EPHS Literary Magazine 2022 by The Eyrie

Literary Magazine

“It’s a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, “more like deer than human being.” To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.” - Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Eden Prairie High School, June 2022

Literary Magazine

Introduction - ii

iv - Short Stories - O’ Bearer Mine - Material Girl - Eclipse - Katelyn Liu’s Speech - Campbell Gillquist

Landscape Photos - 10 - Elizabeth Stephan - Bergen Papa - Sophia Yoerks - Vivienne Tabor

10. 19 11-14 15-17 16, 18, 20

22 - Poetry - The Perishable, Reflective Ocean, Addiction - Where I’m From - the mind of a lazy soul, Don’t procrastinate IG, 12 says the clock - Anonymous - Vivi and Leah - Styx

Visual Art - 30 - Moneerah Saoudy - Lily Cooper - Chloe Desierto - Megan Wilson - Emma Madison - Archer Anderson - Bryan Klotz - Toby Kazmierczak

1 2 3 4 8

29, 33 29-30, 36 30, 35 31-32 33 34 34 35

23 24 25 26 27 28

38 - Profile Photos - Elizabeth Stephan - Vivienne Tabor - Baby pictures

39 40 41-42

WELCOME TO THE 2022 LITERATURE MAGAZINE DEDICATIONS Here are readers’ responses to,“if you were to dedicate a book to someone, who would you dedicate it to?” “Myself” “Soulmate” “You” “My younger self, for always being curious and witty” “My future self, because I’m the only one that stays” “Audre Lorde” “Grandparents” “Donna Tartt” “Fuck you troubled teen industry” “My parents” “Sylvia plath” “David Wojnarowicz” “Hardin Scott” “Ash” “Rain” “My dad” “The teacher that taught me who I was” “Whoever bought the book” “My home”

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EMMA J. MADISON We are the spoons, metal-ly mean We scooped our way into your dreams, To knock the knives out bloody cold, And lead you down the unforsaken road! [Marina Dimandis, Mowgli’s Road.]

____________________________________________________________________________________ An eclipse casted over the sky, casting a circular halo of fire and liquid gold. The sky shifted darker, and darker, like embers and a flame. Safety came from surrender. They stood among black slate stone, their red-pelted arms outstretched, a yellow laurel-colored cape flaying behind them like a stream directly from the sun. Two large pairs of horns made for a familiar and foretelling silhouette. The black horns atop their goat-skull head cupped and cradeled the sun, the gold rings on their arms glistening. People bowed, cowered and huddled below them like terrified rabbits. One step at a time, their hooves firm on the ground. “ The rapture, the light, don’t you see it; my friends?” Heads arose, uncertainty, anger, distain, loyalty in a beautiful bloom. “ I foretold you of a day, a day so close to your end,” They sang, their goat-slit eyes reaching up and staring at the nothingness tucked into dusty brown-gold clouds above. “ I will save you all from this, the selfish indulgence all living forms have… How you indulge yourselves with me now will tell me who you’ve truly been all along,” They stalked upon a familiar face in the crowd, cupping it firmly in their claws and meeting her horrified gaze. She surrendered her weapon readily, the bubbling of magma around them causing her to flinch. “ This is what I was telling you about. You didn’t believe me… Do you fear for your life now? Now that I was right? Now that you’re at my mercy?” Smoke arose from their breath and stung her eyes. “ I expect you’ll love me as Brutus did Caesar, O’ love mine. With resentment… Coldness… Forgiveness.”

Photo by Sophia Yoerks

EMMA J. MADISON ‘Cause we are living in a material world, And I am a material girl! You know that we are living in a material world, And I am a material girl! [Madonna, Material Girl.]

