Tapestry 2014

TAPESTRY 2014 ARCHMERE ACADEMY’S LITERARY AND FINE ARTS MAGAZINE

Archmere Academy 3600 Philadelphia Pike Claymont, Delaware 19703 302-798-6632 www.archmereacademy.com

Luke in the Sky Cara Nedbalski ‘14

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TAPESTRY 2014 TABLE OF CONTENTS Two Faces, digital photograph, Alexandra Cassidy ‘14 ............................ front cover Luke in the Sky, digital photograph, Cara Nedbalski ’14 ........................................ 2 Snowy Bridge, digital photograph, Lilly Coogan ’16 ............................................. 4 Those Winter Weeknights, Jordan Aulen ’14 ......................................................... 5 I leave serenity for shelter, Stephanie Copeland ’14 ................................................ 5 Holden Caulfield, Mel Madarang ’15 ................................................................... 6 An Ode to My Research Paper, N’dea Yancey-Bragg ’14 .......................................... 6 Watercolor, Gina Messick ’14 ................................................................................ 7 Car ride, Kerry Ringiewicz ’14 .............................................................................. 8 Wildflowers, Ms. Jillian Waldman ......................................................................... 8 Digital photograph, Olivia Arasim ’14 .................................................................. 9 Dual Nature, digital media, Cierrah Doran ’14 ................................................... 10 The Palace of Versaillles, October 15, 1793, Jacqueline Sinnot ’14 ...................... 11 Ambivalence, Mel Madarang ’15 ........................................................................ 12 London Bridge, digital photograph, Lauren Healy ’14 ......................................... 13 The F Word: A Satire, N’dea Yancey-Bragg ’14 .................................................... 14 I loved it here, Mel Madarang ’15 ....................................................................... 16 Rock Writings, digital photograph, Caroline Rath ’14 ........................................ 17 Circles, digital media, Matt McNeil ‘14 .............................................................. 18 Boo, N’dea Yancey-Bragg ’14 .............................................................................. 19 Bones, Anna South ’15 ....................................................................................... 20 Sacred Cow, digital photograph, Avery Jamison ’14 ............................................. 21 Projected 3D sculpture, Luke Spoehr ’14 ............................................................. 22 Plasma, Ms. Jillian Waldman .............................................................................. 23 Digital photograph, Olivia Arasim ’14 ................................................... back cover

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Snowy Bridge Lilly Coogan ‘16

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Those Winter Weeknights Based on Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays” On still winter weeknights I rested in front of a noisy computer screen, the fruitless feuds of my mother and sister piercing my chilly ears. I turned my volume up.

I’d restlessly rise and creep towards the sound of their meaningless disputes.

The floor creaked in pain as I sauntered towards their yells, and as I approached the battleground, my sister threw a defensive howl That slit my mothers feelings, Leaving her helpless against the vicious warrior she once held in her arms, I helplessly stood frozen and witnessed the Civil War that I never found an olive branch with which to mend.

What could I have done, what could I have done to sew together the tattered bond of a mother and her child?

Jordan Aulen ‘14

I leave serenity for shelter It is getting dark.

Enough so that the trees are merely shadows.

The snow no longer white is tinged a deep cerulean.

Silence has fallen.

No jays cry in remonstration, and footsteps are muffled.

Cold seeps its way into fingers and toes Like water filling cracks in stone.

Stephanie Copeland ‘14

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Holden Caulfield Tell me where the ducks go when it’s cold and Sing me a verse from “Comin’ Thro’ the Rye” We’ll hate most people, young and old, We’ll hate their phoniness and their lies.

Eventually I did one of the things you scorned most By moving to the City of Angels to sell my soul My name became known from coast to coast Your feelings for me grew sour and cold.

