggling are essential. She’s there for the good days and the bad. She’s the wisest one. She’s an old soul. Most of the time I want to keep her for myself because I don’t want to share her kno ledge and udg ent ith an one else But ho sel sh ould that e or other eo le to not have the ability to learn amazing things from a girl with such a lively mind. Everything that I’ve learned from her has taught e so uch a out sel and the eo le and laces around e he s hel ed e de ne hat kind of person I am and what kind of person I want to be. It would only be fair to let others grasp her enlightening ideas and walk in the way of her thinking because it is wondrous. In the end I hope everyone has a chance to know someone like her. People like her will change your life. There are times like these where my judgement has been clouded, or the thoughts of myself are icky, or my surroundings are dull and miserable. But she is my crutch through every minute of it, and for that there will never be enough thank you’s in the world. Caroline Gaenzle, XII

What I Dreamed Last Week Was something strange and secret, Like a whisper. I was at war with someone who I might have loved, But it didn't feel like love, It was like a need, we were Human magnets, drawn together By a force I couldn't understand. And for all the things pulling us Together There were twice as many thing pushing us Apart. Needless to say I didn't like this dream, Because there was always Something Someone Somewhere The needed me, when all I wanted was to too See this person to whom I was so drawn When I couldn't And in the end I lost Because both love and war Are a merciless battles. And I woke up With a hollow ache in my chest for someone I had never loved. Four Seasons, Four It was a strange dream. Kali Wagnon, IX

Moods

Fall Wishful, relaxed un, u , Like a buzzing bee New Winter Cold, bitter Shiver, yawn, wait A bear in hibernation Nowhere

Ellie McLean, XII

Izabela Clarke, XII

Spring Stressful, anxious Ready, capable, mature A plane almost landing Grown

Summer Over, complete Play, read, relax A bird set free Finished Four seasons, four moods All in perfect unison They are all unique Some seasons sing, others dance But they are all part of the performance Charlotte Vaughn, XI

Getting Through the Day

Lucy O’Ferrall, XII

As the crowded class leaned into a wide-legged forward fold, the teacher called out, Bend ust a little dee er no , and hen I looked u or a eeting o ent, nose touched his rear end. A sharp inhale, followed by utter embarrassment for both parties involved, dissolved state o cal onl recentl attained ro the vin asa o I ra ed or co osure and assured myself: “You can make it through this class. Pretend like it never happened. Just breathe, and avoid eye contact at all costs!” Rationalizations, those little lies I tell myself, are so eti es the onl thing that gets e through the da It can e e tre el eﬀective to ignore that painstakingly embarrassing thing just to make it to the next one. Sometimes I wonder, will the ever end o, I don t think so o or no , I let ercel active i agination eave myself out of the embarrassment. And breathe. Frances Tyler, XII

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

Reveille Rainbow triangles bob up and down in the brackish, Neusey spanse. It is as if they are attempting to swim away, trying to break free from the chains that hold them to the river oor But we did our job; we tightened those chains. We keep them captive to use at our leisure.

Emily Margolin, XII

Heavenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Light Nest Romeo and Juliet, Center Stage. The sky is dark and full of clouds and stars. The lovers are a young and tender age. Confusing love is like a deck of cards. Away from one another, feuds between The families bring destruction and death. Their love is separated and not seen. Tybalt was killed. Banished, Romeo left.

But every day, as the sun beats down, they are let free, free to roam the far reaches of our world, captained by a tiny adventurer or a practiced traveler. Little ones shriek in delight at the sheer excitement of it all; Older ones stand in awe of the knowledge and the skill required for mastery. Such grace and power, harnessing the Earth's elements for a lesson and a thrill

Katie Jennison, XII

In Verona, Romeo came at night, To see his Juliet in secret rest. he sight o her dead akes the ain take ight The lovers leave life for heavenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s light nest. Their love never faded, their love was real, The pain of death was more than they could feel. Chandler Combs and Eliza Wilson, IX

Maddie Fratarcangelo, XI

Untitled

Come Run With Me

Oh the beauty you can see Sitting here under the tree Britter than a million stars staring at me It all reminds me of the little kid I used to be he ro es o the s ing never tr to ee Braids of love and prosperity Here I come to set myself free The tree it hangs on The way it sits on the lawn So crisp and strong If I want it can take me to Hong kong I sit here for so long I hope it will still be here when i am gone ealit is so ne A thin line But here there none, no line You are free But then it’s back to the world, Reality Bella Shealy, VI

Come run with me and have some fun, And we will soak up all the sun, Where people, goals, grass, and lines, Touch the ball a thousand times. And we will run with heart’s delight, ‘Til sun goes down and brings the night, And you will laugh and play with glee, ll around the eld ith e A goal of net and other things, A ball of leather ‘n little strings, eld o green and li l ro n lades, And many fans wearing their shades. Our white get-ups against their blue, Showing stains from a fall or two; Everyone’s laces tied so tight, o ing that shoes don t take a ight Ninety minutes of grit and guts, ‘Til one team kicks the other’s butts; And if this greatly intrigues you, Then we will play ‘til skies are new. Julia Palumbo, X

