SPRING 2013
THE
MARBLE COLLECTION
Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts
themarblecollection.org
1
themarblecollection.org
BACHELOR OF FINE ARTS PROGRAMS • Ceramics • Creative Writing • Graphic Design • Illustration • Interdisciplinary Arts • Painting • Photography • Creative Writing Minor • Printmaking Minor POST BACCALAUREATE CERTIFICATION • Art Education
MASTER OF ARTS IN ART EDUCATION Summer studio programs in: • Ceramics • Illustration • Painting • Photography SUMMER PROGRAMS • PreCollege • Art Educator Summer Institute
866-241-4918 • nhia.edu 2
themarblecollection.org
I L L U S T R AT I O N B Y J E S S I C A L E C L E R C
The Marble Collection
Spring 2013
Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts inspiration • creativity • community
TMC: ABOUT US W H AT I S T H E M A R B L E C O L L E C T I O N ? The Marble Collection, Inc. [TMC] is a 501 (c) 3 nonprofit organization that publishes The Marble Collection: Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts—the only statewide, biannual print and digital magazine of the arts for and by Massachusetts teens, showcasing students’ literary, art, music and video works. In addition, TMC offers one-to-one online Student Mentoring Workshops, in which college-level mentors help teens share and refine their voices—at no cost to the school or student. M I S S I O N S TAT E M E N T TMC provides Massachusetts students with literature and arts education and one-to-one eMentoring to advance their creative development.
TMC: SUBMIT NEW YEAR-ROUND ROLLING SUBMISSION To submit please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/submit
TMC: STAFF EDITOR-IN-CHIEF LITERATURE EDITOR
ART JUROR
ADVERTISING EXECUTIVE COMMUNICATION INTERN LAYOUT / DESIGN
WEBMASTER
Deanna Elliot Kristen Fournier Rose Pierre-Louis Alexa Zahares Marguerite Firth Rachel Levitt Melanie McCarthy Molly Chen Anya Kubilus Deanna Elliot Melanie McCarthy Alexa Zahares Andrew Rakauskas
Special thanks to Old Colony Regional Vocational Technical High School’s Graphic Communication & Design Department for printing this edition. 2
themarblecollection.org
TMC: PARTICIPANTS SPECIAL THANKS Abington, Academy of Notre Dame, Acton-Boxborough Regional, Advanced Math & Science Academy, Agawam, Amherst, Andover, Archbishop Williams, Arlington, Attleboro, Auburn, Austin Preparatory, Ayer Shirley, Ayer Shirley Middle, B M C Durfee, Bartlett School, Bay Path Regional Voc Tech, Belmont Hill, Berkshire Arts & Tech Charter, Berkshire School, Beverly, Bishop Feehan, Bishop Fenwick, Bishop Stang, Blackstone-Millville Regional, Boston Arts Academy, Boston University Academy, Bridgewater-Raynham Regional, Brimmer & May, Bristol County Agricultural, Burlington, Burncoat, Cambridge Rindge & Latin, Cape Cod Regional Voc Tech, Carver, Central Catholic, Chatham, Chelmsford, Chelsea, Chicopee Academy, Chicopee Comprehensive, Chicopee, Cohasset,Commonwealth School, Concord-Carlisle, Dartmouth, Dennis-Yarmouth Regional, Douglas, Dover-Sherborn Regional, Dracut, Duxbury, Easthampton, Everett, Falmouth, Fitchburg, Framingham, Francis Parker Charter Essential, Frontier Regional, Gann Academy, Gardner, Global Learning Charter, Gloucester, Granby, Greater Lowell Tech, Greater New Bedford Regional Voc Tech, Groton School, Groton-Dunstable Regional, Hanover, Hartsbrook Waldorf, Harwich, Haverhill Alternative, Higginson-Lewis, Hill View Montessori Charter, Hingham, Holliston, Holyoke Catholic, Hopkins Academy, Housatonic Academy, Ipswich, JFK Middle, Joseph Case, Kennedy Academy for Health Careers, Lee, Leicester, Lenox Memorial, Lexington Christian, Lexington, Lincoln Alternative Day School, Lincoln-Sudbury Regional, Longmeadow, Lowell Catholic, Lowell,
Lynn Voc Tech Institute, Malden Catholic, Malden, Mansfield, Marblehead, Marshall Simonds Middle, Marshfield, Masconomet Regional, Maynard, McCann Tech, Medway, Melrose, Milford, Millis, Milton Academy, Minnechaug Regional, Minuteman Career & Tech, Montrose School, Mt. Greylock Regional, Nauset Regional, Nazareth Academy, Needham, New Leadership Charter, Newton Country Day School of the Sacred Heart, Newton North, Nipmuc Regional, North Attleboro, North Quincy, North Reading, Northampton, Northbridge, Norwell, Norwood, Oakmont Regional, Old Colony Regional Voc Tech, Old Rochester Regional, Oliver Ames, Palmer, Peabody Veterans Memorial, Pembroke, Pentucket Regional, Phillips Academy, Pioneer Valley Christian, Pioneer Valley Performing Arts, Putnam Voc Tech, Quaboag Regional, Randolph, Reading Memorial, Rockland, Roger L. Putnam Voc Tech, Salem, Seekonk, Sharon, Silver Lake Regional, Scituate, Smith Academy, Somerset Berkley Regional, Somerville, South Hadley, South Shore Charter, Southbridge, Springfield High School of Commerce, St. Bernard’s Central Catholic, St. Mary, St. Peter Marian, Stoneleigh-Burnham, Sturgis Charter, Sutton, Taconic, Tantasqua, Taunton, Tewksbury Memorial, The Clark School, The Governor’s Academy, The Waring School, Trinity Day Academy, Turners Falls, Urban Science Academy, Uxbridge, Walnut Hill, Waltham, Ware, Wareham Cooperative, Wayland, West Springfield, Westfield, Westford Academy, Whitman-Hanson Regional, Wilbraham & Monson Academy, Williston Northampton, Winchester, Xaverian Brothers
TMC: JOIN US To participate, at NO cost, all we require is a signed ‘Letter of Support’ from a teacher/administrator, who will ser ve as TMC’s liaison. To sign the ‘Letter of Support’ please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/participate TMC Spring 2013
3
TMC: FUNDERS TMC is supported in part by grants from the below local cultural councils, local agencies which are supported by the Massachusetts Cultural Council, a state agency. Acton-Boxborough, Agawam, Amherst, Attleboro, Auburn, Bridgewater, Carver, Chatham, Chicopee, Concord, Cultural Council of Northern Berkshire, Deerfield, Dighton, Falmouth, Gloucester, Granby, Groton, Hadley, Hanson, Holliston, Lakeville, Lawrence, Marlborough, Malden, Mattapoisett, Medway, North Reading, Peabody, Reading, Salem, Somerset, Sturbridge, Sutton, Taunton, Tewksbury, Tyngsborough, Wareham, Webster, West Newbury, Winchester
TMC is also supported in part by grants from the below corporations. Ta r g e t C o r p o r a t i o n
Arts, Culture & Design in Schools Grant
Wa l m a r t S t o r e s
North Adams, North Dartmouth, Wareham
TMC: SUBSCRIBE CLASSROOM BUNDLE
(25 copies per issue)
ONE-YEAR SINGLE COPY
$150.00 $20.00 $10.25
To subscribe or purchase additional copies please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/subscribe
TMC: ADVERTISE With a diverse print and digital circulation, TMC is a one of a kind recruitment tool that maintains a distinct presence in and outside the classroom. Reach your target audience and showcase the unique programs your educational institution has to offer in The Marble Collection: Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts! NEXT EDITION / WINTER 2014 Closing Date for Reservations: Copy Date: Pu b l i c a t i o n D a t e :
