The Muse AMHS Literary Magazine Volume 4, Edition 2
Dear Reader, Welcome to the second 2017-2018 issue of The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine. This magazine has been serving as an avenue for creativity and imagination for students of the Mitty community for the past four years, and we are excited to share this new edition with you. The uniqueness of every student’s mind shines brightly through these selections of poetry, prose, artwork, and other ingenious creations. We hope you enter these pages with an open mind and that you find a sense of solace and inspiration with the words they contain. We wish that after you have enveloped yourself in all this magazine has to offer, you hear the light whisper of the muse in your ear.
Want to be featured in the next edition? The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine will be accepting entries for the next issue (Volume 5, Edition 1) next school year. Please refer to the myMitty page under “Clubs” regarding the submission process of poetry, prose, art, six-word stories, jokes, and memoirs for the chance to be published in the AMHS literary magazine. The following written works are the intellectual property of the authors. All ownership rights reserved.
Letter from the Editors Dear Readers, From the single drop of watercolor paint on a canvas to written philosophies that have shaped the classical world to the modern, art is one of the core foundations of human existence. Since the beginning of time, art, in many forms, has been used to express human thought and emotion. It is in artistic expression in which we, as human beings, find comfort and solace, challenge and desire, motivation and triumph. The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazineâ€™s newest edition has been made in an effort to continue the legacy of all art forms and provide a safe space for all Archbishop Mitty students to share and express art--both what is important to them and what they feel is important to share. We hope that the many perspectives shared in the magazine will give you comfort. We hope that they will challenge you and thus help you find the desire to make beneficial change in this world. We hope that they will give you the motivation to create more and triumph in knowing that you have contributed to the preservation of art in this world. We also hope that you can appreciate the courage of the writers and artists featured in this magazine and that you will be able to embrace the emotions and calls for change that these works intend to evoke. This collection of poetry, prose, photography, short stories, and more will give both readers and contributors the chance to be a part of something much greater than themselves: that the flow of free verse poetry or the symbols within a photo will inspire more to find art in their daily lives. Art is a cycle. One must be inspired, of course, to create, but it is in creating that the cycle can be continued. We believe that this magazine will inspire you, the reader, to express yourself more. Know that art is all around you, but also know that you have a duty to contribute to it. Be inspired so that you can inspire. Sincerely, The Editors of The Muse
Jenna Mollerus â€˜20
Alexis Bowcock Page 52 Alexis Bowcock Page 54 Amelia Scharpf Page 63 Ashton Jimenez Page 62 Bailey Phoenix Page 22 Carol Nome Page 50 Christanel Rios Page 47 Elizabeth Mau Page 23 Elizabeth Mau Page 44 Elizabeth Mau Page 66 Erica Cardozo Page 19 Erica Cardozo Page 43 Hannah Chang Page 38 Hannah Cheng Page 20 Hannah Shinnerl Page 30 Helen Deng Page 12 Helen Deng Page 55 Helen Deng Page 57 Ishir Vaidyanath Cover Jenna Mollerus Page 4 Jenna Mollerus Page 48 Kaavya Narayan Page 43 Kaavya Narayan Page 6 Kaavya Narayan Page 61 Kai Gatlin Page 41 Katrina Manacio Page 11 Kito Pang Page 45 Kito Pang Page 58 Megan Chiang Page 17 Mia Melo Page 67 Natalia Buzo Page 14 Nathan Chou Page 60 Nickhil Tekwani Page 56 Nickhil Tekwani Page 26 Nickhil Tekwani Page 32 Nora Smith Page 35 Paola Moreno Page 24 Paola Moreno Page 36 Paola Moreno Page 51 Phoebe Robeson Page 64 Rania Awad Page 15 Rania Awad Page 20 Sahit Kavukuntla Page 29 Shreya Gupta Page 34 Sydney Gambelin Page 25 Wylie Mia Merrit Page 9
Aileen Pulchny Page 48 Alexi Bowcock Page 12 Alexis Corral Page 22 Aneri Bhatt Page 10 Anika Chinthakunta Page 18 Anna Krause Page 66 Bailey Phoenix Page 45 Cailey Larmore Page 33 Carolyn Richter Page 50 Christa Rios Page 51 Christanel Rios Page 63 Danielle Slaughter Page 55 Emma Vane Page 59 Erica Cardozo Page 15 Erica Cardozo Page 16 Erika Kunzmann Page 32 Ethan Fusilero Page 63 Gwendolyn Rogers Page 52 Hannah Cheng Page 20 Helen Deng Page 23 Ishir Vaidyanath Page 58 Ishir Vaidyanath Page 63 Jassen Yep Page 62 Jennifer McDonald Page 39 Jessica Hsu Page 28 Joanna Jain Page 31 Joanne Park Page 42 John Dugan Page 24 Julianne Glahn Page 27 Kajal Patel Page 44 Katherine Rejer Page 49 Katrina Manacio Page 67 Kelly Andreacchi Page 7 Marcela Capizzi Page 14 Mariah Stanelle Page 56 Megan Paparotti Page 40 Mia Lombardo Page 38 Michaela Tallerico Page 57 Natalia Buzo Page 13 Natalia Buzo Page 64 Nathalie Co Page 21 Nathalie Co Page 65 Nickel Tekwani Page 63 Noah Aguilar Page 6 Paige Rosckes Page 53 Paige Rosckes Page 54 Priya Vasu Page 60 Priyal Patel Page 63 Roisin Gilmore Page 63 Shriya Nandwani Page 37 Swathi Ramaprasad Page 49 Sydney Chancey Page 16 Taytianna Leggett Page 35 Teja Veeramacheneni Page 61
Untitled Noah Aguilar ‘19 If kisses were a tree I would give you a forest If hugs were leaves I'd give you a tree If love was water I would give you an ocean If a grain of sand was a warm smile I’d give you a beach
Kaavya Narayan ‘21
