muse
The Literary-Art Magazine of Allendale Columbia School
“For though women and men may have sorrow and grief in their hearts, yet when the servant of the Muses sings, at once they forget their dark thoughts and remember not their troubles. Such is the holy gift of the Muses to humankind.”
Hesiod
Volume XL
June 2016
Table of Contents
Excerpt from “The Leap, the Fog, and the Climb” - Ryan Chapados ’20
“Pounding Across the Plains” - Rachael Massey ’24
Aidan Wun ’22, Colored Pencil
“Sun and Moon” - Lila Hwang ’24
“Trees” - Claudia Goldie ’24
Jackie Casira ’15, Watercolor
“Crossroads” - Dita Munzova ’15
“My Sweater” - Carly Baker ’15
“Mother’s Love” - Caitlin Vella ’24
“A Snowy Sunday” - Ruixin Liu (Lareina) ’15
Alyssa Broberg ’16, Digital Photography
“My Favorite Place” - Catherine Bartlett ’16
Brian Winn ’15, Oil Pastel
“Garbage Disposal” - Thomas Barbato ’24
Jack Wheeler ’21, Paper Maché
“Walruses” - James Morrell ’19
The Puppet Master - Kennedy Robinson ’18
“Oh Remember” - Yasmine Kangbeya ’17
“You’re Never Ready” - Heather Barber ’15
Ben Smoker ’20, Mixed Media
“Song with Apollo” - Nathaniel Yax ’18
Ana Granat ’19, Mixed Media
“Cold” - Quinn Johnson ’17
“Composing with Sarasvati” - Anastasia Treat ’18
Laurie King ’16, Scanography
Victor van den Noort ’29, Mixed Media
“My Journal” - Emily Paszko ’15
“Jungle Magic” - Sage Melcher ’15
“Ode to Mirrors” - Catherine Bartlett ’24
“Anaconda” - Brayden Burke ’24
Misha Zain ’19, Mixed Media
“Who Am I?” - Fateemah Saleem ’16
“Painting with Buddha” - Alyssa Lewis ’18
Adam Awad ’25, Mixed Media
“Winter Kiss” - Juliana Bruno ’17
“Beauty Defined” - Megan Cooper ’17
Matthew Duver ’20, Digital Photography
Excerpts from “Pathfinder Polar Bear” - Elizabeth Cotter ’20
“Pillow” - Alexander Carioty ’16
Tobin Brooks ’29, Watercolor
“The Hat” - Gabrielle Monti ’16
Haley Ewing ’15, Digital Photography
Phelan Conheady ’17, Digital Photography
“New York City” - Anne Pinkney ’16
“Who I Am” - Jiajin Zhao (Lincoln) ’15
“Les Clés” - Madelon Queenan ’17
Bennett Lisi ’26, Oil Pastel
“Love” - Natori Flowers ’17
Untitled - Molly Coleman ’16
“Permanence” - Olivia Bono ’16
Kathryn Bjorklund ’16, Collage
“The Secret Place” - Alivia Martin ’17
“World Erased” - Alexander Franklin ’18
Anne Pinkney ’16, Film Photography
Abigail Lindsey ’15, Digital Photography
“Hometown Roots” - Dita Munzova ’15
“Potatoes” - Nathaniel Pifer ’19
“Eagle” - Lola Wilmont ’22
Cameron Perry & Caden Kacprzynski ’20, Sculpture
“Circling Life” - Isabella Dandrea ’22
Jonathan Ragan ’22, Mixed Media
“Scars: My Brow” - Lennon Green ’18
“Moth” - Caroline Goldie ’22
Siena Ardizzone ’25, Mixed Media
“The Boy Who Lives in a Puddle” - Alexander Carioty ’16
“Painting with NuWa” - James Bourtis ’18
Excerpt from “Golden Memories and Painted Leaves” - Riley Leibeck ’20
Jake Dockum ’20, Digital Photography
“Hiking with Hanuman” - Aditi Seshadri ’18
Zachary Faulkner ’29, Painting
“Blue and Green” - Heather Barber ’15
Gwendolyn Bains ’25, Mixed Media
Bastien Combe ’27, Mixed Media
“Teardrop” - Abigail Lindsey ’15
“My Cyclops” - Claire Lustig ’22
“Peconic Bay” - Kathryn Bjorklund ’16
“Hide and Seek” - Aidan Wun ’22
“My Sister’s Driving Test” - Jonathan Ragan ’22
“Sibling” - Gianna DeRosa ’22
Abigail Lindsey ’15, Digital Photography
“Seagull” - Reese Child ’22
“Teaching Hebrews 9:22 Without I John 1:7 Has Only Made This Sand Black” - Lawrence Rowlands ’15
“Owl” - Emma Phelps ’22
“Bishop” - Jocelyn Winn ’22
“The Shadows” - Emily Atieh ’18
Lulu Sheng ’15, Drawing
“Chipmunk” - Sophie Diehl ’22
This year’s edition of MUSE is dedicated to
Mrs. Lisa Barnes
The editors and staff are delighted to honor Mrs. Barnes with this year’s edition of MUSE. In her 29 years in the music department at Allendale Columbia, Mrs. Barnes has inspired her students to explore their musical potential and discover the joy of singing. Whether she’s teaching Chorus, Vocal Jazz, Girls Ensemble, or just giving lessons, everything she does impacts the AC community. We will all miss her and wish her well in her retirement!
