LYRE 2016
Dear Readers, In your hands is a year’s worth of work. Each week a group of poetry and art lovers meets to read and critique. We gather submissions from every division of the school, from the George Cottage to the senior class. After going over each and every submission backwards and forwards and backwards again, we are pleased to present you the best art and writing St. Martin’s has to offer. This year has been exceptionally great, and we are grateful for every single submission, and for the fantanstic people who worked hard to make this a great addition to a tradition of publication that reaches back decades. Thanks to all who contributed and made it possible for you to enjoy the blood and sweat of the impossible. -Letter from the Editors Special Thanks to the Art Department and to our Fearless Captain Christopher Shipman Cover art by Kailee Gibson, ‘16
The White Flowers Bloom Ophelia Li, ‘17
The white flowers kiss the morning wind, The fresh dew flickers and leaps; Along the tiny flowers, passing cars raise clouds of dust, And the white flowers bloom toward the sun. The morning glorifies the fence and street, The emerald arborvitae waver; Nobody comes to take a look, But the white flowers, the white flowers bloom in solitude. The sun goes behind the hills, Darkness steals people’s grief; The days pass by, And the white flowers bloom at sunrise.
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Freely Wandering Matt Jeanfreau, ‘20
I am freely wandering I wonder where to go I hear grass flowing in the wind I see fish swimming down the river I want to stay in this peaceful place I am freely wandering I pretend the plains and river never end I feel calm, lay by the river I touch the smooth sand I worry this place will go away I cry when the sun leaves I am freely wandering I understand the moon’s beauty I say nothing for the forest is sleeping I dream about my wonderful day I try to get up from my slumber I hope for another peaceful day I am freely wandering
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I Hear America Change the Song Bryce Monier, ‘18
I hear America singing hopeful songs of discontent; The waiter trying to sing debts away, but mostly just waiting; The song of the overworked, resentful father, to a sleeping child, a song Of doubt and A lack of certainty; The wailing song of the young professional, lamenting and giving up; The steady songs of lives that matter even as they’re told they don’t; The harsh singing of police, on beat to the gunshots that surround them; The pleading song of the Walmart worker, walking through empty Aisles; A song of car horns blends together, a fugue of perspectives— All singing the same discordant song of hope.
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America + Emoji + Poem = Collin Shannon, ‘18
America gives bread to awkward people America gets tigers to kill people The soldier shouts “Children love to write about nature” The ocean is deadly Inside the store get angry When America waves to the happy The king thinks about killing his crown Walks town to town without being scared I will see the stars soon I see the strength I wave down as time goes on The key to the kingdom is below the desert
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Leaving my Home Anushka Jha, ‘24 Going to my bed, I had a bad day. “Get up!” says my father. I say, “Go away!” He says we are going to America. I mess up my room. After three days, I am still crying. After three months, I am on an airplane. I feel scared, but I watch a movie And wait.
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A Poem
Molly Stewart, ‘24 Sitting in the classroom In my French-fry socks I look around at my friends, Hoping for a good grade On the spelling test. I think about bunnies, Try to write a good poem.
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Legends of the Hamburger Hay una persona que se llama Hugo. Hugo vive en un volcán. El volcán tiene McDonald’s. Hugo quiere una hamburguesa. Hugo va a Mc Donald’s y mira la hamburguesa. Hugo grita, y está feliz. Una persona le da una hamburguesa a Hugo. Hugo piensa que hamburguesas son deliciosas. De repente, la hamburguesa le pega Hugo y ¡corre a Mars! Hugo está triste pero la persona le da un super hamburgesa. Hugo es feliz ahora. There is a person named Hugo. Hugo lives in a volcano. The volcano has McDonald’s. Hugo wants a pizza. Hugo goes to McDonald’s and looks at the hamburger. Hugo shouts and is happy. A person gives a hamburger to Hugo. Hugo thinks that hamburgers are delicious. Suddenly, the hamburger hits Hugo and runs to Mars! Hugo is sad but the person gives Hugo a super hamburger. Hugo is happy now.
Jeremy Norton, ’23 (translated by Teresa York) Hay una persona que se llama Boba Fett. Boba Fett vive en el parque. Bob le da Boba Fett pizza porque Boba Fett está triste. Boba Fett está bien y quiere mucho pizza. Boba Fett piensa que Bob es “un gordo mucho Bob pizza” y ¡come Bob! Boba Fett tiene mucha pizza. Carl grita porque Bob es su amigo. Boba Fett va la casa de Carl y mira Carl y salta en Carl. Carl no está bien, Carl está muy mal. Boba Fett come hamburguesas. Boba Fett no le gustan hamburguesas. There is a person named Boba Fett. Boba Fett lives in the park. Bob gives Boba Fett pizza because Boba Fett is sad. Boba Fett is good and wants a lot of pizza. Boba Fett thinks that Bob is “a very fat Bob pizza” and eats Bob! Boba Fett has a lot of pizza. Carl shouts because Bob is his friend. Boba Fett goes to Carl’s house and looks at Carl and jumps on Carl. Carl is not good, Carl is very bad. Boba Fett eats hamburgers. Boba Fett doesn’t like hamburgers.
Justin Hall, ’23 (translated by Teresa York) 7
Untitled Beefcake Luke, ‘20
You patient beefcake, you. In your fish blouse. Such a fearful enforcer. Working for the python corporation. And their electric guillotine. You’re so convincing. With your loophole bullwhip. Eating your graffiti cherries. Will you be attending the funeral banquet?
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Fishing
Will Scofield, ‘23 Hook in the water Waiting, waiting Bam! My pole begins to bend Frantically, I reel in the line After a struggle, a large gray shape Rises to the surface A bull shark I feel bad when we eat it Come to think of it No I don’t
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King of the River Justin Hall, ‘23
I sit by the pond in my backyard Waiting with my striped rod and string For the King of the River to get hungry I watch the wiggly worm I see something stirring in the river— The Great King! But he swims off To leave me empty-handed
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The Mouse
Bethany Black, ‘18 Once upon a witching hour, I thought aloud, with mind and power Over Friday’s midnight, someone I worked for. While thinking, nearly regretting, suddenly there came a setting, As if something softly snapping, snapping behind my kitchen door. “Just a little mouse,” I whispered, “gnawing on my wooden door,” Only this and nothing more.