Pink Dragons Kelly Andreacchi â€˜18 Stars fade, shop opens Swirly sugar, butter, eggs White flour splashing Soft spoonfuls of cake Velvet, lemon, carrot cream All hit the oven Little pink dragons Blasted with oven's fiery kiss Born from the fire Swirly pink frosting Piped in thick semicircles Sprinkles clink and stick Sweet aromas blend Confection army marches To the mixer's beat
Vulnerable Yusra Arub ‘19 i am a flower: garden sweet, trim, quick, a sprouted seed with nectar scent. before Your eyes, i flaunt my truth and hide my lies. i am a rose, my petals smile. You trust me, Your time is made worthwhile. my sleeves of rhythm, peeled one beat at a time uncover my wrinkled, unkempt rhyme. battlefield blood: a dark, deep, red secret i wish i hadn’t said. unfold my scars, i open up, calling hornets to my nectar cup. petals, falling one by one, end a story not nearly done. i’ll fall asleep, sedated by pain injected in my paper leaf vein. then someone like You will come along and awaken the rose with a simple song. my virgin jazz, Your youthful tune... Your wasted time, my petals strewn among scattered lies. A flower with nectar scent is, before Your eyes, a servant bent. like a time made worthwhile when you trust, a Petal smiles because It must.
Saturday Wylie Mia Merritt â€˜19 9
Last Tuesday Aneri Bhatt â€˜19 i like to visit the local park on tuesday afternoons. i sit on the brown rusted bench just under the trees and watch the swings on the playground shift in the breeze. then a dirty chubby hand pulls the swing out of my sight until i move my eyes to see a young toddler grunting and pulling to try and pull himself up on the swing. i do not go over to help him but i smile at him and that feels like enough. his mother comes with a long braid of hair down her back sari flowing in the wind her bracelets chiming on her wrists as she grabs the left leg and waist of her son and gently plops him on the black swing. i watch the swing and the boy as they start to move in harmony as the mother pushes his back from behind her bracelets jingling and the swing squeaking. and i stay there for hours watching more and more children of shapes and sizes. one named jackson one named maria one named akshay one named sean one named ella i know their names from the calls of their mothers across the playground that it is time to go and they will count down to three and if they do not come then they will start walking home and push the strollers away and always the jackson and maria and akshay and sean and ella will scramble off the swing and push the tanbark off their pants as they toddle behind. there is something about that moment where i feel like i am a part of something. as the sky starts to darken into shades of purple and blue i stay. i watch the now empty swing move back and forth in the evening gust of wind as the very last goodbyes are said in the playdate happening at the tire swing the leaves rustling the squeak of the swings echoing against the playground the smell of fried food wafting over from the houses nearby. i walk home then every tuesday evening watching the sky become darker and darker as the sun starts to move down. i walk past the homes of the jackson and maria and akshay and sean and ella and the smells of fried food to the edge of the sky where i walk into the horizon and up the staircase into nowhere.
Katrina Manacio â€˜20
Red Bird Alexis Bowcock ‘21 A pretty red bird comes to the window. The animal is watching over me. I ask myself, “Is it a friend or foe?” I wonder what it is like to be free! Helen Deng ‘21 I’ve got so many angels above clouds. God chose a red bird to represent them. Some come in quietly, some come in loud. Outside the window, they’re sitting on limbs. Where have they flown today, what have they seen? They fly in the sun, they fly in the rain Why did they choose me, what does this mean? Sometimes I feel crazy, sometimes I feel sane. I think of birds differently after death. It makes me feel like loved ones are in my breath.
The Story of Us Natalia Buzo â€˜21 Your beauty is not fleeting, For I am the beholder, And I refuse for it to be depleting. I guess I should have told him. Why must it be like this? For love is nothing but a thought, A flicker in the story of us. That makes me quite distraught, Perhaps it's something to discuss. Why must it be like this? Give me some perception, Just a hint at your inner notion. Please don't give me a misconception, Anything but this dizzying motion. Why must you be like this?
show #6 Marcela Capizzi â€˜18 and how it ended was much like how it began, in a great tryst under work lights all beaming in our loose clothes, sharing in glowing voice, how we all did our part (like we always do), how we do our part to make each other proud,
Natalia Buzo â€˜21
and when we left the stage we packed it up in our minds, tried to envision this place back how it was when we all first began, turned away and walked up together, older and younger together, whispering up the stairs, up into the great darkness and turned on the low lights.
The Art of Love Erica Cardozo â€˜21
Easy Like a Sunday Morning Rania Awad â€˜21
Love is like art It can be created By those who are passionate It can be erased and redone With someone or something It can be colorful and bright But it can also be dark and dull It can be broken Sometimes glued back together, sometimes not Love is like art 15
Radiant Erica Cardozo ‘21 The stars yearn to shine as you do, The wind longs to dance with your hair. The ocean aches to swim with you, Just as the trees wish for you to stay awhile. The world detests seeing you sad, As much as the universe loves your radiant smile.
