S P 17
A Letter From the Editor Dear Readers, I am so excited for you to see the second edition of the Girls Preparatory School literary magazine, Calliope. The editing staff and I were so impressed with the submissions we received this year, making deciding what to put in the magazine especially difficult. We put so much work into crafting a cohesive magazine that showcased your peers’ talents. This year, we made an effort to be especially thoughtful in our selection process, and we hope the magazine feels uniquely handcrafted because of our thoughtfulness. This year’s Calliope was a joy to create, and we hope you love it as much as we do! Best, Meg Marshall Editor-in-Chief
Editorial Staff Editor in Chief: Meg Marshall, ‘18
Layout Editor: CeCe Turner, ’18
Literature Editors:
Art Editors:
Lori Baxter, ‘17 Nikki Goldbach, ‘18 Annsleigh Jones, ‘18 Kate Schlegel, ‘18 Clare Hamn, ‘18 Olivia Fannon, ‘19
Rainy Day
Jordan Pauldin, ‘18 Grey sky 100% Warm bedsheets Vanilla Bean Noel Crackle of lightning Pouring rain Drip, drip, drip No alarm clock Tap, tap, tap New Word document Messy bun T-shirt and shorts Crew socks Ding Snapchat iMessage 80% Chocolate chip waffles Creative flow Back in the Day…
Unbothered Melanin Sheets of paper Fresh coffee Caramel 12 PM Evening FaceTime calls Supreme pizza Netflix Rainy Day
Corinne Spann, ‘18 Larkin Brown, ‘19
Faculty Advisor: Corrie White
A special thanks to Amy Walters and Lee Wright! Cover Artwork by Blythe May, ‘18
Ruchika Rathi, ‘20
Feeling Blue
Isabelle Torrence, ‘20 Rinse the blueberries in the Bathroom sink That your father picked from the Backyard bushes.
Dive amidst the depths of the Deep blue waters Divide the surface, climb in and Deluge the old navy canoe.
Make a snowman with the Massive indigo mittens Your mother offered to you When she saw that you were frigid.
Brush the blue-black hair of your Brilliant sister And wonder if you could ever Begin to be as bold as her.
Pick the periwinkle flowers from Your grandparents’ patch Watch their turquoise eyes brighten When they hear your laugh.
CeCe Turner, ‘18
I See You
Rebecca Guhde, ‘19 The tousled, blonde strands of hair stick to the nape of her sweaty neck as she leans over the pot of boiling water on the gas stove. She is very precise in her actions, deliberately cutting and placing each article of food onto a wooden cutting board. She has obviously had a rough day at work because she is extra cheery, using happiness and charisma to hide the freshly beaten and battered interior of her mind. She wearily adds new and exciting spices to familiar recipes using her worn and calloused hands as scoops to pull the colorful powders out of the plastic bottles. The sky blue dress that adorns her body has small playful cats scattered around the torso and down to the trim of the skirt. There is a large tear across the armpit of the dress, revealing a peek of sun-tanned skin, but she does not mind. Instead, she embraces the tear, like she embraces all of the things in her life that don’t go as planned. She always laughs a full body laugh when she is standing on the marble floor, for it is where she can be in full control. The whole of her being shakes with elation as she quickly gasps for air in between wholehearted chuckles. Her chest rises and falls. Her feet are bare like the small children in Africa as they run after a soccer ball beneath the harsh and unrelenting sun. She has never liked to wear shoes, not since she lived on a sailboat beneath the tranquil tropical sun of the British Virgin Islands. Her ice blue eyes sparkle with pride as she looks across the kitchen at her two daughters. She is smiling now with all of her being, for smiling to her is like sugar and water to a hungry hummingbird. I see you, mom.
