Write in the Middle
The Archer School for Girls Middle School Literary Magazine 2018
Write in the Middle Staff Evan Bowman ’22
Glorianna Chase ’22
Bess Frierson ’22
Briana Gonzalez ’22
Quincy Gordon ’22
Paola Hoffman ’22
Daisy Kaplan ’22
Lily Kerner ’22
Shaunael Milton ’22
Justine Moore ’22
Arielle Schultz ’22
Isabella Specchierla ’22
Noa Wallock ’22
Gwyneth Williams ’22
Amanda Freiler
Faculty Advisor
Cover Photo: Sara Morris ‘22
Moving I didn’t do enough
did I?
to patch the
pretty pink wallpaper
still peeling off
to reveal sickly yellow wood
crawling with termites
writhing under
chubby fingers that
tear off that pretty pink paper
That covers
That lies.
that’s why we’re leaving,
isn’t it?
Not because of the roaches or the crows
but because of floorboards that creak at early morning,
and oddly wondrous halls
that only serve to amplify
sounds I don’t know; sounds
I don’t want to know.
then why are we leaving without him?
I don’t know,
I don’t know,
I don’t know, honey.
I don’t want to know why we’re moving.
Sophia Caplan ’22 Middle School Poet Laureate
Unnecessary Questions Conversation starters:
How would you change your body if you could?
I am perfect
In every way
Every one of my rolls and bumps just make the painting
More interesting
My nose just enjoys the view
Looking up at the sky every day
Seeing all those clouds, through the lump it bears
The bump that hugs my eyes
My eyes are the color of the earth
Changing with the weather
I have no need for eyes that shine like the stars
That are millions of lightyears away
My eyes are right here
Right now
On this Earth
And celebrating this Earth and all of its wonders
These bags under my eyes
They carry the weight of all women
They carry the weight of all life
They caress my eyes to keep on seeing
(Even through the dark)
They are stained purple because of the beautiful colors
They absorb
These hips
They make mountains move
They pushed away rock to make rivers flow
They make the moon pull the ocean in
And out
They are like glaciers
They have more to them
Than you will ever see
And these freckles
Oh
These freckles
They hold the memory of when the sun kissed me
They dance together and shift and run with the tide of life
They are dirt and water and fire and ice
They tell the stories of the seasons
And wow, do they love to move
They have painted and claimed me
As my own.
I won me and every aspect of me that will be
This body is perfect
A masterpiece
Fell straight from heaven.
Van Gogh is in tears just looking at it—
These rolls
And eyes
And nose
And hips
Oh, I am perfect
With every pound lying on my bones
I am perfect, in every way.
The answer:
I will not change a single thing.
Charlotte Green ’23
Remember?
Do you remember
those blissful spring evenings?
The sky was
indigo and navy blue,
as vibrant as a
freshly opened box of crayons.
We pulled out our
telescope and watched
the stars.
It was big,
heavy,
but we didn’t mind,
the sky was our oyster.
Remember?
We would set the
patio table,
light the shabbat candles,
eat couscous and
hamburgers
under the stars.
I would run and grab
my camera from its tired bag, and
document the silhouetted figures.
We would sit
and smile
and laugh a little
in those blissful
Spring evenings.
Remember?
Quincy Gordon ’22
Alexandra Marsh ‘22
Flower Girl September 8th, 2007
Puerto Nuevo, Mexico
Waves crashing
Grand Baja Resort
My mom and dad’s wedding day
A smile never leaving her face
His eyes wide open as he watches her
I wore a pink dress
They wore orange
Colors bright like the floral houses
Inside the tienditas of Mexico
The silk dupioni
Glistening like my mom’s eyes
As she walked down the aisle
Pearl necklace dangling on my neck
Slowly walking
d
o
w
n
The aisle
Eyes watching
From
every
direction
Am I doing this right?
Throwing the petals
Bunch by bunch with my tiny hand
They steadily drift onto the dry grass
Until they quickly disappeared
As the sun hid behind the ocean waves
“Thank you for coming”
Just like that
Layla Huber-Verjan ’22
My Mother’s Eyes My mother’s eyes are just like mine
the color of jade with
hints of blue like faded jeans
washed over the surface
Chartreuse spreads and blends into the colors swirling around it
like a globe that’s just been spun.