Temple Moore, XII

Joanna Yan, XII

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

Untitled In the harsh July heat, I found myself most content staring for hours into the face of death. Back hunched, eyes squinted, palms sweaty beneath the latex gloves, I counted colony after colony of pathogens in the Cupron lab. It fascinated me that such microscopic organisms were so lethal. As July faded into August, my internshi ended and I encountered a ne or o death asked ehind the title o varsit eld hocke Each day I stood gasping for air while Coach Warner rambled on about our pathetic 300-yard sprints. The previous month spent immersed in countless stacks of bacterial plates, data, and test runs now seemed a far away dream. I longed for my hands to perspire from the plastic gloves again. hat all, the nu erous dro s o s eat and tears could have re laced the eld s irrigation s ste I we were not sprinting from one sideline to the other, we were inside strategizing. Through many hours of sitting in the cra ed health classroo atching ga e l , oach arner delivered several ra ling speeches. I often found myself staring blankly at the poster marked “STDs” above his head. His remarks rarel ertained to e since a earance on the eld as scarce ter atching a cli o tea ate dribbling with her head down, Warner stood, blocking the poster from my unfocused view. “Girls!” he e clai ed, shaking his head hen ou alk ve ste s ith our head do n, ou look u to see the orld has changed alk t o ste s ith our head do n and three u , it ll ake all the difference I ediatel my eyes refocused on his face as I forced my mind to internalize what he had just so simply stated. Had he ust given insight that I could relate to so ething other than hocke ith the l session concluded, I rushed to arget and urchased a lue note ook B the end o the season, I had lled it ith otivational quotes from our team meetings, despite knowing that I would never get the chance to apply them to the game. If you walk with your head up and your eyes open, you can discover opportunity anywhere. To the observant, it is there for the taking. Since the end of that summer I had been searching tirelessly for the ne t ste in uest to eco e an engineer hree onths later, I nall ound it he ords ean s Early Research Initiative” headed the webpage. My excitement grew with each sentence describing the engineering fellowship program at Virginia Commonwealth University (VCU). Though my parents sought to temper my expectations due to the selectivity of the program, which accepts only ten candidates per year, the idea of being denied never crossed my mind. Failure was not an option. This program was made for me. es ite the re arding ve ears s ent la ing hocke , I a not returning to the eld this all ast ear s season u ta osed ith e eriences at u ron ade clear that I elonged in the engineering eld, not on the athletic one. While I could not apply Warner’s advice to hockey, I translated it to my daily life. Instead o la ing eld hocke this ear, ou can nd e in the io edical engineering la at , working as a research fellow with a PhD candidate. ven no arner s ords o ten echo in ears hortl a ter inning our rst ig ga e, arner gathered us and said, “don’t let success be the deterrent of your improvement.” A statement so simple, yet so instructive. Had I not taken his advice, I would have spent those August mornings waking up for practice instead of lab meetings, tearing up my knees instead of testing titanium knee implants and their effects on osteo lastic differentiation hile arner had no intention to ro t his la er to uit, it is a a ing ho si le advice can change one s ers ective i the are o en to a different inter retation Regan Ellis, XII

Untitled We sit and wait as music surrounds us. The theatre itself tells it’s own story. The dance begins. Though there’s much to discuss, In silence we gape in movements’ glory. Spinning and leaping seem to be speaking, The timeless tale of two lovers told through two dancers in love, always sneaking among the two strong, disputing households. ove hirls through the sets and e ond the stage. Romeo and Juliet share a kiss. The dance takes the language straight from the page, The audience applauds, feeling pure bliss. Even as the lovers take their last breath, Their story lives on even after death. Arlo Gray & Kate Abbott, IX Joanna Yan, XII

Three Apart We were never friends, I fell in love and you broke my heart. We went on adventures, made movies of each other, climbed to the top of forbidden places, talked until three am when we just couldn’t sleep, I’ll never forget the way I loved you. Sneaking behind our parents backs and lying to our friends. No one even knows the half of what we did. Three years of my life were swallowed by your dreamy deep set e es, and our o legged stance , iles couldn t even se arate us he a ount o aﬀection I craved when you were gone was deadly. There were times you’d laugh so hard to your own jokes before you even said them. You made sure I was warm while we watched the snow fall from the window of your dark room. You are the only one who noticed the sixteen freckles on my shoulders. And yet somehow, one of me wasn’t enough for you. Olivia Ruﬃn, XII

I Want

An empty easter basket, “It’s tradition”, I yell, They tell me I’m being a spoiled Brat, That I have everything I Want That we have chocolate in the house, If that’s really what I Want That they were too busy That they buy everything else I Want I tell them it’s not what I Want They say then, I must have grown out of it That I’m too old, But maybe I just don’t Want to grow up Elle McNeill, IX

