n. A noisy, boisterous band or parade
CAL-LI-THUMP
n. The Stone Ridge literary and arts magazine n. A tome summoned by placing Indesign, Photoshop, six pizzas, and forty-four students in a circle chanting, “Please don’t crash” until the Publication Suite door finally opens
Callithump this year is dedicated to PASSION. To the late nights in front of a blank page, the quest for the perfect angle, and the crumpled sketches that all the creators who submitted their work endured to make this magazine what it is. To the haphazard sketches, the happy accidents, and the relentless creativity of our hardworking staff as they assembled the final product. To the lunchtime meetings, the freedom to try, and the years of expertise that our faculty supports gave us while we broke new ground and took risks this year, especially Stone Ridge’s English teachers for encouraging their students to showcase their mastery of the written word. The art, writing, time, and talents you shared are what made this magazine into a monument to passion. To the inexorable drive to create, to the sacrifices we make for our art. Thank you.
This year, Callithump underwent several dramatic changes. We said farewell to our beloved Mac Lab and settled in to the Publication Suite, where our staffers pushed the limits of their creative horizons to master new skills and create spreads unlike any we’ve seen before. Every artist, photographer, and writer who submitted has our heartfelt thanks for entrusting us with their creations, and for the passion that shone in every one of their works. In addition, for the first time in several years, Callithump’s membership and page count reduced. After our record length magazine last year, we decided to downsize and truly focus on the quality of our publication over the quantity. The result is a more refined version of Callithump, with care in every detail, that we hope you will enjoy reading as much as we enjoyed creating it. Special thanks to Spectrum Printing for committing our work to paper, to Ms. Cowan and Ms. Whitmore for supporting us this year and every year, and to our wonderful maintenance team at Stone Ridge, who tolerated our impromptu lunchtime quests for the key to the Publication Suite for far longer than they should have.
Artwork
Alison Manca ‘19......................................1, 24, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 47, 54 Audrey Cibel ‘19..................................................................7, 20, 23, 27, 41 Annie Kelly ‘19..................................................................................................5 Alayna Kinkead ‘19.......................................................................................43 Cailley Slaten ‘20...........................................................................................29 Catherine Cavanaugh ‘19.......................................................10, 17, 18, 35 Catherine Heming ‘19.........................................................2, 12, 26, 31, 32 Catherine Marsiglia ‘20.................................................................................26 Caroline Moore ‘21.........................................................................................35 Caroline Vining ‘20...............................................................3, 10, 11, 40, 48 Carrie Goeke-Morey ‘20................................................................13, 14, 22 Cecilia Gadina ‘19..................................................7, 8, 45, 46, Back Cover Cecilia Hornyak ‘19..........................................................................31, 39, 40 Ciara Jacobs ‘20..............................................................................................19 Danielle Saey ‘21............................................................................................54 Emma Dowd ‘22..........................................................................................4, 25 Hannah Gutierrez ‘21................................................................24, 29, 44, 50 Kelly Shannon ‘20...............................................................................18, 37, 52 Langley Steuart...............................Cover, 6, 9, 13, 14, 15, 21, 28, 38, 47 Lara Bedewi ‘19...............................................................................................49 Lily Gee ‘19...........................................................................................9, 39, 40 Maddie Rose Notarianni ‘19..........................................................................34 Maddie Ogletree ‘22.......................................................................30, 45, 46 Maria DiBari ‘22.......................................................................................41, 42 Meg Turner ‘20...........................................................................16, 19, 20, 33 Rachel Nokku ‘22.................................................................................22, 28, 39 Zoe Barnette ‘19................................................................................................51
*Indicates a poem with inspiration taken from various artists. Credits for those can be found on pages
Writing
Anonymous..............................5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12, 17, 21, 26, 27, 29, 43, 44 Beyer Bullard ‘19.....................................................................................................23 Catherine Marsiglia ‘20.........................................................................................32 Caroline Vining ‘20..........................................................................................25, 39 Carrie Goeke-Morey ‘20........................................................................13, 14, 34 Cecilia Gadina ‘19.................................................................................................33 Cecilia Hornyak ‘19.................................................................................................41 Clare Barloon ‘20............................................................................................19, 24 Grace Bullard ‘22.....................................................................................22, 30, 38 Jackie Klein ‘22........................................................................................................31 Jillian Perry ‘19........................................................................................................11 Jodie Urbanski ‘20....................................................................................40, 47-52 Lauren Ferridge’19..................................................................................................41 Lucie Quinn ‘19.........................................................................................................33 Madeleine Sateri ‘19..............................................................................................26 Madison Cooper ‘20.........................................................................................15,16 Maggie Cavanaugh ‘19.........................................................................................20 Nipuni Obe ‘19.....................................................................................6, 18, 36, 46 Shira Nash ‘19...........................................................................................18, 28, 35 Sofia Rojas ‘19..........................................................................................33, 42, 45 Sydney Morick ‘19...................................................................................................26 Zoe Barnette ‘19.....................................................................................................41
For My Students
For my students who work, study, play, aspire, think, create and learn to the best of their ability as they mold their future in their hands;
For my students weighed down by their backpacks, filled to the brim with textbooks and assignments as they prepare to be the future doctors, scholars, lawyers and scientists of the country;
For my students going to school to see the lives of their teachers, friends, and classmates taken before their eyes; The twinkle in their eye dissipates as their appreciation and passion towards school twists into terror and dismay;
For my students who marched, protested, and rallied for student’s lives And for those lost to senseless shootings; They stand in numbers, speaking out against the lack of gun control and Filling roles of the politicians who stood as bystanders;
For my students belittled by adults who assume they are “too young and naive” to understand, Whose words are marked as invalid, whose thoughts are seen as childish,
But whose minds are filled with hope and determination as they persevere Through all the hate and backlash to transform the world and pave a road for future generations. -Anonymous
From Here to There
My thoughts whiz so fast I can barely recall them,
Like a hummingbird zooming through the air.