My mother’s eyes, like her support
are always there
As I baby I would look at them wondrously,
curious about the word around me
and not yet expecting to see life through
that very same lens.
My mother’s eyes are my eyes
observing those around us
with a sense of eagerness
Our eyes are the feathers of peacocks
and under those feathers, our perspectives,
the same.
My mother’s eyes are gracious
and giving
rarely ever asking to receive
a true representation of who she is
I too have those eyes
I just hope someday someone will be proud to have mine.
Milan Umansky ’22
, To Disappoint You. An Autobiography
They say
It’s dark there.
No one
Knows what’s in a black hole.
Especially
The black hole.
She can’t see
Her center.
She’s just
Too big.
Second grade me didn’t know what her favorite movie was when it was her turn to share. She said there are too many movies.
I’m sorry, but that question isn’t fair!
Where is she
Going?
What might you see if you
Took a peek inside?
She came from somewhere
Everything does
She’s not going
Anywhere
She’s just
Moving.
What will you be when you’re all grown up?
I have to be something?
Yes.
But I already am.
Really, what are you then?
…I am me.
Child, smell the cinnamonWakeUP!
I-I just…I prefer black. Sorry,
There’s a theory
Out there.
It states that a black hole’s
Closing
Is the corridor to the other side of the universe.
You feel her
You are pulled by her
She is pulled by herself.
You move through her
Not around.
What? I’m afraid of change, that’s all.
So don’t leave.
Sorry,
Lots of People
Assume black holes are deep
But some are smarter
They know,
They don’t know.
Shallow is deep.
She is deep in the most shallow way
Imaginable.
I was once told that I was a real good thinker from a girl in my english class.
But to that I said,
You may fall into me for hours
And when you hit the ground, the bottom of the bottomless abyss,
You look up to see that the opening at the top is only a few inches up.
It’s not that complicated. I’m sorry.
What is a black hole?
Where might it be going?
What does a black hole see?
How deep is a black hole?
I’ll tell you
She’s a black hole.
It’s simple
Like that.
Sorry,
Jacqueline Marks ’22
Isabella Specchierla ‘22
Elsie Perfect curls always brushed
Into a frizzy mess
She calls it
“Straight”
Ugly skirt upon skirt
Under her dress
Neon green and pink striped tank-top
but only in the winter,
Of course
“You never give
me anything”
She complains
To the woman
who gives her everything
“Why do you think my dad
hates you?”
She asks,
Genuinely concerned
A secret,
not supposed to be shared
But how was that
sweet
sweet
girl
supposed to know?
Willow Stein ’22
Childhood Wet boots and warm pajamas,
the sunny morning
melting the snow outside.
A fresh pine scent filling the room
of family and friends.
Wet kisses of loved ones and
wrapping paper strewn across the floor.
A knock on the wooden door, jangling the wreath
creates excitement and laughter.
Santa Claus steps inside
and wipes his feet on the mat.
I take a seat on his lap, and bouncing me on his knee he says,
“What would you like for Christmas?”
I cock my head and study his face like I studied all the dolls in the store
before choosing the one I wanted.
“you look like my dad” I state.
The santa chuckles with rosy cheeks and says
“Your dad must be one handsome dude.”
Langdon Janos ’22
Her Snowman Two little girls
One cheerful, chubby, cute
The other silly and bossy
Constructing a snowman
Her Frosty.
Two little girls
Hidden in the trees
Buried under layers
Of pink scarves and poofy jackets
Hands so small
Holding tiny frozen crystals
Cheeks so red
Smiles so bright
Like the sun’s gleam against the snow
Stick hair and arms
Cookie eyes
A carrot nose
More cookies for a smile
Warm and tiny chubby arms wrapped
Around the frozen round body
Soon the snowman becomes
Slowly smaller
In the distance
As tires roll away
So did her smile
Then
Hot tears
A never-ending flow like a broken pipe
Against her frozen round cheeks
Fogging up the window
Why would she cry? Now I know
For my sister loves everything
Alive
And
Alive in her heart
Isabella Specchierla ’22
Jagged Edges My Big Sister Ella
I always looked up to her
Even during questionable choices
Nina Salomon ’22
The hair cut behind the couch Oh!