Sarah Stuart Horsley, XII

Madame Bovary (An Erasure poem adapted from Gustave Flaubert’s novel Madame Bovary) the boy’s behavior was exemplary otherwise sat there motionlessly fair knowledge lacked elegance she suﬀered unco lainingl Then her pride rebelled always doing things in the isolation of her life frustrated ambitions merely

“useless”

with enough nerve had her way the man snoring he as al a s satis ed things weren’t allowed to stop there shamed further struggle on his own Kathryn LeBey, XII

The Ocean

Isabelle Gaenzle, IX

Frozen waves rolling in, Lightly hitting your toes, Developed palms celebrating the winds, As the birds sing in the summer sky. Charlotte Dudley, IX

Strange Dreams Mama help me, My dreams are becoming reality No not those dreams But the ones I see in the nighttime They consume me. They’re strange not scary In a couple I couldn’t control my body In others I couldn’t control my mind Some I wake up and can’t remember Others stick with me Most are stressful Like having to play surgeon on exploded bodies Or being paralyzed and having to drive So mama help me I need another hour that isn’t restless I need an hour that isn’t stressful Sarah Stuart Horsley, XII Arlo Gray, IX

Emma Nester, X

La Bréche de Roland It was day 19 in the Pyrenees. I kept telling myself that the trek was almost over even though I had been telling myself that since day 6. But this time it really was. We had summited mountains, crossed a saddle, slept in over 9 hostels, and drank over 100 cups of the French hot chocolate that we couldn’t get enough of. It was the last stretch of our trip, and after this, it was all going to be easy-peasy. But before we started, they warned us about the uphill climb to La Brécha de Roland. They said it was going to be a struggle and hell they were right. e got to the oot o the hill and looked u to ards our nishing oint I re e er thinking o ust how. There is no way we’re going to be able to get to the hostel,” and I know I wasn’t the only one. There was barely a track for us to walk on. The hill was covered with snow, ice and rocks. It was cold and there was fog rolling in towards the top. I could tell this would end badly. We all started trekking slowly with Lily and Emma in front of me leading the way. We all walked with caution, placing our feet with thought. If your foot placement was unstable, you could slip and fall down to the foot of the hill in a heartbeat. It was dangerous. It took the grou a hile to reach the rst ig atches o rock in the iddle o our ath, and once e got to them, we all felt a little better about the trek. All of us stood on the rocks considering the two ways we could go to get to the opening of La Brécha de Roland. We could follow the rock patches to the left of the mountain and then circle around the top to the opening, or we could continue on the icy path we were already on. The fog was thick on the left and there was no way to tell what the terrain was like there, but 3 other girls and I continued with the rock path anyway. This is safer I told myself as we walked, we won’t fall, we won’t die, it’s going to be okay. But a gut feeling told me no. The girls in front of me kept going, but I stopped. I looked over to the other group, and by now they were far across the hill, but I knew the fog was going to cause trouble. I walked across the ice and snow to the other side with the rest of the group and trekked with them instead. After the struggling trek, e nall ade it to the to cold and tired, ut ith no alls One of the three girls that went to the left side of the mountain came to the rest of us on her hands and knees. She stood up and started talking so fast and mixed words together in a frantic voice that none of us could understand what she was saying. After calming her down, she pointed back to the rock path and all she had to sa as the sli ed or the leaders to run to their acks, ut the on, and go search or the nce the dis a eared in the og, the girl e lained e actl hat ha ened to the rest o us e got to the to o the oun tain and started walking next to the stone wall, but it was so icy and hard that we couldn’t even use our trekking oles e started cra ling single le so e ouldn t all ut a sli ed and e ton tried to catch her, ut then they both went down. I didn’t know what to do I couldn’t see them! I told them I would come back with the leaders but I have no idea where they are.” We sat in silence, waiting for the leaders to come back with Emma and Peyton. Everyone was scared. There was no way to tell if they were okay. As we all stared at the ground, no one noticed the leaders crawling back to us with Emma and Peyton in between them. Everyone jolted and looked up once they had reached the o ening and e ton elled, I he ere soaking et, ruised, and ithout their trekking oles, gloves, and hats But e gave the a huge ear hug an a a to all e together again We crossed over La Brécha de Roland and began our descent. It was similar to our hike up but this time there was no fog, there was a visible path with footsteps, and we could see our hostel. One of our leaders began to get antsy and wanted to get to the hostel faster. Without much notice, we all see him sliding down the snow and ice on his utt e gets to the otto o the hill, stands u , laughs, and ells u to us I ienne suddenl ollo s his lead and slides do n hen a, then nna and Brendan It as like sledding ut since e had no sled, e called it glacier sliding ro hat I sa , It looked like a good ti e I turned to e ton and said, eck, h not nd I sit do n and ush oﬀ ll ever one had to do as sit on their butt and they would slid all the way down that way. But of course, that didn’t happen for me. I was sliding downhill all happy and excited when the weight of my backpack gravitates to the front. I end up on my back, head rst, ing do n the hill I had no idea hat as in ront o e, and I could eel hat, gloves, and ater ottle all out o the side ockets o ack ack I sa nothing ut the sk and sno ing a ove e until I got to the otto o the hill and heard leader laughing his head oﬀ as I slide I didn t sto I ke t going as ast as I had started. I had no way of braking. My feet were facing the back, and my hands were too cold to function.