Taking a breath, I grabbed my white candle; I headed to the nest Of the demons’ noise that shall haunt me nevermore. While sneaking, finding nothing, abruptly came a ticking, Like a clock that was beating, beating under my basement floor. I grabbed a bat, and took a step, down to my basement floor— Howard Miller and nothing more. I looked around, seeing nothing, and hearing no more sound Of grandfather who kept me on time with great lore. I gasped, while nearly sweating, and promptly there came a clap. It killed the light, the door shut with force, forcing a fall on a drawer. “The demons have me!” I scream loudly. I’m home alone in war! I pray a dream and nothing more!
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Black Cat Haiku DJ LaVie, ‘26
The scary black cat, It dresses up as a ghost. He found a graveyard
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Anesthesia
Elizabeth Kuehne, ‘18 The winter has amnesia The delicate attrition Of fields Leaves verdant grass At the brainstem Of an old tree’s spine Memory cannot be appeased Tactile recognition Not accessed By cold fingertips The ground here is numb
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Winter Ice
Zoe Ohmes, ‘21 As the heavy, oak door closed, an overwhelming sense of freedom and excitement surged through Charlotte’s veins. The idea of a whole day without her overprotective parents around was invigorating. The girl’s pale blue eyes shone brightly with excitement while her mind raced with thoughts of all she could do with the next 12 hours of peace. No parents to ask her to do her homework, sort the laundry, load the dishwasher, or clean her room. She had hours to play the latest Pokemon Generation on her shiny crimson 3DS, to catch up on the latest issue of “Shingeki No Kyogin”, and, of course, to sleep in until noon. But,. Tthere was is one wrinkle— her 6 year old, overly energetic, younger brother, Michael. Michael appeared to be her parents’ favorite. He seemed perfect in their eyes but was annoying in reality. He was loud, made the biggest messes, and never listened. But his round chubby cheeks and honeydew eyes complemented his warm smile which made it easy to forgive his misbehavior. Charlotte’s daydreaming of the perfect Saturday came to an abrupt halt with the heavy pounding of Michael’s feet racing down the 19 mahogany steps. Suddenly, the peace was interrupted by the cacophony coming from the living room where Charlotte reclined on the warm plush sofa. She knew, in that moment, that if she desired any time to herself, she would have to come up with a plan to wear him out, culminating in a long and quiet nap. Glancing through the frost covered window, she spotted a path leading to the dense forest that lies outside her home. Charlotte uncrossed her legs and rose off the couch with a devilish, quirky smirk residing on her lips. “Hey, Michael.” Charlotte called after her brother, who was clanking toy trucks together. “Yeah, Charlie?” He replied, still focused on his toys, but revealing a slight lisp in his voice as he spoke. 14
said.
“Let’s go outside and explore! Now, wouldn’t that be fun?” She
He flashed a toothy grin at her, then quickly jumped up and sprinted off to find his winter coat. He dashed out the door sporting oversized snow boots, his plush green pom-pom hat with matching mittens, and a green and red plaid winter coat. Charlotte could barely put on her cream-colored wool-lined Uggs before he was already out the front door and down the steps. “Michael, wait up!” Charlotte shouted out to her younger brother. Charlotte quickly put on her crimson scarf and black down winter coat and raced out to meet him, forgetting her gloves in the rush. A crisp and cool breezeair bit at Charlotte’s freckled nose. The clear blue sky was only interrupted by the outline of mountains on the horizon. Giant pine trees, covered in iridescent powdery snow, seemeds to loom over Charlotte and Michael as they strolled walk along the path leading to the now frozen-over lake. The beauty of the day almost made babysitting her little brother bearable. Suddenly, Michael bolted onto the lake as he spotted a regal white-tailed deer in the distance on the other side of the frozen water. The fawn sawsees him approaching rapidly and darteds off into the dense forest, leaving Michael disappointed. Her cheeks red and face squinted, Charlotte pleaded, “MICHAEL, PLEASE SLOW DOWN!” Michael, racing to catch the graceful deer, continueds to charge outwards on the frozen lake, ignoring her plea to stop. An ominous cracking sound was faintly heard as Charlotte hurried to catch her younger brother. Suddenly, the thin ice beneath Michael broke, eaks and he plummetedts into the frigid water below. Charlotte let out a gasp that stopped her heart. Time seemed to stand still as her brother floundered in the water below. She was paralyzed by the fear of losing him. 15
Knowing that the fragile ice beneath her could give way at any moment, she approached her flailing brother cautiously. Her heart pounded at what felt like 1,000 beats per minute. Her deliberate steps came dangerously close to the edge of the cracked ice. Her adrenalin flowing, she reached out into the freezing water below and attempted to clutch her brother’s arm. He floundered in the water, panting and gasping, trying to keep himself above the surface as his multiple layers of clothing absorbeded the icy water causing him to sink further down each second, as if weights were attached to his tiny frame. Michael reached his trembling, gloved hand out and Charlotte attempted to grab it. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t reach him. Their hands were only inches away, but to CharlottleCharlotte, it seemed like a mile. She sunk down and lay on the clear ice as Michael’s eyes began to close. He used his remaining strength to keep his hand extended out toward hers. Charlotte grabbed once more and gripped his coat jacket tightly. Her iron-like grip allowed her to lift his drenched and semiconscious body onto thicker ice. Charlotte backed up a bit in order to make room for her brother. She pulled him out of the deep abyss slowly, her fingers becoming as white as the snow around them. She got up with frozen tears streaming down her pale face and dragged her exhausted brother on the ice until they made it to stable ground. She picked up her brother, cradling him tightly in her arms, his eyes closed, and his normally warm cheeks were frost-bitten. Her feet seemed to fly once she made it back onto the snow covered path leading to the house. The road back to the house seemed like a blur to Charlotte, her only focus being his safety. Michael began to open his eyes. His eyelashes were sprinkled with snow that shimmered when the afernoon sun lit through the trees. He looked up at his sister and grinned weakly, then peacefully closed his eyes once more, wrapped in a blanket of relief. Once through the dense forest and home again, the warmth from the blazing fireplace and soft, gray, wool blanket, brought the color back to Michael’s angelic face. Charlotte noticed this shift in his appearance and her eyes began to water like ice melting on a hot August day. She sighed quickly and smiled brighter than ever at her brother. As they looked into each other’s eyes, she realized just how grateful she was to have him in her life and how very much she loved him. 16
To Myself, A reminder of what you have, what you had, and what you remember. You dare to be thankful for that familiarity; without it you would be lost. You are thankful for those friends; without them you are alone. You are thankful for your contact with them for they enable you to see. You are thankful for those quotes, the ones that reminded you that you are not the only one. You are thankful for good movies; without them you would be clueless. You are thankful for Nickelodeon from 2000-2010, for that other world behind the glass that you felt a part of. You are thankful for that old tree house, that space you had away from everything except your imagination. You are thankful for Ages of Empires, the Conqueror’s Expansion, which brought you and your brothers together for that hour the game lasted; they have taught you so much. You are thankful for those inside jokes that keep your friendships tied. You are thankful for the east end, where you spend hours on that sunny rock listening to great music, and the journey back, because it keeps you sane.