“I AM... two of the most powerful words; for what you put after them shapes your reality.”
- Bevan Lee
The editors and staff have picked “Identity” as the theme for this year’s edition of MUSE. School is about not only learning important concepts and skills, but also about discovering one’s sense of self and individuality. This important principle is so often displayed through creative media such as visual art and writing, and is therefore a fitting theme for a publication dedicated entirely to creative expression.The MUSE staff recognizes that some pieces are more ambiguous and may not fall under the theme completely, and we appreciate this aspect of art and literature. We would not like to restrict each piece to our theme, but rather allow the pieces to guide this theme into a beautiful form.
identity
“So,
I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of the. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there.”
- Stephen Chbosky
Rising
The furious fire swallows you, Burning, eroding, breaking you apart. The dense smoke surrounds you, Choking, fighting, rising from the ground. Your cloak fades away with ash, But your sight is fixed. You are never born to be the king, But you are destined to be the survivor. The dark green feather becomes your armour, Protecting you from that lethal flame. The black burn mark becomes your souvenir, Memorizing your past, Leading to the future. Chasing the sky, Your soul is untouchable. Breaking through, That is your new life.
Jiaxuan “Grace” Guo, ‘16
Rebecca DeCarlo ’16, Watercolor
Caleb duPlessis ’16, Digital Photography
Maze Unbearable. Mysterious. Irritating.
Thousands of thoughts stuck in a mind.
All are tangled together. One has been solved, but the other has become problematic. One has gone out of the mind, and the other has come into a maze.
All are trapped in one circle. When one finds a way to exit, the other finds it hard. One rushes into a wall, but it is circular and unbreakable.
Neither darkness nor brightness has been found. The thoughts all become one. The thoughts slowly calm down. They fit into each other’s pieces of a puzzle. And they form one big picture.
The thoughts are united. The mind becomes bearable and quiet.
Soo Min Lee, ‘16
Aaron Kalvitis ’19, Watercolor
Unknown Reality
The tree line reflects off of the glassy lake, Mother Nature’s mirror, stretching for miles. In the low light of the early morning, the trees appear as a silhouette, quite dissimilar to the scarlet leaves of mid September. The mist mixes with the low hanging fog, lingering in the sky like an unpaid loan. The water has tiny ripples spreading across the entire lake, drifting with the wind. The occasional loon wails an ominous cry, echoing off of the trees, piercing a hole in the silence of the wilderness. I look hard trying to see a moose, but the scenery is as still as a high resolution photograph.
As the clouds near, the sun starts to appear, only to continue its journey west. As the light starts to die down, the sky acquires stunning hues of indigo and pink. The dark lake reflects the sky, slightly blurred from the current. The trees appear black again, creating a fine line between the chimerical sky, and our reality. As the sun sinks, the colors of the sky change. From orange to pink, purple to blue. The layers of light mixed with debris in the air slowly recede, one by one. The sun, now just a dim spot above the trees, is slowly sinking away into the deep void of night.
