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llith u 2
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Bri ana Tho mp son ‘1
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Cal-li-thump n. a noisy, boisterous parade; a mock serenade n. the Stone Ridge literary and arts magazine n. the exuberant tension that results from a room filled with teenage girls, all of the snacks known to mankind, and only ten minutes left of lunch to keep Adobe InDesign from destroying the work of several months
Last year, we were amazed by the growth of the magazine, which swelled in both page and staffer size as a result of record participation. We embraced the challenges that came with such explosive change and proudly created a publication to celebrate the mind-bogglingly amazing work of the student body. This year, our staff has grown closer and more creative than ever. The work we had the privilege of reading, seeing, and experiencing touched our hearts and excited our creativity in ways words cannot express.
We chose the theme of “time” this year, asking ourselves and our community to explore the relationships between time, creation, and exploration. While last year’s theme, “chaos,” explored the lawlessness of the universe, this year we chose to capture the universally controlling but ever enigmatic time.
Many thanks to Spectrum Printing for eternalizing our work in print, to the new schedule for teaching us the true unifying power of a weekly google invite, to all of the Adobe programs for reminding us that even the toughest problems can be solved with YouTube, and to the ever-supportive Ms. Whitmore and Mrs. Cowan for all of their help along the way. 02
Annie Kelly
In the spirit of our theme, Callithump 2018 is dedicated to: The Past: All of the staffers, advisors, and editors who have crafted a rich tradition of Callithumps that inspire us and upon whose shoulders we stand today The Present: All of the amazing artists and writers who donated their work, time, and creativity to allow us to celebrate the literary and arts communities at Stone Ridge The Future: You, the reader, and the creations you will give to the world
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Staff Caroline Barry Ana Clara Borga Maggie Cavanaugh Ciara Collins Shea Darcey Maddie Dreiband Courtney Fanning Roxy Fassihi Charlotte Flannery Lily Gee Izzy Kallen Emily Kaminski Annie Kelly Carter Leahy Joyce Liu Jordan Milby Ashlyn Morick Nipuni Obe Meghana Pai Alex Pitts Olivia Potter Jamison Rodgers Rachel Ruffin Kayla Simpson Cailley Slaten Langley Steuart Piper Suk Briana Thompson Kris Turner Lucie Quinn Camille Werth
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Editors
Grace Christenson (editor-in-chief) Maddie Notarianni (art design editor) Cecilia Hornyak (copy editor) Lara Bedewi (art design editor)
Faculty Advisors
Emma Cowan Miranda Whitmore
Artwork:
Caroline Barry........................................................38, 39 Lara Bedewi...................................................................27 Cora Beswick.................................................................35 Ana Clara Borga...........................................................42 Cecilia Brooks...............................................Back Cover Katya Cavanaugh...................................................23, 24 Audrey Cibel........................................14, 26, 30, 34, 43 Lily Gee..........................................................................27 Carrie Goeke-Morey................................................9, 45
Table of Contents
Sarah Slimp.......................................................10, 25, 28 Langley Steuart......................................8, 12, 14, 15, 32 Briana Thompson........................................Front Cover Meg Turner.......................................................22, 40, 41 Maggie Valaik...............................................................36 Nadine Vos....................................................................12 Kendall Wienecke.........................................................16 Cate Willing..........................................................6, 7, 24
Poetry and Prose:
Anonymous.......................................8, 9, 10, 18, 38 Lara Bedewi......................................................15, 27 Maggie Cavanaugh..........................................40, 41 Gabi Chambers......................................................43 Lily Gee...................................................................36 Elizabeth Hogan..............................................26, 44 Cecilia Hornyak........................7, 19, 22, 30, 34, 35 Hannah Hwang......................................................21 Emily Kaminski.......................................................6
Annie Kelly.....................................................3, 9, 19, 39
Josie Munoz Nogales.............................................11
Sarah Knack............................................................11, 21
Nipuni Obe.............................................................28
Carter Leahy..................................................................35
Karly Page.........................................................14, 17
Alison Manca................................................................30
Meghana Pai...........................................................32
Maddie Notarianni.......................................................20
Jillian Perry.............................................................16
Nipuni Obe......................................................................8
Jamison Rodgers.................................20, 23, 27, 39
Nina Osborn...........................................................23, 29
Madeleine Sateri.....................................................37
Meghana Pai..................................................................44
Piper Suk.................................................................24
Alex Pitts.................................................................17, 18
Camille Toner.........................................................40
