verge
firstflight2021
FRONT COVER “No Access” by Cormac Cadden editors-in-chief jasmine criqui mirabel hunt submission editors jasmine criqui mirabel hunt design editors amy ge dixie wallerius helene gao jenny han jerry wu jessica yu nolan ezzet viyang hao adviser mia boardman smith
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“Motion Sickness” by Jack Dekoker
table of contents 4
preface, A Night at Gliderport by Cormac Cadden
6 Take it Off by Anonymous, Luminance by Solana Espino 7
Wear or not to Wear by Lovelyn Holland, Luminance Vol. 2 by Solana Espino
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Split by Micah Levy, A Plea to be Ignored by Amanda Salantino
10 Stained Glass by Caroline Hunt, Glasses by Cormac Cadden 11 Filter by Nathalia Wittlin 12 night vision by Mirabel Hunt, untitled by Toby Thorpe 13 Electric Bike by Cormac Cadden 14 Blue Light by Caroline Hunt, untitled by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang 16 Caged Child by Andrew Mitchell, Lookout by Cormac Cadden 17 Paddle Out by Cormac Cadden 18 anger management problem by Jasmine Criqui, untitled by Viyang Hao 20 The Wish Collector by Lucie Babcock, We Found Sam by Cormac Cadden 22 Blurry by Cormac Cadden 23 Bask by Srishti Thapar, untitled by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang 24 All American by Cameron Audet, Offshore at Blacks by Cormac Cadden 25 America by Ryan Flather 26 scraps by Mirabel Hunt, Child’s Play by Amy Ge 27 the heart not broken by Jadyn Kaplan, Spring Bloom by Jack Dekoker 28 BLM by Micah Levy, Justice by Anonymous 29 Land of the Free by Anonymous 30 the moon’s embrace by Amanda Salantino, Moonset by Cormac Cadden 31 distant moon by Mirabel Hunt 32 both places of life combined by Melissa Cruz Rios 33 The Other Side by Anonymous, Spooks by Cormac Cadden 34 decision of my future by Anonymous, Some Rocks by Cormac Cadden 35 every mountain by Mirabel Hunt, On a Mountain by Cormac Cadden
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preface Adolescence is the ultimate verge, the liminal space between youth and adulthood. Adventure awaits, whether you stand at the edge of the status quo with an intricate map in hand or walk blindfolded into the unknown. The verge is the home of potential energy, the moment right before the beat drop or the anxious break of the curtain. Now, more than ever, we are on the verge of possibilities. After a year in isolation, the buds of our creativity and newfound spirit are reaching for the sun, ready to blossom in a new season. But apprehension builds with every step towards the verge: no matter how fruitful the plains ahead appear. No one ever said change was easy. But there is power in uncertainty just as there is potential in a blank canvas. Courage does not belong to those who jump without looking, but those who pause and allow themselves to admire the precipice in all its glory. If you look close enough, you will find company in the footprints of those who hesitated on the verge before you. It is those who commit to living through every moment and who take comfort in the rush of adrenaline that the verge welcomes. To find satisfaction at the destination we must live with the apprehension, and make the verge our own. This issue of FirstFlight hopes to portray the beauty in the moments on the periphery and the freedom it can bring. We hope you embrace the verge, whatever yours may be, and find the peace in potential before you take flight.
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“A Night at Gliderport” by Cormac Cadden
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Luminance by Solana Espino
take it off by Anonymous
We wear a mask that hides and shames, Disguised we walk, heads held high in disbelief, A mask to cover our foolish games, Little is it known, the mask only provides little relief, For when one goes home, they drown in sorrows, We wear a mask that pretends to protect and provide for growth, We see those wearing masks as our heroes, We aren’t able to realize that they too loathe, A mask is only a mask, It’s what’s underneath the mask that matters, Finding yourself is the true task, Leaving yourself to your mask only leads in disasters, We can’t lose ourselves to our masks, Take it off.