Still there but out of focus, and a little fuzzy. Zipping to the edges of my mind, but never quite the center. Until suddenly, there it is! That one idea, finally remembered now that the hummingbird has come to rest.
5
Annie Kelly ‘19
- Nipuni Obe
6
Rings Tuesday, November 6, 2018 It’s the type of thing that comes with the changing of the autumn wind Bright green gently gives way to the bright golden mottled landscape that sweeps over the treetops: made burnt ochre, sienna, cadmium yellow by some divine paintbrush. The changing of the wind, the harsh cold seeps into your bones when you least expect it. Long gone is the idle embrace of summer: of the warm brush of fingertips and the heavy smell of pine sap on Saturdays in the forest. Yet this severe loss is gentle in execution, summer lets us go from her arms gently and soothes us with the brilliant colors of fall as we hurdle forward towards an ever-nearing winter.
The bronze ring is the oldest and heaviest. It was given to me and I’ve had it for a while, but the memories it holds are bittersweet to say the very least. I’ve never been able to wear it, despite it being for me, It’s always been far too large for my hands. It wasn’t really for me, and it never will be for me, The bronze ring was always meant for someone else’s hand to wear correctly. For whose hand, I will never know, But perhaps this ring tried to fit me but simply couldn’t. The bronze and copper gleam with a sort of unyielding pride and by design,
You don’t notice change until the nights are dark at six and summer is entirely gone for another year. After a couple conversations I started wearing my rings on a chain. These rings are stories: they’re gifts, family history or even memories of all sorts of love. I wear them everyday as reminders of who I’ve been. My hands are far from blank and it would be inaccurate for me to do them that disservice. They add weight to my hands, and rings carry a heavy sort of love. A love that I want to love, a love I try to physically remind myself of so I can stay close to it. And it is for those reasons, I need to wear my rings on a chain for a while.
Audrey Cibel ‘19
You can’t resize it. I shove this ring on my hands yet it rejects my very form, I cannot change, he cannot change, This ring in its lovely glory will never fit my fingers no matter how many months, or times I try to make it fit. And there on the chain it was back then, And there on the chain will it remain.
The second ring is the cold snap and the dark afternoons. It was made for me, exactly my size. A ring size someone knew by heart. I wear this ring normally but lately, wearing it has felt wrong. If I am to wear this ring, an object I saw created from fire and labored oversomething he made sacrifices for in order to give to me, I should wear its weight intentionally. But despite fitting me perfectly, for now, The weight of his love drags down my hands, Takes me down sometimes like lead to the bottom of an endless ocean, And leaves my eyes wide and breathless, drenched in my doubting disbelief that this could be happening.
How could I not have noticed that the weight of this ring changed? It looks at me from the cradle of my palm, its silvery eyes blinking in frustration as it tells me, “I’m just not happy here!” How could you, something so crafted to my fingers, fit me so well, Yet sometimes cause my brain to spin webs of solutions you seem to reject or leave unrealized? I love you, Yet, for now, I put the silver ring on the chain with the rest of them.
One of you I will try my best to wear again, But for now, I put both on a chain as a gentle reminder of what has been and what will be. I suppose winter fell sooner than I thought it would. An icy distance pulls closer as possible death tolls start to sing, But I reject ever losing your warmth because I still believe in your ring. - Anonymous
Cecilia Gadina ‘19
7
Cecilia Gadina ‘19
8
Untitled There’s a fine line between drive and bloodthirst, passion and vengeance, genius and insanity, living and just surviving. You are that line. You are a thin line, spiraling inward on yourself, Causing everyone and everything in your path to collapse around you.
Katya Cavanaugh ‘19
Nothing has ever been enough for you, not even yourself. So you burned bright enough for everyone to see Now all that’s left is a shadow of who you could have been And all I did was watch as you reached your limit, Knowing that in the end, your downfall was your own ambition.
Splatter to the ‘Thump! girl sighs, end is near colored lines, boxes too small paragraphs too long girl 2 screaming babe locked away from open space girl 1 not okay
-Anonymous
no more culled poems! hard thought work down the drain pipe splatter to the ‘thump! -Anonymous Langley Steuart ‘20
Elizabeth Gee ‘19
9
Caroline Vining ‘20
10
The importance of the beat A beat keeps me grounded, it stabilizes me. My beat used to be so safe, so sure, so solid, but now it’s disjointed and falling apart. It crumbles beneath my feet as it leads me on. It used to always lead me home, but now it just leads me forward. To the corners of the universe, to where the beat doesn’t even exist. The beat keeps me safe, it guides me. I can run to the beat, I can sing, I can cry, I can think, I can fall, I can feel to the beat. But I don’t. I just let myself float, and hope it takes me somewhere I want to go. I don’t know where, but I think it will take me there. I hope I get there soon. I wish I could keep it forever but my beat will fade. Will I end it? No, I don’t think so. Someday, my beat will leave me, but I hope it does not lead me there too soon.
One Step. Two Steps. Three Steps One step can open doors, One door can open windows, One window can open worlds, One world can give you insights of others before. Two steps can change your fate, Or alter that debate, But two steps can always do more than one.