A Big Metal Can Explosion Sydney Chancey ‘21 Seven astronauts had a dream To touch the stars as a team What a group that made an impression Up towards the big great heaven Oh the gravity they wanted to defy Little did they know it was their last goodbye The first teacher high in the sky An abrupt blast as they tried to fly The heavens lit a violet red As seven people fell in their deathbed The world went silent for a moment When something went wrong in the shuttles’ component The world watched in awe And Mrs. McAuliffe’s class dropped their jaw All their hopes and dreams were lost As the fingers that were tied became uncrossed 16
Megan Chiang â€˜21
Running from Reality Anika Chinthakunta ‘21 “Rise and shine, get up, my son For we are going out to run So get up now and don’t be long For we are running the Boston Marathon!” “Oh Mom, it’s ok I think I’ll pass I’ll go to my friend’s house instead to play catch But you go and have lots of fun I know how much you like to run.” “No, you are coming with me I know it will be a blast Just you and me running Through Boston’s streets so fast” Not long after, the two were in the car Happiness and adrenaline pumping in their hearts They walked to the starting line and tied their shoes so tight And smiled at each other, but for the last time For not long after the race had begun Chaos erupted due to the sound of a gun However smoke filled the air and lasted very long And that’s how the mother knew it was a bomb She laid low and called out for her son Each time she screamed, the smoke filled her lungs She sat down to take a quick breath The city of Boston now looking like regret She got up and looked around again And after screaming for so long her voice became hoarse But she could scream in agony When she finally found her son’s corpse
Erica Cardozo â€˜21
Annabelle Hannah Cheng â€˜20 an empty shell a soulless name until they remember to whom this title belongs She is family She is a friend She is me, She is you Annabelle a soulless name remember her, your Annabelle for there is only one Irreplaceable before she is gone, cherish her Love her with all your might And never let her go, Your Annabelle Flower of the Cities Rania Awad â€˜21
There was... Nathalie Co â€˜18 There was the grass tickling my feet as I watched my grandma plant new tomatoes in the crisp early mornings of summer. There was the startling sound of thunder when I saw dazzling lights explode in the night. There was a moment of terror as I searched desperately for my parents when they disappeared from my sight like they were part of a magic act. There was the endless pitter-patter of rain as I watched streams of water race against each other to the bottom of the glass window. There was the escape from the burning hot sun as I stepped inside the cool, colorful room filled with crayons and colored pencils. There was the wind whistling in my ears telling me to go back as I walked across the Golden Gate Bridge. There was the sweet, savory taste of an ice cream sandwich when I took a bite into it for the first time. There were the popping embers of the fireplace as my family cuddled together on a Christmas Eve night. There was the burning fizz in my nose after I had chugged a whole can of Coke or Sprite. There was the curiosity to know why the trees sway to the music of the wind and why the grass can dance under your feet even though you haven't moved an inch. There was the rush of adrenaline as the roller coaster reached the top of the hill and came speeding down to the ground. There was the embarrassment I felt when I had made a fool of myself in front of my childhood crush. There was the uncontrollable laughter after seeing a friend laugh so hard there was milk streaming out of his nose. There was the reviving sip of a nice cool cup of apple juice after a rough day at school. There was the silent shame between my classmates and me as we were forced to walk around the school with our heads down and hands behind our backs. There was the feeling of being free as a bird as I soared out of the classroom on the last day of school. There was the sound of my pencil hitting the desk after answering the last question on a test. And there was the triumphant feeling of victory when I finished my last year of elementary school.
One Day Alexis Corral ‘20 You are inside me Inside the depths of emptiness within me Eating me piece by piece Breaking me thought by thought Destroying me whole by whole You laugh when I’m sad And you cry when I’m happy Nothing will satisfy the hunger you crave The light I used to see You took it away And you grinned at my sorrow You made yourself a part of me Now I must walk around this world Acting as if I’m whole again No one saw you No one even cared Your smile grows bigger by the day And I’m afraid that you will eat every piece of me that’s left Even then, No one will see you And no one will ever care I live with you day by day Holding this dreadful burden Maybe one day, I’ll get you out of me And take back the light you stole And maybe, a smile will grow on my face Maybe one day…
Bailey Phoenix ‘20
impact Helen Deng ‘21 the lasting impact of a notable person the fleeting impact of one that is not i may always be the latter and maybe that’s okay i am not in the mood to write flowery things (should i ever be?) i want to write gritty truths (though they don’t come out the way i want them to) i am not the first person anyone thinks of (oh well) i am not the resounding person anyone will remember (too much to ask?) i am not notable (in the ways that matter) i do not impact (in the ways i perhaps should)
Elizabeth Mau ‘18
I live in dreams John Dugan ‘18 I live in dreams Thoughts, memories I see in shapes and colors Not in the detail Chasing thoughts as they flutter by Living in dreams and creating Worlds and stories and people I wear concepts like a cloak I walk through ideas like a joke I make fun of thoughtless folk And I crumble When I see Those beyond me Those who live out of dreams And in their lives I crumble and break and crash and make A mess a wreck a tragic smashing Each different sad thought forever thrashing They wish to be brought from a world of dreams Of hypothetical and unconventional To a world where they can be A shattered form in reality A broken castle stands alone Made from wood, paper, foam A doll sits lonely on the floor Wanting nothing more Than to find a way to live out what they know From a world of dreams I live in dreams Not because I cannot deal with the real world But because I have forgotten how And with these thoughts hidden ‘neath my brow A rationale hides, wanting release Forever abiding by my nonsensical mind And with each step towards wasting time Nothing simply lives or breathes But breaks each breath to scar and grieve.