Noor Azhar, ‘17
Age
Kate Becksvoort, ‘22 Age, We all want more, To be older, Wiser, Smarter, Better, But this word Older, Carries no significance. It has been made Into an excuse. An excuse among siblings, Workers, Even friends, Why do we all want to be older, Why not younger. More innocent, Small, Careless, Why not be younger. Hidden from the evil and bad in the world Shielded from the fact Life isn't perfect. We all want more More everything. More money, Power, Fame, We all believe to exceed in life, Is to have more age. We have been taught By our older siblings, Workers, Friends. The older you are The more power, Money, Fame you get. The truth is being younger Is better than we have been taught. You learn from mistakes, You have more fun, More excitement, More dare I say it freedom. Because before you know it, All of that will be gone, You will wish
Wish for youth, Excitement, Fun, Beauty, And most importantly Freedom. Freedom from society and its expectations, From responsibilities, Work, Power, Free from the evil and bad in the world. Because when we were young it didn't matter, We could be a princess, On a pirate ship, Flying to the moon, Society didn't care. and when I was young I would ask my mom to play, She said there is no time. Why I wondered, I thought there was always time for fun, But that was before My shield that kept me safe from society, Was let down. I now know why, It wasn't that there was no time, It was that she didn't want to risk, Breaking the mold that society made. Everyone says that they don't care what people say, But truth is they do, Everyone does, There is no escape from it It's a never ending cycle. So I ask again, Why do we want to be older, I don't. It sounds stressful, Always trying to be perfect, Always doing what you think you have to To get your way in this judgmental world. But we can't deny we all will grow old But we can change society's expectation, All you have to do Is be a princess, On a pirate ship, Flying to the moon, And if you do that You will never grow old.
Callie Nevans, ‘17
The Morning Anonymous
I love her like the morning Breath on pillows and sheets over feet and Dust on the window And light and car horns and Ripped quilts and shoes at the foot of my bed and Finding my glasses She is all cold feet and toes reaching pushing As far away from the soles As possible she is finding the switch so I can Read Pride and Prejudice and Harry Potter she is turning off the heater Because I am warm enough Cold hardwood she is the steam unfurling itself From the cup I love her alone One toe not beneath the sheets because it is warm enough In the morning I am dazed by the stillness Car horns aren’t awake and the light isn’t plugged in Yet because she is 6 AM This morning it took longer To uncover the ripped quilts and flannel sheets Because my glasses had fallen of the bedside table And I couldn’t find the plug or my Shoes when my feet got cold So I couldn’t read Pride and Prejudice or Harry Potter and the heater is on because it’s cold Because she is still 6 AM And I will always love her like the morning
The Truth
Tian Stowell, ‘19
Meg Marshall, ‘18 Robert Penn Warren taught me that life is an enormous spider web. A single twitch that brushes against the web – whether you meant it or not – sends vibrations through the web and before you know it the fatal poison of the spider is seeping through your veins and you are never the same. All because of that single twitch. Me and you and Robert Penn Warren, we are linked by the truth of the web. This knowledge nags at me – it faces me as I look in the mirror when I wake, It is in my coffee, it is the itch I cannot scratch. Everything matters. Three weeks ago, I almost hit a minivan carrying five children. I didn’t mean to, it was an unfamiliar road and I was distracted. I slammed on my brakes before any damage was done. But as I lie awake, I am reminded by the truth Robert Penn Warren taught me: I have twitched, the web is vibrating with a slow hum that will surely wake the spider.
Kelli Lewis, ‘19
Our World
Ameera Bhatti, ‘18 Our world is perfect they say But the ones that declare this have nothing to lose And only some of us will pay They can be free when they choose Our world What makes you more special than me And the man on the street The difference is that you might save him a seat Can’t you see Our world No one knows each others pain or the stories we hold so dear to us That mold us into who and what we trust We have to face the reality that not all of us will prosper And we might not ever know what all we have to offer Our world Compassion and understanding aren’t things that are easily mastered This is because not everyone learned how to love mankind There are too many who aren’t afraid to call others bastards Empathy is lost oh so often and this is what we need to find Our world Hands up, freeze You better not speak And what I believe is how I live Your god is my god and my prayers are no different from the ones that you give Our world Why do you look at me like I have shattered your world, When in fact it is you that has violated me over and over again. You could be less concerned with what you have done in vain My life can’t just be hurled We all deserve this world Your world My world Our world
Unfastened
Khadija Aslam, ‘18
inside my lamp is on but the bulb is cold and tomorrow feels like last week when i had lungs the skin on my toe is peeling and you know my vertebrae are missing my back is failing without skin, my hands fidget then my foot catches on the shingles and the window is closed and i’m falling down the slant of the roof my face is bruised but you will not be in the morning i put my clothes on with the lamp off and I wonder how a body I thought so immovable by you could be so easily unfastened
Phoebe Mills, ‘18
Humanity
Shanzeh Rizvi, ‘20 Humanity is a single tear of eternity, seeping into the cement like a raindrop, ingraining itself into the pavement. Humanity is radiant and soaked in sadness— a star in the vast universe. Humanity is humanity, melodies within symphonies, syllables within stanzas.. They are delicate kisses invisible in darkness, coverings warm and soft. The blood ebbing in our veins.