-Grace Bullard‘19
But of course there are three, Three steps said he. Three steps can give you more, more possibilities You can score, open doors, be better than before. So why be one step, two steps, but three! -Jillian Perry ‘19
Striking Out: You hit me for fun Strike One. Your words are no longer true, Strike Two. I’m no longer me Strike Three. Caroline Vining ‘20
11
-Anonymous
12
November 19, 2018 Rough carpet underfoot under bare feet curling toes uncurling toes Unplug with a tug ooh thats a rhyme right there The waterfall filter sputters and stops. The food won’t swirl too fast for Hank to catch now Taking care of Hank. The last of the waterfall dribbles to a stop. Cold, raining, cold rain. “I cant find a better spot than this,” I said “Is it legal to park here? Do either of you know?” Silence and shrugs from my companions. Me, Kendall, Nipuni. Sent on a mission to procure the caffeine for Caffeine. The mission turned into a passion project. The hunt for the perfect fish.
13
Car
rie G
Bethesda Petsmart, street parking. Objective: One fish for Cece. One fish for me. We were met at the fish section by a an employee, a woman. The Woman. Her Passion: Fish. Her Look: Unforgettable. Shaved undercut with an orange tuft atop her head. Piercings galore. Are you thinking of keeping the fish in THAT tank?” Her Words: Judgemental. Disdainful. A shudder of fear of confrontation runs through my entire body. “Because goldfish are actually a pond fish that can grow to be up to a foot long. They deserve to have one gallon per inch of their body length. You need at least a 3 gallon tank. With a filter.” Is this Syndrome look-a-like really trying to get me to spend $70 on accessories for a goldfish that only costs $1.49? Not happening. “You can keep a betta in a tank that size though. Its still not preferable but it would live I guess.” Done. I pick out food for the fish. The one with the yellow top. unscrewing the lid yellow sharp round yellow yellow Holding the little bottle vase shaped Rough carpet under toes and knees Bah bah DOP here comes ELASTIGIRL bah dop stretching her arms ELASTIGIRL bah dop bah dap ba dap bah DOP Wiggling fingers sprinkle brown-textured pellets The tank smelled like fish The tank smelled like Hank.
oeke
-Mo
rey
‘20
Too much for 6:18. Too deep You swoop under your prey, in an instant vacuumed into your tiny tiny mouth, rumble with it for a moment, spit out. the pellet drops slowly to the bottom of the tank to find its final resting among the blue green blue blue rocks pellets rocks rocks Im saying, “Come on man whats up with that” Julia Louis Dreyfus “Can you imagine being the only woman on seinfeld” I said out loud. I dont like seinfeld. thats a controversial opinion. “And first of all she dealt with that and then she’s had a whole career that way surpassed his I mean, look at the bee movie Its a joke but anyway Im talking 11 Emmys 6 back to back wins thats NUTS and THEN she get diagnosed with breast cancer and she’s dealing with that and THEN she goes ahead and wins the Mark Twain prize for american humor and HE honored HER! Too good.” I said to no one. Bee Movie. Bee Movie. Bee Movie. wow Julia Louis-Dreyfus stan stan stank tank hank tank “Tanks looking good Hank nice and clear I can see your colors very nicely”, Im saying Hank still eating swallow how do you chew if you dont have teeth Do you have teeth? I guess Ill never know I could google it but I wont youre eating thats what matters Bee Movie. Bee Movie. Bee Movie. Movie play Shakespeare.
Langley Steuart ‘20
I have to say slut in front of my grandfather I have to say slut in front of many many but not now I’ve still got Time 6:19 on the not broken clock, not a watch, not broken Correct time no less. Carrie - 2, Quentin - 0 that’s terribly cruel, stop it is it is it not he loves me she loves me not Im saying, “Okay Hank” The day is to begin the day must begin we begin and we end in this little room Knees crack on the way standing up reach back stretch out Plug in with a push sputter sputter waterfall The tank smelled like fish. The tank smelled like Hank. - Carrie Goeke-Morey ‘20
14
For My Fellow Dancers
For my fellow dancers who spent their lives listening, perfecting and wishing To see their dreams die as soon as the teacher ignores your position Watching, hoping and waiting that one day maybe someone will give you an opportunity to show them what they’re missing Let a new light shine. Let a change be made. Let us once in a while think that we are okay. Let us be encouraged. Let us be noticed. Let us also be applauded. Let our lives be more free to be the dancers who we were meant to be.
For my fellow dancers everywhere dancing all the time Taking class from the end of school until late at night Fighting to stay awake when the homework still awaits Wondering why all their time is spent on things that make you ache
- Madison Cooper ‘20
For my fellow dancers whose feet are always in pain The pounding, aching, bleeding feet that we are always landing on And for bodies that never seem to catch a break We always wonder “how are we even standing up straight” For the cramped hot studios where we learned to always do our best Where the floors seem to slip you up and make you earthbound, and as soon as you fall you just lay down for fear of teacher’s glare
15
Langley Steuart ‘20
For my friends who would look at you after the correction had been made The eye contact that took away a little bit of pain Encouraging, loving and always supporting one another for fear that a correction would soon take down one of the others
Meg Turner ‘20
16
For My Young People Inspired by Margaret Walker’s For My People
Wherever you are, start from there*
For my people everywhere who are told they are too young to make a difference, not smart enough, not experienced enough, not tough enough; We need to do a better job of putting ourselves higher on our own to do list because when we undervalue what we do, the world will undervalue who we are. We live under the delusion that we can fix everything that isn’t perfect and some days things just take way too much of my energy but I keep moving.