December 16, 2013 December 30, 2013 Fe b r u a r y 1 , 2 0 1 4 ( a p p r o x i m a t e )
Reservations and inquires should be sent to: Deanna@themarblecollection.org To learn more please review our Media Kit by visiting: www.themarblecollection.org/advertise
4
themarblecollection.org
TMC: SPONSORSHIP SPONSOR-A-SCHOOL We invite Massachusetts businesses to join us in our commitment to fostering youth development through the arts by sponsoring your local high school(s). Sponsorships support the production and distribution of the Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts and ensure that the Student Mentoring Workshop continues to enrich the lives of talented teen authors and artists—at no cost to the school or student. Your charitable sponsorship is 100% tax deductible. To become a sponsor please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/sponsor *** VILLANELLE SPONSOR Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Cheap, Pembroke, MA www.dirtydeedscheap.com Janet LaBerge, Owner
TMC: MEMBERSHIP MEMBERSHIP LEVELS & BENEFITS Join us in our mission to advance the creative development of Massachusetts students through literature and arts education and one-to-one eMentoring. MEMBER $25: Includes one-year print subscription. ASSOCIATE $75: Includes one-year print subscription for you and a Massachusetts public or school library of your choice. PATRON $150: Includes one-year print subscription for you and a Massachusetts public AND school library of your choice, plus your name will be listed in the print and digital magazine. To become a TMC member please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/donate *** PAT R O N M E M B E R S A n t h o n y Gr a s s o / Me r y l L o o n i n / Pa t s y R o s e
TMC Spring 2013
5
TMC: CONTENTS 8
Diminuendo (Poetry) Mitchell Zhang / Groton School
9
The City (Art) Hallie Black / Brimmer and May School
10 Who’s Counting (Art) Samantha Phillips / Taunton High School
11 Canvas View (Art) Hayley Barry / Oakmont Regional High School
12 The Show (Fiction) Renae Reints / Old Rochester Regional High School
15 Movement (Art) Katherine McDonald / Oakmont Regional High School
16 Blueberries (Poetry) Ian Malone / Milton Academy
17 Grasp (Art) Katherine McDonald / Oakmont Regional High School
18 The Beat (Art) Sarah Goolishian / Wilbraham and Monson Academy
19 Dark Days (Art) Allison Daly / Peabody Veterans Memorial High School
19 Untitled 1 (Art) Julia Henry / Peabody Veterans Memorial High School
20 Beating the Clock (Fiction) Danielle Calder / Burlington High School
24 Julianna (Art) Nicholas Collazo / Taunton High School
25 My Year (Art) Emily Xarras / Oakmont Regional High School
6
themarblecollection.org
25 Blanket of Snow (Art) Tanya Dimitrov / Chelmsford High School
26 Mania (Poetry) Emily Cox / Bridgewater-Raynham Regional High School
27 Color Exaggerated Self Portrait (Art) Isabella Ciccolini / Oakmont Regional High School
28 The Learned Virtuoso (Art) SeonYoung Park / Wilbraham and Monson Academy
29 Points of Rhythm (Art) Gregory Barry / Oakmont Regional High School
30 What They Carried (Fiction) Ben Arcangeli / Oakmont Regional High School
31 The Revival (Art) Tianfu Ren / Wilbraham and Monson Academy
32 Illuminate the Memories (Art) Tanner Gauvin / Oakmont Regional High School
33 Absence of Evil (Art) Annalace Smith / Taunton High School
34 From the Air (Nonfiction) Erika Esielionis / Ayer Shirley Regional High School
35 I Feel (Art) Adam Pinheiro / Taunton High School
36 Observe (Art) Tanner Gauvin / Oakmont Regional High School
37 Somethin ‘Bout a Truck (Art) Amy Grenier / Oakmont Regional High School
38 Aunt Mary (Poetry) Rachael Allen / Milton Academy
TMC: SPRING 2013 39 Farsighted (Art) Ruth Wooster / Brimmer and May School
54 A Dream of Rainfall (Art) Samantha Waldrop Peabody Veterans Memorial High School
40 The Lonely One (Art) Natalie Moss / Amherst Regional High School
55 I Am an Island (Art) Theresa Nowacki / Taunton High School
41 Frostbite (Art) Tayler Stander / Brimmer and May School
56 Buying Time (Poetry) Laura White / Reading Memorial High School
42 Time (Fiction) Meghan Girouard / Burlington High School
57 Underground (Art) Sarah Hombach / Milton Academy
43 A Breech in the Walls (Art) Aubrey Daugherty-Costa / Taunton High School
57 Parallels (Art) Rachel Klingenstein / Brimmer and May School
44 Untitled (Art) Benjamin Baptiste / Taunton High School
58 Standing Up to World Issues (Art) Isabel Tze Chen Chun / Milton Academy
45 Panic Sun - Lighter Notes (Music) Morgan Furtado & Rob Oullette Old Colony Regional Vocational High School
46 Your Crawling Shadow (Poetry) Jay Crompton / Ayer Shirley Regional High School
47 Salty Wounds (Art) Aubrey Daugherty-Costa / Taunton High School
48 Assemblage Panorama (Art) Christopher Coe / Burlington High School
49 City Childhood (Art) Isabel Tze Chen Chun / Milton Academy
50 Mr. Malson (Fiction) K.P. Hubbard / Burlington High School
51 Years Change, Memories Stay (Art) Amy Grenier / Oakmont Regional High School
52 Hangliding (Poetry) Abby Hilling / Bishop Stang High School
59 Wondering (Art) Dante Radysh Bowman / The Hartsbrook School
60 Aliens, Finals, and God (Fiction) Molli Wallace / Oakmont Regional High School
62 Perfect Moment (Art) Emily Kiehl / Marshall Simonds Middle School
62 Song of Autumn 3 (Art) Tianfu Ren / Wilbraham and Monson Academy
63 Self Portrait (Art) Rene Fleming / Auburn High School
64 Anticipation (Poetry) Emily Graves / Oakmont Regional High School
65 Adorn (Art) Hayley Barry / Oakmont Regional High School
65 Turbulence (Art) Jayne Vogelzang / Lexington High School
TMC Spring 2013
7
P O E T R Y Groton School / Grade 12
Mitchell Zhang
Diminuendo The lines are jarred and drooping, the clefts troubled, shrinking away from the paper, once creamy-white but now rotting, blackened from the splashes of scalding coffee and rivulets of sweat from wrinkled foreheads. George Gershwin could never have composed such a blues—the notes slant across an otherwise empty landscape, wishing for a change in scenery, to break free of their inked prison just for once. But they don’t. They can’t. No matter how high they soar or how low they dive they are told to never, ever wander outside of their rectangular home. It’s dissonant out there, the higher notes forbid the lower ones, those who’ve actually seen over the brink of the unknown. Today might not be the age of etudes and sonatas, but there have always been boundaries. Every one is destined to live with the sound of their life, ringing for just the staccato of one beat or the relative symphony of four. No one sustains much farther than that. Will you settle down, creating a long chord that will repeat throughout the piece, a trailing cadence that may leap across to the windowsill and waver in the dusk? The melody traces the pages with a lingering caress and you flow along with the others, paced perfectly with the slow tempo, but always looking, looking into the beckoning expanses of the blank, limitless paper beyond.