Karly Bruss,’18
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Jun Choi, ‘18
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Elise Lafleur, ‘19
Rimi Mandal, ‘18 19
Adam Pendleton, ‘17
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Charlotte Goudail, ‘16
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Ali Grace Ducote, ‘22
Layne Corcoran, ‘22
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Samantha Thompson, Bo Fan Hua, Will Scofield, Kiley Salge, Zoe Tatum, ‘23
Mya Porter, ‘21 23
George Mueller, ‘23
Jeremy Norton, ‘23
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Conner Nicoladis, ‘23
Isabella Nunez, ‘23 25
Iris Hu, ‘17
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Brisbin Anthony, ‘16
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Raj Shah, ‘16
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Iris Hu, ‘17
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Untitled Jeff Luke, ‘20
Once attached to legs, was Jeff. Everyone was looking to enjoy the world.
He wanted. He wanted.
He wanted.
He wanted….
Someone else’s hands…. So he searched for trash cans snow cones tree houses parking lots. Jeff knew he would have smiled.
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aN outsideR
Gabriel Lesser, ‘19 I see into the glass, pressing my hands on the cold panes. I see from the outside, I feel the smiling faces. I am glad to see the small laughs, but I am frustrated too. I walk on the grass, on the path, staring onto opposite lanes. I notice the wide groups of the loose laces but I prefer to be an outsider. It’s not all bad though… you see things that others are too busy to see, you never have to be tied down by little fiends, you are always free with anything, but… nothing can prepare you for the lonely weekends, the awkward silences at the lunch tables. You have to have to be nothing, but everything at once but I wouldn’t trade that for anything! I have my own personality, I am my own independence And I own my love for me. I do struggle from time to time, But I always stand back up with my brilliant mind.
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Journal of a Thought Criminal: Fragment Jules France, ‘18 July 8, 2024 Act of Preservation Any and all forms of creative expression are hereby banned by provision of the government. All musicians, poets, authors, playwrights, and anyone who continue to compose creative pieces will be officially terminated. I’ve just reached my stop on the metro. I step off the underground magnet train and into a throng of gray-clothed people. I push and shove through the crowd to the stairs leading up into the light above. I’m absolutely sick of this oppression. Since Preservation Day, everything has been bleak and drab. No self-expression at all. And the worst part is that nobody knows why it happened! All in one day, all culture and expression destroyed! Why would they do this? I’m nearly blinded by the sudden flash of the sun’s rays on my eyes. The crowd around me seems to be turning left onto the sidewalk. I’m caught in a sudden crossroads that I’ve been met with ever since Preservation Day. Left or right?
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Some Ways of Looking at Yourself William Baird, ‘17 I. Seeing, not perceiving, Conceiving, not thinking, And it’s good. II. In your own world, Walking, and still Affected by other people. III. Paranoia, fear and insecurity— Mirrors steer Your thoughts. IV. Relative to some, but none As they go Out the window; you look at The crow. V. Stopping, you think about what Is ahead, But that’s like Spoilers for a book never read. VI. Pale and a freak, Sitting in the hall, the past At your back. VII. Told where to go, what to do, And you’re reassured It’s going well. 33
Scripting
Elizabeth Kuehne, ‘18 you asked yourself in the mirror one morning “how much is this gonna take?” it had the hope of a prayer and the sadness of lost cause but it was a question that needed a good answer so I waited I watched your palms flatten against the marble counters and your neck swan over the sink but now “what is this gonna take?” and you look straight at yourself as if God rests on your forehead but nothing but slowly eroding lines are really there
some days smell of rain water on pennies— metallic lately— smelling a bit like home or a therapist’s office in a bad movie 34
sometimes it’s a bit too movie-like as if green screens curtain your interior and you carry a script in your back pocket and it’s one page away from being finished so you know you’re about to fade out
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Answering Heart-Shaped Questions Andy Chen ‘16
It is rainy outside. My favorite planet color is blue. I have never been a tree when someone needs my help. I have never felt like the world is made of mice bones. I almost whisper every day. My spirit animal’s spirit animal is a panda. Yes, I always seek out wishing wells. But I cannot name the parts of a tarantula. I have countless wings. My eyes, my nose, my teeth, my mouth, my hairs are all my wings. I’ve never stolen someone’s spirit animal. Yes, I have discovered a secret. I once dreamed of snakes and they almost swallowed me. 10 years ago, we jogged to the city hidden behind the mountain. I invented time travel. I own 10 ladders. But I do not remember a time when I was made of metal. When I wake tomorrow morning, the sky will say, “Good morning, Mr.Chen.” When I break the sky it says, “I become colorful when you break me.” I become colorful when I break. Half a piece of a paper is my heart.