For my people who are misjudged because of their age, who are stereotyped as selfish and apathetic, who don’t know what’s going on in the world, who don’t care about anything but the now; For my people who feel powerless in a world full of ageism, who don’t receive respect for their work, even though they are smart, strong, and talented;
If you can’t fly, then run. If you can’t run, then walk. If you can’t walk then crawl, but by all means, look up because no one can be at peace unless they have their freedom, So I just hope I find it along the way.
For my silenced people who are told that the adults are speaking, whose opinions aren’t listened to, who feel like they can’t fight for what they believe in because no one will take them seriously;
Sometimes I don’t even know where I’m going But I was never meant to stay the same. I remembered who I was and the game changed. So do not tell me that I have changed or ask why we can’t go back to our ways Because you are not the sun, I am.
Let a new generation rise. Let attention be raised to new ideas. Let a change come into the world. Let a generation of peace flourish. Let a passion for advocacy spread and shout “Me Too,” “Time’s Up,” and “Never Again.” Let a people who want a better world for themselves and their future families be heard. Let a new generation unite.
-Anonymous -Nipuni Obe ‘19 Shira Nash ‘19, Catherine Cavanaugh ‘19
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Kelly Shannon ‘20
Catherine Cavanaugh ‘19
18
Is this passion? Do you ever feel like you’ve forgotten something? Like there’s something you’ve been meaning to do for the last seventeen years but you just haven’t gotten around to it yet. And you’re not quite sure what it really is anymore. But you’ve got to do it. Surely it must be due soon. Or maybe it was already due? In fact, how have you gotten along this far without it? That can’t last long. You can feel it breathing down your neck at every turn. What is it?
Untitled
Remember Justice is a woman. Carved of marble, hard and strong golden scales tipping with the truth, leaning this way, or maybe that creeping along until she is ready Her verdict rises, above the noise carried out, today, tomorrow, eventually Remember Liberty is woman. Sculpted of copper, strong and tall a golden torch beside the law Born in irony, clothed in paradox Weathered on and onward Upon her lips an eternal promise She will receive forever Remember that Dignity is a woman. steel, tried and tempered
- Clare Barloon ‘20
Meg Turner ‘20 Ciara Jacobs ‘20
19
Audrey Cibel ‘19
Carved of The wind blowing through tied braids Eyes to the future, remembering the past tested, tested, and tested again She is so tired, but lifts her banner higher Remember that Truth is a woman. Painted of minerals and broken rocks Emerging from her hole, entering the light, creeping, creeping, forward She eyes Justice, and speaks - Margaret Cavanaugh ‘19
20
Souvenirs de Rien
Falling
Carrie Goeke-Morey ‘20
I fall To the fire And I cannot breathe
Je vis dans le passé. Ma vie entière se passe comme une rêve. Un tel triste façon de découvrir le monde.
Parfois, dans mes rêves, À quelque part, sur un pont, Sous la pluie d’une nuit douce, Tout va bien.
I fall To the earth And I feel the beat
I fall To the water And I am at peace I fall To the people I fall And I hear their plea To the sky I fall And I can finally see To the spirit And I believe
Cependant, alors que mon esprit vole au dessus des nuages, Mes yeux ne voient jamais ce beau visage; Ce visage en face de la mienne. Mes lèvres ne sourient plus. Est-ce que tout sera bien? Si je ne vis jamais dans ma jeunesse, Vivrai-je au moment essentiel, Sous la pluie d’une nuit douce?
I fall To myself And I find the key
- Anonymous
Langley Steuart ‘20
21
I fall To the world And I am free
-Grace Bullard ‘22
Rachel Nokku ‘22
22
Sometimes I feel I want to walk forever To trudge over miles of untouched earth Untitled Through old growth forests so dense with undergrowth though I swear I’ve never been there before that I trip with every step Through the uncharted ridges of some volcanic mountain, which seem to change each time I return, though I swear I’ve never been there before I want to walk for years; never speaking to a soul Till my voice leaves me behind and I am no longer human But just another odd unseen creature of the Earth Other times I feel as though I have already been walking for eons Since before time began, and the Earth had ever felt the lumbering steps of its first inhabitants Then I want to stop and fall down into the ground Then re-emerge over centuries as a great and towering oak and feel the vines grow up around my limbs, as I join the forests I once passed through I will hear the whispers of the ghosts who have walked where I now stand and I will learn all that they have to say
Maybe Is the Earth round? How do you know? It wasn’t just six thousand years ago. So why answer yes and not just maybe so? Like a bursting red button you simply cannot resist, this average answer adds a crazy twist.
And all that you don’t know, maybe covers that too. Like a secret code, true meaning lies with you.
A clever black hole, a mischievous kite,
Packed with potential from the “m” to the “e.” Impossible to measure how big maybe can be. Don’t be predictable paralyzed with yes or no, in between is where there are places to go! Why stop at round? Earth could be triangular, square or a star. Come on! Get creative! Maybe raises the bar. All you can think, all you can know.
maybe finds a way to always be right.
Are you scared now? By how little you know? So from now on, why say yes? Why say no? It’s simply more fun to just say maybe so.
Finally I will give back to the land that has so long endured my presence
-Beyer Bullard ‘19
-Clare Barloon ‘20
Double it! Triple it! That’s how far maybe can go.