All I could do was wait to slowdown. The entire time this was happening, all I could think about was why. Why e It would be fun ...they said. You just slide on your butt the said , are ou sure a out that I nall slo to a sto and ust la there so thank ul that I didn t hit an thing and that it as over osh it was such a relief. I slowly sat up with my overweight backpack still tied tight, and my face towards the hill to see the rest of the group looking at me, waiting for my reaction. At the same moment, everyone tilted their heads back and died laughing. After a little bit I stopped, but they kept on. I didn’t think my sliding was funny enough to have a good 5 minutes of laughter. Maybe I’m just hilarious. But I turned around and I understood their long laugh attack. Not only was my slide entertaining to my trekking group, but it was also a show for a grou o hinese trekkers ho ere in the iddle o oga ractice right in ront o the hostel My slide was the conversation all throughout dinner at the hostel that night. My peers explained to me what it looked like, their favorite little parts of it, and how they go-proed it. They even kept asking me if I was okay. I was great. I was more than great. Even though I did have little snowballs stuck in my hair, I was still wet and cold, and I had bruises all over my arms and legs. All of it didn’t matter. It was hilarious, and there was just no way I could be upset over such a great moment.

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

Zoe Alexander, XII

Strawberry Jam Memories tra erries gro ing ild a ong the elds, ith ails and uckets over o ing, icking until our hands are read to all oďŹ&#x20AC; ating ore o the than e should, nd ricking our ngers on thorns he sound o the u ling ater, ith the s ell o resh stra erries, nd the stains all over our ngers and clothes, re all art o aking ho e ade a he kitchen as ustling as the grocer store on a aturda , those ros red erries getting s ashed i ing in ore sugar hen our o turns her ack, nd eating hal the atch hro the stra erries in a ot, nd cook the until the re hot hicken the u until the re like tar, nd ut the in ars he est art is no , hen ou ick u a ull ar, nd di our s oon in

Ashley Boardman, IX

Sleep rilliant trance ith the indo s light, shining on children ours la still to do e oďŹ&#x20AC; It was absolutely silent ith no voices here ere no ootste s on the oor, no od as alking on the ave ent outside, and no cars on the street o one had kno n such silence In the iddle o the night, she as in a dee dee slee he oke u hen so eone his ered, it s the itching hour he decided to get out o ed, even though you got punished hen ou ere caught he ent to the indo , ut there as no one Izzy Gaenzle, IX

Catie Nolan, XI

The Waves The waves and I fell in love Felt a peace wash over me When a cold hand pulled me back Then I felt the warm waves Crash If I fell asleep Would you come for me? Or be lost in your own dreams? If said goodnight Be my lullaby But I can t kiss a ghost goodnight Ari Aganbi, X Emma Ballantyne, XI

Izabela Clarke, XII

Murder in The City Moving means going to the Patient First that’s 35 minutes away when you’re sick A change of pace and a change of tone Leaving means being possessive of the place you used to call home And getting knots in your stomach when the new residents change it Opening cupboard after cupboard hunting for which one has the plates And which has the cups Moving means going to Fuddruckers for dinner Because it’s the only place you’ve sort of heard of Getting lost in an unfamiliar house If I get murdered in the city on t go telling the one s ack ho e Olivia Ruﬃn, XII

Scarlett Hahn, XI

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

Emma Nester, X

Home I don’t know what it is anymore but maybe it’s because my home has been destroyed to many times I can not go back. I can not breathe the New Hampshire summer air I can not drink the sweet North Carolina Cheerwine Home changes It adapts. People are home, because they too come and go You feel like home, for a little while, but for sure you’ll be gone in no time Maybe this is a pessimist’s viewpoint, but really it’s not supposed to be. Its just that life changes Home changes. It adapts. So what is home? o e is a uttering eeling A feeling of serenity and of security like you jumped into the lake in New Hampshire Or you hugged her in North Carolina Home changes. It adapts. Sarah Stuart Horsley, XII

Holland Bowles, X

Helen Poole, IX

Scrambling Desperately searching For something as A saving grace. Abigail Lindsey, IX