____________________________________________________________________________________ “ See y’ later, doll!” Vengeance hooted over her shoulder, slamming the glass door to their home with her hips. She didn’t give Riot time to reply. She strolled down the street, the black, star-shimmering mermaid-cut dress she wore complimenting her form well. She had business to… Take care of. She flaunted herself to other demons that walked along her out of curiosity or avoided her, as her reputation preceeded her. She re-adjusted the faux cream fur boa that hung around her neck like the fur of a cat, and stepped into a nearby allyway, a target pinned to her mind. She tipped her feline ears at every sound, including the lazy steps behind her. Her plan was all in perfect order, perfect persuasion. She flashed her docked tail from side-toside, trying to put up the illusion that she hadn’t been aware of her follower as they crept up on her. Once she realized the alleyway was chained up and lead her to a dead end, she realized she was in the wrong place and briefly distressed, spinning around. “ Well! Isn’t this curious.” She purred with amusement, trying to mask her surprise. It wasn’t who she thought it had been. “ I was wondering what nonsense you were getting yourself into this time, Roxanne.” He re-adjusted the white collar tucked underneath a sea of fine black silk. He then tussled his pink tie and tidied up his ginger hair, hair similar to a fox’s pelt. “ Well I was trying to find a certain someone… Y’know how he is.” She sighed, flipping a cigar out of her purse and brandishing her copper-bronze pistol, which was tucked under the hip of her dress. “ You seem like you wanted to kill him.” Lucius chuckled with subtle uneasiness, innocently raising his hands. “ Not that I wouldn’t want to either, it’s just bold.” “ You don’t have the guts to face him, otherwise you would’ve killed him yourself.” She purred haughtily. He gave her a tired and exacerbated glance. She bested him there.

EMMA J. MADISON So many angles, so many lines So many ways to see the sunrise, Everything moves, everything pulses, Everything lies in the eyes of you. [Bronze Radio Return, Everything Moves.]

Katelyn

Liu’s

2022

Speech

I remember years ago, you were so little then. Sometimes, Do you ever stop and think? Just reflect on everything that’s happened to you in the last few days, months. years? Do you wonder where all that time went? All those special moments or just the ordinary daily activities that are now only memories. Do you remember the exact time when you started to grow up? When you started giggling not because you’re covered in mud, but because you remembered the time that a boy [look around] kissed you? Have you ever turned around and suddenly everyone was 3 feet taller, with bigger parts and more curves and you had no idea where it all came from? Have you ever Felt that everything was happening too fast? And even though you didn’t want to grow up, you didn’t want to be left behind either? And who tells us when we have grown up? How is maturity obtained? I don’t know how But those days were wow No worries,no anxiety,no troubles They were full of sweetness They were full of dizziness I’ve cried when you faced heartaches, and saw, that as you grew, nothing broke your Spirit, instead it strengthened you. I’m filled with mixed emotions, as I hold back all the tears and, with much pride remember, back so many years. My uncle once told me “Don’t grow up it’s a trap.”, I thought it was a silly joke because I was going to grow up to become a princess. Didn’t happen, but apparently life goes on. I’ve realized my childhood has just passed by in a flash and all I’m thinking about are college applications and job applications. And so, part of me is beginning to fear what is yet to come, but the other part is yearning for the childhood I’ve lost.

So through the poems “Though you are grown” by Cynthia A. Sieving, “The Childhood Song” by Kellie Cara, “Maturity” by Andreas Simic, “Little Girls Have to Grow Up” by Brianna E. Cornman, “My Childhood” by Mr. Witcher, “To My Inner Child” by Mia Gatte, “Do You Ever Stop And Think” by Jordan Brown, “I want to be a child again” by Pragati Gupta, and “On the Horizon” by Sunlite Wanter “To my inner child” a poetry program. [pause 2-3-4] There once was a little girl. She was sweet, and in dresses she liked to twirl. She left her footprint. Everywhere she went, Her smile was almost contagious, But The little girl then grew up. Even though she had gotten older, And thought that years going by had destroyed her, She was wrong; she could still be sweet. Somedays she could try on her dresses like when she was a little girl, And she could stand in front of her mirror to watch herself twirl. She still left a footprint with each of her feet. She could still make herself crack that contagious smile. And her being on this Earth was worthwhile. But She didn’t see that. She was lost, and people didn’t seem to see that little girl was me When I used to play with bubbles Time passes at a glance They were full of sweetness They were full of dizziness From that gracious beginning adulation, Rich maturity and pride were mine, My limbs grew long and reached strong, Higher and higher to the sky. Flipping through the pages, of my long lost childhood, That slipped from my hands, like the grains of the sand, I guess time continues, whether you want it to or not, leaving you behind or taking you for the journey of your life. I realize, how time flies, from a small and tender child, I became strong, intelligent and wise, who can take decisions in a trice. Maturity is defined as development,

