2023-2024
SUFFIELD ACADEMY ART AND LITERARY
that compass is what will open and direct your mind to go down a path with infinite possibilities.
By Jack Booth ’25
In a futuristic world, we advance
A bright city colored with neon hues
The Blade Runner’s tale, filled with love and dance
Remnants of a distant past, hearts pursue
In the midst of chaos, she calls out
Her gaze entrancing, her eyes a deep brown
Unparalleled beauty waters my drought Divine allure in a city rundown
A boundless hologram wishes for love
Her pixels gleam, eyes a dazzling sparkle
You’re a blue jay, soaring above ringdoves
Among Replicants a peerless model
Factitious creation, embrace so real
If my heart were sentenced, you would appeal
By Nick Prescott ’24
Powered by a solar generator
In defiance of uniformity
There is a carbon attenuator
Sent to undo the sins of you and me
Caring not of wastefulness nor of hate
The flower persists, reaching to the sun
Seeking above all else to mitigate
All of the harm we have carelessly done
As the glaciers melt and the forests ignite
As the people fall ill and the grass dries
Still, the flower remains void of any spite
Only when the water leaves and tree cries
Will the flower revolt
Leading into battle the green cult
By Alanna Dolan ’26
I don’t like blush pink made me look like a clown when i was a little girl i was always to wear a crown like the princess my dad had told me i would be and a blue wearing prince somewhere out there for me.
as i grew old he knew time would tell but i don’t really think he knew very well, i won’t be a princess, i won’t be wearing a crown maybe he knew this but i couldn’t quite tell.
as my dad looks at me he does start to frown as his little princess is now wearing a gown. not with a gold plastered crown, but a long white gown.
a new woman stands Infront of the man who is my king.
my dad starts to frown, i know he is happy for me yet his knees glued to the ballroom floor, engraving his grief in the place where he lost his little princess.
tears fall from his eyes, while he says his goodbyes pleading for the white gown to just disappear all he wants to see is my crown standing clear on the crown of the head of his little girl.
the little girl who’s bedazzled crown, full of pendants and any other item worth high value, concisely transfigured to a long colorless gown.
By Sasha Leung ’27
The stars shone dull as the lusterless night sky gleamed over the dappled daylight. Nestled in the embrace of my mother’s arms, I lay in the warmth of her love. Her soft, silky kiss brushed against my cheek as our favourite song filled the air, mingled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafting from the oven. Sunday evenings were always spent this way. Even with school finals on the horizon, I couldn’t bring myself to complain about repeating our usual routine. Despite the absence of my father, whom I only saw once in a blue moon, my mother was all I needed The sound of a gentle knock echoed across the living room and jolted the picture frames on the wall. My mother and I exchanged glances.
“Must be that tetchy old Suzan throwing a tantrum again,” my mother chuckled as she curled my hair with her fingers. “Honestly she just gets grumpier.”
This was an unusual occurrence; we celebrated Auntie Suzan’s eightyseventh birthday just last Thursday. So fragile in her old age, getting older by the day. It didn’t make sense for her to have caused such disturbance.
Unease settled over us like a dim shadow whilst the kitchen erupted in chaos. The floor imitated the undulating current of a turbulent sea, the waves crashing with increasing
intensity. Plates crashed against one another, shattering into piles of rubble. Broken glass compiled deep into my skin and the cacophony of debris shattering onto the floor all fell in a silent manner. The heart of one shattered in a silent manner. The beat of it augments. The pipes exploded with water; the bitter taste of droplets triggered the rise of goosebumps along my arms. The faded maroon plaster chipped off the walls, revealing the vulnerability beneath. The feathers fled out of the pillows, swirling in a desperate dance of freedom. Picture frames plunged down, consumed by flames that ignited from the embers carried by grey smoke. The ground rumbled tumultuously as if Hades’s heart had been broken once more. Our bodies trembled in confusion and terror. I felt a mixture of oil and vinegar replacing the blood coursing through my veins.
“Darling, darling... You’ll be fine.” My mother’s voice pierced through the chaos as the icy vapours in her breath smeared onto my nose. She clutched me harder towards her chest, enveloping me like the shell protecting its yolk. The once restful position swiftly morphed into a numb, frigid mayhem. My mother’s heart was pounding hard like a potent creature trying to break free from the body, parallel to how I wanted to break free from the catastrophe. She stroked my shoulder; her fingertips quivered. I couldn’t tell if it was from the breeze outside or the petrifying
condition.
With a deafening crash, the concrete ceiling abruptly crumbled down, showering us with debris. The room fell silent. What remained of the frenzied vision became pure black. A tint of red seeped into the scene and gradually engulfed the darkness, and the color became richer and stronger- and then I noticed.
Blood, her blood, my mother’s blood trickled across the floor, staining my face and hands with its viscous warmth. I saw her life being drained straight from her face, leaving it lifeless and pale. I saw my mother lying right beside me, but she wasn’t, not anymore. I sat there to no avail. Witnessing the one person who has been my guiding light since the day I was born shatter into millions of irretrievable pieces.