because it gives us purpose. we crave the things and the lives we see on TV because its looks more perfect and meaningful that what we have right here. e crave love, aﬀection, closeness Haley Robb, XI The World most of all understanding from another, validation that our hunt The world is tragically, for that feeling of life inevita l , eauti ull ed is not in vain. In its or it around a ed oint and maybe the most ironic thing about this is that this In the ed lives o the generations o eo le it cycle of life and of death has hosted, their irth, li e, and then nall , death is that it forces us to seek out humanity inside ourselves. its a cycle that has been we are forced by the issue itself going on long before people, to ace this arado o a ed li e long before even the earth. and how make it our own, a supernova is born in the dark, we’ve evolved from and it lives apes and amebas just to attempt and it lives to face this never ending issue of irrelevance. and it lives, never making its was out of the dark, Everybody wants to feel alive, from housewives and then one day to serial killers, to the post man. and sure the supernova collapses in on itself everything is going to fade,we all know this, and leaves nothing but dust and the whisper of an Rome was the product of hundreds of years of work e losion and it burned in a day, the same can be said and so if every person who has ever lived knows this, about human life. this undisputed fact, that their work will one day the onl diﬀerence is that turn to dust, and still decides to ght we are a race that craves to create, to live,then maybe it is in our decision e istential en, e look or it in religion, our choice, our right to keep searching for our and in love purpose that can give us some semblance of meaning we’re all junkies, addicted to feeling like our lives are our own. and we crave a home, a place of belonging Kalli Wagnon, IX

Your Room

Sarah Roski, XII

So you have this awkward futon thing that is normally pilled high with laundry your mom did two weeks ago that you have yet to put away. And for some reason after all these years, ou ve decided, es this is a necessit Even though your room in a tiny square which your bed takes up most of, you insist that this ugly navy blue suede futon with no frame must stay. And when youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re sitting on it, if you ever even do, you face your dresser with that oddly painted mailbox on top of it. One time when you were in the bathroom I looked inside without your permission. It was full to the brim with letters you have received from admirers. nd not like asic dollar store alentines a cards everyone in your homeroom gets, but like real love letters. Man did I feel like one of a kind. hat does that ake e ust another girl sitting on our orn in uton, curious as to what is taking you so long in the bathroom. I have yet to write you any letter of that sort, ut the a things are looking, od kno s I ro a l Olivia RuďŹ&#x192;n, XII

Elizabeth Magee, X ill

Paint Me a New Sky There’s a story going around, a it o ction, i ou ill that until we meet our soulmate we see everything in black and white Well, that’s not entirely true (As anyone who’s anyone will tell you,) But it’s not entirely false either It’s not just our soulmate, not really It’s everyone we fall in love with

Izabela Clarke, XII

We already see colors (obviously) When we’re in love we see new colors Their colors Her red lipstick His favorite pair of jeans Her bright green eyes And his dark brown hair And we see them everywhere, don’t we? Always on our mind But what happens when they leave? When they’re gone and never coming back? Well, their colors never really leave (you) It ll hurt hen ou see the , at rst Like a hug, the kind of hug that crushes your ribs, and will kill you if you let it

Sasha Osipenko, XII

Yet I dare say the saddest (love) story of these Is when You see (her) colors But she never sees yours Jeannie DeWire, XII Catie Nolan, XI

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Where would you ďŹ&#x201A;y if given the chance?â&#x20AC;? s ar est as ossi le traight to the aci c ed oods all to sel I think a out a orest ith trees so tall the eel like a ceiling orest here I can cli those to ering trees and go to the each all in the sa e da I think a out a coast here I alk to the aves, all sel o cro ded sands, ust the hite to s crashing over nav crests I long or solitude I love the eo le in li e, ut I love uiet ore he east coast eels tight the s uee ed in a e too an uildings alking through a northeastern cit , it s alive ut suďŹ&#x20AC;ocating ushing to and ro e udes a contagious energ , ut or ho long o uch longer can I take eing so close to so an he i age o sitting on a rock in the orest h noti es e in all its si licit t this oint, a tent ith a vie a eals to e ore than ust a out an thing I ant to eel the cold oss eneath e elling s oke ro a re, not a cigarette I ant to ake u ith the sun not ecause I have to, ut ecause I ant to itting under one o those red oaks and looking straight u , that s hat I need I ro ise I not a recluse I en o other s co an ust as I en o listening But in seventeen ears I haven t had ore than an hour o total eace ith sel o ore than inutes o a urning candle and so t lanket surrounding e o ore than inutes ithout chatter or orr he outdoors over hel s and entices e I d to ali ornia I d sit under a tree, look u , and e ist Tolly Maloney, XI