Marseille Paola Moreno ‘19
Sydney Gambelin â€˜21
Vices Nickhil Tekwani â€˜18
Sounds Just Great Julianne Glahn ‘21 I get to sleep in For ‘bout 45 minutes It may not seem like much But it sounds just great 45 minutes Of more resting in my bed Laying my own head On my pillow You know I love my sleep Love counting my sheep It may not seem like much But it sounds just great
Death(s) . . . and Life Jessica Hsu ‘21 We’ve all got those times When we’re so upset, So sad, so frustrated That we say we wanna die. When we feel like we’ve Disappointed every single person In this world that we start Hating. But there are others out there Fighting for their lives, Wishing they could just live Another day, another minute, Another second. Those who die Leave behind families, friends who Really care.
A son turns away from his dad Without saying goodbye, Without appreciating what he does, Not knowing that it’s the last time He’ll see him. As a car claims a life, Too late To say sorry, To say thank you. One death means Years of poverty. A mother toiling away into the night, Earning little money. Borrowing clothes. Shame. Embarrassment. At a hotel on the seventh Floor, a man calls another, Maybe his wife, Maybe his sister, Maybe his daughter. Telling her that if she’s struggling to Take one more breath, dial that three-digit number And he rushes down the unending Flight of emergency stairs, Not bothering to wait for the elevators. His face contorts in deep Fear. Fear of what happened, Of what will happen, As an ambulance sirens into the night, Death is fighting to take one more life.
On February 14th, a day of Love, when couples gave each other Roses, when children happily ate Heart-shaped chocolate, when people celebrated across The United States, death came in the form of a man. Hearts, Hearts that would soon stop beating. Red, The color of the blood on the ground. For that school, the sound of fire alarms, The sight of policemen, Bring back memories Of Death. Seventeen students left home. And never came back. One death. Seventeen deaths. It doesn’t matter how many Deaths there are. Because every one of them hurts, Every one of them matters. So never, ever think that You wanna die. Know that your life matters. Make your life matter. Don’t let yourself regret.
Chandelier Muse Sahit Kavukuntla â€˜20
Hannah Shinnerl â€˜18
Dear April Joanna Jain â€˜19 Dear April, more than once Have you fooled us with your lilac flowers dancing in the sun, Too often Have we spread our arms and tilted up our faces To meet your false blue skies, Too many times Have you dangled summerâ€™s jasmine blossoms Within our reach, Sweetly unfolded Rays of sunshine over bleak mountaintops To kiss our weary faces, Only to pull away And leave us cold and wet, Again.
Ballad of New York City Erika Kunzmann â€˜21 Mark woke up on a cool September day He lay next to his beautiful wife They started on their morning routine Oh such a beautiful life He walked down stairs to his fresh coffee Grabbed his brown shoes that were on the floor He realized it was 10 past 8 So he raced through the door He got to the trade center as quick as he could Shot up the elevator to floor 99 Took a deep breath as he sat in his desk But he wished he would have taken his time When his wife turned on the TV She raced to call Mark But the phone just kept ringing and ringing Until the voicemail fell into dark
New Beginning Nickhil Tekwani â€˜18 32
Thank You Cailey Larmore ‘20 I’m patient, but it’s wearing thin As my browser cannot load I’m so used to having everything one Google search away I was beginning to think I was entitled to live through today Until I read some bad news, but then put it away Desensitized to pain in others’ lives My parents didn’t raise me to be this way So why am I desensitized, sleep deprived Dragged through days, can barely survive?
Do you feel it? The pulse beating in the side streets, Haunting our TV screens, Pounding in my head as I speak Because there’s so much to do I should write this down soon I’m always short of precious time Caffeine fueled, needing that American Dream, right? One of my beloved elementary teachers told me That Santa Clara used to be all trees All fruit, all leaves, All orchard, all around Until the wildlife was severed from the ground But not on purpose! that’s just the way it evolved Besides, we need technology to solve All the problems Mother Earth alone couldn’t.
But thank you, Bay Area I love the great weather and food you provide Thank you Bay Area You give so many people better lives Thank you Bay Area You have taught me that to compete and succeed Are both worth achieving even as I bleed Thank You, Bay Area Who knew you could run on four hours of sleep Half of less than what I’m told I need? Thank you, Bay Area I am now incapable of having fun Because if I’m not productive, I do not fulfill my purpose.
Suddenly, the trees in rows Fell as glass and metal buildings arose The world interconnected, Infected by life contained in glass screens That too easily shatter, but still can’t hear the screams When the words are just inhuman pixels Instead of intimate, vulnerable whispers.
Thank you, Bay Area I know I sound mad And I guess I kind of am, but You’ve given me so much That I can never give back.
The generations before me wanted to provide More opportunities to enjoy a better life So they built up a world that lives in phones Where hearts reside instead of in homes I’m told it should be easy The world’s secrets are at my literal fingertips So why can I not work faster? Live faster? We are living at a faster rate Repeating senseless cycles every day Learning replaced by regurgitation of information Weekends swallowed by work instead of vacation.
Do you feel it? The drumbeat beating within your being As you rush to class during passing period That’s the heart of Silicon Valley— Always pressed for precious time Because you need that American Dream, right?
