The Dome 2021

The Dome

2021

a journal of art and literature

Editors: Managing Editor: Phoebe Smith ‘22 Graphic Designer: Phoebe Smith ‘22 Writing Editor: DeVon Thompson ‘22

Student Assistants: Ellie LaCasse ‘22 Will Onubogu ‘22

Faculty Advisor: Mari LoNano

Cover Artwork: Grace Monahan ‘23

Title Page Artwork: Gavin Lui ‘21

Back Cover Artwork: Marco Wilson ‘21

The Dome 2021

Berkshire School’s Literary Magazine

Table of Contents: Maia Tolentino, “Blueberry Dress” - 6 Riley Russell, “What I Can Give You” - 8 Delaney McDonough, “Floors That Creek and Lights That Flicker” - 10 Sophie Fisher, “An Unmarked Grave” - 12 Anonymous, “A Collection of Thoughts” - 13 Olivia Mirabito, “Cold Night” - 14 Will Onubogu, “Mask” - 17 Danielle Page, “15 Things to Live For” - 18 Aidan Pesce, “The Pandemic Family Dinner” - 21 Anonymous, “Tomorrow” - 22 Autumn Coard & Nick Donaldson, “The Will To Change” - 25 Sophie Fisher, “Masterpiece” - 26 Nogosa Atekha, “Peppermint Scarf ” - 28 Will Onubogu, “MIA Missing in Action” - 30 Maia Tolentino, “Drain” - 35 Will Onubogu, “Do I Have Your Attention” - 36 Liv Angioletti, “Mining” - 38 Chace Nethersole, “Debris” - 39 Natasha Fertig, “A Set of Haikus” - 41 Will O’Callaghan, “Haiku” - 41

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Liv Angioletti, “Trapped in the Mountains” - 43 Alice Fisher, “My Grandma at Twenty Two” - 46 Will O’Callaghan, “Magic” - 47 Natasha Fertig, “116 Sullivan Street” - 49 Chace Nethersole, “Observations” - 52 Hayden Riva, “COVID the Real Life” - 53 Alice Fisher, “A Series of Haikus” - 55 Gabe Rich, “Fear” - 55 Hayden Riva, “Haikus” - 59 Chace Nethersole, “Alley” - 59 Hank Morgan, “Spank’s Haiku” - 63 Chace Nethersole, “Uphill” - Page 63 Alice Fisher, “Sanitation Engineer” - 64 Leo Yang, “An Excerpt from ‘A Winter’s Ball’” - 66 Kyron Stevenson, “The Beauty We Call Black” - 68 Will Onubogu, “Wide Awake” - 73 DeVon Thompson, “Be A Man” - 74 DeVon Thompson, “Talk About It” - 75 Hayden Riva, “Five Words” - 78

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Blueberry Dress My mother loves fashion; in fact, I consider her a fashion icon. She wears bold colors, unique patterns, and geometric designs, but she can make even sweatpants and a t-shirt look fashionable. She wears heels and expensive dresses, large jewelry, and sunglasses that are almost bigger than her head. Her hair is always tied up or braided back neatly. My mother taught me how to put myself together: to brush back each of my curls into a scrunchie so tight that I’d swell, to wear earrings no matter what the occasion, and to always wear clothes over my bathing suits. Once in a while, my mother buys clothes for me, but usually, I don’t wear them.

I am not the type to wear patterns or bright colors. I like solid shades, baggy jeans, and chunky sneakers. I wear lots of jewelry, but never statement pieces like my mother’s. Unlike my mother’s, my hair is curly, wild, and tangled, and I prefer it this way. I can shop online for hours, because I’m rarely able to find clothes that suit my style in malls and outlets, so I get worried when my mom returns from stores with a bit too many shopping bags. “I really appreciate this mom,” I’d say with a semi-fake smile, already knowing that I’d never wear the items in the bags. Without hesitation, my mother whips out a bright top with phrases and lettering all over it, low-waisted jeans, a kneelength floral dress, and a fitted tee. These are all garments that I avoid, but sometimes, I compromise for my mother’s sake.