Garrett Wilson, ‘22
The Twinkle in Mother Nature’s Eye
I wake up early- not quite at the crack of dawn, but when there is a gaping hole in the clouds, opening up to the blue sky. The lake is still and silent; only a ripple is dancing across the serene water. I picture the wind dipping just his big toe into the lake- not jumping in today. As the sun rises more and more, I can watch it kiss the tips of the trees awakening them from their slumber. They are already turning from lime greens to magentas, pumpkin oranges, and sunshine yellows. I look up at the sky, and instantly I remember the night away from the island.
That evening, I had gone to the edge of the peninsula and to watch the stars, millions of miles away, sparkle and glow like the twinkle in Mother Nature’s eye. All I could do is stare in awe of those little flaming lanterns. It was like I was gazing at a giant, blue table all day when suddenly, someone throws a deep, dark pomegranate veil over the surface. Then, a child sprinkles little tiny grains of sugar all over the veil, until it was covered with beautiful crystallized particles. As I watched the Angels of the sky sit on their shining thrones, I wished night looked like this back home. If it did, I would go outside every evening and gaze up at the night sky’s diamonds.
Before I know it, the last day in Algonquin has come. I savor the last morning, knowing I will remember the chill in the air, the colors of the leaves, the serene lake, and the stars at night. I am sure that I will return to Algonquin, as sure as I am that the stars will come out to twinkle in the vast sky again.
Grace Rundberg,
‘21
Mackenzie DeCory ’16, Acrylic Paint
My Talk With Death
“Don’t be afraid,” said a voice cloaked in blackness
As his bony hand reached towards a rose bush A being ravaged by his loneliness
Holding up a now dead flower
A skull stared at me through the dim forest
His scythe glistened in the fog-filled landscape And a voice with a sad tone “I’m sorry” Miserable in his black cape
“I am sorry for all the pain I cause I am sorry for all the lives I take Please don’t fear me when I knock on your door And don’t punish me for God’s mistakes
And please don’t confuse the end with evil And please don’t confuse death with the end And please for me could you remember That we had this conversation”
He tossed his rose at my feet And as I bent over To pick up the flower He disappeared into the darkness
Jean-Paul Klem, ‘19
Freddie ’26, Mixed Media
Wrath
Has the horrific taste of bloodied lips Run across the tip of your tongue?
White blinding rage in mind and body, With anger sweating straight through your skin. Eyes pierce those of the deserving sacrifice Had it been someone else, they’d agree; Wrath wouldn’t torment the loving, or innocent.
Molly Coleman, ‘16
Pride is a sin that never ends. For none can ever stay truly humble. They seek for attention hoping for more. In the end, they find no galore. Hoping for one to see their status, Belittling others who are trying to manage. The sinners laugh holding their artificial riches. Not acknowledging that they are the liars. They try to hurt the ones who seek, And never stoop low for the weak.
Ahad Ajaz, ‘17
Roxy Reisch ’20, Digital Photo
Pride
Envy
I can feel the jealousy and rage This is what I want, right there But I can’t have what I want This is an unquenchable desire, it hurts I’ve felt this before, this same pain When you want something you can’t have If only you could throw away dreams
Alena
Ragan, ‘16
Greed
I will never be the same again It has taken its toll over me I can’t help but to want more Everything should be mine, I deserve it It’s not enough, nothing ever is Greed is only thing I see There’s nothing wrong with wanting more, right?
Natori
Flowers, ‘17
Gee Monti ’16, Ceramic
Shivering
Freezing. I had so many layers on at once I looked as if I was a hippo forced into a human outfit. The chill from the night woke me at once. All I could think of was how my family in Rochester was boiling in our home.
As I walked out of my tent to the cold morning breeze, I gazed to the other island across the lake; the trees looked so majestic in the fog. The fog slowly faded in the distance covering the trees like clouds to the sky. As the trees mirrored the lake it reminded me of a beautiful painting I once saw years ago.
Waking up early I heard the loons; their sound was obnoxious, loud, bothersome, and deafening. I’ve never heard a loon in my whole life until that moment but if you listened long enough you would go deaf in an instant.