Noor Azhar, ‘17
Purple World
Aria Cooper, ‘21
“There’s four kinds of folks in the world.” Jadyn Matthews, ‘20
There’s a lie in this world, a forceful, gripping lie. An untruth that reminds us that four score and seven years ago wasn’t that long ago. It’s the kind of lie that is worth fighting against, even if you know you’re licked before you begin the fight. Of all the lies in this world, this one’s the most determined to divide and conquer. Well, Folks listen up, this lie has already divided our home before, the question is whether or not it will do it again. Because in this world, a lot of lies are going to be pushed down your throat. Whether or not you have the guts to push the lies away is up to you. But always remember that no matter how different a person is to you. In this world there’s just one kind of folks - folks.
Sophia Han, ‘18
You but not just you, have never listened to the “opponent” or have been heard by them. Never have you really stepped into their life in order to understand their side a red can barely look at a blue, a blue is disgusted by you. A person is a person not an donkey or elephant from a zoo. until we unite we are only you, the one divisive face of our beautiful and occasionally broken nation. consider it, a marvelous purple world, things would be discussed calmly, peace would be an abounding vibrant light. from bloodshed, tears, and misery a new nation is built. his is just as good as hers and it doesn't matter if we all point to the same God, different gods, or we don't point at all. Out of the ashes of despair love is a widespread way of life that everyone chooses. View the world from the so-called enemies eyes… you are more alike than you think.
Mrs. McGully
Mckenzi Marlow, ‘17 Mrs. McGully was the sickliest woman on Maple Street. Every morning as she walked to the market in her husband’s old overcoat she complained about her knees. Every afternoon when she played cards with her neighbor, she complained about her arthritis. During the winters, she had the most terrible congestion. And during the spring while her flowers bloomed, Mrs. McGully always had the worst allergies. Margot Kelly, her nurse, came early and stayed late. For the first few months, Margot felt sorry for the lonely woman. “She needs someone, David.” She and her husband were unpacking their stuff from the old apartment. They’d moved into David’s parents house so that his folks could enjoy their retirement in Florida. “She’s fine, Margot. Just old, that’s all.” “Don’t be insensitive.” Margot unwrapped two mugs and sat them on the counter. David shrugged and went back to unpacking the blender. Margot had been offended at his silence at first, but that was before she was pregnant with Katie about eight months later. “She’s always complaining about her back.” Margot sat at their kitchen table sipping hot chocolate. Snow fell outside. “I’m the one that’s in her third trimester.” “She’s eighty one and has arthritis,” David said. He sprinkled spices in the Japanese stir-fry. Margot wrinkled her forehead. “She didn’t ever complain about it before.” Katie got chicken pocks when she was two, and Margot made the mistake of mentioning it to Mrs. McGully. She was hoping the older lady might provide some cheap home remedies to stop the itching. “Now she’s making me rub this As Seen On TV cream on every bump! Some were there before Katie got sick.” Margot dropped her head in her hands and groaned. David stopped crunching numbers on the calculator and rubbed her back. “Cheer up. Maybe she’ll leave you the fortune one day.” “A fortune in coupons and kitty litter.” The next week, Mrs. McGully fell while trying to do laundry by herself. “I can’t even take her seriously! This could be another ‘sprained’ ankle incident.” Margot had wheeled her boss around the house for two weeks before catching the elderly lady walking just fine by herself. “I feel so used.” David nodded. “Coupons and punch cards, baby. Just keep your chin up.” He tweaked her nose. Margot smirked. “You don’t even take me seriously anymore.” She was only half kidding, and he knew it. David sighed. “I grew up hearing this woman moan and complain every day of my life. If she found out someone had the flu, she’d have something worse within the hour.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t see why you stick with her.” Margot shook her head. She didn’t know either. A few months later, Margot pulled a black dress on over her head and stared at herself in
the mirror. Her insides felt numb. David straightened his tie behind her. They led their daughter to their Toyota and buckled her in the backseat. Disney music was the only sound until they got to the church. During the service, Margot kept her head bowed. The McGully family sat in front of them; she knew a few from Christmases and birthdays. When Cyrus McGully stood up to give the eulogy, his first line made Margot sob. He said it with a sad smile, “My mother was the biggest hypochondriac around, and the most particular curmudgeon I know. But I will miss hearing her crazy advice.” After the service, David carried Katie to the car. “Mrs. Kelly?” She turned to find Cyrus hurrying after them. “Yes?” “My mother left this for you.” He handed her a thick envelope. As David put Katie to bed, Margot sat at the kitchen table with the envelope. Slowly she pried the flap open, tearing something inside. A few Kroger coupons slid out followed by a letter written in black ink. The tears slid down her cheeks instantly. Around midnight, David found his wife asleep at the table, a paper crumpled in her hands. The last line read, “I was so lonely. Thank you for all you did.” He gathered the coupons with a sad smile and carried his wife to bed. Never Someday Anonymous
I’ve always hated “someday” and the way that it is said, so when people speak it freely it lingers in my head. “Someday you’ll understand,” “someday we’ll come and visit,” the word itself is so full of doubt and we’re all just afraid to admit it. “Someday” can’t be marked on a calendar so naturally it’s forgotten, that unfinished thing saved for “someday,” how far has that gotten? Maybe it’s a way of avoiding the future or coming up with an answer on the spot, but most likely the responses translate “please don’t go” or “no I will not.” I think what I hate the most about “someday”, we’re all thinking it together, is that “someday” is what people say when they actually mean “never”.