The blueberry dress happened to be one of those compromises. The summer before my freshman year, my family and I threw a large birthday celebration for my grandmother. It was a formal event, and countless family members and friends showed up in gorgeous summer dresses and suits. As my family finished getting ready, I sat on my bed, half-naked and pouting. “MAIA! PUT THE DRESS ON! I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS!” my mother yelled as she yanked the comb from my younger brother’s knotted hair. I sighed my last breath of comfort and shimmied into the blueberry dress. I call it the “blueberry dress” because it truly resembled the fruit. It was cerulean, strapless, and cinched around my ribcage with a sash. Below the sash

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it flared out, making me look round and stout, but it only reached my calves. The dress swallowed my body and made my head look small. I absolutely despised it. At the age of fourteen, I felt that I was becoming a woman, and I wanted to express myself in ways that my mom didn’t understand.

Looking back, the dress is not as ugly as I remember, but I still wouldn’t choose to wear it. As more events have come up throughout the past few years, my mother has suggested that I wear it again.

Luckily, it doesn’t fit me anymore, so in a few years it’ll be my younger sister’s problem. Differences aside, I’m endlessly grateful for my mom.

She may not completely understand my style, but she encourages me to express myself through fashion, and she even compliments my outfits here and there. For the rest of her life, I know that she’ll continue to buy me clothing that I won’t leave my house in, but who knows?

Maybe my future daughter will be into vintage clothing.

Maia Tolentino ‘21

Liv Angioletti ‘22

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What I Can Give You Dear Younger Me, Don’t let fear be your guiding emotion. As easy as it is to let it control you, don’t. Live a carefree childhood. Feel the rush you get from the smallest things in life. The feeling of worry will reach you when necessary, but for now; be a kid. Run through the sprinklers in your backyard with your brothers. Catch frogs with your cousins in the small marsh behind their house. Make mud cakes for your mom out of the dirt that’s become soaking wet from the broken hose, because soon, you’re going to grow up.

Growing up can be intimidating. Don’t be afraid, you have some time. Hold onto the youth in your tiny little body. Make the most of the endless fun. Make the most of when you’re in class with your best friend, uncontrollably laughing at absolutely nothing as the teacher glares over warningly. “The next person to laugh leaves the room!” making it even more difficult to maintain a straight face through your friend’s quiet giggles.

Everything you feel now will fade into new feelings and experiences you’ll have to endure. So live in the present. Be a kid as best you can be. Live with no hesitation. Be the carefree, fun-loving, adventurous girl you are. The one who makes excessively long lists of all the places in the world she is determined to one day see. The one who is cooler than all the boys because she isn’t scared to hold the tarantula in science class. The one who never stops laughing when her teacher tells her to. Instead, she laughs until tears begin to form and a six pack is developed under her pink, purple, and blue t-shirt that says “horses make me happy”.

Remember who you are. As a kid, there is little worry as to what you look like or act like. So laugh alongside your teachers when you walk into class looking as if a tornado blew your hair in every direction possible, which your 2010 yearbook has proof of.

Slowly, after some years of youth, you’ll develop a personality that everyone around you knows and loves. Don’t forget who that person is. Don’t let new people or new experiences change who you are.

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There is nothing you need to change. You’re you. So be you through all the ups and downs life has to offer. It’s you and yourself until the end of the line, so don’t become someone you don’t want to spend all those years with.

Take the person you will create of yourself and present her to the rest of the world. People will like her. She’s a fun, caring girl who loves adventure. And don’t undermine yourself; you’ll get nowhere. I know you haven’t yet come to meet the girl you’ll soon become, but learn to love her in the process.

Sincerely, Older you

Riley Russell ‘23

Sarah Hudson ‘23

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Sammie Glogoff ‘23

Floors That Creek and Lights That Flicker Sunlight shines down on my freckled skin as I look up at the only home I have ever known. The yellow painted walls and pale green door make my home stand out amidst the gray of San Francisco. My home has small green window boxes that sit contently under the second floor windows which support a variety of flowers.