Rachel Ruffin.................................................................33
Jodie Urbanski...........................................12, 13, 29 05
Lazy Chronicles Pt. ??? There’s this stinkbug on the carpet at my house. It’s just there I guess. Hanging out. It’s dead, and just lying there, on the carpet upstairs, and I guess nobody wants to move it because it’s been there for a while. Moving it would be way too much work anyway. Moving it would involve having to pick up the stinkbug on a piece of paper or a cup or something, walking it all the way down the stairs, opening the door, and throwing the carcass out. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Instead of moving it, we have adjusted our lives around the creature, (which is in the smack dab middle of the hallway by the way), and we walk around it, every day, ignoring it, pretending that it’s not there, no one wanting to step on it, or hear that fatal crunch. One day I will miss that little stinkbug, our tiny, friendly roommate. The embodiment of laziness. - Emily Kaminski 19’
Cate Willing ‘18 06
[Untitled] There are ancient languages written beneath your skin. I cannot say I love you; but I love them. There is life beneath your eyelids, young and wet like the first animal to ever spread crumpled wings and take flight. I cannot say I love you; but I love them. There are crescent moons hiding in the curve where your jaw meets your ear. I cannot say I love you; but I love them. There are tales of twisted driftwood contained in your fingers. I cannot say I love you, but I love them. - Cecilia Hornyak ‘19
Cat eW illin g ‘1
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Language is terrifying. At least it terrifies me. It influences every molecule in our bodies. It is emotionally loaded and comes with consequences. I think one of the most absolute petrifying things about language is the way it expresses love. There is nothing like being told you are genuinely loved for the first time. Your heart drops. You do not know how to respond and it freezes your soul in a single moment. Language creates a drop in time that one can never forget. I use language loosely. But these nonchalant words detached from meaning create a significance for the words that really do hold power. Too often words slip from the folds of our mouths and rush out into the world like a flooding tide.
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They engulf people with meaning and sentiment. They make us reflect. Words are plainly complex. I hope this bemuses you as much as it bewilders me. Words have been the causes of my actions. Words are the undercurrent to my struggles and suffering. They are the reason I have undergone periods of sorrowful depression and deep anxiety. It is fascinating to me how it takes a thousand words to build me up and only one or a few more to make me crumble. I see myself
as a small rowboat. I am never truly in charge of my direction. My mood and my emotions rely completely on the way of the winds. A beautiful day will have me floating about gracefully, however, it only takes a brief and tumultuous cloud to cast away my wood and scatter me through dark waters as if I were as light as a feather. These clouds have no sense of my humanity and my true fragility. Words . . . how complicated. Language even more so. I decided to take the path of words because words solely account for one aspect of language. Language comes in thousands of forms ranging from the eyes to the direction one’s feet may point. Out of all the things that may puzzle me most in this world, words and language stumble my mind the most. -Anonymous
Langley Steuart ‘20
Wax on; Wax off
Annie Kelly ‘19 Carrie Goeke-Morey ‘20
Time to get undressed
A dark room or a bright room, doesn’t matter It’s all about where you can get the deal You make pleasant conversation; saying what you need How you are, what you’ve been up to All the while, you’re nervous Since the pain is coming Quick temperature test on a blue medical glove “ Oh honey, don’t worry; it not too hot. ” Weakly smile and nod Carefully places hot amber colored wax on Wonder why only women have to do this RIPPPPPPPP Forgot to take a breath to ease the pain No worries, the first one is always the worst, right? Next, seriously consider burning your bra and fighting any man that dares to breathe Eventually you go numb While you can see your legs shaking, you don’t feel it Once finished, she gets tweezers to TRY to get rid of ingrowns Pain like no other hits It takes everything in you not to kick her “Ok, honey, we all done” Until you see the final bill Once again, picture burning your bra.
--AAnn oonnyy moo m uuss
Smile and nod
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Thick air chokes my lungs Glaring sun hits my sweet skin Savoring each breeze
Fourth of July
Bees float above the summer flowers That fill up the summer air with their sweet nectar Joyous times with my friends Not a care in the world while diving into pools, Drinking up the poppy sodas Lying out on the deck, The view of the honey glow sun Reflecting in our sunglasses Driving around, wind combing through our hair The smell of barbecue lurks throughout the neighborhood As night time falls Gleaming lights explode in the air, Fear yet excitement fill my veins Smelling the sweet air of summer Avoiding the hardship and trials of life Wishing this moment could last forever - Anonymous
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Sarah Slimp ‘19
The Facades of Coffee Sitting on the counter seven year old me, Smelled the delicious coffee being poured in a three inch cup. Feeling the need to try it for the first time, I asked for a cup. “Yuck! How does everyone like this?” Eleven year old me Grabbed a turquoise cup and filled it with strong rich coffee, Added six tablespoons of dark brown sugar And took it to my bright pink room
August sixth, two thousand seventeen. With the exuberant feeling of being legal, Came the acknowledgment of the fact that coffee truly possess me And is my one materialistic true love
Black, strong, sugarless espresso coffee. Not too strong, But strong enough for the smell to penetrate my kitchen And fill my heart with the anticipation of coffee.