8
themarblecollection.org
A R T Brimmer and May School / Grade 11
H a l l i e
B l a c k
The City
d r a w i n g
TMC Spring 2013
9
A R T Taunton High School / Grade 11
S a m a n t h a
P h i l l i p s
W h o ’s C o u n t i n g
c e r a m i c
10
themarblecollection.org
v e s s e l
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 12
H a y l e y
B a r r y
Canvas View
p a i n t i n g
TMC Spring 2013
11
F I C T I O N Old Rochester Regional High School / Grade 11
R e n a e
R e i n t s
The Show
The whole town had been anticipating this event for weeks now. Everyone would be gathered at the town square in a couple hours. The young boy jumped up and down excitedly as his mom packed the picnic basket. He could hardly contain his enthusiasm. “Calm down! You’re going to give your mama a heart attack if you keep that up,” the boy’s mother warned, as she wrapped some bread in a cloth and softly placed it in the basket. “I can’t help it! It’s my first time. A boy’s got the right to be excited,” the child replied with a huge grin across his face. “Yes, well go be excited elsewhere. I need to finish packing this basket and then we’ve got to meet your papa in town,” the woman retorted while waving her hand as if shooing a fly. Her son complied, and ran out the front door to play with the other kids heading to town. The town square was crowded. People were packed shoulder to shoulder, the hems of pretty dresses brushing neatly pressed pants as they squeezed by. Every family in the area was there, happily chattering away with their neighbors. As they talked and laughed, they gathered around the stage in the center, anticipating the clock’s strike of twelve. “I’ve heard about this guy,” said the town’s carpenter, greeting the boy’s father with a nod of his head, and his mother with a dip of his hat, “He’s supposed to be one of the best. Hopefully he’ll put on a nice long show.” The father beamed, “Me too. I’d like my boy’s first time to be one to remember.” He clapped his hand onto his son’s shoulder proudly. They were towards the back of the gathering of townspeople. The boy strained his neck to see above the crowd, but his efforts were futile. Noticing his son’s struggles, the father chuckled and lifted his boy onto his shoulders in one big sweep. “Now you’ve got the best seat in the house,” he said, looking up towards his smiling boy. The raised wooden stage stood in the center of the bustling townspeople. Just a simple square platform, twelve feet long on each side, with a tall wooden structure stretching off the back and bending over the center of the stage. Raised five feet off the ground, a set of stairs allowed access to the stage and to the eyes of every man, woman, and child in the audience. A few officers stood around to ensure a safe perimeter, but their physically intimidating appearance was stifled by their jocular attitudes. The ring leader stood on the corner of the stage, awaiting his star’s arrival from the distribution center in the city. He looked dashing, as always, his narrow figure dressed in a black suit with tails. A bowler hat rested upon his head. The leader habitually stroked his bushy black beard as he talked to nearby townspeople, 12
themarblecollection.org
F I C T I O N ensuring them they were to have a good show. “You folks ready for a great performance? This man’s got quite a résumé–he’s earned his spot up here on this stage.” “We can’t wait to see it! It’s always good to have you around town each month,” commended the old woman from the seamstress shop, as surrounding neighbors voiced their agreements. “Well thank you very much,” the ring leader beamed. “I heard you had a great show down in Windsdale last week,” the old woman continued. “Ah, yes. It was a bit of a travel to get the performer out from the big city, but the townspeople loved the show he put on,” replied the ring leader. The clock rang out for noontime, and the crowd quieted so that only the sound of turning wheels and a humming engine could be heard coming down the road. The star of the show was on his way. All eyes stared towards Main Street. Seconds later, a sleek black Duesenberg pulled up to the crowd. The door opened, and an officer stepped out. After him came another officer, leading the entertainer. He wore the loose and dirty performer’s uniform, as well as a terribly somber expression. The townspeople started to whisper excitedly. “This is it!” “I can’t wait!” “I wonder how long he’ll perform!” A path formed in the crowd, allowing the men to easily walk towards the stage. The young boy watched the performer’s every move with great anticipation. The three men climbed the steps and nodded a greeting to the ring leader. Taking the performer’s arm from the officer, the ring leader escorted our entertainer to the center of the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! I present to you… the star of the show!” The crowd roared with excitement, while the performer stared out with a look of awe on his face. The young boy cheered along with the others. As they watched, the two officers stood aside while the ring leader grabbed hold of a rope hanging from the structure above the stage. He slipped the rope into position, while the performer’s face remained stoic. He seemed nervous. “You know I’ve heard some other towns have started masking their performers,” commented the town’s blacksmith. “Now why would they go and do a thing like that?” asked the baker’s wife, astonished. “I like to know who’s entertaining me,” said the baker. “It doesn’t seem right to cover him up.” The blacksmith shrugged, and turned back to the stage. With the rope in position, the ring leader again addressed the crowd, “Now! The part you’ve all been waiting for!” The leader raised his hands in the air, inciting wild applause, then walked to the back of the stage with great animation. He waited while the crowd settled down, TMC Spring 2013
13
F I C T I O N then addressed the spectators with a compassionate voice. “As always, I would like to ask for a volunteer from the audience.” The ring leader’s eyes scanned the crowd as nearly every arm stretched high in the air, its owner waving and shouting his or her necessity to be chosen. After a few seconds of deliberation, the leader smiled and pointed to a youthful girl towards the front. “You, young lady, may come join me on the stage.” The girl squeaked with excitement and did as she was told, her friends and family shouting adoring encouragement. The performer silently watched her climb the stage’s stairs. “What’s your name, Miss?” asked the ring leader, once the girl had stationed herself beside him. This man had been running the shows for years now, and before that he had always accompanied his father on his trips. He had traveled through town enough times to know every individual’s name, but a needless custom required he kept to the popular script. The girl stated her name quietly. She was squirming under the eyes of the townspeople, but grinning with delight. “Alright sweetheart, you may have the honor,” said the ring leader, gesturing towards the lever between them, “Let the show begin!” The crowd’s anticipation was tangible as the young girl placed her hand on the lever. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled. The center floor of the stage dropped open. The performer’s eyes went wide, and the crowd went crazy. They roared and cheered as the man hung in midair, twisting and turning, kicking his legs in a wild jive. “Look at him go!” “He’s a lively one alright!” “Dance, brother, dance!” The young boy applauded right along with the rest of them. This is fun, he thought. The performer’s face contorted into various shapes of pain while he danced to the crowd’s cheers. After a few more moments, he ceased to move, and his eyes closed. His body swayed in the slight breeze, a waltz to complete the show. The townspeople roared on until the ring leader stepped forward, “I hope you liked the performance! If you will, everyone may now continue to the park for our picnic celebration.” Men, women, and children obediently dispersed from the stage area, laughing and chattering on their way, discussing the performer’s excellent show. The boy’s mother grabbed her picnic basket and joined the crowd, along with her husband and child. Still balanced on his father’s shoulders, the boy looked towards the stage behind him. The performer hung grotesquely by the rope around his neck. The young boy smiled, the thrill of the event still fresh inside him. He was already anticipating next month’s show.
14
themarblecollection.org
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 11
K a t h e r i n e
M c D o n a l d
Movement
p h o t o g r a p h y TMC Spring 2013
15
P O E T R Y Milton Academy / Grade 11
Ian Malone
Blueberries Our bikes skid down sandy roads and we buy a carton of blueberries from a shop you know in town. We take them upstairs to your apartment, to make our fort underneath your mother’s desk where we carved our initials when we first learned to spell. They’re sweet—the season’s a bit past its peak, or at least that’s what my mother had said. Yours said they’ve got a few good weeks. So we bought them. Blue on the outside, red on the in Like a sunset, you say. Or maybe a vein? The purple juice slips like gossip from our mouths, shimmers, suspended, a swing caught between grass and sky.