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Gossipy Phone Convos Margot Scott, ‘18
Now when I look at my Coach bag I’m reminded of Elaina’s distain For anything designer No longer can we take her to the mall with us Lie to me and say it’s not entirely our fault That she’s so petty nowadays We can pin the blame on Cameron He should’ve stayed in Hawaii We should travel to Honolulu in the future I’ve always wanted to wear a coconut bikini The grape juice stain On your tacky blue scarf never came out I’ll give it back to you when I visit But for now it keeps my neck warm He takes pretty pictures But that doesn’t mean you should date him We have two years over her And she thinks she’s Buddha They’re perfect for each other but if They make it official we’re moving to Madrid You have relatives down there I’m counting on you
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Taylor
Margot Scott, ‘18 Taylor had golden curls Full of secrets and lice But I wanted to befriend her anyway. She stole me Polly Pockets. She spit sprite in my face. She laughed when my knee bled. Taylor had golden curls And smelly breath. I should’ve known not to trust a fiend.
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Narcissistic Pseudo-Metaphysical Pseudo-Art Jack Zheng, ‘16
“Seize the day,” says the archetypical wise man Looking back into his adolescence that seemed so boundless When he thought he had found salvation At nights of sleep lost in the asphalt of time Mile markers on Highway Nil It was such a transitory satisfaction, now hard to recall Standing under the spotlight, tempted to flip the switch on the generator It’s strange now that the thrill has gone but the chase isn’t over Neon lights fading in the corner of my eye A silhouette projected onto the fabric of reality Perfectly within sight and out of reach “I am the sum of my experiences,” they say “The dreams make it worthwhile,” they say For what purpose do we die trying? Oh look Edgy lines in a pseudo-philosophical “poem” No rhyme scheme or meter or sense A snowflake in the drab slush encrusted in the treads of a shiny new tire, Thinking it has any worth A negligent regale at the end of the night as validation “Shoot for the stars,” they say “It’s come so far,” I thought Floating in a pool of Pennyroyal tea Basking under the wrath of the ancient star A hell of a ride with zero total displacement A senseless regurgitation of senses
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A whim to buy a street sign For future days lost When the memories fade and the tissues disintegrate To declare that we had once lived Immortalized through infinite time To be read by nobody
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Graduating in the Red Queen Jonafa’, ‘16
They used to say, you can be whatever you want in this world. But now I’m confused, I opened the clam and no pearl. Without the money to pay for college, what is there for me? I’m making 10 dollars an hour— oh, wait, taxes, $8.53. I filled out the FAFSA and I thought they had me. Then came in that letter, no air could I breathe. I suffocated on the debt that would be If I paid these prices just for a four year degree. That chump change couldn’t even house me. What type of college is the government funding? Just as I prepared my enrollment deposit, I retreat. All this money to Sally Mae, I had no money left to eat. America, home of the brave, land of the free, Free shole ain’t for school, not with all these fees. I think my goal is best told by our own Dee. He said, “is this the new American Dream?” To not drown in debt up way past our knees? I’m the young tender age of 18. They didn’t teach me in school that this is the life I’ll lead. Should I choose between supplies or food for the week? America, I’m asking for some help, I plea. Hear our problems before looking across the sea... This got me, my moms, and my banker worrying Where is the next dollar the most useful for me? As they collect off of my debt, I know it’s a fortune, I think our priorities are way out of order. I hope I can find a job after college, this is torture. Staring at these costs, it’ll be alright I assure my mother.
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This Tea is Hot, Sir Grayson Doyle, ‘18
Please do not drink it It is scolding hot It just came out of the kettle Sir, do not drink this tea You will burn your mouth When you drop it, your hands Will burn and you will burn Your chest And you will burn your eyes And your toes and your ears Everyone you love will be burned Sir, if you drink this tea you will die, sir We will look for you under our boot soles You shall be gone from the earth, sir And from this galaxy And from this universe And in the infinite number of universes In which there are infinite versions of you, There will be no more versions of you So please, sir, if you care for your health And your dry clothes And your mother And for the troops And for the laughter of children And for love itself Please, sir, do not drink this tea Wait a moment I believe it’s cooled now Enjoy your tea, sir
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Untitled Dream Grayson Doyle, ‘18
Boys fall asleep Fall asleep Among corn, among mountains That drip wine Shared with the red dress woman Under the moon, moon, moon, moon The desert sunflowers wish to fly And to eat rice and file tax reports While the children dance Among corn, among mountains And the acorns wish to wear dresses And eat peaches And fall asleep But food is for men And sleep for horses and hospitals With lungs in jars And broken-hearted lovers Clutching crystal balls
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Untitled Dream William Baird, ‘17
I walk through the dark room with the long marble table with the black chairs I’m not alone by my side is a tall blonde in a black dress a shiny dress a dress with ruffles on it with matching heels I adjust my tie ahead to the right would you call it a hall is a corridor filled with light with oversized red and green Christmas ornaments and there is a decorated tree I turn to my companion and say spruce
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Playing Up a Storm Bree Milioto, ‘18
It’s been 10 years since the big storm. Momma tells stories of it all the time. Sometimes she cries. She used to have a stubborn Momma That wouldn’t leave her house during the storm. Daddy says Momma is stubborn like her. Daddy has a trumpet. Sundays him and his friends play up a storm. It’s kinda like magic. I never believed in Santa or the Easter Bunny. I do believe in my Daddy. He lost everyone in that storm And he stays alive. “It’s the music,” He says. My momma plays the violin. The strings sound like they’re crying. Daddy’s trumpet sounds like its screaming. When they play together I think that’s what The storm sounded like. Our house is bright purple and momma says It makes her sad. She says the storm Made her grey and this house is fooling her. I don’t know what she means. 45
Stitches