The weight of solitude on me immediately suffocated what remained of my hope. I had no one left to love me, I had no one left to love. I was desolate in the dark.
By Avery Freeman ’27
In epochs past, where time’s elusive dance,
A wanderer, by fates unpredictable play,
Dropped in a different time, caught in loves romance, A fleeting passion sparked without delay.
Through the passage of time, his journey wove,
And in the tapestry, a face so fair,
He glimpsed a love, profound and swift to prove, Yet temporal constraints bred deep despair.
Her eyes, a portal to bygone age,
Their gaze entwined his heart in fate’s cruel thread,
A love forbidden, due to the contrast in time, As moments passed by, love misled.
He yearned to stay, embraced by loves design,
But with the rules of time, their fates would not align.
By Alanna Dolan ’26
My hands crave the grasp of the water bail and i contemplate watering the weeping flowers creeping in the corners of my room. their corpse created a floral castle that once was bare hospitalizing dust bunnies
i grew immunity to the happiness they once brought failing to save them from the drought, a part of me believing i can revive the lost love and joy they once brought.
even though they lost their rich colors and their feminine aroma the beauty they used to bring gives me hope to keep them living.
By Mari McCarthy ’26
Growing up I saw my skin as a weakness
I sat in classrooms counting how many people looked like me
I watched Disney movies wondering why I could not get my happy ending because apparently nobody wants a fairytale with the brown girl
I learned quickly I was not the beauty standard
And nothing I did was ever enough
My skin was a disease I could not cure
I was a snake that could not shed
A stranger, in my own body
And every time I looked in the mirror, I wished I was different
I beg, pleaded, and prayed to be different
And maybe I am different
But my skin is not my weakness, it is my greatest strength
It is now why I fall down it is why I chose to get back up again
I have finally broken free of the stereotype chains that have tied me down for my whole life
I am not a hashtag
I am not a trend
I am not “one of the good ones”
I’ve taken control of my own narrative and I chose to love me for me
Reprogramming my brain is not easy but it is necessary
My skin is who I am and who I will continue to be
If you do not see my skin you do not see me
My skin is a representation of the leaders who risked their lives so I could be here today The blood shed, death, and violence they lived through so I could live in a world that is less divided
My skin carries with me the dreams I have for future generations
A dream that my children grow up being unapologetically themselves
They see that the melanin within us is not a curse it’s a blessing
The mirror is their friend not their enemy and you don’t need to look like Aurora to feel pretty
My skin runs deep with a history of being oppressed
But is planted in the pot of growth as I move and sway dodging people who cannot accept me and accepting people who want to love me
My skin welcomes change as those around me learn to see it and don’t think to run the other way
My skin is finally my own
And the scars I grew up with are healing
We are healing.
I am healing.
I now live in a world where, I can go to a boarding school, and I can get a high level of education, hell I can run for president
I can blaze my own path as I create the future I want for myself And I can seize every opportunity I’ve earned
Brown is powerful
Brown is strong
Brown is beautiful
Brown can change the world And Brown is me. #usvshate
By Alanna Dolan ’26
the guard is the sanctuary swarming my heart.
with metal and rust barring the bipolar strings puppeteering my ability to love.
praying the tetanus shot is true as the metal vulnerably seeps into my blood building immunity to all types of poison when the metal doors drop to my lungs my veins swing like an opening door; my heart gets stung and i cannot seem to love anymore. the guard was wrong, the guard was weak my body rests sore and my heart rots bleak will i ever escape this inevitable loosing streak?
the guard is scarred and from then he’s stern always locking gates never locking eyes to be welcoming is to be weak. never aiming to forge the notion in which one may take it this kingdom of an organ system is for any reason open
the guard protects this sensitive pitter-pattering organ with all his very might, for the possibility that the entrance of one just might;
break through the barb wired fences built of steel and abuse the vulnerability of my heart.
his trauma can be read off the lines across the knuckles of his hand as he was slain from previous grasps of the nob opening the door of my heart.
the curiosity to feel loved a feeling set out to be so fueling to the veins the one that is supposed to cause my heart flourish in dopamine is the only feeling that has suffocated my lungs as words went into my ears but my eyes saw the antonyms portrayed and my heart was left to deal and rot in the lies of a once trusted loved one.
my eyes now view each individual as a threat to the kingdom of my heart never letting my guard flee once again i apologize to the guard whom is protecting my heart as he too feels the pain of letting a threat torture my ability love.
Suffield Academy is a coeducational independent secondary school serving a diverse community of boarding and day students. Our school has a tradition of academic excellence combined with a strong work ethic. A commitment to scholarship and a respect for individual differences guide our teaching and curriculum. We engender among our students a sense of responsibility, and they are challenged to grow in a structured and nurturing environment. The entire academic, athletic, and extracurricular experience prepares our students for a lifetime of learning, leadership, and active citizenship.
Suffield Academy does not discriminate on the basis of sex, race, color, religion, creed, national or ethnic origin, citizenship, physical attributes, disability, age, or sexual orientation. We administer our admissions, financial aid, educational, athletic, extracurricular, and other policies so that each student is equally accorded all the rights, privileges, programs, and facilities made available by the school.