Stop your loathing towards a fake like me and Focus your attention onto those with pure heart and mind Save them from the perils of growing up and greed Save them and their innocence, “Catcher in the Rye.” Mel Madarang ‘15

An Ode to My Research Paper I should be writing my research rough draft; There’s only so much Netflix I can watch; Due date’s next week, I’ve got a paragraph, But, as always, Klinge expects topnotch.

William Butler Yeats is turning in his grave, “Byzantium” (Yeats 9) is Greek to me.

I’ll need a C to save my AP grade; Nothing I wrote is true? Apparently.

I’ll buckle down and force myself to look; Ignore homework in every other class, I’ll bury my nose in a reference book.

Second semester senior, the end at last.

O, Research Paper! my heart goes out to you, I write this ode for my Paper is due.

N’dea Yancey-Bragg ‘14

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Gina Messick ‘14

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Car ride the purring of the engine hot and hum of the tires on the road nestled and aware in the front seat and Wyoming winds that roar and moan or Ohio hills to take passage through or over the wide Mississippi gate All of this I could long endure All of this I could never hate and though closed quarters would get to others and have them crying for escape the Road goes on enticingly around the corner who knows where Not I, Not I. Kerry Ringiewicz ‘14

Wildflowers To love without suffering, where once you wept broken is to walk barefoot through fields of glass, because now the wilderness has taken over, where once there were walls, and windows.

Wildflowers grow here, sparkling between the shards, and trusting, you pluck a garland, constantly surprised to be still unharmed.

But even the flowers have no thorns.

Ms. Jillian Waldman

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Olivia Arasim ‘14

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Dual Nature

Cierrah Doran ‘14

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The Palace of Versailles, October 15, 1793 (After Thomas Lux’s “A Man Takes his Daughter, Age 5, to a Public Execution by Guillotine, Paris 1857) My Queen, it’s time says the first femme de chamber as she presents the loosely assembled pages.

Searching through the mass of patterns and fabrics, I pin my choices for the day.

The presentations begin and when the baron fetches the champagne, it’s just enough time to slip away.

I scurry through the hall of mirrors until I reach the green landscape of sculpted hedges, blazing marigolds, and spewing fountains.

I ponder the secrets in silence and it’s almost as if I can hear the clock ticking in my ear.

My Queen, it’s time I hear a voice call out.

The party starts, the party ends, And it’s time for bed.

I toss and turn through the night.

I realize this too, is what they’ll tell me before the guillotine comes down.

Jacqueline Sinnot ‘14

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Ambivalence The lights and glamour dazzled me Tempted me into taking a bite out of the Big Apple I fell into sin and trickery The lifestyle was now my religion and the city my chapel.

Most things I had admired from the outside became distorted Endless cycles of working, winning, and weeping Enduring the suffocation of an influx of myriads of people Eventually acknowledging how truly lonely I am What ever happened to the beauty that enticed me?

She turned into a concrete jungle of polluted streets, Suffering vagabonds, grim faces, careless and manipulative people, Smells of food vendors clashing with the odors from sewages, and Sirens that tolled for criminals and victims.

Despite the cons and notoriety I still think of all the aspects that aren’t vile From El Nuevo Bohio to Central Park to the Statue of Liberty I think to myself, “I could stay here for a little while.”

Mel Madarang ‘15

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London Bridge Lauren Healy ‘14

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The F Word: A Satire

Women, am I right fellas? Can’t live with em, can’t possibly hope to continue the human race without em. All this equality nonsense started off simple, but because they were women it obviously didn’t stay that way. In the 1920s, they wanted the vote, and we, so chivalrous yet so naïve, appeased them. In the early 1960s after we learned that appeasement never works in World War II, the second wave of—dare I say it?—feminism hit, and this time they wanted jobs. They expected us to just uproot the entire patriarchal system, again; a system, I’ll have you know, which has been keeping our society afloat by effectively oppressing women’s most basic human rights for hundreds of years. This is, of course, a prime example of women being prone to the dramatic.