Shreya Gupta â€˜21
I Live in Writing Taytianna Leggett â€˜18 My fingers, my pencils, and pens My words are paper The sound in my voice holds my rhymes, my rhythms, my thoughts Until it flows through my fingers, my pen My steps are words Every word thought, said, or read Creating a wave of everlasting art My home is the silence I sit in thought Writing every word until I can think no more I sleep, consume, and breathe the rhymes in mind Waking up to the rhythm of beautiful expression Every tale of love and life All in my pen When this ink dries, I am left staring at my words, my thoughts All before me Showing me what I had done in my days, in my weeks, in my years So when my pen soon runs out of ink I will be left with a plethora of things I did not say I wrote, I brought to life
Nora Smith â€˜21
again Yasmine Lelaind ‘18 the gate between us never closed yet neither one of us ever stepped past its borders i wondered if our fingertips would touch again a blue moon brought the thought of you and i thought of our gate and i turned to touch the white picket but you were too far i wondered if the gate would close and i would have peace but it remained and you remained and still out of reach no—not out of reach but i was scared to extend my hand and maybe, you were too yet i would always return to our gate and you, just across it hoping to relearn the shape of your hands and the sound of your voice to be back in your aura Alone but Not Lonely Paola Moreno ‘19
one day i found myself in front of you face to face once again hands brushing white picket and a comfort in my bones yet i still could not touch your skin and i wondered if our fingertips would touch again
1234567890# Shriya Nandwani â€˜18 why do we let numbers define us grades weight followers on instagram money college ranking sports scoreboards. arenâ€™t we more than this what about our personalities our imaginations our voices our spirits our jokes our passions our love not everything can be measured by a number in fact nothing is in these numbers. absolutely nothing. you are more than this. because what you say counts even if its not in MLA format your backpack should not be as heavy as your heart believe me when i say this.
Starstuff Mia Lombardo ‘18 I want to trace your skin like the astronomer locating his stars or the cartographer drafting her map or even the sailor crossing choppy seas your freckles are nebulae your scars constellations every imperfection a sun; every flaw a galaxy I wish I could hold you close and remind you that you are starstuff and I could spend hours getting lost in your gravity I am caught in your orbit waiting impatiently for the quick, stolen moments when our paths will maybe/possibly/randomly spin around each other I’ve never needed a map or a compass; you are my north star my sirius, my orion, my lyra, my bear you are a supernova in physical form and I only wish I could burn with you
38 Hannah Chang ‘21
Cancer Jennifer McDonald â€˜20 My heart dropped like a bomb falling out of the sky. My mind raced like the timer about to hit zero. My thoughts exploded into a million pieces. Nothing was left When Little Boy hit Hiroshima, Just like how I lost myself, when I saw that you weren't there.
The Song of the Flowers Megan Paparotti â€˜21 To name them Flowers is not to describe The passion and beauty comes with their song Or the skip of the step with every stride The colors vibrant and golden belong To sway with their dance would be an honor Though no one has done it so elegantly As the call of their banner on water Taste salt and oxygen be definite Oh the silken crisp scent of their petals belong to us but always the heavens For yes, we do take them from the Meadows Because their sway will always be weapons Though sad, they will be our method of cope To ride the waves of dwindling hopes
Kai Gatlin â€˜21
in love with love Joanne Park ‘20 The words you say don’t matter anymore. Rather it’s the very act of spilling words out of your mouth Your delicate mind unable to hold on to the wealth So it splashes out and baptizes me with its genuine spirit Like you don’t need to think before you talk to me Because our minds are connected You know that nothing you say is wrong Because we are so right I’m in love But not with you The words you say don’t matter anymore. Sorry if I got your hopes up but I’ll never fall in love with a person People are too fragile, too temperamental, too wishy-washy But I’m in love with the thread that weaves the fabric of your existence I’m in love with love Enamored by attraction but never attracted Devoted to devotion but never to you It doesn’t have to be you that says those words I don’t see the face I see the intent I see the love I’m in love But not with you The words you say don’t matter anymore. Because when they left me I used to hold their words inside me as they expanded Until they poked through the flesh inside of me Rupturing my spirit and paralyzing my ability to love Every breath I took was just another needle With one wrong move I’d doomed myself to pain So I stopped breathing in the needles Eyes open, mouth closed I could distill out the love but not the person I can’t love anyone so I love love But I can’t write valentine’s cards to an idea So I say I’m in love with you.
Kaavya Narayan â€˜21
Still a Coy Woman Kajal Patel ‘19 Kind Sir, while your sweet words may fool Some hearts, their minds I ridicule. Had I loved at your lower rate, Fading beauty, I too would hate. So, my coyness remains until A man truly finds my heart’s will. Then, like two sweet songbirds of grace, Through the hardships of love, we chase Time, the sun and moon. Yet each night As we lose our pure youthful light, Our strength and sweetness will shower The sky. We do not fear Time, our Love will last longer than Time’s scars. It is in the sun, moon, and stars.
Elizabeth Mau ‘18 44
Kito Pang ‘21
Pseud Bailey Phoenix ‘20 why are you, you? you are silence— wary travelers are afraid of your quiet. you are a thunderstorm— loud and dangerous and unpredictable. you are a forest fire— burning out all life with red hot flames. but that is all for show. peel away your layers. tear the skin from the bones and expose you. you are actually just loud noise— scary sounds that can’t hurt. wait—you’re worse— you are the shattered photograph of the Mary Sue. you portray perfection but you are broken bones. a forlorn fiend that can never seem to keep a friend. a deficient deviant that uses throe to attract the masses— but only repels. how does it feel? desperately crawling, bawling, brawling to hold on? your mind is gone— and so are your friends. you’re a shell of what you want to be. can’t you see? you can’t flee from the truth— you are nothing. absolutely nothing. 45
Flaming Fondness Zachary Prazer â€˜21 She consistently can get you to smile With her radiant personality. I am consistently in delight while I'm in her fruitful hospitality. She is always so perfectly flawless No matter how she may appear or act. Her semblance is definitely priceless So gorgeous, it's hard to make eye contact. Her graceful eyes shine brighter than the sun And remind me of a warm, safe haven. Just a glance, and she will have my heart won And her presence will become my heaven. My love for her is like the immense fire that in my heart keeps on growing higher.