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to wear or not to wear by Lovelyn Hollon
I wear my mask almost all the time It makes it easy to seem like I´m fine Go with the flow, don't make a fuss My mask helps me to suck it up Keep on smiling even when I'm down Perhaps these feelings will stop coming around I tell myself I can conquer this task But oh how easy it is to wear my mask Maybe it's time to lose this mask And hope more happy feelings last Aim to be more confident and free Goodbye my mask, I´m working on me
Luminance Vol. 2 by Solana Espino
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split by Micah Levy
Most days, my thoughts are professional boxers in the ring, Most days, my heart is a motel with a lot of rooms, And the only tenants are anxiety and depression, And they’re lousy at paying rent. Some days, I take on the role of an intellectual Others, I play the newt. Some days, I ponder for hours on end about the theories behind quantum mechanics pour over philosophical texts until it’s time to pour over my third cup of coffee to prevent my eyes from resting Others, I Misuse the word bemuse, and Confuse my right and left shoes, and Refuse to enlighten myself in daily news
“Plea to be Ignored” b
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Subconsciously living this dual lifestyle, Threatens no one other than myself, As I carry the weight of multiple personalities to my grave. I’ve learned to hide under the proverbial umbrella— That is, the people in my life who accept all parts of me, And shade me from the rain I experience on a daily basis. Why must we be this or that When there’s a grey area? Why must we adhere to the social norm When it is anything but normal for a person to remain stagnant? Think about that and come back to me.
by Amanda Salantino
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stained glass by Caroline Hunt
Your colors absorb through a transparent view one shallow not full of much meaning not one lousy clue. Your pigments encroach, encapsulate and awe, scintillating sunlight through a gleaming jigsaw. And so too does the world, shine through your golds reds and greens Opaque, muddled and sheltered deception never foreseen. Always brushed aside. How fitting that you, the colors which beautify this mirror so, were the one who would shatter this picturesque show. One could say it’s the fault of the glass. Too fragile, too weak, too privileged or ignorant to its world’s triumphant collapse, a world of blurred lines and tinges that glow. Maybe... no, of course, it was time for its faultless graces to go. “Glasses” by Cormac Cadden
Yet even in shards do the colors remain a permanent blemish, an eternal shame. In the same way as eyes love the tears for how they glisten, glass loves the stain, through the hoaxes and lies, for how the hues make it shine.
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I guess everything happens
“Filter” by Nathalia Wittlin
happy hobbies by Grace Smith
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night vision
by Mirabel Hunt
hurting, learning, tables turning, calm gone in this perfect storm I’m learning to absorb in my lexicon of tragedies. Oh so fluent in the fables of my lifetime. The waves that keep coming, And send me diving, diving, diving, deep into the salty water, choked by Poseidon’s twisting arms and strangling my life-breathing lungs like any other father’s love. by vine, by vindication. thorns torn by my tough skin, and in my blood does hurt grow old along with visions of wildflowers and landline wires twisted around the tree trunks I climbed when I was a child. as i looked for him in every audience I look for you. youthful then and just as vulnerable now. you run me up, you run me down, you run me dry and you run me empty. Yet still, I run to you every time.
“Untitled” by Toby Thorpe
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“Electric Bike” by Cormac Cadden
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blue light by Caroline Hunt
I dreamt that I walked down a long, barren road, One I’d passed many times But not once I had strode. A figure approached in a faint glow of blue light The light of someone who’d given me life. Calling out to the figure, hopes crashing like swells, The light brushed clean past me At the steps of the motel. I’d lasso the sun and the stars in the sky For some neglectful luminescence who’d passed me right by. A pulsing kahuna, I bubble and roar, Trying to be something even you can’t ignore. We all fear the day when the people we love May flee or throw us away, Like five warm fingers toss aside an old glove. Yet people, they leave, and they leave once again Whether it be by choice or some sinister plan.