DANCE IN THE CITY
SUMMER PRE-COLLEGE PROGRAM AT BARNARD COLLEGE Come to NYC to dance, to learn, to explore Learn about dance from acclaimed Barnard faculty. Fine-tune your technique with The Ailey Extension at The Joan Weill Center for Dance, home of Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. Embrace the art of dance at professional performances throughout the City. Dance Barnard. July 2013 Open to young male and female students, rising high school juniors or seniors. www.barnard.edu/precollege or contact: 16 pcp@barnard.edu themarblecollection.org or 212.854.8866
Drawing instruction and skills development for teen artists
Colored pencil by Caroline Cao age 14
ActonArt Drawing School www.actonart.com 978-266-1600
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 11
K a t h e r i n e
M c D o n a l d
Grasp
p a i n t i n g TMC Spring 2013
17
A R T Wilbraham and Monson Academy / Grade 12
The Beat
S a r a h
G o o l i s h i a n
p h o t o g r a p h y
18
themarblecollection.org
A R T Peabody Veterans Memorial High School / Grade 10
Dark Days
Allison
Daly
p h o t o g r a p h y
Untitled 1
Ju l i a
H en r y
Peabody Veterans Memorial High School / Grade 12
TMC Spring 2013
19
F I C T I O N Burlington High School / Grade 12
D a n i e l l e
C a l d e r
Beating the Clock “Taxi!” Lucy glanced at her watch. 7:38 A.M. She called out, waving her hand frantically, trying to get a small yellow cab’s attention. She was so desperate for a ride that she was not only attempting to make eye contact with and gesture toward a driver, but having to yell out for it. Working in New York City wasn’t so easy, especially considering the horrible traffic that employees like Lucy had to endure every day. Not only the amount of people in the city, bustling to their jobs just like everybody else, but how quickly everything seemed to move around her. She had been standing on the dirty sidewalk for about ten minutes now, desperately in need of a ride, just like several other people around her wearing blue and black business suits, and of course not one taxi was kind enough to stop. The words Lucy’s boss had said to her, one week prior to today, played over and over in her head: “Our presentation and meeting with the CEO of the company is scheduled for next Tuesday morning, 8 A.M. sharp, so don’t be late!” She most certainly could not afford to be late; she had something to prove. “Taxi!” Lucy nearly screamed as one zipped past her, and she looked down at her watch a second time. It’s not like any of these empty taxis have somewhere else to be, they should be picking people up! She thought, frustrated. 7:41 AM This was typical New York City. All she wanted was a simple ride, and not even a taxi driver, whose job it is to transport people, could help her out. There were at least a dozen bright yellow taxis that could easily pick her up right now, but of course none came her way. She let out a big sigh and was ready to give up, just as the old Lucy had always done. At this point she didn’t have time to stand around and do nothing anymore; she would sprint to that office building if she had to. This was ridiculous, and she was growing increasingly impatient. “TAXI!” Lucy screamed one last time. This time she finally got the attention of a gentleman in a driver’s hat. She swung the bright yellow door open and hopped into the cab as quickly as she could. “103 on 6th Avenue, please. I have a meeting to get to as soon as possible,” she said. Lucy took another quick look at her watch. 7:46 A.M. Lucy looked out the window and up at the colossal buildings hovering over her and everyone else in the city as the cab driver hung a left and sped down the newly paved street. Her leg started shaking nervously in the back of the cab as her heart nearly beat out of her chest. She could not miss this meeting. She had maintained this job for a few months now and everything had been going smoothly, but this one 20
themarblecollection.org
F I C T I O N instance could already mess up her future. She was given the privilege of presenting a new idea to the top dog, alongside her boss, but she couldn’t do that if she showed up late! Or even worse, missed the meeting entirely. It was her dream job and so far everything had been just about perfect, until this morning. I can’t believe I actually slept in, Lucy thought, regretting her tendency to want to sleep a little longer after that buzzer goes off in the morning. That was, of course, one of the bad habits of hers that apparently was not completely broken. Her mind began to wander as she continued to stare out the window at the mass of people fast-walking to their jobs, suit jackets making many individuals suddenly look like twins, briefcases in hand. 7:49 A.M. Her taxi was finally speeding up. It was clear that the driver was doing everything possible to get her to her destination on time, which made her feel a little better than when she hadn’t even found a ride yet. She was terrified she would have to run through all of New York City to get to her office. Okay, at least I’m in a taxi, it could be worse, she thought. But Lucy began to think of what might happen even if she did make it to the meeting on time. What if my presentation isn’t strong enough? I mean, I did the research, I think I prepared as much as possible... or did I? We cleaned the meeting room on Friday before leaving. I’m dressed professionally. The PowerPoint and charts are all at the office already... but, there’s no time to make them better. I knew I should have stayed that extra hour last week to add more to them! What if I get nervous and mess up the pitch when it’s handed off to me? Ugh, how do I always manage to make things go wrong! This is not happening… not now. Lucy didn’t want to be the same person she was in high school, she knew she had to break the bad habits now and get her act together, but it seemed near impossible in her mind. She needed to break away from that. She tried so hard to think that she had become a better person, but considering the situation at hand, it was difficult to keep a positive mindset. Okay, this light needs to turn green, now! Alright, so two more blocks down this way, then we cross the street with the small green coffee shop and the newspaper stand, and six miles until I’ll see the guy that paints and sells his own landscape paintings outside the office building. She continued to glance down at her watch several more times, but with greater frequency. Now, it seemed, time wasn’t even changing when she looked down. 7:56 A.M. Lucy was at least fifteen more minutes away without traffic. Less than five minutes until the most important event at her new job was supposed to begin. She had really done it this time, and she was fully aware of how bad this would look. Her eyes closed and she lowered her head in self-disappointment. What am I supposed to say when I walk in? All the excuses Lucy could think of were whirling through her mind. “My dog ate the files that were essential for the meeting this morning, I had to track them down and print them out again.” Or, “The cab I was in broke down halfway here, I’m so sorry I’m late.” Or, “I saw an elderly man on the side of the street choking and had no choice but to give him the Heimlich.” Or maybe, “I’m sorry, the weather is crazy this morning, the wind was so strong it nearly carried me five blocks TMC Spring 2013
21
F I C T I O N in the wrong direction!” She scrambled to think of the best one to use. Lucy was afraid to look down at her watch this time, but just barely managed to muster up the courage. 8:01 A.M. Lucy could do nothing but let out a sigh. The meeting had very likely already started. Without her. How could I let this happen again? She thought. She wanted nothing more than to be able to prove everyone wrong—her boss, who was hesitant in giving her this responsibility in the first place, and her coworkers who constantly gave her judgmental looks. Even those teachers from high school that thought so little of her back then. To them, this was just typical Lucy. She thought back to how many mistakes she had made in high school, the constant self-disappointment, and how that feeling was slowly creeping in again. “Never-ontime, unorganized, can’t-do-anything-right, Lucy,” was what her teachers would say. And her parents were never of much help either, echoing those same words almost every day. Lucy never developed a good relationship with her parents; she felt that they always viewed her as not being good enough. She had finally been given another chance with this job and promised herself she wouldn’t mess this one up too. But her teachers forgot the “can’t-keep-a-promise-if-her-life-depended-on-it” part in that description. 8:07 A.M. Her mind wandered off remembering past events, old habits that seemed to be coming back to haunt her. She could remember it all too clearly. Her junior year of high school, when her trigonometry teacher had kept her after class to speak about poor performance the past few months. She sat in a desk in front of Ms. Carey as her eyes immediately locked with Lucy’s as she gave her the classic disappointed look. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Ms. Miller?” Her teacher asked as she placed the result of Lucy’s last test displaying a prominent red “F” on the wooden desk. “I promise I’ll do better next time, Ms. Carey, don’t worry about it...” Lucy said apathetically. She had been known for making empty promises like that. “You don’t get it, do you? Not only have you been handing in failing work like this, and handing in your regular assignments late, but you continue to promise to do the work to improve, and I haven’t seen any sign of that result yet. I see you come in tardy consistently and you’re disengaged during class, which explains this grade,” she said, gesturing toward Lucy’s test, “but the worst part of all of this is that I’ve spoken with you, and I know several other teachers of yours have, and you won’t even make the effort to get your life in order so you can succeed.” “What do you want me to say? I know I’m struggling; I just need time.” “Haven’t your parents told you, you should probably be getting your life in order right about now?” Ms. Carey asked. “No. They don’t exactly speak with me about that. Never have, probably never will,” Lucy admitted. Ms. Carey let out a loud sigh. “How are you ever going to make it out in the real world, Ms. Miller? You’ve got some serious work to do, in school and out. But I can’t force you; it’s all up to you.” 22