But hey, why shouldn’t they work? In my opinion it’s about high time they did something other than just sitting around at home, cooking, cleaning, and raising the entire next generation alone while slowly being stripped of their own economic independence and social equality. Women ought to make some sort of real contribution to the economy if they can find time between their busy schedules of making sandwiches and reading Cosmo. But of course, we had to be realistic.

They had little to no experience in the workplace, there was our own job security to consider, and besides now they’d be splitting their time between motherhood, their biological obligation, and “working,” so we couldn’t just give them equal pay. After careful consideration and a complicated algorithm that is way over women’s heads, we awarded them 77 cents for every man’s dollar, but for some reason they weren’t satisfied. They just kept on nagging.

If these feminists were really interested in the advancement and empowerment of women they’d advocate for a return to the traditional values of the good old days when women were considered property. Think about it, because they’d barely be allowed to leave the house, save for grocery shopping and brunch with the neighbors, women would never have to work to support themselves or even be able to do so, they could spend all of their time with the kids they’d be expected to have, and they’d never have to worry about street harassment because men would respect the carefully laid boundaries of ownership over female bodies by their husbands or fathers. Women would have all the social struggles of the dining room tables they would so meticulously set every night!

I mean seriously girls, it’s 2014. Men conceded the battle over sexism years ago, and somehow you ladies are still talking about it. The 19th amendment was passed by the government, which you ladies can now vote for lest you forget, and women got what they wanted the way they always do with enough pouting. 17% of our legislative branch today is even comprised of women, what more could you want? If for whatever reasons you don’t believe that a 17% minority, with a whopping 4.5% being women of color, can accurately reflect the needs of about 50% of our population, think again! Keep in mind that once a month you ladies tend to get incredibly emotional and unpredictable, and those qualities are simply not suited for politicians (see: the heated Congressional confrontation over budget, dominated by men, which led to a 17 day shutdown of the American federal government in 2013 authorized by President Obama, also a man).

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Now that you’ve got political equality, there’s simply nothing left for you all to complain about. We’re never going to be able to legislate our way into social equality without infringing upon men’s first amendment right to be sexist pigs.

After all there’s no law that says men you’ve never met before can’t try to pay you a “compliment” on the street and make you feel uncomfortable at the very least and downright terrified for your safety at the worst. The occasional rape joke which can lead to minor instances of sexual harassment which can lead to the violation of both your most basic human rights and the dignity of your very personhood which is often discredited and ignored by our justice system do not a systemic injustice make. Lighten up, ladies! Since your primary function is childbearing anyway it just makes sense that your bodies should be put on display for the entertainment of men. Empowerment via objectification!

But toe the line carefully, ladies, while you are allowed to be objects for men’s entertainment you cannot take charge of your own sexuality. That’s just downright immoral. An extra inch on your hemline can make the difference between being labeled a saint or a sinner. Appearances are everything, but don’t be vain. Your best bet is to follow the basic dress code set down by us menfolk and give in to the widespread belief that your fashion choices reflect your moral values and character and that beauty is the ultimate goal for women. The fact that this helps reaffirm your status as second class citizens dependent on men for strict and often contradictory behavioral guidelines is just a bonus. There’s no amendment that frees you from social scrutiny when you attempt to take complete ownership over your body. And there probably never will be.

So guys, let’s start a movement, let’s change hearts and minds. Do your wives, girlfriends, mothers, sisters, and friends a favor and spread the word that sexism is dead and feminism is next.

N’dea Yancey-Bragg ‘14

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I loved it here He brought me to the End of Route 66 Bliss filled the air and the days were longer I glowed as the sun kissed me The ocean was crisp, always coming back to greet me.

I wandered across warm, soft Sand and stood before the pier My playground.

He told me I could enjoy everything Here but with one exception I could stay Here, but could not go There; There had dreamers and failures Struggling people who wanted it all but only received infamy and misfortune.