Ally Bartholomew, ‘18 The moment my feet touched the ground, I felt off-kilter. The air was too still, the turned-over dirt beneath my feet too lifeless, and the noise in my ears was barely audible. I was used to the Compound, where noise was an inescapable constant—the clap of punching bags, the chatter of the cafeteria, the annoyingly loud AC unit in my bedroom. I was always praying for some peace and quiet, but now I found myself wishing I was surrounded by noise again. “Where, um, where did General Spikes say he was sending us again?” Matthew was staring at the imprint of his boots in the soil. He shifted his foot, and the dirt crumbled from the heel of his shoe. Next to me, Noah rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, a little too tensely to be merely aggravated. “The Ninth Ward, idiot. Does your brain retain anything, or does all information simply go out the other ear?” Noah shook his head at Matt, not waiting for an answer. “We need to move. Collect soil samples, water samples, pictures; whatever you can get your hands on. Don’t stop to gawk—we have a lot of ground to cover and limited time. Take what we need and nothing else.” At his hip, a black square speaker crackled. Noah raised his eyebrows at us impatiently and gestured for us to start collecting samples as he raised the speaker to his ear. As I picked my way over broken, ragged-edged planks of wood, Noah’s words followed me despite his hushed tone. “Can’t be certain yet, but I think it’s gonna be a negative, ma’am.” “What even happened here?” Maria tightened her ponytail, jogging to catch up to me. Her gaze traveled to a dilapidated graywhite house across the cracked street; faded graffiti ran up and down its walls, and half of the window glass was lying shattered on the ground. “There was a really bad hurricane, Katrina, a long time ago,” I responded as I tried to recall the brief history of the Ninth Ward that had been shared with us before we were dispatched. I spoke slowly, picking my way across a field of crumpled Ales cans and dark green bottles, most of them missing their necks. “Hit this area hard. The 46
Ninth was the last part of the city—New Orleans—to get its power back…to recover at all, really. The flooding was bad, to say the least.” “And, what, they never fixed it?” Maria asked. “What about all the people who lived here? They just had to, like, leave? Weren’t there reconstruction projects or something?” I shrugged, bending down to sweep a small pile of dirt into the glass vial in my hand. “You cannot be so apathetic about this! People’s lives—” “That was way before we were born. Way before. How is dwelling on it helpful?” I interrupted. Maria stamped her foot, squeezing her own glass vial so tightly in her fist that I was afraid it might shatter and cut her palm. “Because it matters.” “Okay, I’m sorry,” I said soothingly, eyeing her test tube warily. “All I meant was that nobody lives here anymore, since the Ninth became a dumping site after the government finally gave up on it, so—” Maria released a long sigh. “I know. Isn’t that horrible? People probably don’t live here anymore because the soil is too toxic and the water is filthy and there’s no electricity.” She pointed at the tube in my hand. “What’s the pH reading on that?” I glanced at her. Before I could formulate a response, Maria gasped and slapped the emergency button on her wristwatch. My own slim, black wristwatch buzzed against my skin, and I immediately dropped to the ground. The earth was dry under my palms, giving way almost like sand as my elbows dug into the dirt. “What was that for?” I hissed at Maria, who was only in a halfcrouch. “If you’re going to issue an emergency warning, at least get down, for goodness’ sake!” Maria blinked, swallowing hard as I tugged at her shirt hem insistently. “I think—I think I just saw someone…” “Maria! Shut up and get down!” I whispered furiously. Maria shook her head. “But—” I whipped my head to the side, hoping to get some moral support from one of the others on the team—maybe someone would even yell at Maria to get on the ground. Maybe Noah; Maria didn’t always listen to Noah, but she usually did on missions because Noah was always serious on missions. Otherwise, she most often liked to do the exact opposite of what Noah wanted, but I guess that’s how siblings are sometimes. No one was looking my way, and Noah wasn’t even in sight— 47
probably hidden behind a few broken house boards. When I groaned internally and turned back to Maria, though, she was no longer beside me. “Maria!” I finally shouted when I got my voice back, already stumbling into a run after her. “Don’t—” Maria was either deaf to my yells, or she was ignoring me as she sprinted towards the grey-white house on the other side of the street. Dashing across the uneven grey pavement made me feel even more exposed than before, especially since now I knew there was the possibility of a stranger aiming a gun at my head. It was only when I had burst through the unhinged door of the house that I fully realized how stupid I was being. I had hardly even stopped to think about how dangerous and reckless it was for me to follow Maria—all I’d been thinking was that I couldn’t stand by and watch her get hurt. And now, I could have helped risk the lives of everyone on the team… “Take your hands off that gun, girl,” a low, gravelly voice spoke behind me. My heart jumped into my throat. The sound of Maria’s whimper made my stomach twist and my breath catch in my throat in a panic. I slowly uncurled my fingers from around the small gun at my hip, lifting them away from my body. “My hands are off my gun. I’m turning to you,” I said in as calm a tone as I could muster. A woman with frizzy brown hair, a thick white scar across her cheek, and rather grungy clothes had her forearm under Maria’s chin, a burning cigarette close to Maria’s eye. “I could snap your friend’s neck right now,” the woman said. “I could blind her…” “No—” “That’s what you expect from me, right?” She laughed quietly. “You think we’re all savages. Some sort of inhuman creatures. Just because you think you’re all martyrs, all of you, saving us…like we think you’re great heroes…” She looked at me expectantly. “No,” I said steadily. She cackled again, as if I were telling a joke, and the scar ripping across her cheek rippled. The skin looked as if it’d been sloppily stitched together, or as if she’d been thrashing around and the needle had torn through the flesh there. “Yes, yes, yes. Because we’re the savages, when you’re the ones dumping your acids in our soil, polluting our air, killing off every animal and fish we might find—” I shook my head, my heart pounding in my ears. “That’s what 48
we’re doing here—we wanted to see if this place was habitable.” The woman raised her eyebrows, dirt creased across her forehead. “Well, it’s not. You can’t come here and ruin everything just as we’ve gotten it going.” She scoffed. “Don’t give me that look, I don’t want your pity eyes. I bet you think I’m so uncultured, so dirty, so wretched and pathetic.” “The only thing I think is pathetic about you is that you’re currently threatening my friend. So why don’t you let her go, and then we can talk?” The woman rolled her eyes, letting go of Maria and shoving her towards me. I blinked. That had been surprisingly easy. “I do have some manners,” the woman sneered. Then she frowned. “Unlike you and the stupid government you work for.” I frowned back. “Yeah, that’s right, lady. After Hurricane Katrina—that was in the 2000s, though—well. Everything was ruined.” And the government barely gave the Lower Ninth Ward a second glance until everything else was on its way to being fixed up, I recalled from my brief research. Until, that is, New Orleans needed a place to dump their toxic chemicals. Maria shook her head. “There’s hardly any wildlife out there.” The woman shrugged. “Or water-life, for that matter. That’s why I was named Ava. Something to do with the Latin word for bird— not that you’re gonna hear any of them while you’re here.” I bit the inside of my cheek. As bad as I felt for the woman— Ava—, all she seemed to do herself was complain about the government. “Haven’t you done anything to help out yourself? I’m sorry, but sometimes the government can’t do it all for you—” “Do it all for me?” Ava asked incredulously. Her eyebrows were inching into her hairline. “The government does nothing for me! Actually, you know what, the government does negative something for me. For your information, we tried to start up some farming around here, but thanks to the government that poisoned the soil, our efforts failed.” “And that’s it?” I demanded, irked by Ava’s accusing tone and the way she seemed to assume that anything associated with the government, including Maria and me, was despicable. “Did you try anything else?” Ava rolled her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. “Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. My great-grandmother and great-grandfather 49