themarblecollection.org
F I C T I O N And day after day, events similar to this would continue to occur. Lucy couldn’t seem to pull herself out of her own rut, and no one was trying to help her either, only lecture. Lucy kept track of how many minutes she was losing now. 8:12 A.M. The cab finally came to a stop. Lucy threw the money at the cab driver and nearly sprinted down the street to her office building. She flung open the surprisingly heavy double doors of the giant square and silver office building, breathing heavily and panting like a dog on a hot summer day. She ran through the bright main lobby covered in expensive glass windows. She turned her attention over to the elevator but immediately decided it would take too long. There were at least thirty people staring at her as she sprinted through the lobby like a crazy person, but at this point she didn’t care what they thought of her. She hung a right to the staircase and up all seven flights to get to her floor. She pulled off her heels and hurried down the hallway to the meeting room. 8:16 A.M. So many thoughts raced through her head as she ran to the door, face red, sweating like crazy. Her heart was beating so loud and practically jumping out of her chest. Her hair flew everywhere as she ran as fast as her legs would allow. She was given the privilege of sitting in on this meeting by her boss and wanted so badly not to be fired. She figured she might as well break down crying and beg to keep her job already, what else did she have to lose? She slowly turned the knob, opened the door to the meeting room and was shocked to find… No one. No one was there. All Lucy could think was, What? Since when is the meeting being held in a different room? Great, so now I’m not only late, but in the wrong place! Confused, Lucy slammed the empty meeting room door shut, raced down to the other end of the seventh floor to her boss’s office and barged straight in. The thoughts in Lucy’s head were going wild and she couldn’t even begin to think straight. She yelled out the first phrase that came to mind as her heart was still beating out of control. “Mr. Jenkins, I’m so sorry I’m late, don’t fire me! I know I screwed up again but please let me explain that it won’t happen again,” Lucy panicked She was surprised to find her boss sitting in the large black leather chair in his office, eating a bagel and drinking coffee, while staring at his laptop screen. He took a moment to put his coffee down, adjust the long red tie on his neck, and understand why Lucy was so panicked. He was just as confused as she was as he asked, “What are you talking about, Miss Miller? Our meeting isn’t until tomorrow.” Lucy’s face dropped as her tense muscles began to relax, but from confusion rather than relief. She looked down at her watch one last time. 8:20 A.M. It was Monday.
TMC Spring 2013
23
A R T Taunton High School / Grade 12
Ju l i a n n a
N i c h o l a s
C o l l a z o
p a i n t i n g
24
themarblecollection.org
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 12
My Year
E m i l y
X a r r a s
d r a w i n g
Blanket of Snow
Ta n ya
D i m i tr ov
Chelmsford High School / Grade 10
TMC Spring 2013
25
P O E T R Y Bridgewater-Raynham Regional High School / Grade 12
E m i l y
C o x
Mania You don’t notice it at first— your brain speeding up ever so slightly. Maybe you start talking faster, not enough for you to notice, but enough for others to. Suddenly, your brain starts moving even faster. Your thoughts start blending together. You start to speak even more rapidly, but with perfect clarity. Not slurring the words together as one might expect. You start to bounce songs around in your head. Twinkle twinkle little - Rudolph the red nosed - Oh say can you see by the… Then, you make up your own songs, with a rhythm and rhyme that only makes sense in your head. All of these thoughts are too much to contain— they burst out of your mouth like a volcano spewing up nonsense. You talk and sing until you are breathless, only pausing to randomly laugh until you cry. Then, suddenly, as quickly as it came it goes. Your brain slows down until it is moving at the speed of molasses, sliding down a hill. Your body sags, and your bones feel like lead. Falling to the floor, all you can do is breathe. In… out… in… out… You have finally found a steady rhythm. In… out… in… out…
26
themarblecollection.org
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 10
I s a b e l l a
C i c c o l i n i
Color Exaggerated Self Portrait
d r a w i n g p a i n t i n g
TMC Spring 2013
27
A R T Wilbraham and Monson Academy / Grade 11
S e o n Y o u n g
The Learned Virtuoso
P a r k
d r a w i n g
28
themarblecollection.org
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 10
G r e g o r y
B a r r y
Points of Rhythm
d r a w i n g TMC Spring 2013
29
F I C T I O N Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 10
B e n
A r c a n g e l i
W hat They Car ried They carried only what they needed and they didn’t need much. Their feet are what they had to depend on. They carried their bags, and the contents were light. In their bags they carried their shoes, and pants, and matching uniforms. For having such different roles they all carried the exact same thing. Walking onto that track the leadoff man carried the baton—the sacred metal baton. He carried the strength, and the lightning reflexes to get out in front from the gun. The second runner carried the tenacity within himself to pull the team around the next lap and hold whatever lead they had. The third carried the power, the power to strive ahead from the pack, and explode the gap on the team in second place. The last man carried the mindset. He was endurance, and he carried the hope. He carried the sword to fend off the other teams, and expand on the lead through the last lap and through the finish. They carried the baton around that track four times, and the baton carried the hope, and dreams, and vision of success for the whole team. That team carried the trophy, on the bus ride home. The trophy that carried the engraving— 4x200 Meter Champions
30
themarblecollection.org
A R T Wilbraham and Monson Academy / Grade 12
T i a n f u
R e n
The Revival
d r a w i n g TMC Spring 2013
31
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 11
T a n n e r
G a u v i n
Illuminate the Memories
d r a w i n g
32
themarblecollection.org
A R T Taunton High School / Grade 12
A n n a l a c e
S m i t h
Absence of Evil
d r a w i n g
TMC Spring 2013
33
N O N F I C T I O N Ayer Shirley Regional High School / Grade 12
From the Air
E r i k a
E s i el i o n i s
Murky brown water was everywhere. Homelessness, trash, and rubble everywhere; the water was stagnant and smelled horrific—the sewer smelled worse; and there were people scattered everywhere, everyone trying to avoid the water. Water everywhere, covering everything. Dirty, smelly water everywhere, and the heat made everything worse. Made the water smell worse, made the conditions worse. Everything was worse with the one hundred degree humid heat. The water was halfway up stores, up to the top of street signs, covering cars, flooding houses and filling them up to the windows, moving houses on top of cars, everywhere. Water coming in from where the levy broke—from where the manhole covers were supposed to be—from the sewers. Roofs were missing from houses, walls were missing, the roof of the Super Dome was missing, a part of the levy was missing. Parts of everything gone. Fires burned what was left of the city to the ground. People were finding shelter everywhere and anywhere: on roofs with signs begging for help; on top of cars; on balconies; on the bridge; outside the Super Dome; anywhere you looked, there were people in need of help. So many helicopters are in the air. All with fatigued pilots. Run down, tired people, trying to help as much as they can. Feeling as if they’ll never be able to do enough. Aw man. There are so many people. How’re we gonna get to all of ‘em? Just gotta keep going. Just keep getting ‘em up here and get ‘em help. Don’t think bout the rest right now. There were people trying to get to safety, trying to migrate to higher ground. Everyone was trying to move. Parents used anything they could to get their children to safety—water jugs to float—coolers and tubs to float their kids in—canoes and other boats—kids inside refrigerators. Thirty thousand people in the streets, looking for a place to go. Frustrated people everywhere. They can’t even bring no wahtar, no food. Ain’t bringgin nothin’. Piles of people’s bodies lay in the streets, while others’ bodies were scattered in the streets because they had been shot by their neighbors. There was no sanitary place to keep them. Below the vibrating controls and chopping sounds of the helicopter blades, beneath the dripping sweat in the copter, beneath the fatigue that fills the copter crew, the orange lifeboats venture out into the water on a search for anyone alive. You’re only supposed to fly eight hours. Screw that! There are real people out there! Who need help! I’m staying out here. Families are on roofs, yelling for help. A little boy needs medical attention desperately. The basket is lowered down to him from the helicopter, and his mother starts to place him in. Then an older man tries to jump in the basket to save himself. The boy’s mother slowly put her son down, and forced the older man to back away from the basket, where he began to cry. She placed her son, her purpose in life, in the basket, and it started to come up through the sky. The mother began to cry, as she didn’t know what would happen to her son—if he would survive or not. If he would 34
themarblecollection.org
A R T be another body in a street somewhere, or if she’d see him again. I wish I could do more. Work more hours. Save just one more life. Keep your head up man, we’re doin’ the best we can. Savin’ as many as we can get to. Above all the desperation and devastation below, a clear blue sky prevailed. No clouds as far as the eye could see. A beautiful sight above the devastation in New Orleans. Look up, there’s beauty. Look down, sorrow, pain, and grief. And in the distance, a tattered and torn American Flag flew against the clear blue sky.