Vanessa Revilla, XI

FRIES It s uite a sha e that c onald s ries are so good I the ere orse, then erha s I could convince sel that I asn t issing out he thing is, I love ries he re avorite ood, ho ever, there as a ti e hen I couldn t stand even the ere thought o the hen I as rance, I craved good ol c onald s ries ore than an thing else et, the da I got ack as the last da I ever ate the ter living in rance or eeks on o n, I elieved that I had nall achieved gro n u status ter all, I could anage o n nances, hich had to ean I as an adult ever e ore had I elt ore ature than on tri ack to erica I had a la over in hiladel hia, and I took a certain ride in alking through the air ort alone I elt so inde endent here as a ood court, ut ecause o the late hour, ost stands ere closed I decided on c onald s, the uintessential erican ast ood restaurant, as rst eal ack in the tates I ordered a classic cheese urger and ries to eat on the lane he hole a ho e, as I delightedl ate ries, I thought o ho diďŹ&#x20AC;erent li e at ho e ould e, no that I had e erienced the orld and attained so uch ne kno ledge dad and rother et e at the gate and e uickl retrieved luggage ro the aggage clai he ride ho e as tense, not that I noticed insigni cant chatter over o ered the silences o a il e ers I eventuall la sed into the kind o co orta le silence that can onl e shared ith a il or inti ate riends I as content and e ond e cited to share details o the est ti e o li e s e ulled into our drive a , e cite ent ounted I i agined o , a ake and antici ating arrival I alked into the dark kitchen and si th sense registered a slight diďŹ&#x20AC;erence, a slight uneasiness in the air I shook it oďŹ&#x20AC; ecause o course the kitchen had changed I had een gone or eeks a ter all I noted the sudden a undance o hand saniti er ottles, the e ergenc nu ers ost its, and the strangel hos ital like rear range ent, all ith an air o o liviousness ocus as on ho i ressed other ould e hen she heard a out rench esca ades and ne ound sense o aturit I eagerl ran u the stairs, onl to nd the door to arents edroo closed, the light dark till, this did not deter e, and I reached or the doorkno , insistent that I ould s eak to other tonight But e ore I could turn the kno , dad sto ed e It turns out the had een de ating a s to tell e one o the had anted to give e the ne s hile I as a a It as startling, that rst night, to reali e the contradiction et een the li e I as leav ing ehind and the li e I as co ing into, as rother ric gentl told e, o has cancer he ver ne t da , the adulthood I had een so i atient to clai reached do n and sla ed e in the ace other as going through a articularl aggressive round o che othera , and ecause dad as at ork, it as u to rother and I to hel and care or her throughout the da he rst e da s, I ent through the otions as i in a da e It as unnerving our roles had suddenl een reversed hile she handled her situation ith grace that I could onl drea o , other still needed us e cooked, e cleaned, and then e cleaned so e ore Because her hite lood cell count as so lo , she as e tre e l susce ti le to athogens I ent through a ottle o hand saniti er a eek he che o ade her nauseous, and she vo ited o ten ne ound a ilit o eing a le to anage nances as o no use to e no o this da , the taste o c onald s ries re inds e o alse sense o aturit and the night I reali ed that dulthood does not consist o anaging nances, it is not si l eing I had een so eager or adulthood that I orgot hat it trul eant ver one is al a s in such a hurr to gro u no aturit is idoli ed societ ou ll never hear so eone sa , o , look ho childlike she is I ish ou ere ore like that he ord childlike see s to i l i aturit , tenacit , or naivet In o inion, it should have a ore ositive connotation hildren are innocent, ull o ure o ti is the lack the c nicis and aded ness that is resent in the adult orld he thing is, ou never reall reali e that until ou re an adult Joanna Yan, XII

The bug The desk he desk sits in the corner s it aits or so eone to co e over, it screa s ho e ork hen I sit do n the ho e ork iles onto e the encils and a er are ever where. he hite desk and chair ake the roo stand out he color ul ictures and art on the alls ll e ith ha iness, ut the ho e ork is a ra o stress he ho e ork can get anno ing, ut this this desk gets ou ast the toughest o ents it sa s ou can do it and ushes ou to our li its s ad as the ho e ork sounds the desk can get e through it a lin

l , I

ude little ello little lad ug dances across a lea all its loneso e e anders all alone here are his riends, here is his a il I onder i he is lonel I sa hello to the little ello , ut he takes no interest Black dots dance across his ack ust like reckles scat tered on a child s ace ust like the reckles scattered on ace is s all red shell gli ers like a ig right re truck et he is so s all e never others to ackno ledge e la ing his ings he takes oďŹ&#x20AC;, ing a a e leaves e ehind ith onl the lea as a e or here are riends, here is a il o I a lonel h didn t ou sta little lad ug ngers dance across the lea as I stand on the eld all loneso e Riley Alvis, XI