As the cold sent a shiver through my entire body I headed for my tent. I heard the polar bear swim bell ring and realized that people were actually heading down to go swim. The water was a deep ice blue. Just looking at the water made me turn into a popsicle. I imagined what the fire that would be burning bright would look like. The crackling noise, the smell of campfire, the sparks from the fire. That thought made me smile.
Alicia Shrader, ‘21
Alivia Martin ’17, Digital Photo
Gee Monti ’16, Acrylic Paint
Baseball
A baseball whistled through the air. The batter dug his cleats into the ground. Then he stepped forward and slammed the ball into the sky. He instantly took off. When the ball started to drop back down, he was at first base. A few moments later, he was at second base. The baseball dropped back down like a bird shot with a high-powered rifle. As an outfielder came in close proximity of the ball, the batter slid past third base. The outfielder picked up the ball and immediately lobbed it to homebase like it was fired from a potato cannon. The batter rushed within five feet of home base. Suddenly the man hit a small rock embedded in the field. The ground rushed up to kiss him, and he fell face-first into the orange dirt. The ball finished its flight to home base. The defense caught the ball on the base. Then, with the tweet of a whistle, the last inning ended. The batter picked himself up from the ground, slowly shaking his head in disbelief, then hanging his head as he trudged to shake hands with the opposing team.
Sam Li, ‘20
This poem is a combination of voices. Along with their own voices, this class combined language from “The Song of Solomon” in the King James Bible and Toni Morison’s novel Song of Solomon to create a poem.
They made me keeper of the vineyards, But my own vineyard I have not kept. Yet my diligence has brought me a keeper of my own. Lots of people were interested in whether I lived or died, but he cared.
My soul failed when he spake. Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth. For thy love is better than wine, Drink abundantly, O beloved. The sun hath looked upon me In the day of the gladness of his heart, He seems to be floating, more alive than ever before.
I sought him who my soul loveth By night on my bed.
I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had withdrawn himself and was gone. I sought him but I found him not; I called him but her gave me no answer, Milkman refused to look.
She could not get his love, so she settled for his fear. A bundle of myrrh is her well-beloved unto she As jealousy is as cruel as the grave. O, the graveyard love she sings, The song of songs, which is Solomon’s.
Yuxi “Ivy” Chen ‘17, Manqing “Mandy” Peng ‘17, Haoxuan “Chloe” Gong ‘17, Sam Bilinski ‘16, Allyssa Marino ‘16, Camille Dixon ‘16, Sami Sacks ‘16, Alex Carioty ‘16
My Dream
In my dream, I become a crane. I go everywhere I like, Travel around, See all kinds of natural views, And watch people’s lives. Someone laughs, Someone cries, Someone loves, Someone hates. I see people protect each other, And people hurt each other. But none of those has anything to do with me. I am a crane. I have sky, I have the world. Everywhere can become my home. I find a branch, And fall into sleep. In my dream, I become a human.
I wake up. Get dressed in 15 minutes, Take a yellow tank to school, Stay in a room for an hour, Then go to another room for the next hour. I get angry about trivial things, Happy for a number or a letter on the paper, At three o’clock, Go back home. Watch tv, Do homework, Sleep. In my dream, I become a crane.
Do I dream of becoming a crane? Or do cranes dream of becoming me?
Yuming Ma, ‘16
Jiaxuan “Grace” Guo ’16, Digital Illustration
Caitlin Vella ’24, HDR Photo
Good Morning
The silence is infinite
Every shift I make, everytime I set my mug down
It sounds out like a gunshot
Outside my window is as still as a photograph
The blades of grass frozen in time by the morning frost
Not a creative in sight
It’s easy to believe that I am the only one on the planet
And the experience is both humbling and horrifying I am an observer of the wonders of the world around me
And yet isolated from it
A mere witness
Alone
A chill seeps in through my thin pajamas
And I feel more alive than I ever have I could not tell you why I am awake
Or why I left my bed at this hour
My mind, like the world, has slown down to a standstill
This one moment lasting forever
Everything is crisp, clear, and simple
My worries shoved into the background and blurred out
And I am suddenly ok with my lack of direction, of purpose
Then the sun breaks and a bird chirps; the moment is over
The film reel begins to spin
The earth turning once again
And I am left to breathe in the beauty of the morning
Ryann Greene, ‘17
The
Hiding behind a shelf,
People still see her as a little, quiet elf. She doesn’t enjoy being by herself everyday, But staying in this place makes everything okay. Books are the only things that help her Become the person people don’t see. She lives for the books she reads, In her, they plant a seed. No one ever wonders who she is.