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A blanket of warmth surrounds my body as I step through the door frame covered in lines and numbers that mark our growth over the years. An array of artwork decorates the walls leaving very little wall left to see. My home has wooden floors that creek and lights that flicker. My home is scattered with plants hanging from the walls and resting on the window sills. My home has a brick fireplace and dust in the corners, and my home has a hum from the record player that sings “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John; as the smell of fresh cookies baked by my sister fills my nose.

My home is the gigantic wooden island that sits in the middle of the kitchen, or the skylight above the sink. My home is the little white oven that is older than me and the bright orange chairs that wrap around our kitchen table.

My home is the echoing sound of kids laughing from the daycare two doors down. My home is the sunshine from the skylight that pours down onto my skin and the sound of my dad’s guitar that fills my soul. My home is the brightly painted floor in my room and the luscious plants and flowers that scatter my floor and hang from my ceiling. Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes, and Charlotte’s Web wait patiently on my shelves to be read and loved once again. My home is my window seat that holds my favorite stuffed animals and blankets.

My home is the view of the lush garden outside my window. Our garden is my dad’s wasabi tree that lives under the stairs or my mom’s vegetable garden that lives on our kitchen porch. Our garden is home to a sour green apple tree and a Japanese pear tree.

Long jasmine vines wrap around an old bench swing and pink gardenias make the air smell sweet.

My home is where I have grown up my whole life. My home is where I learned to love and where I feel at peace. My home is the quiet snore from my dog and the love that I feel from my family. My home is the place that makes me happy. My house is my home.

Delaney McDonough ‘23

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An Unmarked Grave hidden between the lines of elusive whispers and convoluted diversions a spirit remains alive even as the last sparks release themselves from their dying embers of faded hope but upon an unmarked grave i watch as my monsters dance to the unsettling beat of a shattered heart a drowning memory a forgotten soul moments later i succumb to their laughter their taunting screams their vicious allure drowned out by broken promises then pulled down by fortified lies i watch as my last breathe is stolen from my body i’ve already been buried my monsters were revealing a story that happened to be mine Sofie Fisher ‘21

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A Collection of Thoughts Isolated Sometimes I wanna feel validated Elevated to another level by another person I know that’s not healthy or perfect But I’m just a little isolated Separated My mind-body-soul They are searching for eachother but sometimes they get lost in thoughts Wading through piles of self-hate like garbage Going for miles on a path to “happiness” But when they get there the floor falls they are separated again Desperation Clawing at reality Morality got lost in the mail and I’m left with a hole where it once was Tearing through from inside out but quietly so that no one can tell I fell into constant hunger, for a time when I was younger Less thoughts more ideas These things don’t make sense but neither does anything else Anonymous

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Cold Night I leave tonight Behave yourself or brave the dark, cold night The times we share the goodbyes should be rare I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I leave tonight.

Remember to always put up a fight In the room we share with morning light Behave yourself or brave the dark, cold night No mess to stress the witch who is uptight The possessor of the manor will scare I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I leave tonight.

Behave yourself or brave the dark, cold night Although a life may not tend to be fair You ever must fret from sinking in a bite You, my prized possession, alone despite Your ally down the hall all dusk to dawn Behave yourself or brave the dark, cold night I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I leave tonight.

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Olivia Mirabito ‘22

Matea Beadle ‘21

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Ellie LaCasse ‘22

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Mask Its okay, He hides beneath the covers of his eyes, Its okay, Smile just to keep his legs going on, Its okay, Has it all, And that just seems okay, Okay…

He moved so simply, walked real big, So people wouldn’t look at him differently, But his heart was ringing, Like the Tchaikovsky symphony, And everything around, kindling, Drowning in ashes, lingering.

But it’s okay, Gotta find good around you, Evil will try to hound you, You have to let life corral you.

And he said okay.