He told me to obey to not fall for the beautiful and corrupt There And I listened.

You approached me Gentle, handsome You persuaded me so effortlessly Your words were sung Hypnotizing me with Your music And I followed You There.

He discovered immediately My transgression I asked to come back Here apologized, implored, lamented He refused to listen and I was punished.

I am now Somewhere There’s weeping and gnashing of teeth Faster days and people toiling relentlessly Hardened hearts and no contentment.

Mel Madarang ‘15

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Rock Writings Caroline Rath ‘14

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Circles

Matt McNeil ‘14

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Boo Do you believe in ghosts?

Surely you must choke on that mausoleum musk that lingers over family photo albums that are almost never touched.

Counterfeit recollections of people you cannot name buried in little cabinet graves; the living, breathing stories of the dead or dying, are you even listening?

Do you feel those chills that no draft brings?

Many Winters leave legions of looming skeletons to be revived by Springs sprouting flowers on still living limbs, yet you ignore your creeping want for the poltergeists in voicemails you won’t delete, in the rattle of your baby teeth; Caches of memories still leaching feeling, surely you too must believe?

Do you hear those eerie creaks, those Jesus, what was thats?

Surely all hotels are haunted by the ghosts of guests still living between the sheets.

Memories harvested from the lush lands of grand towers of copycat rooms, bigger, better, and sandwiched between Starbucks and strip clubs, vanish in face of the everyday haze. Can’t your ghosts feel you forgetting?

Have you ever woken to blooming, purplish bruises you could not explain?

I am sure that in the quietus of memorabilia our memories still live, And from their graveyards, our ghosts demand commemoration.

Nevertheless, we banish them to the very fringes of our lives; we fail and we forget.

And while our life imitates their art, we clumsily ignore their hindsight.

N’dea Yancey-Bragg ‘14

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Bones Covered in skin.

Bones covered in skin and blood and muscle, sitting in desks and milling around from class to class.

Pressing keys, skeletal spider-webs typing stories amassed in the infinite dust of online spaces, finding crevices to collect into forgotten piles.

Covered in cells.

Bones covered in cells and dust and miniscule germs that coat and float and pass from breath to breath, hand to eyes, mouth to mouth.

Attacking bones by invisible ambush.

Invisible.

The germs – the bones – or the words?

Built from the dead.

Bones built from the living and decaying, the recycled dirt that comes from earlier bones and the crust of trees, dust of the universe.

The world is huge, filled with mountains and mountains of bones.

Hello, tiny skeleton.

Anna South ‘15

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Sacred Cow

Avery Jamison ‘14

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Luke Spoehr ‘14

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Plasma You get to choose your fate.

It’s hard work.

You have to push and tug, feeling the scraping of iron against rock, hearing its high gravelly grinding.

Until in the thick of struggle, click, the compass makes a quarter-turn, the fields align.

You’ve struck potential well.

You vibrate with sudden harmony, damping against this new equilibrium.

You barely have time to wonder, is it stable?

Your souls keep time, Locked into the immanent roller coaster, you let the field carry you, soaring in Van Allen arcs, glowing through swooping plasma, new colors, new space, new light, light like you’ve never seen before.

Learn physics with your viscera, riding the solar whirlwind, till it carries you through some kind of destiny.

Ms. Jillian Waldman

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TAPESTRY 2014 Editor N’dea Yancey-Bragg ‘14

Editorial Staff

Zoe Akoto ‘17 Mel Madarang ‘15 Katie Maurer ‘15 Maggie Maurer ‘15

Faculty Advisor Mr. Stephen Klinge

Art Advisor Ms. Jody Hoffman

Thank You Asunta Rossi ‘14 Ms. Cheryl Catherwood Mr. Terry Newitt Mr. Robert Nowaczyk Mr. John Jordan and the Creative Writing Class Mr. Joseph Marinelli ...and everyone who submitted work to Tapestry!

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