23
Audrey Cibel ‘19
Hannah Gutierrez ‘21
Alison Manca ‘19
24
Take Me Back:
Catherine Marsiglia ‘20
Take me back to before the years of regrets, Remove the memories of heavy thoughts and cold sweats. Take me back to the first day And I’ll walk the other way. Take me back to spring break, Before I knew this was a mistake. Take me back to before you lost the one person you love, Show me the world I actually dreamed of. Take me back to before I met you, Turn me back into the person I once knew. -Anonymous
I Belong I belong to the sea and to the sky To the wild glen and the misty wood To the unforgiving heat of summer And to the cool release of fall I belong to the frost of winter And to the rebirth of spring Untamed rivers course through my veins And the northern wind fills my lungs My eyes are the green of moss The blue of a turbulent sea And the brown of a sparrow’s wing My hair is the golden threads of sunlight The dark brown of a forest that welcomes all creatures It is the inky black of a bottomless lake I belong to this dominion of nature that resists the call of man I belong to me
Son* I look back on being 17 and think, We were in strange waters. There’s the whole world at our feet, Yet there was nothing in the world we could save. Do you ever watch People who think they know everything, Busy making other plans, But they’re wrong.
-Caroline Vining ‘20
What was more important to us? We loved. *Scream* Catherine Heming ‘19
25
Emma Dowd ‘22
-Sydney Morick ‘19 Madeleine Sateri ‘19
26
ode to all the poems I wasted on her i. The clock stopped an hour ago and I am still staring at it. Outside, I think it is raining but I can’t hear it. I just have the sort of foggy feeling in my throat. I think it is Thursday, because that is the day I think I started loving her. There are two hundred and twenty seven tiles on my ceiling
日光: Pronounced nikkou, translates to “sunlight”
Thawing from the frost, The dirt comforts each flower: Fear not, little rose.
ii. There are watercolors on my fingers, soaked between the grooves, leaving prints across the paper. The streaks on my face are the colors of her, olive and iron and rust.
The sun tells them all Hide-and-seek is over nowA blossom peaks out.
iii. It is late and she is smiling. She hasn’t kissed me and she never will but maybe I don’t mind. She is singing off-key and I wait in the corner A smoky bar room shadow to her spotlight fingertips.
A caterpillar Plays accordion music As it moves along. An afternoon breeze Songbirds whistle to the wind In a perfect tune.
iv. I am crying in the bathroom but I insist it is not her fault. We have the same eyes, you know? She never cried for me, even as the tears in her eyes crystallized and shattered on my skin like sleet. I am cold. The streaks on my arms are the color of her.
-Shira Nash’19
v. I wonder if she thinks about me.
vii. It is Friday morning and I do not love her. There are one hundred and five tiles on my ceiling. -Anonymous
27
Audrey Cibel ’19
Langley Steuart ’20
Rachel Nokku ’22
vi. Someone is cheering but I know it isn’t her. She’s smiling in the photo but she walked away after it was taken. I am laughing in the hotel room and I hope it is not her fault.
28
Hannah Gutierrez ‘21
PASSION
Why do I act? To unzip my self, To climb out of my world, To escape into somebody else’s? No. To abandon my problems, To forget my worries, To take on only my character’s obstacles? No. To fly away from reality, To go where I don’t exist, To let fake emotions block the truth? No.
Have you had the dream where you open your veins and a story comes out? Where the blood arrays itself into letters twinkling black-red against the hardwood floor? Where you frantically read as the room grows dimmer-Until you awaken, feeling empty, and cannot write it down.
To step out of my eyes, To see new perspectives, To view my own world ten times clearer? Yes. To embrace my problems, To acknowledge my fears, To work alongside my character? Yes. To ground me in community, To stabilize connections, To bring real joy, real pain, real love? Yes.
-Anonymous
Exposure:
I feel empty. The heart I once had has left me. My words don’t have their same kick I’m suddenly not as apologetic. I wonder if my soul will finally show Or If it’s finally time for me to let go. -Anonymous
-Grace Bullard ‘22
Cailley Slaten ‘20
29
Why do I Act?