Is this the development of the human body? Is this the development of intellectual matter or Is this the development of human potential? And who tells us when we have grown up? How do we know when we have reached our destination? Do we ever stop growing up, or do we continue to just grow in spirit? Do you remember the exact time when you started to grow up? When the conversations you had were not about dolls or imaginary friends but about sex, boys and “How far have you gone?” And if I can see everyone else making choices, trying new things, growing up, is it selfish for me to want it to stay the same forever? And if I’m just scared of losing the people that are close to me, scared of being left behind or leaving others behind, is it okay for me to stand off in the distance, But the little girl then grew up. And her tea wasn’t as easily in her cup. She didn’t have the greatest luck, As a teenager, she lost friends. And truly it’s because people suck. There once was a little girl. She was sweet, and in dresses she liked to twirl. But the little girl then grew up. people called her names, And boys played with her heart like a string of games. Even though she had gotten older, And thought that years going by had destroyed her, She was wrong; she could still be sweet. But because of the names And the games, She didn’t see that. to my inner child i am so sorry that we grew up too fast i am so sorry that you didn’t get enough time to be you i am sorry that i didn’t try hard enough to stay young if i could turn back time and make sure you got the attention you deserved, the love you longed for, and the recognition you wish you had been given, i would do that in a heartbeat.

it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be angry, and it’s okay to be happy. don’t be afraid to let those big emotions out little one. On the Horizon My limbs and leaves are trembling My green days of shade and blue shadow near gone, You settle and sigh Small tears in your eyes As you wait for the beautiful sound But no noise to be made Childhood has faded The music has just died out I’m afraid you’ve grown up Your past has all but sealed My childhood was a river, That was flowing day by day, But now my life is a pool, Whose waters are stagnant, The creek doesn’t hum, The bird whistles numb, And home this no longer feels. I want that child back in me, This time I won’t let it flee, Won’t burden it with others’ dreams, This time I’ll build my own realms. I want that smile that motivated others to go miles, I want to be amiable and to be affable, for however long that may be. I remember years ago, you were so little then. Sometimes Do you ever stop and think? Just reflect on everything that’s happened to you in the last few days, months. years?

Ca mpbell Gillqu ist Everybody has different eyes. You’re probably thinking, “no doi”. And yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but think about it. Every single person on this planet has a different perspective and there is no way to be able to fully understand any of them, even you’re own. Just think, colors. We might all see colors completely different. Red, through my eyes, might look like what you call blue through your eyes. And there is no way for us to know. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That’s insane! I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately and every time I end up spiraling and literally feel panicky. As stressed as it at least makes me feel, there is something kind of beautiful about it. When I look in the mirror I don’t like what I see. I don’t understand why anyone wants to be around me. I’ve never believed someone when they said I looked pretty or give me any sort of compliment. But when I look at my best friend, she is the most beautiful person I know. Her eyes are the prettiest combination of green, blue and brown. Her smile is big and beautiful. Her laugh is my favorite sound in the whole world, I am in awe of her. But I hear her say the same things I say to myself. The same insults, same hatred. And I can’t possibly understand how she doesn’t see herself the way I do. When I look at her and hear her say those awful things, I wish more than anything I could give her my eyes so she could see her beauty, her talent, her worth. And sometimes it gives me hope. Maybe there’s someone looking at me the way I look at her. The black, brown, muddy, ugly colors I see when I look at myself, that ruin my day, to someone else could be bright, vibrant pinks and yellows that bring them joy. Everyone has different eyes. And we’ll never be able to see from anyone else’s.