p a i n t i n g
I Feel
Ad a m
Pi n h ei r o
Taunton High School / Grade 12
TMC Spring 2013
35
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 11
Obser ve
T a n n e r
G a u v i n
p a i n t i n g 36
themarblecollection.org
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 12
A m y
G r e n i e r
Somethin’ Bout a Truck
painting on assembled license plates
TMC Spring 2013
37
P O E T R Y Milton Academy / Grade 11
Rachael Allen
Aunt Mary
On Hanover Street, she was buying tomatoes. The producers watched before asking. Local, Italian, dark-haired mother, gap between front teeth like her son, like her brother, voice strong enough to call a boy home, Wednesdays, to Prince spaghetti pasta. Come nights we watch her commercial on television, her leaning out a top floor apartment, calling, Anthony, Anthony! between evening news and the VonTrapp children. Dinner in the living room, Mama says, just this once. We place a pillow over the spot Nickie spilt soup. Dad eats in the kitchen, neck folding as he bends to reach his bowl, eyes trained on the paper, the war. Sometimes, he talks with her on the phone and they sift through shifts and tones in the letters her son John sends home, hearing him breathe in the space between words. She calls again, voice lingering like the confetti on brick walls days after the Fisherman’s Feast. I wonder what she dreams— in moments, after night’s hand pinches out streetlights, if she thinks of John running through the streets of the North End, uniform barely creasing with his stride, coming home, if she remembers hearing words of English slip between his teeth, unfamiliar, if she doesn’t sleep, and just stares at the picture of Roosevelt hanging like a relative in her room.
38
themarblecollection.org
A R T Brimmer and May School / Grade 11
Fa r s i g h t e d
Ru th
Wo o s ter
d r a w i n g
TMC Spring 2013
39
A R T Amherst Regional High School / Grade 12
N a t a l i e
M o s s
The Lonely One
m u l t i m e d i a
40
themarblecollection.org
p a i n t i n g
/
d r a w i n g
A R T Brimmer and May School / Grade 11
T a y l e r
S t a n d e r
Fr ostbite
p h o t o g r a p h y
TMC Spring 2013
41
F I C T I O N Burlington High School / Grade 12
Time
Meg h a n
G i r o u a r d
How long was I gone for? This wasn’t happening again. And it was right in the middle of my math test. I was starting to think stuff like this only happened when I was in the middle of something important. For example, my brother’s graduation last year. My whole family was there—except for me. Well I guess that time wasn’t so bad. Apparently Uncle Fred drank a little too much, and his dance moves were not a pretty sight. But still, I had every intention of staying—I just couldn’t. The first time this happened I was eight. My family and I were about to go on our first trip to Disney World. I couldn’t contain my excitement. I didn’t sleep for a week. My parents woke me and my two brothers up early in the morning, and we were off. We got through baggage checking with no problems. I was about to get on the plane, my brain practically exploding from excitement, when I was gone. Where had I gone? I couldn’t tell you to this day. I never know. All I remember is ending up on my front porch, apparently two days later. I had just disappeared. It was like I fell asleep for two days. I had no idea where I went. The police had been searching for me and everything. I was taken to the hospital, with absolutely nothing wrong with me. Not even a little scratch or bruise. I couldn’t explain to one person where I had been, or what happened to me. I was forced to stay in the psychiatric ward for the next two weeks. I still couldn’t tell you what had happened to me. But this was seven years later. Fifteen years old and these occurrences were still happening to me. I always wondered, why me? I started to think it was kind of cool, you know, never knowing where I would end up. But then it started to become frustrating. Sometimes it was in the middle of class, other times when I was sleeping. It was hard enough being a freshman in high school anyway, but to add this just made it worse. That wasn’t the worse part. After my failed Disney World trip, the time elapses were getting shorter and shorter. They were bearable. Sometimes five or ten minutes, only a half hour maximum. But as I started getting older, the time got longer. Sometimes a few hours. My mom would be worried sick. Yet I still couldn’t tell her what was happening. I couldn’t even tell myself what was happening. Because I truly didn’t know. I think the scariest part was that I never knew if I was coming back. I don’t have to worry about that now. Now it wouldn’t be so bad if I never went back. It would save me a lot of embarrassment. I could never explain where I was, what I had been doing, why I wasn’t able to do my homework the night before. It was never ending embarrassment. I ended up back in my room. It was dark. The only light came from my window, the moonlight barely creeping in. I could have sworn my curtains were purple, tonight they looked bluer. I heard an unfamiliar voice coming from downstairs. My body stiffened. I edged toward my door and poked my head out. Then I inched my way toward the stairs and looked down. There was a woman, laughing, on the phone. Before I could stop myself I screamed. She hurled her body around to see an unfamiliar girl standing 42
themarblecollection.org
A R T in her stairwell. She screamed and grabbed a pot sitting on the counter. “Who are you?” She yelled in terror, “My husband should be home any minute”. “Who am I?” I questioned back, “I should be asking you that, this is my house.” “Your house?” She asked concerningly. “Yes. The Patrick’s live here.” The woman’s face dropped. “… Are you Maddie Patrick?” She asked slowly. How did she know my name? She didn’t need to hear an answer from me. She knew. “Sweetie… your family moved out twenty years ago, after you disappeared.”
d r a w i n g
A Breech in the Walls
Aubrey Daugherty-Costa Taunton High School / Grade 11
TMC Spring 2013
43
A R T Taunton High School / Grade 12
B e n j a m i n
B a p t i s t e
Untitled
p h o t o g r a p h y 44
themarblecollection.org
M U S I C Old Colony Regional Vocational Technical High School / Grade 10 & 12
M o r g a n
F u r t a d o
&
R o b
O u l l e t t e
Panic Sun - Lighter Notes
music / visit themarblecollection.org to listen
TMC Spring 2013
45
P O E T R Y Ayer Shirley Regional High School / Grade 12
Your Crawling Shadow
Jay Crompton
I was your crawling shadow Pink hand reaching up for yours You had forearms like monkey bars You were my living room jungle gym Freckles up your arms resembled constellations and all I ever wanted was to trace my outline through the stars on your skin All I ever wanted was to fill out your footprints Wear them like work boots Follow your lead step where you do I needed you You were my Sunday morning breakfast King of all that I could see And I couldn’t see over white picket fences We were coasting downhill on go karts we made from rusty old baby carriages And I just wanted to say You had tire-swing hands I remember catching fireflies in mason jars in a backyard like never-never land And I’ll never forget what it was like to sit on your shoulders But now it’s three a.m. I’m standing alone in a dim kitchen Starving pantries, we got empty cabinets screaming bloody murder But I pretend not to listen Eyes fixed. I’m finding court dates on the calendar I got earthquake lips. Hands won’t stop twitching There’s no holding still when you live on a fault line There’s no holding still When you live on a fault line Do you know what it was like finding some chick’s clothes in the backseat of your car Do you know what it was like knowing exactly whose clothes those are For three _______ years You had been sleeping with other women and I had to tell mom I Had to tell her 46
themarblecollection.org
A R T Taunton High School
Salty Wounds
/ Grade 11
Aubrey Daugherty-Costa
l i n o l e u m
p r i n t
TMC Spring 2013
47
A R T Burlington High School / Grade 12
C h r i s t o p h e r
C o e
A s s e m b l a g e Pa n o r a m a
photography / collaged panoramic view
48
themarblecollection.org
A R T Milton Academy / Grade 11
I s a b e l
T z e
C h e n
C h u n
City Childhood
p a i n t i n g TMC Spring 2013
49
F I C T I O N Burlington High School / Grade 12
K . P.