Waiting for the water to boil at the perfect temperature, I grabbed the black Starbucks French Press and the spoon that came with it. Meticulously, I measured three tablespoons of coffee. Added them to the French Press and added the perfectly boiled water.
Sitting down on the beige chair next to the glass door I wondered, “How can there be people who don’t like coffee?” I poured the coffee in my new baby pink cup. Taking a sip of the smoky dark liquid, I knew it was going to be a good birthday.
-- Josie Munoz Nogales ‘18
Sarah Knack ‘18
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a haiku The world turns; I stop I stop and the world moves on We’re naught but motion - Jodi Urbanski ‘20
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e ngl a L -
t‘ uar e t yS
a poem about words How many times can I write the words Empty, heart, hope, starlight Before you grow tired of my handwriting? I am not a poet I am the universe in a jar Am I good enough yet? Does this mean something yet? Beautiful, broken, bitter, starstuff Can you hear my voice? Is it enough? - Jodi Urbanski ‘20
Nadine Vos ‘21
13
amongst light amongst dirt and grass sunlight casts lacy shadows; squirrel basks in heat solemn blue-gray light sun hidden behind thick clouds; blue eyes trade for gray early evening sun golden light dances between mulled wine-colored leaves flickering lightbulb words on pages tell stories in cozy lamplight sweet honeyed silver; moonlight’s reflection pooled in withered leaf, to drink autumn’s first chilled breeze soft afternoon sunlight paints licks of gold on wall - Karly Page ‘18
Langley Steuart ‘20
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Audrey Cibel ‘19
Langley Steuart ‘20
Equilibrium A fiery sun in a universe of moons. A glittering pearl in an ocean of shells. A blooming sunflower in a garden of grass. For how could one possibly begin to compare such extraordinary, unworldly phenomena to its mundane counterparts? Such beauty and uniqueness shall not settle until it is deemed as a class of its own, And every drab garment of dull normality is buried deep into oblivion. Until every eye is stiffly fixated with enthrallment on such a spectacular sight. But no, This faux notion of inferiority hurts only those who believe it true. For those who deem themselves superior are only inflating their minds and gluttonously indulging their egos, And those who view themselves inferior are nailing themselves into the casket and pushing it Down the everlasting river of idolatry. However, Those who do not believe in such segregation and do not adhere to such societal norms are Protecting themselves and those around them. This is the type of soul one should aspire to be: The soul that sees far beyond the fire and directly through the glimmering mask. They know a burning sun cannot exist without a moon to pivot on, A shimmering pearl cannot exist without a shell to be nurtured in, And a blooming sunflower cannot exist without a field of grass to grow in. Both components are reliant on the presence of the other, - Lara Bedewi ‘19 for without a stable rootage system, one would be utterly and underwhelming insignificant.
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Fo ru r m pe n fa y re da opl st, “ gga di nce e, L mo e p bu vers . Fo ive n”-s layin t o ity r o an ay g, ut . W ur d l ing of e a sc ove , p m re att an ro an e u y o not red d la d a ne jus be ugh ctin pe t b at r an g op lac efl d le; k, ec ts ou r
For my New Jersey Ramapough-Lunaape nation, keepers of the past Remark on the hardships that shaped our world, But be vigilant when it comes to advocacy and seek to secure justice For our time will come when we are recognized nationally;
So, let us rise as one. For we are one. One race just different shades. One people just different genders. And one me just different ethnicities. -Jillian Perry ‘19 Kendall Wienecke ‘20
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Ab For m Bu use, y p t w mi eo p Fo e ar strea le t h e th r my no tme at o ed t n v oc peo defi t, o erc to ple ne pp am rs, d r e an we a by essio the d t re ou n, im he th r h m p tea e fu ear ole oss my ch tu t w sta ible er re: re tio , Fo s; th nc n, re e i hin I c nn g om ve ov an m ato d d en r rs, isg d y Pe th us ou op e e tin , ng g p le in as ee t rs,
dreamers lovers fighters open eyes full heart racing mind chaos pries open eyelids bosom skull as We scream unto the sky; We are a wonderful marvelous thing quirky ramshackle band of dreamers lovers fighters booming voices splintering the wall of oppression; singing “Imagine” in front of the blanched house tangy anger and solemn sorrow on that muscle which allows Us to taste that chilled november evening air; brush fingertips against those of kindred souls in passing cars wave the hands that do not hold posters at dreamers lovers fighters in windows balconies street corners; We drank the exclamations of Our fellow dreamers lovers fighters as liquid fuel to power Our gait each step a tectonic rumble across the capital;
dreamers lovers fighters
at dreamers lovers fighters in windows balconies street corners; We drank the exclamations of Our fellow dreamers lovers fighters as liquid fuel to power Our gait each step a tectonic rumble across the capital; this is what democracy looks like -Karly Page ‘17
Alex Pitts ‘18