were part of the restoration group that tried rebuilding houses, over half a century ago. That was after yet another major storm—Hurricane Trump, one of the nastiest of all time—and the flooding, which the Ninth was supposed to be protected from by, get this, the government.” “Well?” I asked impertinently. Maria touched my arm beside me and gave me a warning glance that said, Back off. I ignored her. “What happened then?” “Your stupid government happened, fool!” Ava snapped. “We were deemed too unworthy of saving and left to mold. Never mind all the people whose lives were being ruined, oh, no. Never mind that almost no one had the money or the opportunity to relocate. Never mind that we were starving, homeless, and penniless. It didn’t matter,” she said bitterly. “It still doesn’t matter, obviously, because I see kids all the time who are as thin as my leg. They’re told not to cry so they don’t get dehydrated, because we don’t have enough of a fresh water supply. Adults go hungry for days on end—it’s a miracle we manage to scrounge up any food at all. We can’t have pets here, because how are they going to be taken care of? We can’t have pets. People don’t want to have kids because they think this place is too terrible for children. People sleep on broken planks of wood outside because we don’t have enough room in our houses—almost none of which are even still standing. You can’t even imagine what we’ve gone through…and we can’t even leave because of the regulations the government has put into place. A man named Eb was trying to smuggle us out a few at a time a while back—but that’s stopped, too, not that we ever got an explanation. So, yes, I think your government is the worst kind of stupid.” I stood there, staring at Ava for a long minute. I had just started to formulate a response in my head when there was a loud crash and then we were surrounded so quickly I had to blink to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating—on one side was Noah and a few others from our team, and on the other side was a group of ragtag-looking men, women, and even a teenager or two, all in threadbare clothing and with no weapons. “Well, isn’t this cheery,” Ava remarked. “Don’t move,” Noah ordered. “You don’t move,” said the man on the other side of the room, crossing his arms, and those next to and behind him nodded in agreement. “I’m pretty sure we were here first. And we don’t want anymore of your government help.” “We aren’t here to help,” Maria said. “We were here to—” 50
“Yeah, could’ve guessed that,” said Ava. “—to determine whether or not the Ninth Ward is inhabitable,” Maria finished pointedly. The man on the other side of the room rolled his eyes—Jeffrey, according to the whispers of several people next to him. “For you, the answer is no. Please, just leave us alone, for once.” “For once?” Noah asked, looking bewildered, but he lowered his gun. “We’ve never been here before.” “Oh, yes, you have,” Jeffrey muttered. As Ava launched into an explanation, I could see the expressions of my team members turn from angry and disbelieving to almost understanding. “That’s why it seems so…well….” Maria hesitated. “You know. The government really has destroyed almost all life here.” Ava narrowed her eyes. “Except us, so far. Though believe me, she’s tried.” “She?” I asked, though I had a sinking feeling that I already knew the answer. “Yes, she,” Jeffrey snapped. “Your leader.” “Caelin?” Noah sputtered in disbelief. “Oh, please, I highly doubt—” “No, idiot,” Ava said. She seemed rather fond of pet-names. “The leader leader. The Domineer. She made her rounds here a while back, trying to gather up troops. None of us agreed to signing up for the army, so she trashed the Ninth even more…she doesn’t like taking no for an answer.” Ava winced, touching the scar on her cheek gingerly. “But we’ve already told you no, and we’re not changing our minds,” Jeffrey added. “You’re not even here to get us to sign onto the military again, are you? You’re just here to get us to say…things against her…to get us to commit treason. So your leader can completely annihilate the Ninth.” “What?” Beside Noah, Matt’s eyes widened. “No! Are you kidding? We do not work with the Domineer!” Jeffrey scoffed. “Yeah. Right.” Noah flipped the gun in his hand so the handle extended towards Jeffrey. “See the insignia—no, don’t take it, I’m not stupid—does that look like the Mandatorium emblem?” “Is that…?” Ava’s eyes widened. “We’re with the Nixes,” Maria confirmed, almost wryly. “Don’t tell the Domineer.” “And get ourselves killed for associating with you? Not likely,” Ava 51
snorted. Her expression turned dark. “Our community learned that the hard way. I was nine, and…” She shuddered. “The Domineer,” Maria said firmly. She extended a hand to Ava, hesitating for a second before grabbing her hand. “The scar on your cheek…that was her?” “Who else?” Ava asked bitterly. “Trust me, she’s scarred us all in one way or another. One person shouldn’t have that much control.” She shook her head. “My daughter screams every single time she sees a rat now…” “My nephew won’t walk around in anything other than long pants and shirts,” Jeffrey added, his jaw tightening. His eyes lost a bit of focus for a moment. “I hardly ever go half an hour without knowing where my sister is,” Noah put in grimly. He tucks his gun back into its holster. “She’s hurt all of us. She might not realize it, but the fear she drives into us is the biggest thing that drives us to each other.” “She’s hurt all of us,” Ava echoed. “That’s right. And what are you doing about it?” I started to say, We’re fighting her. We’re training hard, we’re strategizing—we’re going to force her out of the country. But before I could, the small black speaker at Noah’s hip chimed softly. Noah cleared his throat, reaching for the speaker and bringing it closer to his face. “Caelin?” “Agent. I know nothing can be confirmed yet, but do you have any pre-conclusive remarks on the state of the Ninth Ward?” Noah’s eyes flickered across the people before him—his team in lightweight, high-tech gear, and the battered, hungry civilians. “I do, ma’am. This place needs some serious renovations, and it won’t be easy—house-building, soil- and water- and air-purification, maybe some sort of farming set-up once the soil’s clean, because boy, is it toxic right now—” “Agent,” Caelin interrupted. “Get to the point. What are you thinking?” Noah’s eyes lingered on Ava’s cheek for a moment, and then he lifted his chin. “I’m thinking…we can stitch this place back together.”