Photo by Vivienne Tabor

LA E C P NDS A

Photo by Elizabeth Stephan

P H OT O G R P Y A

Photo by Bergen Papa

14 14

Photo by Sophia Yoerks

Photo by Vivienne Tabor

Photos by Sophia Yoerks

19 17

Photo by Vivienne Tabor

Photos by Elizabeth Stephan

Photo by Vivienne Tabor

Part III - Poetry

Q R

thy grabs the nearest apple the most perfect looking apple you see you take that massive bite and ingest it questioning ‘what does that thing really taste like’ at first it is sweet and tasteful however it is also rotten when your teeth make contact with the brown, rotten bits you slowly realize that it makes you sick it makes you feel gross and as the apple gets digested you realize that although it can be sweet it also has some dark spots the little imperfections in this story i am the apple i let my guard down revealing my imperfections and what makes me human however you only wanted a perfect apple not one with brown spots and imperfections so you throw me away leaving me to the rats

E reflective ocean

how would life be if i flew through the sky the moon would continue to show its love and you would continue to live so that simple answer is yes, even when i am gone the days continue and nobody will notice i am gone becuase of the little ripple i made in the water of that vast ocean

The perishable

addiction

feeling the blade running through my flech and as i watch red ink drip from the pen i feel yself float being set free from this thing called life

A b b y

K i r t o n

Where I’m From

I am from small town bars, loud rumbling cars, And fresh made pickles in special jars I am from Two rooms and beds, he said-she saids, And dad’s famous homemade breads. I am from Grandma’s front climbing tree, And my sister being as tall as me I am from large cities with pride parades And in the back pond making bracelet trades I am from what happened to me when I was six The story of which still makes some sick I am from wishing I had a real friend And not wanting it to be the weekend I am from healing the past and what it brought And sneaking out and not getting caught.

Photo by Gianna Kowalkoski

A b h i

M a d i r e d d y

the mind of a lazy soul

Don’t procrastinare, IG

the mind of a lazy soul is quiet as messy as one would forsee but it quiet colorful and whole a paradise everyone wishes life would be

the mind of a lazy soul is about as adept as one would imagine but its creativity one can not control makes the most impossible things happen the mind of a lazy soul is about as relaxed as one would get or so one would think, looking into a hole for it is far more laid back than you would like to bet the mind of a lazy soul is about as simple as one can think but for one taking through it a casual stroll, their understanding of it for sure will shrink

12, says the clock 12, says the clock Eleven, says the mind ten, says the scored test nince, it was scored for eight, the days spent learning seven, the days of a week six, of the door hinges squeak five, the exam score for I am yearning four, is the expected score three, the weeks before rest two, hours a day I spend on the grind one, the certainty for I know the next day I shall rock

I stare at the florescent screen ideas slipping my mind wherever my train of thought has been I really can’t seem to find procrastinating I really must put to an end writing English essays at the height of fatigue oh, wherever my time I decide to spend I can’t seem to escape my critique “To be or not to be” so goes the hardcover book I revel in the fact that I just seemed to see so long this shouldn’t have took

A n o n y m o u s My knees sink into the earth where he lay, his ashes bringing forth decay. How I wish I could sin enough to be sent below, (more than I already have to follow) I want to infuse him in my veins to be reborn again the way he created me, once began. I want to inhale his being And exhale his desires to do their aspires. Brick by brick, atom by atom, carb by carb, I will do whatever it takes to replace his shards. No matter how many stars explode, and infinities collide, I need him by my side. Perhaps I can sell my soul, mine for his, his for mine, I unseathe my pen and slam the paper down to sign. I have been ready: trailing down the page to the line. But,

before I do,

Where do I sign?