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Even so, We could grieve the sprouts lost Under layers of thick snow, Or honour the seeds and their potential to grow. No more endangering my heart with fruitless nostalgia, Not anymore. No more crying out in cheap desperation. Don’t depend, don’t rely On outside affirmation. Instead take great comfort in those who remain For when I wake I’m surrounded by love just the same. Waves have no power over those on the sun, Motel steps are minuscule next to love lost and won. So I squeeze my own fingers, Pull myself close, A tranquil green sea And a moon of primrose. Going forth toward a new light, A light that I chose.
untitled photo by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang
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caged child by Andrew Mitchell A free child plays outside, Sometimes until late at night, Not a worry on their mind, An endangered species their kind. However a new age has come, Children around with brains are numb, Zombies aching to wander around, But they are stuck inside like a dog at the pound. They long of times of glee, Where many of their friends they got to see, Like a playful pup on a summer day, Waiting for when the time comes to play.
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“Lookout” by Cormac Cadden
“Paddle Out” by Cormac Cadden
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“Untitled” by Viyang Hao
anger management problem by Jasmine Criqui
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Sea Who mum The The hot t
Who’ve sat f That their sneering But the girl on
Her m
Her tongue cracks, white-hot aring blows across a captive audience mble their chagrin, but do not look away ey’re here for the spectacle, at any rate tears in her eyes are blood in the water For TV pundits, vultures to outrage for so long in their own echo chambers g has pruned them beyond recognition n the stage has learned from Cassandra Her voice will not fall on oblivious ears message is dire, her conviction unwavering Adore or abhor, but by God, you will hear.
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the wish collector by Lucie Babcock
I’ve forgotten something. It tugs at me, an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty, a sharp warning that echoes through my chest - I’ve forgotten something. I think. What could I have forgotten? Not the wishes, certainly. I remember each wish, each desperate hope I’ve collected. Make me win, thrown into crystal water with a dingy penny. Make me perfect, written in loopy scrawl on a scrap of paper tossed to the wind. Make them love me, tacked on to a $3.99 box of chocolate hearts. I collect these wishes, pick them up from where they lie forgotten, tucked in with the trash. I snip them from their object, trailing the limp glittery threads of hope behind me as I float above the nuances of human life. No, I haven’t forgotten the wishes. Perhaps I’ve forgotten something old, something sewn into my past so neatly I didn’t notice it was gone until I unraveled. What was my past? I stop. The wishes I hold onto sway in the
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clouds beneath me, like fingers reaching for the ground. A memory comes to me, tinted with the stain of time. I was a girl, once. I had my own wishes, once, and my own hopes. They didn’t trail behind me, they floated above my head like a promise. What were my wishes? I know, then, that the hole inside of me is wish-shaped, that if I could only remember something I wanted, everything would click like a puzzle piece slipping into place. I strain to remember that girl whose wishes followed her like brightly colored balloons. I can almost see it, feel the longing on my tongueThe wind shifts, and the memory fades. I am alone, with the dead wishes dangling below me. What was I thinking about? Far below, another wish calls to me, another hope now forgotten. I float downward, the wishes following. This wish is tied to a tiny glass figurine, left on the stoop of a broken-down house. Make me someone new. I fly onward. There are more wishes to find, more lost longings to snip from their objects and add to my collection. As I fly, it tugs at me again. I’ve forgotten something.