The girl behind a shelf, whose head is constantly in a book, Is me.
Girl
Natori Flowers, ‘17
Alena Ragan ’16, Digital Photo
Berries
Sweet seasonal fruit
I’m craving for more berries
Mouth so satisfied
Logan Canfield, ‘24
Berries
Sweet seasonal fruit
I’m craving for more berries
Mouth so satisfied
Logan Canfield, ‘24
Roots
Transporting water
Trees require roots to exist
Roots hold us steady
Brayden Burke, ‘24
Roots
Transporting water
Trees require roots to exist
Roots hold us steady
Brayden Burke, ‘24
Ariana Guo ’17, Watercolor
Ode to a Pair of Shoes
You were with me when I walked home
On a cold, snowy day When I wanted to be alone And you were there to stay
You were there on the rainy days
The happy, and the sad
Regardless you walked anyway
You made a mad world not so bad
When my parents yelled and screamed and As I say, in that seat
And when I couldn’t even stand You were tied tight around my feet
You were there when she said “sorry” And kissed me, on the cheek
And as I stood there you saw me
This whole world of mine turn bleak
You were with me at the funeral My sweet aunt, in the ground She slept with nothing wrong at all But in the morn’ there was no sound
You were with me in that cab home When I wanted to be alone
But even though you were there Like an old friend I tossed you aside And grabbed a new pair
A beginning of an end
If I didn’t say it before Thank you
You don’t need to be there anymore
Jean-Paul Klem, ‘19
Jules Bruno ’17, Scratched Digital Photo
Ode to a Keychain
A keychain
Depending on its value
Could mean a whole lot
Every morning it brushes the air
With a noise like a clink
Clumsily falling
With the shade of bronze
Rusting off the metal material
You would think the purpose
Would be just to look at it
But really the deeper meaning Is of a memory
It’s up to you to remember
A happier place is its home
But visiting this strange place
It’s not as pretty here
And the doesn’t rise
6 hours later
The people don’t walk
Like they have no cares
There are no little bakeries
Or pretty statues
Nothing lights up in the nighttime
As light as a pen yet
Has the meaning of my favorite place
But still it continues to be here
Because it’s a part of me now
And this is where I am
But that doesn’t mean
That both of us won’t be back.
Ann Margaret Mealey, ‘19
Ode to Gloves
Twins cloaked in dark robes
Solum protectors
Their soft touch shields from the icy wind.
Together they stand dark and mysterious
A pair born to battle the frigid beast
One alone not strong enough to prevail
Useless without their sibling
Unable to finish off the cruel beast
Together they’re unstoppable
Their midnight cloth caressing each digit
Icy fangs of the enemy not cold enough to pierce their dark robes
Despite their history apart they find each other annually to combat the numbing chill
An unstoppable duo
Although one has scars of a time apart
The other a stain of regret
Their tops growing dull like the sky after a vibrant sunset
Their glow not yet gone
They are lost without their match
They stand always prepared to battle the frigid winds of Winter
Though their differences in scars separate them But would be lost
Without their pair
Cassidy Draper,
‘19
Burning Ants with Mesperyian
In the garden we crowd on the patio, The beating sun relentless, Not a cloud in the sky.
Mesperyian grins, In her hand, a magnifying glass, Set to burning leaves.
A poor little ant, Marching by, Unbeknownst to its cruel fate.
I let it crawl onto my open hand, And place my gaze on Mesperyian’s devilish smile, Hungering for pain.
The ant crawls into her outstretched hand, Fingers pluck off its rear leg. Precise as a surgeon’s blade.
Placed carefully on the brick, The ant is immobile, Already writhing.
I look with grim fascination, Mesperyian concentrates the sun beam with the magnifying glass, Directly on the ant.
In moments, the ant is curdling, Smoking, writhing, slashing, Anything to escape the heat.