Valarie Nevans, ‘21
EGG
Anonymous To acquire the only vital part of an egg You must break the outside barrier. To let all the internal contents flow. Sometimes, Love needs a little push, Or a crack. You must be both harsh and fragile to break the wall. But once you do you find both the clean, pure white, and the dark, vibrant yolk. Both are vital, But you must be careful Not to put too much pressure on the yellow center. When you think your love is mature And you have reached the final destination The fragile yolk splits open And all the hard work you put into cracking the egg Rushes uncontrollably out into the pan.
whole
Clare Hamn, ‘18 Tell me a tale of a smile that tips over the side of the sea Tell me a tale of a whisper one that knows when to listen and speak Tell me a tale of a song that lingers when everything sleeps Tell me a tale of a someone
Molly Ballenger, ‘19
Parched
Reagan Sanborn, ‘18
Reversibility
Kate Schlegel, ‘18 Mr. Sanders told me that nothing is reversible. Theoretically, we say things can be, but we can never provide the conditions to make them irreversible. This never truly hit me until I was driving on the highway at midnight. No one was around and I was going as fast as I wanted to. I couldn’t see anything. I thought about what Mr. Sanders said. One slight movement around me and I would be irreversibly erased from the universe. I wasn’t, but I could have been. Anything you do will irreversibly change the universe.
Caitlin
Do not let me fall to the gravity of naivety. It is suffocating. O’Brien, ‘19 It is selfish. With every new piece of knowledge A rung of my ladder is added Beauty And I feel myself getting closer to the exit of this abyss. Kate Schlegel, ‘18 But do not leave my hands over my ears Or the blindfold over my eyes. And so she spun, I cannot discover it all on my own. Complete in her opulence, Please do not wait for me to find it, Radiant in her enough-ness. Because I am not trustworthy. I am weak. With every ocean they have thrown me into, I have been burned. Calm the waters and mute the heat But put me into the water nevertheless, For my skin is dry and I am desperate to be rejuvenated with the truth.
looking at us Anonymous
when I look at myself, I see a corrupted view scars and odd bends in my legs, the screw ups nature gave me and the ones I gave myself when I look at you, I see the prettiest person I’ve ever known and so much more— the nicest the kindest the most empathetic the most intelligent, and I can’t help but wonder how you see me or how you see us because in my mind we are the same soul in separate bodies but you, unlike me, are illuminated. you just see me only a little less worse than I see myself maybe you’re just better at hiding it so maybe this isn't realistic maybe it’s not smart but I can’t help it because when I see you, I see all I’ve ever wanted.
Ode to Cobblestones Catherine Gray ‘20
The rough edges my fingers trace, As my memories sing like a symphony With these streets as the bass. My childhood was spent blissfully, With chalk in hand, we left no empty space. Boots pounded the stones when we saw our family, I am lifted and twisted in their embrace. These memories are no fantasy Nor the joy each stone has encased. Each brick, unique on it’s own, A wave in a sea of stone. They crash together with mismatched cadence, All arranged with so much patience. Between each rough gray mountain, A green lining of moss grows. Valleys turn rivers with rain’s pounding, And mountains into islands transpose. Life is slow and bumpy, But when fast, it’s smooth. I remember that I am not alone, Standing on that cobblestone.
CeCe Turner, ‘18 Hollis Gaffney, ‘18
Callie Nevans, ‘17