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Who am I? Do you ever just not know who you are anymore? Not recognize yourself? I remember when I was little. I was such a happy, energetic kid. I remember running around outside. I’d pretend that I was running at the Olympics, winning all of my races. You know what? I always won my imaginary races. Always. I pretended that I was the best and the thought of being anything less never, ever crossed my mind. I saw myself through confident, innocent eyes. But now I’m different. I’ve given up on running. I’ve given up on music. I’ve given up on sports. I’ve given up on every single thing that made me, well, me. I no longer expect to be the best, I always expect to be the worst. I’m scared of failing. I’m scared of not being good enough. So, now what? How do I change, yet again, but for the better? How do I go back to seeing myself in first place? - Anonymous
Alexandra Pitts ‘18 18
Love poem for the Sun
But Fire lights in me again,
‘18
I swear I’ll toe the mortal line;
ly Annie Kel
Every time I crash to earth,
This time, I will become divine
- Cecelia Hornyak
19
k;
Maddie Notarianni ‘19
“Nature’s mindset”
The race against the clock… Time is of the essence… That’s a waste of time... Tied to an artifact of wisdom that dictates life. Hustling around on the whim of some inanimate object. Guilt creeps in when all the sand drains, but still more has to be done. Day and night, dawn and dusk, names given from the colors splattered on their blank canvases.
canvases. 20
The world and the inhabitants run in circles to follow the pre-destined time table. The delusion of no escape from the confines of the sands of time. Ignorance the mindset and heavy leaden expectations the driving force. -Jamison Rodgers ‘20
The cream of the earth Shifts beneath us. Rusted by waves, And embraced by blue air. Blinking pink and yellow lights Look steady by a white-cold sun And against song-scrubbed wood, Made soft with salt. I do not mind the way We bleach pink and purple memories And ready the frosted street For the hot melt of new anthems. The only footprints here Are ours, proof That we have obtained A glitzy-goopy-gray-gray memory (or, at least, so we hope) We are the ghosts of next week Who will linger into the summer Throwing french fries into the wind, Hoping They will hit the tourists of tomorrow. - Hannah Hwang ‘18
Sarah Knack ‘18 21
Meg Turner ‘20
Man In the Moon
I wish to see the man in the moon, I never knew what it could ruin, when men above hide from my eyes, like Rorschach blots I can’t disguise. “We’ll tell the moon goodnight,” she said, Her nightgown white beside the bed, my words stick fast before I choke, She cries. I leave. I never spoke. “Our father,” starts the holy words, Christmas Vigil barely heard, I search in vain for sacred faces, but like the man there are no traces. “Hallowed be,” my mother glares, I choke on words between the stares, and out the window, climbing high, the moon’s man starts to ossify. 22
-Cecilia Hornyak ‘19
Katya Cavanaugh ‘19 Nina Osborn ‘18
Ripple Effect
the waves ripple in rhythm, the trees sway in tandem, the sand, as one, sings serenely, all in its own time the pen dashes frantically, the fingers type desperately, the eyes strain hopelessly, deprived of nourishment, all on a set time the bees buzz contently, the penguins waddle gleefully, the lions prowl with pride, all on their own time tied to a clock or expectations? freedom from restrictions or suppressions will then set you to your own time -Jamison Rodgers ‘20
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Katya Cavanaugh ‘19
Ups and Downs
Unpack, rosin, tune, play. The sound is comforting. The cello’s vibrations bring me warmth. Unpack, rosin, tune, play. The sound is harsh and my bow distorts everything I play. The cello’s vibrations bring me stress. -Piper Suk ‘20
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Sarah Slimp ‘19 Cate Willing ‘18
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Fear of the Dark
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I was taught to fear the dark You were not I was taught not to walk around my neighborhood after sundown You were not I was afraid of walking down to the end of my backyard after dinner You were not I was afraid of turning my lamp off at night before I went to sleep You were not
But then, You come over to my house and we walk around my block for an hour I’m not scared We talk under the streetlights about anything and everything I’m not scared We walk to the park near your house without any street lights I’m a little scared You hold my hand I’m not scared We get to the park and my eyes adjust and I see you I’m not scared We watch the fireflies and the stars and the clouds and the moon I’m not scared We dance around singing about fireflies I’m not scared We sit on my roof and you stand up and walk around while I stay sitting I’m nervous, but I’m not scared You taught me to find solace in the dark We go down to the creek near my house You showed me that I’ll be okay even if I can’t see my feet It’s pitch black as we walk down the stairs towards the You gave me a space to feel comfortable in the dark bridge so I turn on a light You gave the dark happy memories We get to the rock where I spent days in the sunlight You gave the dark laughter and joy and dancing and singing years ago You gave your dark to me, and I hope I can give my light to you. It’s the first time I’ve been there in the dark -Elizabeth Hogan ‘18 I’m not scared