Sophia Yoerks

32 26

V i v i e n n e T a b o r L e a h Q u i n t e r o Adam Driver nose Perfect baby face He’s in a perfect pose He’s probably got a mace Small white kitty Big blue eyes He doesn’t want your pity He just wants your cries

I like jazz, I like it a lot People say that makes me nasty They say I should get rhinoplasty But I think my nose is hot

I think I might be gay There’s this black cat His name is Winston He’s pretty cray Sometimes he catches a rat I think he might’ve went to Princeton But I don’t know about that

Katherine Kregness styx here is the firelight, trapping the light-winged, the yearning here is the endless, the ash-halls of life itself, the mourning here is night, her arms splayed like a sun-dog, the mother of truth these rooms hold no love for the empty, no patience for the saints. there is only loss, here and when chaos hums and sleep draws nearer, the lonely river of nobody’s blood has swept away the turns of time here is the morning, the cold of light, the open void, an endless sky here is the breaking, the heart of god, the dawn of triumph, its dripping eyes here is the burning, the muddied ocean, an endless war, the deserved burden there will be no comfort here, for time is as patient as it needs to be. comfort is for kinder, softer places. here is the ache; truth does not live where you want her to. she is worn and tired and a Cassandra for the ages. so Death ambles forward, Love close behind, and Tyche, the gambler, will not save us in time.

Photo by Vivienne Tabor

Part

Art by Moneerah Saoudy

Art by DEORQ

Visual

Arts

Art by Chloe Desierto

“I wanted to normalize feminist symobols in media and prove that taboo subjects can be beautiful. I also felt it was incredibly important to photograph a feminist (Rian) and give her creative freedom aswell. Menstruation and female anatomy is such an avoided topic in schools when 50% of the population have female anatomy, so 100% of the population should have it normalized.” 31

MEGAN W I L S O N 32

M o n e e r a h Saoudy

Emma J. Madison

Archer Anderson

C h l o e D e s i e r t o “Both my artworks depict the social expectations on little kids. Since I was young, I was expected to stand out of my class with good grades and a pure appearance. With everyone - my classmates, friends, and family - watching my every move. I wanted to show that in my artwork with the contrast of black and white to show the dullness of these expectations. Children should learn how to have fun and grow - a life full of colors.”

Toby K a z m i e r c z a k

AR P T

Elizabeth Stephan

O R

OT PH

Elizabeth Stephan’s

“human happiness” 39

Vi v i e n n e Ta b o r

Stranger In the Alps, Phoebe Bridgers

Taking childhood photos and drawing ghosts over the people in them like Phoebe Bridgers did on her album cover, “Stranger In the Alps”

Welcome to the 2022 edition of the EPHS Literary Magazine! With a new year comes new faces for the magazine, and we’re excit

THANK YOU

To those who submitted, provided support, and helped with editing. We love you all so much!

ted to showcase the all the wonderful art submitted

Welcome to the 2022 edition of the EPHS Literary Magazine! With a new year comes new faces for the magazine, and we’re excited to showcase the all the wonderful art submitted. - Al Amundson Hello! My name is Sophia Yoerks and I am the editor of the 2022 Literary Magazine. Originally, this project was supposed to be started in September of last year. When I realized that we hadn’t done it, I wanted to take on the task. Because of this late start, things have been hectic. Last month I took this on without knowing what we were going to do: themes, cover, title, submissions… everything was up in the air. I was nervous that there wouldn’t be any submissions, which defeated the whole purpose of the Literary Magazine. However, I was proven wrong, as during this process I got to know so many people throughout their passions and talents. It was so fun to experience, and I can only hope to do it again. Next time, I would like to start earlier, so as soon as the school year ends, start getting ready for the 2023 Literary magazine with excitement and submissions!! To those who submitted, thank you so much. It means the world to me. And to readers, enjoy this jumble of creativity smushed into a ‘zine!

El Fin

EPHS Literary Magazine 2022

Articles inside

Poetry

Profile Photos