H u b b a r d
Mr. Malson Insomnia and nostalgia do not merge well. Mr. Malson finds himself lying awake, once again, drenched in the thought of her. The old man misses what they used to share together, primarily the house. Everything makes Mr. Malson think of her. He departs from his rickety bed then imagines the springs creaking in the early dawn when she would wake far before he did. His wrinkled feet place no warmth on the frigid floor. He walks to the moldy door and watches a cloud of dust erupt each time his foot storms down on the uneven panels. He places his withering hand on the door frame and runs it over a large divet. He never did get around to fixing it. She was always telling him to fix things. Many times he did not get around to it. He never fixed their marriage. Mr. Malson makes his way out of the dull doorframe and into the equally dim hallway. He looks up and sees her shadow coming toward him. His eyes press against themselves for a brief moment and she is gone. He wanders through the lonely house until he finds himself standing on the kitchen tiles. This room hasn’t seen much activity since her absence. The clock on the stove screams at him that it is three in the morning. His slumber has been quite disturbed since she left. Although, he did not sleep very well originally. She would always toss and turn during sleep and the groaning bed would keep Mr. Malson sleepless, as well. He shuffles over to the empty dining table. He reminisces about the horrid dinners she would serve. He never misses those. She never had much capacity for cooking. She was not a typical homemaker. Mr. Malson needs an archetypal housewife, someone who does as she is supposed to with a happy disposition. His wife was never genuinely happy. She was opinionated. She was perpetually late. She loathed housework. This did not suit Mr. Malson. He begins to contract a fever in rage at the inkling of her faults. He slams his bony fist down on the table in anger. He takes a deep breath and smiles. He frequently has moments of weakness and nostalgia for her, but he is sure it is best that she is gone. Mr. Malson does not fret, anyhow; she is still very close to him. He keeps her body covered in dirt along with the flowers in the garden.
50
themarblecollection.org
A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 12
A m y
G r e n i e r
Years Change, Memories Stay
p a i n t i n g
TMC Spring 2013
51
P O E T R Y Bishop Stang High School / Grade 12
A b b y
Hangliding
H i l l i n g
I still remember The way your weary cheek brushed up Against mine, And the way your stubble Stung my fresh skin— Familiar, like the frayed edges of an old blanket Tickling my face. My tiny hand in yours As you walked me to the park; I counted all the way to one hundred. I learned every swear word From sitting in the back seat of our white Ford Taurus While you were driving, And it was you who told me the old rhyme, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, But words can’t hurt me.” You taught me how to play soccer— The way you could kick that ball So high in the air I thought it’d never Fall back to the ground. We shared so many ice cream cones On those stifling August days; They play back in my memory like an endless dream, And I swear the orange sherbet tasted like Pure gold on my tongue. I can still remember sitting in class that day— Just eight years old When the phone’s piercing cry shattered my world, Calling me to leave behind everything I knew. My life would never be the same After my mother took me away, Because you were never again my father The way you had been before. I couldn’t find the words to explain why: All I knew was that 52
themarblecollection.org
P O E T R Y You didn’t stand quite So tall, And I noticed The accent in your voice when you spoke— Like a stranger’s words unraveling my childhood, A world I did not want to know. I quit soccer at fourteen Because I swore the words the other girls used Would break me; And the tears that fell on my cheek Burned full with shame As that soft-serve mountain of orange Turned sour on my tongue. Now there’s nearly four hours of roads And years of silence Between us, With no words to fix this tainted reality, No way to say how much this hurts. I don’t need to remember that my Inbox is one voicemail too full of Your apologies; I taught myself how to ignore The void you left behind, And I learned to accept the absence of you in my life. Somewhere in between those Scratchy good night kisses And these vague, lost phone calls I captured the mystery, To hold in my hands the wonder You hid from me all those years, The secret that envelops my world: We are all so much more Breakable than we know.
TMC Spring 2013
53
A R T Peabody Veterans Memorial High School / Grade 10
S a m a n t h a
W a l d r o p
A Dream of Rainfall
p h o t o g r a p h y
54
themarblecollection.org
A R T Taunton High School / Grade 12
T h e r e s a
N o w a c k i
I Am an Island
photography / digitally composited
TMC Spring 2013
55
P O E T R Y Reading Memorial High School / Grade 12
Buying Time We’re up before the dawn yawns And dressed before the sky sighs, Chirping phones like birds in early morn. Take ten minutes to fly by, Grab food before the car startsSave time by eating on the way to work. Thirty minutes to downtown In traffic where we scowl, growl At mirrors of ourselves in crawling cars. Now it’s a race to the last parking spot So we get to the building at 9 on the dot But forget that the elevator is no-go And we scale the bare stairs with a newly-stubbed toe ‘Til the forty-fourth floor fin’ly comes into view With the minute hand wavering over the two So we’re late, yes we’re late, there was no other way To get up to the office on time here today No, don’t start please just shut up and sit down and work On a project we hate for a pompous-ass jerk. Spend hours on the bore: four, Spend seconds breathing free: three: We each are bees that function for the hive. Once the clock has chimed, time Is ours to kill or keep-sleep Of course is number one upon our list. But miles are left to go, though In distance, time, and more, ‘fore We lose the precious minutes of the day. Knowing soon our time is flown We hope to hoard that time we own And steal from others to survive, Buying time to waste on useless lives. Three billion beats we have to use, Our heartbeats iambs we can loseThe words that write our little tale Must not falter, fumble, freeze, or fail. Such treasure is each second found! We must take care to share their sound: For what’s the use of time to spend Buying time to waste before the end? 56
themarblecollection.org
L a u r a
W h i te
A R T Milton Academy
Underground
S a r a h
/ Grade 12
H o m b a c h
p h o t o g r a p h y
Parallels
R ache l
K l i n g en s tei n
Brimmer and May School / Grade 12
TMC Spring 2013
57
A R T Milton Academy / Grade 11
I s a b e l
T z e
C h e n
C h u n
Standing Up to World Issues
l i n o l e u m
58
themarblecollection.org
p r i n t
A R T The Hartsbrook School / Grade 9
D a n t e
R a d y s h
B o w m a n
Wondering
d r a w i n g
TMC Spring 2013
59
F I C T I O N Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 12
M o l l i
W a l l a c e
Aliens, Finals, and God “Finals. The death of all of us. The death of you, of her, of him, of everyone. They ask mind racing questions that no one can ever answer, and it’s almost like it’s an IQ test that we’re not going to be able to pass. Ever.” This was Ryan talking—he was always stressing about school; always stressing about getting an A so he can get a good scholarship so he can go to a good college so he can have a successful career so he can have a good life and a good family and retire comfortably. All because of finals, he’s convinced, he’ll die comfortably. That’s if he passes. I nod, and agree, playing with my fingers as we wander through the park— only because that’s what I always do when he rants to me. “Right, but just study. You’ll do fine, Ryan, you always do,” I dismissively explained. He had a 4.0 GPA, he had to be doing something right. He sighed into the night, which was warm, thanks to this Southern weather. The park’s humidity wrapped around us as we walked the footpath we knew so well. The benches surrounded both sides, in front of the trees, and the memories were everywhere. I was so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t realize he was still talking. “... Like in Astronomy—for this final, we have to know about all of these stars,” he gestured impassively to the sky above us, causing us to both stop