52
A Time For Work
Chloe Batholomew, ‘18 I paused to skim my fingers over the words spray-painted on the back of a sign advertising tours, mouthing the words as I read them: How can you stand by and watch us disappear? I glanced sideways at my mother, who shook her head in horror and handed me a disinfectant wipe. “Ah!” announced our tour guide, giving the group a smile that looked a little too sincere. “And you’ve discovered the worst thing about the Lower 9th Ward—the grime. Disgusting, isn’t it?” He motioned for me to dispose of the sanitary napkin. “You can just throw that wipe on the ground, I’m pretty sure they don’t use trashcans around here.” I raised my eyebrows and hung the wipe over the top of the sign, which happened to be sitting in the middle of the street. At first when the tour guide had encouraged us to stand in the middle of the road, I’d thought he was either joking or planning to get all of us mowed over by cars. But the only vehicle in sight was the one we’d arrived on. The deluxe motor coach, with its sleek gray exterior, looked violently out of place next to the house on our left, with its half-collapsed roof, partially shattered windows, and missing sections of wall. In fact, as far as I could see, all of the other houses looked just as decrepit. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were in some dystopian horror movie, and suddenly regretted the decision to accompany my family on a tour around the supposedly grand city of New Orleans. “And here,” continued our guide, “is a resident of this…”—he paused to search for the appropriate term, wrinkling his nose—“er, underdeveloped area. Miss, would you care to share with this lovely group your feelings on living in the Lower 9th?” His smile faltered, almost as though he was shocked at what had just come out of his mouth; but the grin came back in such full force that I almost thought I’d imagined the hesitation. The woman he was pointing out to us was garbed in surprisingly decent clothing, although she was clearly struggling with the weight of the groceries in her hands. I almost felt sorry for her; but such was the fate of people who refused to get jobs. 53
She shot us a scandalized look as she walked past, hoisting up the bag of groceries hanging over her shoulder. Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to be harassed by tour groups on my way home, either; the woman was probably just shy. I reasoned that living in the Lower Ninth was a good idea for introverts; since the community was so small, there wouldn’t be as many people with whom to interact. “Yeah,” piped up a boy from the back. “Why do you want to live here?” The woman halted in her tracks, then slowly turned around to face us again. I took in her sad eyes and the wrinkles that seemed out of place on her young face. “Do you all honestly believe that we’d let our homes fall into disrepair if we had a choice?” she said, narrowing her eyes at the wipe I’d hung over the tour advertisement. The guilt went straight to my stomach. “My family lost everything after Katrina.” I recalled from my History textbook the hurricane that had swept the city thirty years ago. “How are we supposed to raise the money, by ourselves, to clean up this area if we don’t even have the funds to rebuild our houses?” The tour guide looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t considered this. The woman raised her eyebrows at him challengingly. The tour guide looked slightly more daunted than earlier. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a problem if you didn’t have so many children…” he trailed off weakly. As the woman gaped at him, his eyes darted to my disinfectant wipe. I could feel the blush rising in my cheeks again. “I don’t have children!” she cried. “I’m just trying to save up enough money to move someplace nicer.” “Well, that’s exactly the problem!” our tour guide informed her, regaining his earlier confidence and looking almost relieved. “So many people just want to leave the Lower Ninth Ward, paying no attention to the consequences. Just look at the state of this place!” He kicked the garbage can at his feet. “You all just want to leave. What exactly do you think will happen to the culture of the Lower Ninth if everybody just gets up and goes? This is the kind of selfishness that needs to stop!” My eyebrows involuntarily shot up as I watched the woman’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. “Then maybe you should try living here,” she snapped at the guide, shaking her head in disgust as she continued her trek home. There was an awkward pause before our guide cleared his 54
throat. “Ungrateful people!” he claimed, to murmurs of agreement and sighs of how lazy people had gotten over the years. “Well, maybe she’s right!” the little boy from earlier spoke up. “Maybe all of us should come live here and try to clean it up. That way we can all live in nice places. I wouldn’t want to live here all by myself, either.” “Sweetie!” gasped his mother in horror, affording an embarrassed look at the other parents. “Darling, we can’t possibly do that. Don’t you like our house?” “Yeah,” the kid conceded, “but that lady doesn’t like hers! Maybe we can help her like it again.” “No,” his father said sternly. “Listen, boy, this is what you get if you don’t study hard in school. It’s her own fault for not making some money. The government can only do so much for these people.” “Oh,” the boy said. Then, to the tour guide: “What did the government do for her?” There was a strange silence for a few moments. The tour guide blinked, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Then he turned to one of the many houses on the street, and just like all the other ones, this one had boarded windows and faded paint on the outside, with a questionable substance that looked like mold growing on the side of it. “Er, let’s continue on, shall we? Oh, look, people, another house! Can anyone tell me how it reflects the culture in this area? See the structure…” I was starting to think we needed a refund on that tour. After returning home, I had promptly Googled the history of the Lower Ninth Ward. Given all that our guide had told us about how the residents’ laziness had been what resulted in the devastation of the area, I was surprised to find that it had been hit by not one, but two major hurricanes in relatively recent years. According to Wikipedia, the Lower Ninth first was hit by Betsy in 1965, and then during Katrina had water flooding in from both the east and the west, which destroyed numerous homes and buildings. And then shortly after Katrina, there was another hurricane—Rita. In 2020, the government decided to ‘close down’ the Lower Ninth, seeing that it was incapable of being saved. Many people went on strike when this was announced, but the government simply sent in troops to hold off protestors. 55