Maddie Ogletree ‘22
30
Untitled
I have ma ny But you w things to say ould neve ru For you h ave the e nderstand m pathy of tomaton an auI despise the touc h of your m hand ec hanical d your company Initially I enjoye ur façade Infatuated by yo sked your faults Your ardor ma wed not find you fla A fool I was to
In the Mirror I breathed fast. don’t you trust me i will no longer hurt you I tried to get out. do you love them now you don’t have to It kind of blinded me. there’s only you and me you have me to depend on An illusion of fools. forget it now one more ti— Then it was gone. A moment motionless. The glass broke,
You tell m e that I a m lucky Your solic itude my p rivilege I am care d for, but not as an Your inten equal tions contr ast your im age soned ence, I am impri in em ur yo ith W t me in, and constric Harbor, constra uld I you perhaps co If it weren’t for soar ey thee perty I must ob ro p ur yo s a t Bu
-Catherine Marsiglia ‘20
Inert I am by these fetters And lang uished fro m your word Why don s untrue ’t I escape your desp Simply, I s o ti c ways till love -Jackie Klein ‘22
31
Cecilia Hornyak ‘19
Catherine Heming ‘19
Alison Manca ‘19
you
Alison Manca ‘19
32
Alison Manca ‘19
The Absurdity of Life* Any time, any day, people are charming and tedious, Moving all the time, inside a perfectly straight line Don’t you want to curve away? We are given a shot at dancing with the absurdity of life It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea
Little
The world holds for you a soul-stirring surprise
You get better
When you realize the richness of the city
And the stars
You grow how you want
-Cece Gadina ‘19 Sofia Rojas ‘19 Lucie Quinn ‘19,
Meg Turner ‘20
33
Pink
but it is also Beautiful and awesome
and lovely and radiant
You become stronger
Too
Life is hard,
Sometimes you need to scorch everything to the ground After the burning, the soil is richer
A
In the center of an untrimmed plot enclosed by a fence of gaping and broken pickets stood an ancient lopsided surrey and a weathered house from an upper window of which hung a garment of vivid pink. “What a sinful waste” They continued to jeer: “You hate him, don’t you?” Did I hurt him any? What would be the good in beginning now, when you’ve been destroying them for fifteen years? “Oh, hell, sister. That’s not doing any good now.” Then he fell into the flowers, laughing, and I ran into the box I’ll be gone soon. I know I’m just a burden
I am not one of those women who can stand things I got undressed and I looked at myself, and I began to cry I’ll go down on my knees and pray for the absolution of my sins I’ve got to marry somebody But she didn’t move. Her eyes were wide open, looking past my head at the sky I could feel her standing there. I could smell her damp clothes. Feeling her there She tried to break her wrists free men invented virginity not Women Purity is a negative state, contrary to nature I could hear my blood and then I could see the sky again and the branches against it and the sun slanting through them -Carrie Goeke-Morey ‘20
Maddie Notorianni ‘19
34
A Never Setting Love
You Tell
After another lonely night I wake up with you beside me, Your golden eyes twinkling like the brightest star. Your bright gaze comforts me yet again, And the devilish demons scurry away, for now. Oh how I had missed you. In those forlorn hours I had almost forgotten the warmth of your touch. Tears strolled down my lovestruck face, but you reassuringly dried them away And kissed me through the window pane. “We have today and that will be enough.” In the open air is where our love was born: Where I first met you. You radiate endless love and light, And your laugh touches mighty mountains and sunken valleys. The blues and greens and yellows reflect from your eyes. Oh how I love those eyes. Our love seems strongest here, and here we cherish each fleeting second.
Me
The echo of the grandfather clock mocked the hallway, “Time’s up,” it taunted. A forced farewell muttered from my lips as you packed your overnight bag. -Shira Nash ‘19
I really don’t know what to say. First I think this, then I think that and then I don’t know what to think because I’m thinking of what to think, you know? And then it’s too late. The moment is gone. Better luck next time, but probably not. Oh well. -Nipuni Obe ‘19
Caroline Moore ‘21
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Catherine Cavanaugh ‘19
Alison Manca ‘19
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Kelly Shannon ‘20
Braid
Langley Steuart ‘20
Weaving together A braid of so many isolated strands So easily torn apart alone, So strong together. A braid of so many tiny lives Clinging to life alone, Rising to the challenge together. A braid of so many helpless people Cowering in the shadows alone, Lifting each other higher together. An old braid can stay forever, So strong, so still, so safe. A new one barely holds together, Slipping in and out of order. It is easiest to forge a braid When the strands are wet, When they are primed And so willing to mold Together Into one. A braid needs a rubber band To stretch where it is needed, To keep it all together.
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Alison Manca ‘20
Because If even one piece slips apart, The once strong braid will unravel, And the strands, The lives, The people, Will be alone. - Grace Bullard ‘22
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and in the light a lover* we came to a broken place and went through it his bare feet made no sound, falling softer than leaves in the thin dust I stood in weeds and we looked at one another for a while, his eyes a soft and irisless brown, a soft stubborn jaw-angle
Cecilia Hornyak ‘19
with flowers in her hair, and a long veil like shining wind. Her mouth was red, a fallen woman scarcely worthy of what you believe yourself to be it was like I was looking at him through a piece of colored glass, pulling at my heart all the while I could hear it, ticking away inside my pocket until he was nothing and we were nothing
Cecilia Hornyak ‘19
Whispering Freedom Do you feel the rush as others do? Do you feel the call of ambition? Beware I tell you That life is deceptive Come with me to taste the wild freedom that lurks beyond Find that which makes your heart sing and your blood rush You will find me amongst the whispering reeds and the still waters You will see where I belong Find yourself Find your song Join me once you do 39
Rachel Nokku ‘22
-Caroline Vining ‘20
because there is nothing else I believe her hair was like fire, and little points of fire were in her eyes in the gray darkness I could still hear the clock between my voice, not breathing except slow like far away breathing do you love him? do you love him now? one minute she was standing in the moonlight like a cloud, the grass buzzing in the moonlight the rain began to taste sweet on my lips in the gray darkness it smelled of rain, blowing steadily upon his cheek I lay listening to it, rapt in his sweet brown gaze full of stars. -Jodie Urbanski
Caroline Vining ‘20
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The Love Song of Life*
Life is to be lived, not controlled; You are always and still a moth to folly’s candle Walking towards something you should be running from You only have to let the soft animal of your body fall prey to what it loves. This regime is seductive But we need to do a better job of putting ourselves higher on our own ‘to do’ list. Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread against the sky A span of time with more questions than answers. You love fiercely, with all your being, And you need someone that loves you the same. More than duty or the monarchy or the kingdom, And the more you do stuff, the better you get a dealing with how to play in the face of certain defeat. -Cecilia Hornyak Zoe Barnette Lauren Ferridge
A Cruel Fate*
When I was a little boy, my life was full of stars They seemed to say Wonder. Go on and wonder Something in it was sad and nostalgic I heard bells once, smelled honeysuckles Time, the saddest word of all The mausoleum of all hope and desire, telling its furious lie Reveals to man his own folly and despair I would lie in bed thinking when will it stop When will it stop And so I walk on Down a long corridor of gray half light Where all stable things had become shadowy and paradoxical Eyes unseeing, clenched like teeth, doubting the pain Tears when no reason for tears Thinking some day it will no longer hurt
I thought of death like a grandfather, a friend. But I could hear the clock ticking away, decaying quietly Until the last note sounded And the darkness was still again -Sofia Rojas ’19
Audrey Cibel ‘19
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Eulogy For A Poem Now you are mine, and you become me. -
te me. I was naked, and ou a y you I was n wo and othing, , re m y r and y g e. I w un h ou wrot s as w e me. I wa ater , an d yo
u dro wned me.