No!
Jagged edges all
over
the
floor
Around the Carousel Up and down.
Steady, sure of themselves.
One after the other
and around again.
Flash of elaborate something
unicorn on a quest.
One giddy life chasing another.
Down and up.
Menacingly mechanic.
Eyes seeing, though coated in paint:
An adult chasing a child.
Oldened, wizened, bored,
Loose change in her pocket,
Jingling to the automized beat.
Up and down and stops.
Her sweet child cries
Cold, unfeeling
Eyes of paint.
Reaching,
She places another quarter in the slot.
Zoe Bush ’22
Sara Morris ‘22
Dizzy The world is spinning, spinning, spinning
Like I went on a upside-down rollercoaster
Like watching a merry-go-round
Spinning and spinning
Turning and turning
Until the colors melt together
Hearing voices
Echoing in your mind
Smearing together
Like your head turned into a cave
And sound keeps bouncing off the walls
Trying to walk straight
But the ground turns into a thin rope
And you’re too wobbly not to fall over
The world is spinning, spinning, spinning
Like a ferris wheel out of control that doesn’t have a stop
Button
Dizzy
Audrey Chang ’24
Just a Princess On the slide we sat,
me in front, as usual,
and boys in the back,
because I don’t like the boys, they tell me what to do.
“Ok, I will be Jasmine and you all must listen to me because I am the princess and the princess is in charge.”
Everyone stares,
the world goes silent,
the teachers turn around,
in one second I can see shock fill everyone’s faces,
Like my Lucky Charms fill my cereal bowl.
And then, it’s gone,
Jasmine is just a princess, they say, she doesn’t tell us what to do.
Eve Tarpey ‘23
i used to not care I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie man’s world Life in plastic bones, it’s fantastic unfair You can can’t brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your our creation
Come on Barbie, let’s go party
I used to not care.
I used to just let it go.
But then I realize how, why, and them.
It’s reality, not just some silly song.
It’s the truth, not just something that you sing along.
Karen Garcia ’23
symphony I walk along the waves daring them to swallow me in their icy jaws
I sway in the bitter wind
As I dance alone on the cold squishy sand
I laugh alongside the ringing silence
And I create a symphony.
I hang on to weak branches of trees
Hoping they might just b r e a k I skip stones in the muddy water
I walk barefoot in the comforting too-cold snow
I disappear in caves
And lie down to rest.
I am loud just to hear my echo
As It joins the ringing silence
The skipping stones
The snapping branches
I create a symphony.
Naiobi Benjamin ’22
Isabella Specchierla ‘22
Untitled Snow on the palm trees
So fresh so cold
So unusual
So bold
So white
So fluy
So rare
Snow on the palm trees
With the cold breeze
Sparkling everywhere
The palm trees
A dozen or so
All the same
All in a row
These wonderful palm trees
In the snow
As they glow
I know
There is never a better
Sight to see
Than these spectacular trees
With the snow
On their leaves
Emilia Marmol ’24
The Bits of Green
I step onto the bits of green coming together so clean
Like feathers they make a bouquet that covers the ground all around
The strands come out every which way as they all sway
The little bits of green oh so lean poke between my toes as I start to doze
The long bits tickle and tangle at my heels
As I walk on the grass I feel a sensation that gives me the temptation to smile while
I am filled
With joy.
Anna Entin ’24
Endless
There is no time to soak up the sun;
How shall I be bright?
The water is a trek away every day and night.
The buds all around me are growing into flowers,
And why am I still walking, endlessly for hours?
Eve Tarpey ‘23
Untitled Walking barefoot across the grey land
What has become of the once luminous white sand?