The ant convulses, With horror, I watch it almost plead for mercy, Mesperyian is relentless.
As the ant contracts for a final, fatal, time, Burnt ant smell rising up, Mesperyian asks
“Can we find a spider?”
James Morrell, ‘19
Peter Klem ’19, Mixed Media
Guarding the Pacific with Poseidon
The kingdom of the ocean
And all of its treasures are in our power, Poseidon and I, Crashing waves that breathe salt surround me.
I see Poseidon in the distance guarding downstream. He notices a ship wreck on the ocean floor destroying a family of clownfish’s anemone. A storm is upon us so Poseidon begins to take matters into his own hands.
Poseidon begins to calm the water, Trident in hand; it glimmers like gold in the beaming Sunshine made him appear.
He is fierce-eyed, dressed in blues and greens and yellows; pure colors of the sea.
I marvel over his power, for he keeps our water intact with grace and poise.
The sea creatures admire him for this.
With the claiming of the storm we begin swim away down to Mako, his Mermaid Kingdom; time has not changed anything
Nothing ever will change as long as holds true to his title, Protector of the Ocean
Raheema Muhammad, ‘19
Nadia Wozniak ’28, Mixed Media
Untitled
Every cell, every organ is on fire I can feel them eroding my body, I want to stop, to get peace, But my brain cannot control my body, I have already become wrath’s slave.
Anna Irwin, ‘19
Clive Wright ’24, Printmaking
Rose Cooper ’23, Digital Illustration
Clouded
They say to wash your hands, As if it is an act of purification. When you wash your hands in clean, cold, crisp water
The mud and sweat is supposed to disappear. Finally clean, Finally renewed.
But I cannot wash you away. I scrub and I scrub and you still remain, Lingering on my skin.
The water I try to wash you with is not clear,
It is clouded with my memories of you. It becomes opaque with the feelings that I can’t seem to escape. Still, I continue to wash my hands, Hoping you will finally fade.
Laurie King, ‘16
The Creek
Spins and bubbles on its own accord, without reason or care
thoughtless or mindless of sunlit air
Hazy, lazy down the stream, hazel eyes with piercing stare
Traveling in a random float to nowhere
Brewing like Sunday coffee, Foaming in a hidden place
Between grey rocks a hidden space
Tree branch shadows cast tangled interlace
While down the stream it picks up pace
Rocks spike upwards like mountains for frogs and bugs
Liberate from the concrete and unplug
Vacating the electric fluorescent drug
Slowly enjoying a gravitational tug
Pours and drops, and skips the sound spiraling frothy round and round tickles the side of slipping ground pennies tossed have surely drowned
Nothing disturbs the morning drift
But should something cause a chaotic shift
The water will ripple like shattered rift
Through the moss a gentle sift
Looking down it’s clear to see
This is all it could ever be nature’s course has taken me to breathe this breeze and be set free
Many set upon the path, for all who hike upon this track
Will notice the creek is like a crack
A scar among the flawless back
Of tar road, yellow painted line on contrast black
Madison DeCory, ‘18
Sera Anderson ’17, Digital Photo
Nos Femmes, Notre Puissance
Qu’est ce que tu penses de nos femmes?
Sont- elles vraiment frivoles?
Ou sont- elles l’essence de notre monde?
Que serait le monde sans nos femmes?
Un monde dépourvu de doucer
Un monde dépourvu de support, Qui vivrait dans le doute et la peur
Que serait le monde sans nos femmes?
Les yeux de nos femmes, tels un soleil pour les hivers
Tels le chant des oiseaux pour le réveil
Tels la force de l’océan.
Que serait le monde sans nos femmes?