Alayna Kinkead ‘19
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I was fire, and you
burn ed
me.
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- Anonymous
. me d e roy
Hannah Gutierrez ‘21
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Dear God, Dear god? Can’t you see I’m already half dead? All my life I had to fight My mama dead. My daddy lynch. It all I can do not to cry. I make myself wood. I say Celie, you a tree. But he beat me like he beat the children And I can’t fix my mouth to say how I feel
You better not never tell nobody but God*
Last One, Best One
I don’t write to God anymore. I can’t I am not dead. I’m a pitiful, castout woman thrown into a world unknown, where I must struggle all alone But I am not dead. My heart is breaking. I love you with all my heart. I miss you.
dear god The world is changing. Life is changing. I am in love. I’m alive. They say, “A girl is nothing by herself” But I am something I am an expression of the divine I am here.
you are different to us now For the first time in my life I feel just right. -Sofia Rojas ‘19
Maddie Ogletree ‘22
Our time together is nearly done. 4 years of laughter, tears, dance parties, and unexcused tardies. Of tech weeks, retreats, congés, and field days. Together, we’ve moved from the floor to the tables, from cloakroom to cloakroom to slounge. We’ve watched the time go by, thinking it could never touch us. Wishing it would speed up except for the times we want it to freeze, at least just for a moment. -Nipuni Obe ‘19
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Cecilia Gadina ‘19
Cecilia Gadina ‘19
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“Bad luck to have a woman like her aboard,” she’d heard the sailors grumble, even back when she stood on the docks in pink and cream and dipped her toes into the shallows and squealed like a child when the fish scattered from her movements. There have always been stories about women like her, whose tongues were stolen from their mouths by a devil’s kiss, whose gentle murmurs are spells and curses in disguise. Or maybe the sailors don’t believe it all but the visiting widowed queen has a kingdom for the taking and there’s no sense in keeping a half-wit mute princess on your arm when there’s an empress dressed in gold begging to marry you. Perhaps, then, it’s not a surprise when she’s flung from the ship, her handmaidens screaming over the wind (for her life or their own she never cared to know.) The sailors have always valued their boat more than their cargo and accidents are easy to fake at sea, where the waves change with the whim of the stars and depths yawn to the sandy ocean floor like great chasms. The prince has another woman in his bed even now, so the princess doesn’t fight when they grab her arms and strip off her dress. She pretends not to hear the lace tearing and the pearls and beadwork bouncing on the deck like a requiem. Unlike so many, she has never met Death. She is not afraid, even as the water bites her skin on impact and fills her lungs and burns her eyes and the world fades into ripples of black and indigo. For a fleeting moment, she sees her hands, white and outstretched, a last traitorous grasp for the land that has always loathed her.
Saltwater Woman She has been the wife of the prince since she was born, the wife of the prince by the sea. Her mother could have no children, so she drank potions made from crushed fruits and spices and ate bitter herbs and walked barefoot in the cold shallows until one day a princess was born from nothing, like Aphrodite, sprung from the seafoam and the decay of an empire. She has always been beautiful, eyes like sapphires and hair like buttercups, but they say she’s only half a girl, lost in dreams and fantasies. She could never say anything to defend herself, and she learned to listen for the whispers in the corners of the court, the rumors and lies and worst of all the truths. Nowadays, she doesn’t mind so much, so she spends her days and nights longing for the salt and the waves that lap and crash outside her window where she watches, pretending not to know that the empty spot in their bed had another woman in it not an hour ago. The ocean is endless but she holds up her hands and pretends to cup it all in her palms. It’s like the sky, but loud and inconstant and lonely. She is never allowed to go. “Too much dust and rocking for her delicate health, sire,” she hears the court advisors say, and her husband, who is no more faithful to her than she is to the land, nods. Still, she longs for the water. At night, she dreams of the undersea, its dazzling colors and its icy depths like a cold December morning. During the day she leaves bits of her jewelry and silverware out in the sun on the balcony so she can watch the gulls swoop down to examine it, her laughter blue and silver as they squawk and hop about. Each morning, when her husband takes her for a walk in the garden so he can visit the gardener’s daughter, she visits the fountain, humming to the fishes in her bubbly ocean-foam voice. “She’s too far gone,” say the advisors, and her husband, the prince, who has another woman hanging round his neck even now, disagrees, and maybe there is something left of loyalty in him. “Perhaps a trip to the warm air will clear her mind,” he says, and the advisors grumble and mutter but they cannot say no, so the princess is loaded onto a ship to the islands. At first, the sea does not love her the way she has so loved it. The waves snap and curl like jaws against the sides of the boat, and she spends days below deck feverish, dreaming of monsters with skin like dried coral and teeth like abalone shells. On the clear morning when her fever breaks, the sun glows on the water like liquid gold and she breathes in the salt like a new kind of living. After a week her skin is sun spotted and flushed and she laughs herself to sleep because what a sight she’ll be when they arrive, coarse and red and giggling like the tide pools on the rocks. She does not reach the islands. On the night she wakes with her skin glistening like scales and her head swimming with the remnants of a dream, the storm blows in from the east. The waves are not so much like jaws now, but mountains, crumbling against the ship and tossing it mercilessly. It cracks and grinds and the princess knows this is not her ocean. 47
Alison Manca ‘19
The cave that she wakes in is neither underwater nor above it, but her bones are stiff and her hair is creased and her skin is bruised in a sickly marble of purple and green and blue. “Welcome,” says the witch, but the princess has heard that word too many times so she watches, unafraid. “I have a gift for you,” says the witch, watching the princess hesitate because there’s never been a gift without a price. Her laughter is like the echoes of the water lapping the under-Jodie Urbanski ‘20 (continued on next page) side of the dock.