Santana Row Christanel Rios â€˜21
Jenna Mollerus ‘20
Minute Aileen Pulchny ‘19 The minute I cease to breathe Will be the minute all minds are free The minute I’m on my knees Will be the minute my world’s at ease And all matter will meld at the surface And all fingers will lock with a purpose Only then will I rest asleep With my wandering soul at ease The minute I’m with the breeze Will be the minute the world is seized In a triumph of wisdom found There’d be better balance as stable ground But until the minute is come The hours do slowly hum And I remain unrested, unwilling To leave the world untested, still spilling So don’t call my yearnings foul I attempt to break the crooked howl That slows the meager progress of time And know: the finishing minute is mine The minute you hear relief Will be the minute when Good is chief The minute there’s none to plead Will be the minute Wrong has no need
Love Swathi Ramaprasad â€˜18 I stand here waiting For you, while we fall behind As the world goes on
fuego Katherine Rejer â€˜18 The fire burns us let the flame stay ignited but have the scars fade
Summer Haiku Carolyn Richter â€˜18 A warm gradient Paints its colors in the sky As its rays descend
Carol Nome â€˜18
Paola Moreno ‘19
little kids are now grown-ups Christa Rios ‘21 let me go back to 2009. i was a little girl who loved to shine. i loved to laugh, explore, and play outside. my imaginations were a fun ride. in the summer, i would go to the park to blow bubbles, run around, and use chalk. that chalk i used expressed my works of art yes, indeed yes, i was lively by heart. at my home, i would sometimes watch cartoons and play games with mom and dad until noon. my sister and i made sweet or salty treats, these activities exhausted my feet. i would draw my creations on paper and hang them on the refrigerator. you see, i was happy and active. a few years passed. this all turned to plastic. now, technology entered children’s brains no more going outside? this is insane.
Classroom Gwendolyn Rogers ‘21 We sat in this classroom, sat straight and tall Yet all we want is to be accepted by all Why can’t we push past their control Sadly, a fire cannot burn without wood or coal 8-hour days, alarms push us out of bed Why can’t these problems get out of my head Homework, Sports, Family, too much to do, so little time So sadly, all I can do right now is write this little rhyme Pushed too much, but it’s a happy day Have the closest friends up till May Exams come quick, stress rolls in Finally summer, it’s over, no more sin Days back again Kids bored and wanting a ten The final year, the final stretch Reaching and running like they’re playing fetch
Alexis Bowcock ‘21
Elegy for my Grandmother Paige Rosckes ‘21 Her hair was curly, her smile was sweet. Her nails were painted, and her face was pretty. Her personality was special, and she always brought the heat. She was as bright as the sun, and her mind was witty. I remember one summer rafting down Sunriver. She made me laugh throughout that day till dinner. Her heart glittered like a piece of silver, And every time we were together, we all felt like winners. Her hair started falling out, The cancer cells within her started growing. She didn’t catch it soon enough, and the doctors had doubt That her uncontrolled growth of cells would start slowing. Everything went downhill from that day on, No one knew when she would leave her life. Months passed, and I was scared she would be gone. This awful disorder felt like a stab from a knife. My head was in pain that my Nana would be dead. This new fear came into me and caused me to be sick. I was still hoping her cells wouldn’t spread, But it was already stage 4, and this disaster buried in me like a tick. I cried the day my mom brought the news, That my Nana died that past night. I started to feel the funeral blues, And was devastated that I was late to my flight. Now as I reflect I learned important things. She taught me to knit, to clean my room, and to be sweet. I love her more than anything, happy she now has wings. God tells me that she still sings in a happy beat. Erica Cardozo ‘21
Ode to Cookies Paige Rosckes ‘21 They are so round and golden brown And baked with lots of flour The chocolate never makes me frown Because it tastes far from sour When the chocolate oozes out It’s so sugary and sweet It melts in your mouth Like a buttery treat The warmth and the crunch make me feel pleasant The craving taste with a cup of milk makes me ignore my grief Days are long and hard but this desert is a present Making these moments happy but brief These cookies are more than delicious It makes me feel on top of the world The non-nutritious facts make me more ambitious To conquer what has been unfurled Does it really matter what I eat? Or the feelings that I think? Does it really matter how I speak? Or if I have to dress prink? I say no to all of these obligations Because people’s ideas don’t matter And there is no need to complete these expectations That is why I care more about my batter I am thankful for the cookies that I bake Though I might have a belly by the end of today It’s so easy to succumb to this unhealthy bait But still I bake cookies so I can have a good day
Alexis Bowcock ‘21
The World and I Danielle Slaughter â€˜21 In a world filled with such belligerence, Where any forms of action were performed with diligence, I wish there was a world that did not care if I was different. That did not treat others and me with irreverence. But then a day came where my world was disarranged, And a light came into my life and everything had changed. You strode in like the sun on an early spring morning, And I stood by as you came without warning. You showed me what it was like to matter to someone, And you did not care about the misdeeds I had done. I had forgotten my world and grew fond of your affection, And instead gave you all of my love and my attention. My world was discarded and replaced with pleasure. For I had found a brighter world that I knew I must treasure. I thought I was content with the life I had lived before, But you became my world that I learned to adore.