Fateemah Saleem, ‘16, and Diyé Ndour
Ava Douglas ’22, Scanography
Misha Zain ’19, Mixed Media Broadside
Aphrodite & the Lie Betwen My Teeth
There’s a mirror that I can see myself reflected back in The shiny silver Combined with unmarked glass
Spins lies before my eyes
I hear the words “you’re beautiful” and ignore them For how can I Be beautiful
When I can’t even look at myself
Right now I could pick up the knife And carve my body How it’s meant to be But I don’t because she’s here
“Do you need help?” And she steps into the dim bathroom light
Aphrodite
Much prettier than I could ever be And passes me a thin shirt
“It’ll show” I saw and I shrug it away The black tank top shows through White t-shirts
So I don’t wear them anymore
Aphrodite pushes it into my hands Says
“Nobody will know Play it off as an undershirt”
But I say no
Because I can’t keep lying to myself And I pull the material over my head
Feeling my chest constrict
It’s tight and she frowns “Just don’t use bandages” she says And I wouldn’t
Unless I had to
I grudgingly take the shirt and pull that over the top
Which is making it hard
To stretch my lungs
For each strangled breath
“Maybe you should go without it today” she suggests “You’re beautiful anyway
Not any less valid”
But that’s a lie
My happiness rests on the shoulders of A small black tank top
Which compresses and suffocates But I’m used to not being able to breathe
“You can’t find beauty in a lie” I retort And leave the room
Flicking off the light And grabbing my bag
There’s a disappointed sigh from the now empty room
But when I look back
There is nothing for me
To set my eyes on
Patrick Kutny, ‘19
Nadia Linton ‘17, Digital Photo
Faith Faulker ‘23, Digital Illustration
Caleb duPlessis ‘16, Digital Photo
Color
a pure white mask placed on the face going through the day talking through a sheet of thin white paper not many can truly day only those who have the sheet as well a mask to cover up my red underneath my red that boils with power untamed and unchecked it will tear through the sheet but with practice it can be covered with fancy words and a smile that will not upset those without sheets
those without sheets have pure white faces they can talk without worrying about upsetting others with the truth and with nasty words they can walk around with nothing to show nothing but smiles and no past to dwell over they have no fight no fight to win because they think that they have already win they have nothing to fight against but those with the sheets have everything to fight for they have a past to keep in the past they have monsters that they have to keep in check
I have my red to keep others have yellow or brown or black but those with no sheet have nothing
a pure white past with no guilt and only freedom those with sheets have history to keep love have culture to keep aflame but when they learn to put the mask on right they can pretend they can pretend that they do not have their brown black red and yellow to keep they can pretend to have the white
but fear them when they go home they take off their sheets of white they can let their reds and browns free they let them go and they let it seep back to where it belongs out into the air that they breathe and into the brown and red and black and yellow words that they speak they grow strong again and in the morning when they wake and they put the mask of white over their color and they walk with those of white just know that we are all strong
Tsioianiio Galban ‘19
MUSE 2016 Staff and Editors
Editor-in-Chief
Olivia Bono
Readers
Alexander Carioty
Soo Min Lee
Mukuundo Luhiso
Hannah Patterson
Alena Ragan
Kennedy Robinson
Madelon Queenan
Misha Zain
Faculty Advisor
Bryan Pahl Cover Art
Special Thanks To Mallory Gregor, Amy Oliveri, Lori Wun
Front: Nadia Linton ‘15, Digital Photography Back: Roxy Reisch ‘20, Digital Photography
Printing of MUSE is underwritten by the Tucker Gosnell ’77 Fund.
Notes from the Editorial Staff
Scope: MUSE includes work representing students from Kindergarten through Grade Twelve. It incorporates various genres, including poetry, prose, translations, and various other media, including watercolor, chalk pastel, ceramics, photography, scanography, and music.
Method of Selection: Most works were originally written as class assignments and were submitted for review by the MUSE staff. Students are also free to contact members of the staff directly to submit their work for consideration. Selections were chosen by the readers on the basis of creativity and originality.
Distribution: MUSE is distributed free to all families within the Allendale Columbia School community.
Goal: MUSE attempts to highlight the literary and artistic talents of Allendale Columbia students. Editors try to represent each grade and include works from a variety of students, not merely a select few.
Submissions for Next Issue: Teachers will begin collecting submissions for MUSE, Volume XLI, in September 2016. The final deadlines for submissions will be set by MUSE editors in the fall; check with classroom teachers for further information.
ColophonComputer: MacBook Pro
Software: Adobe InDesign CS6
Typeface: Generica, Century Gothic and Times New Roman
Printer: Presstek Printing Financing: Tucker Gosnell ’77 Fund Rochester, NY
519 Allens Creek Road Rochester, NY 14618
Change Service Requested