Audrey Cibel ‘19
My Home I feel a cool evening breeze fight for dominance over the desert humidity. The sand obstructs my vision, making me squint. I tightly grip the dry hand holding mine. A hand that has always seemed to fit perfectly into mine for as long as I can remember. I pick up my pace, trying to catch up. I am drawn to the aroma of fresh spices, and take in a large breath through my nose, absorbing all the scents at once. I shut my eyes completely now, focusing on my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In. Out. In. Out… With a sigh of relief, I open my eyes, and my hand is empty. I sense a pang of worry. I feel around frantically, rubbing grains of sand from my burning pupils. My vision restored, I make out an illuminated shape in the distance, and I let it guide me. I find myself in a never-ending tunnel of shops. I see tables of scarves, jewelry, and souvenirs. The shouts of store merchants are overwhelming. Still alone, I scurry around looking for familiar faces. As I sort through thick accents and childish squeals, I feel a familiar voice pierce my ears. “There you are!”, it hollers. Relieved, I lunge toward the figure. As I regain my composure, I continue walking through the crowded tunnel, very cautious not to let go of the hand, now clammy.
Lily Gee ‘19
Once again, I close my eyes, and the commotion grows louder. However, the noise that once was a burden now has an entirely new meaning. The squeals and eager footsteps of rowdy children are now masked by the jingling of tambourines. Graceful singing conceals the harsh voices of foreign tongues. At this moment, I become fully immersed in my culture, never truly understanding it until now. The ancient gods and goddesses. The underworld. The mummification. All the stories and legends are now aligned right before my very eyes, yet my eyes still remain shut. With open eyes, I exit the bazaar with a new outlook, taking in the salty scent of the Nile as I venture on. I hear sand shift beneath my feet as I shuffle along the barren grounds. I imagine Pharaohs from thousands of years ago walking along the same ancient pathway I am currently strolling down. I observe the faint outline of the pyramids in the dim evening moonlight as I note the precision of each stone, and marvel at the sheer size. I now grasp why my culture is taught in schools year after year and feel blessed to be of such rich and historical ethnicity. I tilt my head up and gaze at the stars, connecting the dots to create stellar constellations. I never knew a night could be so bright. “Yes,” I think to myself. “This is my home.” -Lara Bedewi ‘19
Lara Bedewi ‘19
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Victory is an Illusion of Philosophers and Fools the hour began to strike. the mausoleum of all hope and desire was full of ticking. i tapped the crystal and caught the fragments of glass in my hand. someday it will no longer hurt like this, it will be better for me, for all of us. i could still hear the clock ticking so I got two six pound little ones i heard the tree thrashing and felt something happening inside me, do you love him caddy? their hearts were speaking to one another she smelled like trees no longer and everything big and blurred beyond the glass then the bright shapes began to stop and there were bells along the broken air until the last note sounded and there was no sound anywhere. the shadow moved almost perceptibly, creeping back inside the door and so the darkness was still as i sank into their hearts et ego in Arcadia i am home again
- Nipuni Obe
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‘19
Sarah Slimp ‘19
a poem for Callithump Write, they tell me So I do My pen is heavy My words are dry What is this nonsense? Meaningless existence Beautiful words and empty promises What is writing? Ink on a page, on my hands, on my heart Forced creativity like bitter medicine Tell me why My words are cynicism Write, they tell me So I do - Jodie Urbanski ‘20
Nina Osborn ‘18
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Iterate “Here.” He replies simply, swinging his legs back and forth. “Am I supposed to get on one of these?” He turns his eye towards you, then the boat at the dock- a massive cruise liner, right now. Then he looks back at the water and says expressionlessly, “If you wish.” You wait with him for a long time. He tells you a few stories, about what his childhood was like. It seems to change every time- he says he grew up in the bayou, or he farmed chickens in Kentucky, or he sawed down the oldest redwood in Michigan once. You pepper him with questions about the dock, the
Audrey Cibel ‘19
This is the first thing you see after you die. A wizened old man sits on the edge of the pier, soaking his bone-white feet in the warmish water. You sit down next to him and watch the fog, running your hands over the lake. People come and go on the dock, with boats of all shapes and sizes stopping by for a few minutes, just enough for a few determined passengers to climb aboard. You’ve never seen anyone on the ships as they pull up. Dugout canoes, gilded steamers, giant warships and sputtering tugboats listlessly emerge from the fog and recede back into it. “Where are we?” you ask the old man.