Caroline Vining ‘20
Langley Steuart ‘20
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Hannah Gutierezz ‘‘21
Lara Bedewi ‘19
“I have a gift for you- that you might never walk behind man again or fall silent under his gaze,” says the witch, and she looks like the princess’ childhood friend from years ago before the sun and her husband had stolen the warmth from her eyes. The witch has mirth in the creases of her face and skin like mother-of-pearl so the princess lets her hold her, lets her run her hands over her bruised skin and lets herself taste the song in her kiss. The transformation hurts, like she’s made of dough, kneaded and pressed and burned like so many women before her but like them she rises, her new body like hammered silver and gold, still half a girl but full of the coarse salt winds and a voice like the moment when the water filled her ears and the world faded away.
Now her eyes are like the sea after a rainstorm and her hair is like the golden sands. She stays with the witch, her first and last love, and spends the mornings in the rocky outcropping not far from the islands where she had once been meant to stay. She lays out shells and bits of sea kelp into mosaics and each morning the gulls fly away with the shiny scraps in their beaks. In the evening they return with earrings and rhinestones from jeweled tiaras and engraved soup spoons from a wedding that had not been hers. At night she weaves pearls into her hair and sings melodies and soliloquies about the skyline cut sharp as a knife against the moon and her lover’s eyes like the icy depths and the man who she had once believed loved her. The witch, her lover, had meant it to be a gift, but there is no gift without a price, so the princess was cursed to never belong. When the salt burned her lungs and the icy waves rushed through her hair she longed for the summer breeze in the garden and the sweet taste of spring air, but when she lay on the rocks and let the sun caress her face she ached to swim, farther down than she could ever go until the whole ocean was hers. -Jodie Urbanski ‘20 (continued on next page)
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Danielle Saey ‘‘21
Additonal Writing Credits* Sofia Rojas ‘19.........................................................................................................42 “A Cruel Fate”
William Faulkner
Sofia Rojas ‘19........................................................................................................45 “You better not never tell nobody but God”
Ralph Ellison, Alexis Kennedy, Shirley Jackson, Mary Oliver, Michelle Obama, T. S. Elliot, Peter Maldonado, Amanda Hocking, John Mulaney
Jodie Urbanski ‘20...................................................................................................40 “And in the light of a lover”
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Celeste Ng, Shawn Spencer, Oscar Wilde, Coldplay, Lamott, Maggie Skoch, Heywood Broun, Enrique Olivera, Paul McCartney Nipuni Obe ‘19, Shira Nash ‘19.........................................................................18 “Wherever you are, start from there”
Alice Walker
Lauren Ferridge ‘19, Zoe Barnette ‘19, Cecilia Hornyak ‘19........................41 “The Love Song of Life”
Lucie Quinn ‘19, Cecilia Gadina ‘19, Sofia Rojas ‘19.....................................33 “The Absurdity of Life”
Yrsa Daley-Ward, Michelle Obama, Oprah Winfrey, Dr. Gregory House, Ariana Grande, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Michael Scott from The Office, Camren Bicondova, Lalah Delia, Cristina Yang from Grey’s Anatomy Sydney Morick ‘19, Madeleine Sateri ‘19........................................................26 “Son”
Mary Poppins, Ashlyn Morick, Sacks, Lukas, John Lennon, John Mulaney, Ascend by Amanda Hocking, Hannah Joseph, The Thirteenth Tale, Isaac
William Faulkner
Alison Manca ‘19
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Whitm Ms.
a Bedew ore • Cecilia Hornyak • Lar
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Su
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Reade Hauge • Meg Turner
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ric h d ie e Fr n i l o • Car
ll odgers • Izzy Kallen • Annie Ke R n o s i m a s•J
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c iene W d all K nd • Naina Makka • n n y r a m e e f r f i S Maddie Ogletree • Clare Mo Goekei e r r a C Caroline Speidel • Lilly Calogero • Nipuni Obe • Emily Kaminski •
a nn a i Adr
ee • ust • Lily G Ka p
art • Eile
gl ey Steu
Camille Werth
Katherine Vaca
en Hannah
• orick an M n y l h s ino • L kerson • A t c i r N a e M r Di Kelly Shannon • Natalie Peoples • Cla Nora • y a ry Courtney Fanning • Meghana Pai • Lila Herndon • Cora Beswick • Danielle Se anne l F e t t Charole Emma Dowd • Caroline Smith • Shea Darcey • Ellie Ric hard • Maggie Cavanaugh • Adele Feldberg • Grace Morrow