for a moment and look up at the massive blackness, decorated with lights far away. “There’s like 100 billion galaxies out there, and it’s always expanding. How do we really know what’s out there? What if it’s all just like a mirage on a hot day? What if that’s all just dark matter—the stuff we don’t know about, and it’s just our eyes that have been tricking us for the whole of time?” I thought for a minute, waiting in the heavy silence. “Do you think that there’s other stuff out there?” “Of course.” He replied, not a moment to spare. That was the thing about Ryan. He questioned everything—absolutely everything. But, he always knew what side he was on. Ryan was the kid in the debate in class that shut even the teacher up because he knew his facts, and stuck to his guns. But me? I wasn’t too sure. My parents were religious, and I grew up religious. I grew up to think that God was the creator, and that there was nothing else out there. “But, what about God? Do you not believe in him?” He shook his head, beginning to walk again, through the trees and between the benches. His hand ran through his hair, frustrated, and I looked down, realizing that my fingers were intertwined, nervous. “It’s irrelevant, Cassidy. There’s so much proof to it. Well, not proof, even— it’s just logic.” His hand raced through his hair again, then he looked over to me. “Is that the point when logic and religion meet?” I asked, not really expect60
themarblecollection.org
F I C T I O N ing an answer. But, I got one of course—Ryan was a rambler. His father was a rambler, and so was his sister. I can just imagine the dinner table every night. “No. Logic and religion don’t meet—they overlap. It’s the thing about today. You’ve got to pick a side. Logic or religion. Back then, it was all about religion. But, logic met with it. Logic was the reason we had religion. The Egyptians or the Mesopotamians or the caveman or whoever made it first—they had a God to explain the sun, to explain the stars, to explain all of this stuff. But now, it’s not even explaining anything. There are billions of galaxies, and even more stars. The stars create the galaxies, and the galaxies sustain the stars. It’s the circle of life out there, just like here on Earth. Our chances of getting to this point were nothing. Almost nothing, Cass. But here we are. So, who’s to say that there isn’t some other place out there that’s like us? God has nothing to do with it. Maybe he has control over our world. Maybe he doesn’t. I don’t know, and I won’t ‘till I die. But I know this: there has to be something else out there. There has to be. If there isn’t, what’s the point?” Then we stopped, looking around for a moment, catching our breath. We looked over at the picnic table—the one right between the trees—and wordlessly walked over to it, our feet scuffing in the grass. I was supposed to believe in God, but he made sense. I wasn’t about to switch to Atheism, but I got what he was saying. The trees rustled among the warm wind and Ryan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. I sat on top of the picnic table, my fingers intertwining with each other—I had no clue what to say. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then closed it. “What?” I asked; I wanted to know what he was about say. “I dunno. I mean, to elaborate on the question earlier even more; yeah, I think there’s something else out there. I believe in the conspiracies that really aren’t conspiracies. Like, did you know that we could’ve been contacted by aliens hundreds, even thousands of years ago, and we wouldn’t know because we didn’t have the technology to get the signal? It sounds crazy, right? Of course it does. I mean, I sometimes don’t want to believe it myself because it’s scary. It’s scary to think that something else is out there, that something else could come here and destroy us, or do something, you know? We only see four percent of the universe. How do we know the other ninety six or whatever percent doesn’t have all of those living things? How do we—” After checking the time, I realized that we had to get home. It was 11:50, and we’d been walking for two hours. “We’ve got to get home... It’s almost midnight.” His face softened, he came out of his deep thoughts and began to make his way through the trees, between the benches, and back again on the footpath. I followed him. “If it’s worth anything, I think you’ll ace that final.” Ryan laughed—a hearty laugh that rang around the trees and intertwined with the warm, dense air. Finally, he was done rambling. For tonight.
TMC Spring 2013
61
A R T Marshall Simonds Middle School
/ Grade 8
Perfect Moment
E m i l y
K i e h l
p h o t o g r a p h y
Song of Autumn 3 Wilbraham and Monson Academy / Grade 12
62
themarblecollection.org
T i a n f u
R e n
A R T Auburn High School / Grade 11
Self Portrait
R e n e
F l e m i n g
p a i n t i n g
TMC Spring 2013
63
P O E T R Y Oakmont Regional High School / Grade 12
Anticipation
E m i l y
G r aves
This is never going to work out It isn’t even real He only asked me because he didn’t want to be alone The only one of his friends without a date I should have thought this through Slow dancing, what am I supposed to do? Step on her feet, what if my shoes come untied? Maybe I just shouldn’t go I wish he would just show up already This hairspray is choking me; my heels are killing me Purple glitter from my dress is getting all over What if he doesn’t pick me up? Shoot, 15 minutes late How does this tie go again, under or over? This suit is itchy; how am I going to stand it for three hours? Finally in my car, twist my key in the ignition, gas tank is empty Slide my finger across my phone to unlock it Should I text him, does that seem too desperate? Oh, there he is Nice of him to show up Gravel crunches as I stroll up to the door Knock, knock The silver knob turns, the door slowly opens Hair tightly curled, make up perfect, how she can look so beautiful My face burning as he slips the corsage on my wrist I smooth my silk dress, palms sweating Heart pounding, stomach doing flips He seems so nervous; his voice shook as he said, “You look nice” You look nice! That’s all I could think of, what’s wrong with me!? I guess she took the compliment because she said, “Thanks” with a smile beaming across her blushing face Maybe this won’t be so bad
64
themarblecollection.org
A R T Oakmont Regional High School
Adorn
H a y l e y
/ Grade 12
B a r r y
p a i n t i n g
Turbulence
J a y n e
V o g e l z a n g
Lexington High School / Grade 10
TMC Spring 2013
65
Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap!) “Clean-outs with a conscience” Attics, Cellars, Garages Recycle / Re-use Free Local Curbside Pickup of Metal Treating you and your “stuff” with dignity and respect. Free Estimates • Insured
Specializing in Helping Seniors Down-Size.
Call Janet at 781 • 308 • 4447 www.dirtydeedscheap.com
Sense of Humor at No Extra Charge!
Do you have the vision to build the future?
BRING YOUR PASSION TO BUILD AND DESIGN TO WENTWORTH’S COLLEGE OF ARCHITECTURE, DESIGN AND CONSTRUCTION MANAGEMENT. Live and study in Boston – a modern hub for design, technology, construction, business, medicine, and engineering. Complete two semesters of co-operative education and graduate with a year of work experience. • B.S. in Construction Management
accredited by The American Council of Construction Education (ACCE)
• B.S. in Industrial Design
accredited by the National Association of Schools of Art and Design (NASAD)
• B.S. in Interior Design
accredited by the Council for Interior Design Accreditation (CIDA)
• B.S. in Architecture
The Department of Architecture offers the following NAAB-accredited degree programs: M.Arch. (pre-professional
degree + 36 graduate credits)
BOSTON, MA
Visit wit.edu/Marble to apply or learn more
That’s why Target is on track to give
$1 BILLION FOR EDUCATION by the end of 2015. Every kid deserves a brush with inspiration.
Learn about the difference this support is making for kids nationwide. Target.com/Education
©2012 Target Brands, Inc. Target and the Bullseye Design are registered trademarks of Target Brands, Inc. 722966
DO WHAT YOU LOVE EVERY DAY
Bookbinding Carpentry Cabinet & Furniture Making Jewelry Making & Repair Locksmithing Piano Technology Preservation Carpentry Violin Making & Repair
NBSS for marble 4c half 2012.indd 1
NBSS.EDU BOSTON
12/4/2012 10:47:06 AM
No. 9
A VIVID HARMONY p ain t in g
ISSN 2156-7298
68
themarblecollection.org
S e o n Yo u n g P a r k
Wilbraham and Monson Academy / Grade 11