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water, the fog, but he easily deflects them. “Can I drown?” you ask him one day. He shakes his head. “There is no drowning here. But why not get on one of the boats? You have remained here for too long, young man.” You feel hurt- this is the first time he has ever expressed any sort of disapproval of you. “Why don’t you get on one of the boats? You’ve been here longer than me.” The old man closes his eyes, and rubs his shoulder as if it can somehow still ache in this far-off place. “Who would remain here on the dock for
people like you?” You feel guilty. “I could, if you want. I think it would be fun to stay, to hear their stories. Regrets. There’s so much in the world I don’t know. “ The old man looks at you, and considers itreally considers it- for a long time. Instead, he shakes his head and smiles. “No, I don’t think you should.” He points to the glossy surface of the lake and draws his feet out of it. “If you go down, you will rise up.” You blink, as yet unsure what he means. But before you can protest he presses his gnarled hands to your back and you are pitching
forward, into the lake. There’s no bubbles or splash- you fall through silently, like it’s nothing but air. You fall for days and wonder if he has tricked you. Just as you begin to decide to swim back to the top, you hear an emergency room and a hospital and a woman straining. There is a light far below you, and you swim down toward it, kicking harder and faster. You feel your lungs ache and your body twist as if the pressure has finally popped you like a soda can, but you keep going. You are in the Light now, and it is in you. You feel yourself melt and dissolve and become less and more than you are now. You
open your eyes. The world is strange and blurry but someone is holding you, and you open your tiny, painful lungs to cry. The dock and the man slip from your mind like droplets of water, with only the faintest marks to be recalled later. Many years later, a young woman hesitates, and steps out of line for a ghostly galleon. She nudges an old man, who is trailing his hands over the water. “Where are we?” The old man smiles at her in an oddly familiar way. “Here.” - Cecilia Hornyak ‘19
Al
ca an M n iso
‘19 31
“Sold the Pasture”
Langley Steuart ‘20
Only our country was not like this country It was worn away by a minute clicking of little wheels File of soldiers, embattled legions of both hell and heaven, Became dead and stereotyped transience It ain’t got no wings, but it became a gull on an invisible wire attached through space dragged Leaving not many of us There was a tranquil bend in the path Then a sudden change of direction midstride It was swung to the left at the monument by those country boys in school and fellows that sit up there in New York
Audrey Cibel ‘19
I’m an American, all right Not many of us left Cruel fate may part us, but I will never love another country like this country Never. - Meghana Pai ‘19
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Technology’s Blame
Rachel Ruffin ‘18
I told my mother once “technology has a weird habit of moving forward, no matter how much you want it to stop or go back” This was after I read an email from my grandfather about how great the good old days were. Talking about how kids could play outside and get hurt and no one would sue. How parents could punish, yell at, spank their kids without them needing to go to therapy. How everything was so much better before this dreaded technology came and ruined all their fun. All through an email, huh. I hear this constantly from adults. Mostly, by use of the same technology they abhor. Do they even see the irony in making a YouTube video, a Facebook post, a chain mail about how social media will be the downfall of the human race. Through social media we learned that. So congratulations You have placated, patronized, underutilized, deemphasized, blatantly ignored anything my “generation” has to contribute to the conversation. You blamed our lack of laughter on our lives being buried in our phones You blamed us for not going outside on tvs and the Internet You blamed our violence on video games Not once did you think that our lack of laughter is due to your judgmental glares Not once did you blame us not going outside on how f**king terrified we are of the world you created Not once did you blame our violence on our desire for change, the responsibility to fix all your mistakes, the constant killings of our hopes and dreams because we need to be realistic. Not once would you ever blame yourself - Elizabeth Hogan ‘18
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On Love Some people’s love is like water; fickle and overflowing, It’s messy- it spills and slops onto all kinds of people, but as they feel it it makes them grin the silly smile of a 12 year old in a sprinkler. It looks beautiful, sitting in a glass, poured like ice shards, and reflects those it touches back in beautifully strange ways.
Some people’s love is like blood. They grab your hem, nick your ankle, and press their hand to it before you say anything. It mixes with yourself, and you could never remove it all unless you drained yourself, too. They only give it to two or three people before it is spent, and every time they are separated from the one they pledged their life to, they become a little bit less of themselves, and you have a little bit more of them.