Scarlet Hahn, XI

FulďŹ llment Involved and inde endent, li e in t o ords ver since I egan aking o n choices, I have i ersed sel in countless activities arents never ushed e to ards certain e tracurriculars the al a s le t those decisions to e es ite not having stereot ical, over earing arents dictating riorities, I still anage to co letel ll schedule ith activities a out hich I a assionate here are onl hours in a da and I ush sel to ll ever one ith so ething that ul lls e I do not descri e li e as us understanding o a us li e is constantl doing activities, ut never ull co itting to the I a not us I a involved, engaged, and i ersed erha s this dedication is ecause o the inde endence arents allo e in selecting ath I a a le to choose activities that ake e content, so naturall I ant to ull co it eo le re uentl uestion ho I have ti e to take challenging acade ic courses, la ulti le s orts, lead several clu s, and still slee o ost I si l re l , I ake it ork I kno I artici ate in e tracurriculars ecause o the o I receive ro the and the assion I hold or the o ever, hen actuall considering h I ush sel to inde endentl engage in each o ortunit rovided, a genuine ans er eca e a undantl clear dad as orn ith cere ral als , ut e ce t or the circular s ing o his legs as he alks, one ould never kno ince the age o he has undergone hi o erations, ut even no , at the age o , he ertinaciousl alks on his o n lthough the li he ears a cause hi to occasionall stu le, he al a s ulls hi sel ack u and carries on his a o e a assu e dad s h sical disa ilit li its his a ilit to succeed ho ever, r eďŹ&#x20AC;re a nes, intelligent and hu le ather, thinks diďŹ&#x20AC;erentl na le to artici ate in high school s orts, dad eca e the student assistant trainer or the oot all tea , through hich he ound his assion or hel ing others heal ter college, he a lied to irginia o on ealth niversit s chool o edicine and as denied acce tance dad sa this as ust another o stacle e orked in a research la at or a ear, rea lied, and as acce ted dad is a ediatric urgeon and the irector o ediatric rau a at edical enter e has received nu erous accolades ranging ro Best oc in ich ond to esta lishing the rst and onl ediatric, level one trau a center in irginia dad discovered his assion at a oung age and never let an o stacle hinder hi ro ursuing it is erseverance to overco e adversit , ins ires e to never let an thing hold e ack, including the li ited nu er o hours in a da assion or service led e to eco e a irl cout, oin ltar uild and o unit ervice eague, and teach oung children ath and nglish in India assion or leadershi led e to eco e tudent ouncil reasurer, ead o ltar uild, and a tain o the soccer and cross countr tea s assion or athletics led e to la travel soccer ear round and artici ate in school s cross countr , track, and soccer tea s assion or science led e to ork in a euro iolog la at the niversit o irginia, shado ulti le doctors at , attend the ongress o uture edical eaders, and conduct o n research surrounding the eďŹ&#x20AC;ects o icotine on the ehavioral res onses o i e hales ro elas hatever assions I have, I ake sure to ollo to the the li it o a t ent our hour da , there are ver e sel in an and all activities hrough ather s e o stacle restrict hi , I ake it ork and nd the ti

ullest as dad has ce t or oundaries on a ilit to i erse a le o never letting a erceived e to ursue that hich ul lls e Connor Haynes, XII

The Falls There’s a cherry tree I visit often I ound alking oﬀ alone, e ond the gates last autu n, looking for a piece of earth to call my own. What am I without my peace? I alked out there, a ter and ran my hand along the worn crease where I made that labored mark with my dagger. I scoo ed a hand ul o the rose gold leaves, and folded them neatly into my coat. I elt the eight in ocket on de arture s eve, as I alked silent, overco e a tightness o throat I carr the , a eace, ith e still as I sit acing the alls, in the shado o great hills Madison Wilkinson, XII

Folder My mom bought this folder for me back in 2004 to hold (and match) my rand ne , ur le a er iano ri er ooks n the da o rst o cial lesson, I racticall u ed ith e cite ent, clutching older to chest and ounding to ards uigon all I alread kno so e o this I roudl announced to iano teacher at the ti e, a slight o an ith short ro n hair na ed rs aughan he took ha ha ard knowledge of music and began teaching me the basics: what number corres onds ith hat nger, ho to retend to hold a cle entine under hand hile la ing, and here iddle is I couldn t ait to go ho e and ractice, and I re e er doing nger e ercises in la the rest o the school day. hroughout the ears, older has held a rain o o ooks o usic It s een shoved into lockers and ack acks, le t in acks o cars, sat on, and stuﬀed too ull o a ers It s gone ith e to countless co etitions so I could ritualiticall nger its a iliar sha e hile an iousl waiting for my name to be called. It’s been tucked under my arm so many ti es, I ve created dents in the lastic here it rests on hi and the in side o el o o e here along the a , the stra s lost their elasticist and the right side tore out, ut I ve never even considered replacing my busted-up folder with a new one. his inter, I nestled older lovingl into carr on hile travelling to auditions or usic schools I plan on bringing my folder with me to college and using it for all the music I’ll need to carry around as a student at It s going ith e til the end o the line Abby Villanueva, XII

The Sardine Can

If you had walked by my street 10 years ago, you probably would have heard the loudest running engine that you have ever heard in your life. Some people say you could even hear it from 5 miles away. But almost always, you could catch a glimpse of the shiny 1980’s mercedes wagon in my driveway with my dad right next to it. “The Sardine Can” was one of ather s ost ri ed ossessions rust e, i ou couldn t nd dad, he ould either e in the car or he ould e washing it. Even my family knows that my dad has a slight obsession with washing his cars. My sisters and I knew that if e s illed so ething or ade the s allest scratch on that car, e ould get the e es until it as ed, hich is ro a l why he sold it before my sisters and I learned how to drive. I think ather as so rotective o this car ecause it as the rst car he ought on his o n It as al ost like it was his entrance into adulthood. He could drive anywhere and do anything. He felt invincible with that car, which is one of the reasons why he was so sad when we had to sell it. This sense of invincibility feels like having so much power and eing indestructi le It akes ou ant to st u the sk hen ou eel it nd ever ti e dad ould drive that car, you could see that feeling in his eyes. This moment of invincibility came to me with my car too. It was 5:00 in the morning on a Saturday. I was driving do n onu ent venue on a to oard a school us or a sailing regatta It as still dark outside ith not one other headlight in sight ll there as ere the street lights and sto lights I can t re e er the e act ti e I elt invinci le But I do kno that I as going iles er hour and I as listening to the heart elting voice o da evine singing a s and as the refrain came on, I just started belting the lyrics trying to get the perfect pitch as I sang along. I was dancing and jumping out of my seat as I tried to copy some of Beyonce’s moves and all of a sudden, this huge wave of happiness washed over me. I felt in control, I felt powerful, I was unstoppable. My singing got louder and my smile got wider. But I drove right back into reality when I pulled into the McVey parking lot. The feeling vanished as the seniors boys walked up to car elling at e to get on the us I got on, gra ed a agel, and sat do n as I egan to re ect on the eeling I had ust elt or the rst ti e