“We Found Sam” by Cormac Cadden
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“Blurry” by Cormac Cadden
bask
“untitled” by Quentin/Qianyi Zhuang
by Srishti Thapar “is the sun bothering you?” how could it ever? she thought, tears welling in her eyes in the silhouette shapes of trees with their billowing leaves flickering on the kitchen table even when her hands aren’t enough to stop the tears, the sun lets her know she’s always there ... watching, shining, and loving “sending warmth is all I was made to do” the sun reminded her. so when her tears continue flowing and her vision gets narrow, she sees that glimmer of golden light and remembers that the sun is there to remind her of everything worth living for
“Untitled” by Qianyi Zhuang
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“Offshore at Blacks” by Cormac Cadden
All American
by Cameron Audet
All American is all I am Like a flower among a garden Or a straw in a haystack I am like all others All straws are different sizes and shapes Yet they are all the same. Gazing out into the jungle that is society I am like everyone else The cute little towns full of shops are plagued with people Yet I am among them just fitting in. But we are no plague we are flowers We of all shapes, sizes, and colors fill the fields We mix and match and make new flowers This is American a place of diversity and beauty We have cloudy days But in the end our field is beautiful full of flowers, the sun Always casting down light to give the flowers hope We are all American but that is not all we are.
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America
by Ryan Flather
I am proud to be an American, For it is all I’ve ever known, The only country I’ve ever lived in, From its sun-soaked coasts to its infinite grassy plains, America is like a bird, Flying high and free. I am proud to be an American, Where other countries look up to us, The strength of our military and the riches of our land, And the men and women who serve in our military, I am proud to call this place home. Every nation is not without flaws with America included, There has been inequality that is good for no one, But America will overcome like it always has, And become even more united than ever before, I am proud to be an American.
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the heart not broken by Jadyn Kaplan
Two pieces of the heart try to run away It is because of you it stays in place And when you are not hear it seems to race And other times you make it break. Two choices I can make for my heart One will help it One will make it fall apart Though love takes over my brain The thought of all the bad gives my heart pain; And I try to throw that all away So my love for you can stay. My heart chases after you No matter what I want to do. And I know others say it’s wrong Because they only hear the bad I know the two pieces of my heart want each other And you always seem to piece them back.
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“Spring Bloom” by Jack Dekoker
“Child’s Play” by Amy Ge
scraps by Mirabel Hunt scraps of my innocence like soft baby blankets untarnished by time, hung on invisible coat hooks stabbed into the walls of my childhood home to be picked up again someday. someday safer. Once the smoke has cleared. but as more years go by, and as the mobile of shattered bottles slowly ceased its spinning, the more i no longer bear any resemblance to that innocence. i’m older, maybe wiser in a different home, with different words for my feelings. and so my innocence will slink off the invisible hooks and seep into the wood like water and stain the walls white. and this room will echo an unanswered cry for help from my younger self and while i no longer recognize it as myself, I will always try to answer.
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BLM by Micah Levy
I am staring, numb, broken, into the face of a world I do not know how to digest. My bones are cracking under privilege, my voice a hand me down from people who have not needed to know this kind of fear. I sit in a nauseating silence, my lungs begging to scream. But none of my words belong to only me. The weight of the world feels like it’s balancing on the tip of my tongue, but it is not my responsibility to put people’s pain into words. It is my responsibility, however, to show up to the pain. To stand. To listen. To ask. To hold. To cry. To love. To think that my entire life, my pale white skin covered in freckles has been the catalyst for my safety, my bloodline the reason for opportunity. It makes me shiver. I shrink beneath the fear hearts feel every second of every day. But I am learning
to push against the shrinking. To be bigger than it. I can never step into the skin of those tiptoeing around their own lives. But I can stand up. I can sweep up some of the glass of this shattered world, and try my best to make it a place no one has to tiptoe around. I strive to create a space conducive for receiving indigestible pain with transparency and urgency.
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“Justice” by
land of the free by Anonymous
The land of the free That preaches freedom and justice And that all men are created equal The pursuit of happiness And unalienable rights. But is that really true? Can we hold America to the standard that’s written on paper? Can everyone use their voice to make a change? So, is that really true?
Many voices are suppressed Not heard or recognized Wanting to make a change But they are just silenced Inequality is still alive.