Helen Deng â€˜21
anatomy Mariah Stanelle ‘18 You know it’s love When it hurts. Stick a knife in my heart Twist it, the blood Drips onto the floor And spells out your name. You know it’s love When it pumps through my body Every expression of your eyes I feel it in my bones. Blink, and my heart beats Cry, my legs go numb. So inexplicably intertwined Are your cells and mine.
Oh love, I wish I could soak up all the tears Into my skin. But I am only me And my shoulders are narrow I can only bear so much weight. If I could, I would lift you up Above it all And hold you there in the clouds Where the sun is good. Our tears evaporate, We smile and laugh forever But I am only me not a sun--I’m just a girl.
56 Innocence Nickhil Tekwani ‘18
Helen Deng ‘21
Happiness within Michaela Tallerico ‘21 Love for things can be found in what you choose Once you discover that it’s hard to lose By playing this game you will soon realize That there is a bigger ultimate prize Happiness comes from this in every way There’s nothing to say when you start to play There is no easy way to comprehend The joy you will find in the very end Winning may seem like the ultimate prize But you will always find a good surprise Through this sport you can mend your solemn times As long as you keep the ball in the lines Although there is a lot to take and learn You’ll find something greater that you will earn From this point on I think I’ve said enough Don’t let life mistreat you and be too rough
The Tides of Our Lives Ishir Vaidyanath ‘21 How is it--the nature of our lives? Isn’t it akin to the flowing tides? Always on time--how similar too that everything happens on cue. Fame and wealth are simply swept away, like water that quickly leaves the bay; leaving but just a shadow, a ghoul-as the tide does in a rocky pool. Perhaps we are all just set to be but tiny waves on the great big sea; ebbing and flowing slowly through time, hopefully, with some reason and rhyme.
Kito Pang ‘21
Waiting Emma Vane ‘21 Oh, how I impatiently long for the day When saying harsh, demeaning words isn’t cool When people don’t try to become popular by way Of being brutal and proud and heartless and cruel Oh, how I hope for the time when my blonde hair Does not make me another “ditzy airhead” When I can speak without a hint of despair Or without every whispered word being paired with dread Oh, how I wish for a future flourishing instance When I can spend quality time with a friend Without screens in their pocket making them distant Now that’s a world I can comprehend
Caution Priya Vasu â€˜19 share a world more than a game, an integral part of our lives into one happy simulation take away the sky kill time with asides look never reveal your true identity ~Found Poem From Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline
Nathan Chou â€˜21
The Horrors of Poetry Teja Veeramacheneni ‘18 Poetry is a pain to read through, Even harder to understand the meaning. No one knows what the author is saying, But now I’m supposed to write an essay. Poetry doesn’t open up my eyes; It just makes my life more complicated. Reading poetry kills me on the inside; I would rather write another essay. But who knows, Maybe this year will change me, And I will understand these poems. Or they may give me new outlooks, New ideas and new thoughts. Whatever it is, I hope I can reach the light at the end of the tunnel That poetry currently traps me in.
Kaavya Narayan ‘21
Ashton Jimenez ‘18
Jassen Yep ‘20
1. Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light (The migrant worker still in the fields, underpaid, overworked— America is not America to me) What so proudly we hailed, at the twilight’s last gleaming (The forgotten people — farmers, coal miners, and steelworkers — struggle to eke out a meager existence — The dream, the hope of America has failed) Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight (Our fellow citizens, neighbors, friends: the LGBT community that proudly faces discrimination — America seemed brighter from afar) O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming (Our countrymen, proud and brave, march overseas to orders cast by uncaring men many miles away — America isn’t what it seemed to be) And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air (The Dreamers, who face persecution by our government, who only seek to live in the country they know — America, a land I thought we all could share) Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there (Women, who seek equal pay, equal representation, and the right to choose — America, it’s time to do what is right) Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave — (And the schoolchildren, fearing for their lives, as a shooter goes on a rampage —) O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave (These people, who show pride in their faces — That, my friend, is what America means to me)
2. I rise before the sun, but somewhere in this world, someone has risen before me. I sing my heart’s delight, but somewhere, somewhere in this joyous earth, someone sings it more sweetly, more beautifully I write — a heartfelt poem, but somewhere, somewhere in this boundless land, someone, somewhere, writes a better one I celebrate — I celebrate myself, content that nowhere, nowhere in eternity, will someone be a better me (than me)
3. I am the withered bark, thousands of years old — look upon me, o puny humans, and despair! I have seen civilizations — Rome, Egypt, Babylon — from their early days to their last, dying moments — for I am no Ramses, no Caesar, unlike any temple ever built. I am but a silent tree, alone in the midst of nature’s fiercest storms — and mankind’s fiercer conquests — Yet, Shall a new storm come to pass I (once more) shall return to dust
Blooming Swirl Amelia Scharpf ‘21
Ethan Fusilero ‘19 The present never recognizes its reflection. Roisin Gilmore ‘21 Everyone deserves a pure eternal love. Priyal Patel ‘21 Open your eyes, see the truth. Christanel Rios ‘21 Your smile expresses more than words. Nickhil Tekwani ‘18 I despise my attempts at art. Ishir Vaidyanath ‘21 Self-driving car is chauffeuring an Android.