Caroline Gaenzle, XII

Stories Not in sleepless nights ing still and watching memories on the insides of eyelids. Not in photographs Or artifacts r clenched sts and

elanchol dis ositions

Not hung on walls Or shoved in nightstands. But threaded in our muscles Saturated in our being nd dis ensed in our actions old over coﬀee nd uietl ourned But never lost. Liza Martin, XII

A Worn Story

My devotion to “thrifting” comes from the frugality instilled in me by my Polish grandparents who were deported by the Soviets, during the invasion of eastern Poland during World War II. They often speak about their lives as re ugees and the ractice o nie trac c nic not asting an thing heir outlook has ro ted e to take a closer look at the ine cienc o the fashion industry. Where big brands produce “fast fashion” lines that present serious environmental problems involving depletion of natural resources and waste in general. This method of shopping has encouraged me to develop my own personal style as thrift stores accumulate rare items with rich history instead of purchasing a dress from a department store that sells dozens of the same item daily. hile co ing through the castoﬀs in a ce ent oored second hand shop on the outskirts of Kraków, I spotted and carefully extracted this delicately beaded chartreuse dress and slipped it over my head. I could tell that the sleeves ere too tight ut the length as right I ngered the handi ork then i ulsivel took it to the cashier. I paid 37 cents. On the uneven street outside the shop, I ri ed oﬀ the sleeves Two months later I wore this dress to New York Fashion Week without a second thought. While backstage, my jeweled dress caught the attention of photographers and celebrities alike. When asked what designer I was wearing, I channeled the attitudes of the surrounding models and smiled with no teeth to disguise my secret, “Oh, I bought it in Europe.” Izabela Clarke, XII

Shoot from the Hip

I’m a very worried person with regards to creativity. Sometimes it gets to the point where I feel the very palpable fear of not creating something up to my personal standard. So, a few years ago I bought a Diana F+ ca era to tr so ething ne It s a l lo ogra h ca era he vie nder is co letel unusa le, and the l I ought had een artiall e osed to light ver thing about it was amiss. I’ve never considered myself a photographer, nor do I ever think I will, but I wanted to push my boundaries in my creative life. I wanted to experience what it was like to transcend beyond my worries. I longed for the courage to just set up a composition, “shoot from the hip,” and cross my ngers that I had ca tured hat I d ho ed or But the ears came and went and that sad, blue, plastic camera sat on my shelf as a paperweight while I worked on other projects in its looming presence. he su er e ore senior ear, I as nall rave enough to dust it oﬀ and tr it out ut o the al ost si t hotos I took, onl t elve ere ull develo ed nd each the photos I cherished unlike anything I’ve ever created, despite their distortions and discolorations. For re erence, three o those t elve hotos are eatured on the ront and ack cover o this telier The act of creating something can be a mentally grueling endeavour. From adjusting each painstaking detail, to ondering i I ll ever create so ething etter or ore eaning ul, I nd sel rustrated ore o ten than not But no , henever I hovering over a ne ro ect, I look at the ca era on shel as it sits uietl , yearning for my nostalgia. It’s catching dust again, and maybe so for a few more years until I need that reminder to ust let go, once ore iana as rede tion that su er, i onl or a e l rolls Zoe Alexander, XII

IX Elle McNeill Isabelle Gaenzle

STAFF

IX Elle McNeill Isabelle Gaenzle

XII Sarah Stuart Horsley Emily Margolin livia u n Joanna Yan

X Maddie Dugan Madi Haine Addie Simkins

XI Riley Alvis Vanessa Revilla

Editors Zoe Alexander Izabela Clarke Caroline Gaenzle Liza Martin Madison Wilkinson Abby Villanueva

Faculty Sponsor John Morgan

XII Sarah Stuart Horsley Emily Margolin livia u n Joanna Yan

X Maddie Dugan Madi Haine Addie Simkins

XI Riley Alvis Vanessa Revilla

Editors Zoe Alexander Izabela Clarke Caroline Gaenzle Liza Martin Madison Wilkinson Abby Villanueva

Faculty Sponsor John Morgan

The 2016 Atelier Editors

ATELIER

2016