Anonymous
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distant moon by Mirabel Hunt
sometimes i feel so lonely and maybe that’s your fault your face seems only to grow colder like the 1 am moon when i have no stars to offer you that aren’t already within your universal reach your interest in me fades in and out with the waves of the other fascinations that reflect your moon light about every new phase, your tide meets my shore, ever so briefly and then goes out to sea once again in an endless journey to wherever. wherever my shore is not. Gradually, the gentle grains of golden sand turn to dark, frozen dirt arid without care in the darkness, your moony face stares down at me the dark side all too bright, never ending. so i try to spark a flame build new sandcastles, draw your name in my sand dot the “i”s with hearts like my own Cross the “t”s with great deliverance and wait. through every phase Waxing, waning, I wither away Waiting and as my eyes trace the sky i ask you, the great moon, “haven’t i done enough waiting in my short lived life?” waiting for people to come back, decide, die maybe i give people too much time and maybe it isn’t your fault that i’m alone but you sure make me feel it a desolate island Faintly illuminated by the distant moon.
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the moon’s embrace
by Amanda Salantino
I chase the sun so it might set faster and I may bless your heavy eyes with my silver gaze through a careless splinter in between consciousness. A wordless reminder of what you could become before Apollo’s chariot strips you of that glory.
“Moonset” by Cormac Cadden
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both places of my life combined by Melissa Cruz Rios I hope you see in some parts of my mind, Some places both similar and different in life, In my mind I see a place that’s perfect and one of a kind, Maybe too unconfined and free to thrive, Sometimes it tells me to not be so blind, “look at the other side that you despise.” So I turn back from the place to look behind, And make myself realize, That there’s a place in my mind where I’m confined, It’s so dark to the point where I’m scared and paralyzed, I feel so anxious and undermined, That I escaped with all my strength to a place between both sides. I find my stomach filled with butterflies, I’ve found a passion in this place that’s been combined, A place outside of my mind that’s filled with both bad and nice, I look around to see the different emotions on mankind, They each walk different colored paths that are shaped by their will to survive, But they can change and become redefined, Life is unique and undefined, Wow! I’ve found the meaning of life!
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“Spooks” by Cormac Cadden
the other side by Anonymous The boy in class has the prettiest eyes, The perfect smile, His teeth white and straight. He has numerous friends, The silkiest hair, And glowing eyes. He seems so happy, He seems so loved, And is so well known. That same boy arrives home, And everything is different. He looks at himself, And doesn’t view himself as people perceive him. He cries himself to sleep, Tears making his pillow wet.
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the decision of my future by Anonymous
One big decision Two different paths One far One close Both different experiences. One path living on a legacy Following my father’s footsteps. Experiencing what he had. When we go off at 18. The other path is different. A path the not everyone agrees with But in my eyes, it could be the path for me However, this path takes a longer time to get to. I have time to pick between these two paths But so it will be the hardest decision in my future. What if my choice is wrong, A common question that crosses my mind. May only the future knows, What path I will be taking
34 “Some Rocks” by Cormac Cadden
“On a mountain” by Cormac Cadden
every mountain by Mirabel Hunt
you know i think i’ve climbed every mountain and forged every stream i’ve turned all the rocks and pebbles and carved my initials into every tree all the woodland creatures know my path by heart as they watch my footprints catch up to me i'm a weary eyed snow white paling hopelessness Looking for a sign I haven’t already seen i’m turning this forest into a whirlpool and i’ll drown if i'm not careful in this dry cycle of faded photographs figments of passed time that i’ve looked at too many times They turn my face red and then cold And when the surface levels The endless plain is laid out in front of me like the Great Plains I once loved. the tall grass wraps around my legs and bends with every step I make my feet sink deeper into the marsh and my knees freeze in frustration my choked tears now crash down Into this dry basin Now filling with my tears that will not stop flowing for i cannot stop crying. my lungs, too, fill with tears and my heart’s cries are muffled by my melodrama My sorrowful solute is drowning every inch of this forest Taking back the ruins of my rumination and washing away what you left me yet I am relieved and i let go Because at this point i just want something new and I guess this is the best i'm going to get.
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