A Fear of Love By Natalia Buzo â€˜21 Love. Love is scary. To me, love is screaming at somebody because you care too much about them to see them fail. Love is watching them cry, but not caring or comforting them, because you're only trying to "help" them. Love is that thing where somebody cares more about you than themselves. Love is putting everything on the line for somebody else. Love is allowing somebody to control you for better or for worse. And that scares me. It scares me because what if one day they wake up and realize they don't love me anymore? What if they hadn't broken up with me? What if they don't have fun on the date? What if I did something different, would we still be together? Everything about love is a what if. Everything. Whether it be in the past, present, or future. And that is the cause of my fear, all the "what-if's.â€? The fact that I cannot be certain this one person will not break me worse than the one before. The fact that I can't always tell if they still love me. Better known as the side you don't see in the fairy tales, the hidden hideosity of it all. I also crave for the "happily ever after" side, and the affection that comes with it. The hand holding, kissing, cuddling, dates, the clear understanding of one another, the possibility of spending the rest of my life with somebody who understands me better than I understand
Phoebe Robeson â€˜21
What more do you want? By Nathalie Co â€˜18 He just wanted more and more from me, stripping me of everything I have for his pleasure, his happiness, but it was never enough for him. He never stopped looking for more, always looking for the next big score or the next person to swindle out of their money. If you go to his house, you see the most beautiful statues and the most astonishing works of art, and you wonder what more he wants. But that's the thing, all he wants is the desire to gain more things. His sole motivation is: what else can I get? What more can I get from this person before they run dry? His name is Greed, and no matter what you do, he'll never be satisfied. It's hard to avoid Greed. I mean, when you see his success and his desire to never stop innovating, you want to be him, so you let him into your life. Everything seems to go well, until you realize that Greed doesn't want to stop and bathe in his success; he just wants to keep reaching for that next pot of gold over the rainbow. I tried to get rid of him once, tried to cut off this toxic friendship and hang out with Contentedness instead, but you're not in control. He is. And when he's done with you, he
Hannah Cheng â€˜20
Plan to run away By Anna Krause ‘18 Tomorrow morning I will wake at dawn (tonight I’ll leave the curtain over my window drawn, so that the first light will illuminate every inch of the room and make sleep impossible). I will breathe once, twice, then my eyelids will gasp for air. I will sit up like a corpse being cremated. I will force warm feet senselessly onto hardwood floorboards gleaming with sharp, thin cold. My mind will begin to awaken, and this will make the goopy panic set like plaster. I will unzip my backpack, dump whatever is inside upon the floor, relishing the clunks of useless things, and stuff into the empty space clothes woven with memory, because even in my desire to run I am terrified of losing that which I leave behind. My mouth will be warm, heavy with the dust of sleep that will have settled over my tongue and gums through the night, but my throat will be trying to crawl outside of my body in cold, slimy terror. I will claw at trinkets with the desperate shaky hands of an Alzheimer’s patient and put a few of them into the small pocket of my backpack: a clay angel, smooth like a river stone from my watery touch, that my mother gave me, which says “I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU,” photo booth pictures and a Polaroid with faces rendered immobile by the thick, paralyzing honey of summer joy, pencils and pens and a blank notebook and my Reeves watercolor set, my wallet and identity card--that flimsy reminder that no matter how far and how fast I run I cannot escape myself. I will stare coldly into the eyes in the mirror, put on my father’s jacket that makes me feel invisible because it swallows me, and leave without closing the door behind me. The instant I feel unenclosed air I will let the bird out of its cage and focus my everything on pumping my legs fast enough to keep up with it, potential energy exploding irreversibly into kinetic. My lungs will thank me for awakening them with a gutscream, which will tie the bird and body back into one for a moment. At some point, I will reach a train station, cold and gray and marvelously symmetrical. The bird will gratefully take the opportunity to roost as autopilot buys me a ticket and boards and sways a bit as we ride. At some point, I will get off the train and be lost and have won.
Elizabeth Mau ‘18
Earphones By Katrina Manacio ‘20 The steady hums of any song can keep me away from reality. It’s fascinating how earphones are the equivalent of walls, blocking me out of the world and isolating my soul. My ears becomes trapped in a daze of lyrical beauty, yet my eyes still see everything. Oh, how I wish they couldn’t. They see the everyday passers, stuck in an endless cycle of routine. They see the happiest of people with their wide smiles and hearts full of dreams. They see the broken and lost, just wanting a glint of light to hold. They see beautiful relationships all bud, bloom, and even shrivel up to an ugly end. So many different people with their own unique stories and lives, yet they all blend into one category of gray: the others. My eyes want to reach out. It’s as if they’re screaming in a deafening tone, telling me to interact with these people whom I fail to get to know. To make connections and have meaningful conversations. To make memories that I can laugh and cry about. To finally stop being the observer. Yet, I can’t. My ears won’t let me. “Stay right here,” my music seemed to whisper to me. The soothing tones put me under a spell. The shackles of my heart are bound to this enchantment like a helpless slave. The bliss of my ears trump the longings of my eyes. “You don’t need anything else but this.”
Mia Melo ‘20 The Perspective of Music
So, I keep my earphones in. I lead my life as a detached observer. And I helplessly view reality as divided in two: me versus the entire world.
Archbishop Mitty Literary Magazine
Moderator Kevin Brazelton Proofreader Janelle Kroenung Administrator Keith Mathews Editors Nichole Lim Mia Lombardo Sophia Scott Stephanie Jue Emily OrdoĂąez Aneri Bhatt Isabel Newcomb Taytianna Leggett Elizabeth Mau Rachel Min Paola Moreno Julia Pratt Maureen Mailhot Joanne Park
The Muse Edition 04.02