Broken bottles disseminated around
What is left of the beach is broken and browned
As I see the water, brushing up to the shore
I notice that the polluted sea is sheathed with plastic galore
And the once glowing seashells have been long gone
The essence of the ocean will even grow weak
A shell of the place it used to be, drained of all mystique
Audrey Chen ’24
White Lies
A little white lie
Not a problem
Doesn’t show through my pristine pages
Until it brightens to yellow
Then orange to Red
It begins to drip,
abandons its designated spot
A river of blood left carelessly in its wake
It fills my pages
It floods the paper
And my book is left
Drowning in its own creation
A simple white lie
Evan Bowman ’22
Naiobi Benjamin ‘22
Laundromat. Tiny blue kite
Swims in the dark night,
Floodlight color drains from the burial sight.
Swim, swim, swim,
Bury, bury him
The sickly sweet smell of lilies on softened fabric
To wash away your sins
With Clorox starlight
Fly your own kite
Till cold hands greet the angel’s moonlight
Teeth and lip; still with frostbite.
Bess Frierson ’22
Untitled A ball gown made of seafoam
Jewelry made from sea glass
A smile that could turn the tide
From the moon
And make it move to your command
Your hair was soft, but rarely dry
You preferred to spend your days in the sea
Where did you go,
The you full of bubbling excitement
Why did you leave
The you who pretended to be a mermaid
How could you leave
And let me be washed away
As you turned your back and walked onto the shore
Amalea Brown ’22
Piece by Piece One by one
Turn them over.
Feel the edges and the curves.
It’s okay some are different.
Where do they fit?
Trial and error.
A work in progress.
Complicated, messy, unclear,
The answers
Slowly revealing themselves
Only you will know.
Piece by piece,
You are
The puzzle
The image
The masterpiece.
Lauren Robson ‘22
Amalea Brown ‘22
Wiped Canvas
First days are scary
but not as much as your last
It was a masterpiece
filled with vibrant colors
Like sunshine yellow
rosy pink
and warm orange
And sometimes
there were the dimmer colors too
Like rainy blue
frustrated red
and solemn black
But it didn’t matter
because no matter what
There was always
green and purple
Some try to tell me a blank canvas is a good thing
but that means my old painting
has to be thrown away
But now I know
that any color is better
than none
Arielle Schultz ’22
Particles Photons don’t experience the passage of time
They just exist
They travel at a set speed for all of eternity
Until they interact with matter
They burst into energy
Burning, Bright Power
People think that photons are just idle energy
Waiting for its time
But aren’t energy until they interact with matter
They were just particles
Flying through space
Forever
Until they bumped into something, anything of matter
And their existence changed forever
I was photon
You’re the matter I crashed into.
Evan Bowman ’22
Untitled You are alone, sitting sadly on a bench
Feeling so isolated that you feel like life has no meaning
Then it starts to rain, and life feels even more meaningless
Then comes the bright light, blinding you, shining down on you
The bright light is a friend
She comes over to you, and it stops raining
You talk for hours, smiling as bright as the sun, laughing until your jaws fall o
A friend is the best addition to life
You two are perfect, best friends.
Beautiful, together forming a rainbow.
Ella Gray ’24
At a Glance At a glance, I see you At a second glance I see a facade
And behind it,
A crumbling heart struggling to stay afloat among nebulous,
shadowy waves
I see it
I see it all
You can’t fool me
So
I’ll give you a piece of my heart
And in return
I want a piece of yours
I hope you keep the piece of my heart
I won’t ask for it back,
But it might get sad too
That is if you neglect it
I promise I won’t forget about yours
I’ll hold it,
And cherish it forever
I promise.
Gwyneth Williams ‘22
Shaunael Milton ‘22
Why Do I Only Write When I’m Sad? Your hands are like matches
My heart the striking surface
I wouldn’t say this if it wasn’t true
Your fire catching in my mind
Nine-tenths of each moment
All the little things that I tend to overcomplicate
burn like paper
Lightning to a flagpole
Friction to fuel
It’s times like this when I wonder
How you pour your cereal in the morning
If you put your socks on first
Or your sweater
The smell of burning rubber brings me back
My focus switches to bright orange flames
Grey ash consuming space
It’s too late
I never should have played with fire.
Sara Morris ’22
Untitled I take the gold you give me;
You choose to let it go.
Lily Prokop ’23