My love is like wine. It overflows like water, tasted and sampled by many people, and flows off of skin as easily as a hand. Admire it, swirling in the glass for a moment, then take it into your mouth as if it were something holy, hold it there, pull it inward for a moment, allow it to sit. And then, the zenith; swallow it down, fiery and hot and sour as it is, and grin at your compatriots. It does not bind as blood does, it is not as common as water, but lord, does it stain. - Cecelia Hornyak
‘19
Audrey Cibel ‘19 34
Icarus It is the moment after you leap when you feel that you’ve slipped the rough hands of earth and will join the ranks of angels It is the chains that yank you back again It is a firm belief that you are destined for ascension It is self-consuming determination until you are nothing else It is the fire of youth It is the ocean of old age As long as I can remember I have been in love with the sun
- Cecelia Hornyak ‘19
Cora Beswick ‘21
Carter Leahy ‘18 35
26/10/2017 Poetry isn’t supposed to be beautiful Poetry isn’t something you burn your emotions onto a page Don’t revel in the beautiful metric structure, or exalt prayers in iambic pentameters That’s not the point. Poetry is, simply put, anger. It’s unadulterated hatred slopped from your brain to your mouth like static, Overflowing onto the tips of your fingers tap tap tapping silent anguish into a blank document Quietly letting a catharsis of words bleed out on Google Drive of all places. Frankly, poetry can feel disgusting. It’s instead of bloody wrists, it’s messy ink over blank pages. I suppose ink and blood at this point are the same thing. I have shaky hands and cheekbones illuminated by my dull computer screen at 2:00 AM. And I just can’t.
It’s not beautiful. This, my own work, cannot be beautiful. I wish I could tell you that I write about you, Worship you and say that you’re my muse. Tell you that my writing paints your irises reflecting campfires Or that you are a quiet radiance beyond what words can describe. That I’d string stars on a moonlight chain and say You’re so beautiful Instead I acclaim, This is every f**k you, You’re pathetic, I hate you I hate you I hate you beyond anything, Every scathing thought that has ever clawed at the inside of my ribcage Ripping apart flesh like nails on a chalkboard before eventually slithering out of my mouth And dissipating into nothing I wish I could weave together words of love for you But know that saying this instead, Helps. - Lily Gee ‘19
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Maggie Valaik ‘18
When Time Stops Time stopped
When Time Stops One shot Time stoppedthe air Punctured One shot Blinds pulled, doors locked Punctured the air Violins down Phones out Blinds pulled, doors locked In the corner Violins Callsdown made Phones out Shot fired In the corner Calls made heard Screams Shot fired Clasped hands
How much time till we know Screams Are weheard safe or are we dead? Clasped hands How much time till we know Are we safe or are we dead?
Just a moment when you realize There is nothing in life but Seconds that morph into minutes and extend to hours how did I spend mine? was I now counting it? Phone call Crisis over 5 minutes An eternity Hugs exchanged Just police, just police Shooting at injured deer
Just a moment when you realize There is nothing in life but Seconds that morph into minutes and extend to hours how did I spend mine? was I now counting it? Phone call Crisis over 5 minutes An eternity Hugs exchanged Just police, just police Shooting at injured deer
- Madeleine Sateri ‘19
Caroline Barry ‘19
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Creativity
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Everything you make will never be as marvelous as the first time you made it. Those nubile, barely crystallized thoughts, passion unblemished by the ugly logic of angles and perspective and charcoal smudges, will be the greatest. Simply by trying to improve, we unintentionally worsen our works. It’s like romance, sex, or alcohol. The first sip is always the best.