After that, the culture of the Lower Ninth slowly died out as the people there struggled to hang on to what very little they had left. No homes, no help, no time for anything except concentrating on survival. I closed my laptop, and was surprised to find my hands shaking. My chest felt tight, and I considered just waiting in my room until I could no longer feel the anger pounding in my head. And yet, the thought of waiting made me feel worse somehow. Taking a deep breath, I hardened my resolved and determinedly marched back downstairs to where the rest of my family was sitting in the living room, watching some show that had been going on forever— The Walking Dead, perhaps. “Mom, Dad,” I announced, “I need to go back to the Lower Ninth Ward.” “Did you forget something there, honey?” my mom asked worriedly as my dad craned his neck around to look at me. “I’ll drive you,” he offered. “Uh.” I blinked at them. “Thanks…um, no, I didn’t forget something. I just… need to go back and see it, talk to a few people there, maybe.” I felt the anger tighten my hands again. “Actually, I just did some research on it, and it’s nothing like what the tour guide told us.” I shook my head. “I have to go back. Please.” My dad nodded slowly. “Okay. Hop in the car.” I grabbed my phone and camera, and did just that. We were mostly silent on the way, and even quieter as we drove farther into the Lower Ninth. I glanced at my dad’s hands, which were tightening on the wheel, and knew the feeling of disgust that was curdling his stomach. “Hey,” my dad suddenly said, “isn’t that the lady we saw earlier?” Apparently, she was still walking home from the grocery store. Our tour guide probably would have remarked on how she was too lazy to walk to the nearest car dealership and just buy a car. Just the thought of it made me upset all over again, and before I let myself think about what I was going to do, I demanded my dad to pull up. Flinging open the car door almost before he had stopped, I called, “Excuse me, miss! Wait!” She turned around. Upon recognizing my face, she scowled. “Can I help you? Or do you just wanna know more about why I’m too lazy to stick around here and preserve the culture so obviously flourishing in this part of town?” 56
“Um, no,” I said, grimacing. “I just, uh, did some research on the Lower Ninth Ward, and, um, well, it seems that you guys had it kind of bad after Katrina.” I paused, and she raised one eyebrow at me. “Umm…I didn’t know that. Any of that.” Her other eyebrow went up. “I was just wondering…can we give you a ride home?” “Thanks, but my house is literally about twenty steps from here.” “Oh, uh…” I stammered, “Well, then, could I just talk to you? About your perspective on what happened here? I’ll make it quick, I promise, but I just need to know…I just…I need to know,” I told her, desperately. Her eyebrows rose up even further. But just as I was about to apologize and return sheepishly to the car, she nodded. “Sure. We can sit on the porch.” ten years later “Hi, Karen,” I greeted warmly as the woman I’d met a decade ago ambled into our shared office. “How are things going on your end?” “Fantastic!” she informed me, handing me a folder and seating herself in the chair on the other side of my desk. “Everything’s looking great.” She grinned at me. “Never thought I’d see the day.” I grinned back at her, but just as I reached for the folder, there was another knock on the door. “Come in,” I called. A man stuck his head in. “Phone for you. Line two.” “Thank you,” I nodded, raising an eyebrow at Karen. She motioned me on, and I glanced at the number before lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello, Anna. Everything’s running right on time. I’ll submit the plans for reestablishing the Lower Ninth Ward to you by Friday… You, too, Anna…Have a nice day.” I dropped the phone back into its cradle as Karen leveled a look at me. “Ready for this?” she asked seriously. I nodded. “We have to be.” “You sure? You know, the grime really isn’t the worst thing about the LNW,” she joked. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head in faint amusement. “Well, then…I suppose we’d better get to work.” And so we did. 57
AUTOGRAPHS
Index Brisbin Anthony: 27 William Baird: 33,44 Ally Bartholomew: 46 Chloe Bartholomew: 53 Bethany Black: 11 Karly Bruss: 17 Andy Chen: 36 Jun Choi: 18 Layne Coccoran: 22 Grayson Doyle: 42, 43 Ali Grace Ducote: 22 Jules France: 32 Kailee Gibson: 20 Charlotte Goudail: 21 Justin Hall: 7, 10 Iris Hu: 26, 29 Bo Fan Hua: 23 Matt Jeanfreau: 2 Anushka Jha: 5 Queen Jonafa’: 41 Elizabeth Kuehne: 13, 34 Elise Lafleur: 19 DJ LaVie: 12 Gabriel Lesser: 31 Ophelia Li: 1 Luke: 8, 30 Rimi Mandal: 19 Bree Milioto: 45 Bryce Monier: 3 George Mueller: 24
Conner Nicoladis: 25 Jeremy Norton: 7, 24 Isabella Nunez: 25 Zoe Ohmes: 14 Adam Pendleton: 20 Mya Porter: 23 Kiley Salge: 23 Will Scofield: 9, 23 Margot Scott: 37, 38 Raj Shah: 28 Collin Shannon: 4 Molly Stewart: 6 Zoe Tatum: 23 Samantha Thompson: 23 Jack Zheng: 39
LYRE STAFF Co-editors in Chief: Elizabeth Kuehne Rickeia Coleman Editors: Grayson Doyle William Baird Phillip Lazich Gabriel Lesser Ian Ottinger Alec Ricci Luke Jeanfreau