And so to every one of us playing demagogue and demigod, trying to wrest reality and meaning from our barest wisps of thoughts- To us writers and artists daring to create things which we think will surpass Angels, only to watch them fall on their own merits- To us Gods, us Iconoclasts, us Ground-Shakers and Wordsmiths, we must know that the first, shaky breath, laden with emotion, will always be the one that matters. Use it wisely. - Anonymous
Caroline Barry
Treasure Emotions of stress and distress run high Mixed with feelings of frustration and exhaustion, But how could I not be grateful for the time I have? I have time to make lasting friendships and relationships Time for memories and to run the course of fate Time to form and pursue passions Time for growing up and growing old Time for stolen kisses and cherishing treasures Time to build a life full of love and happiness Life throws the curve balls of hardships and woes, But I combat back with support and warmth given from the time bestowed to me - Jamison Rodgers ‘20
Annie Kelly ‘19
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The Nature Within Stone Ridge
Dark under eye bags Red tomato splatter Stands out on white polo
Battery turns red Hands ravenously grab Buttery breadsticks
Empty printer tray Harmonious groan As juniors are dismissed first - Camille Toner ‘18
Strands unwind from bun Girl comtemplates If juice box is compostable Plate spills across floor Lysol disinfectant aroma Stings nostrils
To Whom It May Concern
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- Maggie Cavanaugh ‘19
Meg Turner ‘20
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Ana Clara Borga ‘18
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Audrey Cibel ‘19
To me, fall is the equivalent of an eternal peace. While winter brings blistering cold, spring is unpredictable, and summer is tumultuous heat and thunderstorms, fall is colorful and built on the beauty of a gentle breeze. I step into the knowingly cool air. Fall connects to my personality. I am foreseeable, yet I am disguised by layers of foliage each bringing new colors to the eye. I go about my life like a drifting leaf falling from its tree. Whichever way the wind blows me I shall go. No direction, only a wandering path ahead, covered by leaves as if the path was not there in the first place. I love the disorder to the order of fall. Autumn is known to be vibrant and one can expect certain things to occur, such as the scents and the views, but in all the order is that same disorder of leaves covering paths. An unknowingness prevails what is known and all of a sudden one is caught up in the chaos of fall. However, in all this havoc remains peaceful undertones. These undercurrents are ones of renewal. Autumn renews mother nature’s life by shedding the past. It is one whole detox, a major cleansing. I feel most connected to fall because I understand it. My mood, my life, and my connection, I would say, leans towards the blissful likeness of autumn. - Gabi Chambers ‘18
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5/6/17
They laugh, they ask, you talk, they talk, it still goes well. People tell you that it’s butterflies No one tells you that it will take you three minutes of on and off silence for you to ask That it’s beautiful and wonderful and everything you ever hoped for. to kiss them on the cheek. That it’s every song you’ve ever heard about it No one tells you that it’s impossible to say what’s on your mind because you will have From a classical extravaganza to Taylor Swift it all just sounds so no idea which thoughts to express first lovely. No one tells you that it’s okay to say that you don’t want to kiss And it is. because you think your lips are too chapped. It is also scary as s**t. No one tells you that the butterflies don’t go away. Falling in love for the first time is just that, No one tells you that when you think of them Falling. all you can do is smile, laugh, You are having the time of your life and there’s this huge smile and feel like you’re going to throw up. on your face But you also feel like you are going to throw up every second that you’re in it When holding hands is a step up from natural and hugging comes second hand But asking for anything more scares the s**t out of you. When you’re falling there is no such thing as a comfort zone anymore. You are out of every element you’ve ever known For the first time you walked outside in the dark without a flashlight and you weren’t scared But you were shaking You tried to convince yourself it was because it was cold out and the wet grass had soaked your vans But you know that ain’t it. You ramble you laugh you distract yourself from thoughts because of questions you’re too afraid to ask. You ask. It goes well. You’re still shaking. You talk, oh god you could talk forever. Your mind moving somehow faster than normal 44
Meghana Pai ‘19
No one tells you that no matter how many times you say “f**k societal norms” you still feel there is a right way to do things. No one tells you that you will run through your future date a hundred times in your head, but it never turns out that way No one tells you that it turns out better. No one tells you that you will spend the entire next day just thinking about everything No one tells you that you will write out everything you feel No one tells you that even when you speak it out loud to yourself, you will still shake and stutter through your words They only tell you about your heart beating out of your chest, but they don’t tell you about your shaking hands. They only tell you about when you’re on a date, not what you feel for the rest of the day. No one can tell you the complexities of falling in love with your best friend. No can tell you how you two figure it out No can tell you anything about love But I can try. -Elizabeth Hogan ‘18
Alex Pitts ‘18
Carrie Goeke-Morey ‘20
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Staffer Credits: Courtney Fanning and Cailley Slaten...........................................................................6-7 Alex Pitts and Briana Thompson...................................................................................8-9 Maddie Dreiband and Jamison Rodgers...................................................................10-11 Lucie Quinn and Camille Werth................................................................................12-13 Ana Clara Borga and Kris Turner..............................................................................14-15 Maggie Cavanaugh and Lily Gee...............................................................................16-17 Meghana Pai and Langley Steuart.............................................................................18-19 Ciara Collins and Kayla Simpson...............................................................................20-21 Shea Darcey and Jordan Milby...................................................................................22-23 Caroline Barry..............................................................................................................24-25
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26-27.................................................................................Cecilia Hornyak and Piper Suk 28-29.......................................................................................Izzy Kallen and Annie Kelly 30-31..................................................................................................................Lara Bedewi 32-33.................................................................................................................Roxy Fassihi 34-35..............................................................................Emily Kaminski and Nipuni Obe 36-37.....................................................................................Joyce Liu and Ashlyn Morick 38-39.......................................................................Charlotte Flannery and Olivia Potter 40-41......................................................................................................Maddie Notarianni 42-43................................................................................Carter Leahy and Rachel Ruffin 44-45...........................................................................................................Cecilia Hornyak 46-47.......................................................................................................Grace Christenson
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