Will Onubogu ‘22

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15 Things to Live For Every 40 seconds, someone in the world loses their battle to suicide.1 Encountering a series of ups and downs throughout life is merely a part of the human experience. When the bad begins to outweigh the good, it is easy to spiral into depression, and suicidal thoughts often follow close behind.

You only get one shot to live, and this is it. Death will always be an option, but there’s no second chance if you decide upon it. It may take a great deal of strength to persevere through the worst of times, but it will all be worth it when you can share your story and say “I made it.” One day, the battles you face today will be the stories you share with loved ones. Until then, when all else seems lost, make a list of what you would miss if you ended it all. Then, change the title of the list from “What I Will Miss” to “Things to Live For.” Here are mine.

1. Stormy days. Fireplace crackling, legs curled up under a blanket, hot chocolate in hand. You are warm, while the outside world shivers under the wrath of Mother Nature. Like you, she is experencing misery and rage. Soon, all will be calm and a rainbow will appear.

Dolly Parton is right: “If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” Know that if you just hold on, your rainbow is not far away.

2. The sound of your best friend’s laugh. The head back, high pitched one that makes your stomach sore for days.

3. Your wedding day. The Pinterest board worthy wedding in your Grandma’s barn that you have been planning since sixth grade. Every nerve will be calmed by the look on your soulmates’ face when you walk down the aisle. Surrounded be family and friends, you will be overwhelmed with the feeling that they are the one, and excitement for the future to come.

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https://www.cnn.com/2019/09/09/health/who-global-suicide-rates-intl/index.html

4. Sunkissed days spent on the Martha’s Vineyard beach. The salt in your hair, waves crashing in front of you. Towel laid out, the smell of sunscreen radiating through the air.

5. Sunsets. The peach-colored one that your mom always points to, telling you it is your uncle looking down on you from heaven.

6. The first day of snow. When autumn overstays its welcome and the world looks dead, it seems as though all hope is lost. Then, the snow begins to fall. Glistening flakes cover the world’s every scar with pristine beauty. The season of joy, family, and love is here. This change of season represents a new beginning, a chance to make a difference and see life in a new light.

7. Late night drives with your sister. Country music blaring, windows down, hair flying in the wind. Surrounded by love, not a care in the world. Not thinking about the destination, but rather living for the moment.

8. There are songs yet to be released. Songs like “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift that will make you feel on top of the world and songs that will bring out the emotions buried deep under the surface of your smile.

9. Summer days in Millbrook, running through the grass, feeling every blade tickle your bare feet.

10. Bagels. Enough said.

11. Dancing. Losing yourself in a dance like nobody’s watching attitude and watching the world spin by, every worry you’ve ever had spiraling far into the distance, out of sight and out of mind.

12. The feeling of talking to a young sibling, cousin, niece, or nephew and seeing life in a new light through the lens of their innocence.

They have so much life ahead of them, just like you.

13. The warmth that will fill your heart when you watch a loved one overcome a fear or reach a goal they once thought of as impossible.

Whether you are watching a friend score their first goal or applauding a sibling as they cross the stage, diploma in hand, their accomplishments make you far more proud than your own ever will.

14. Home. The smell of freshly baked cookies. The photo albums

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carefully placed on every table, each one telling a story of a moment in time. No matter how old you are, your parents’ bed will always be the most comforting place in the world. Whether you have found your home or have yet to discover it, there is no place in which you will feel as safe and loved.

15. One day you will be able to say “I made it.” Whether you will be telling yourself, your children, or grandchildren, you will look back on the hardest of times and realize how far you have come.

Every tear shed and every minute spent with your head buried deep within your hands will be worth it. The strength you will gain from these struggles will be enough to get you through anything that will come your way later in life. To say you were strong enough to battle depression is a victory within itself.

Danielle Page ‘23

Hayden Riva ‘21

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The Pandemic Family Dinner It is summer, a normal night. And after being trained in the sacred art of cooking by the grandmaster - or your mother - it is now your turn to cook dinner for the family. First off, choose what you want to eat. No one likes a bad meal. You choose to make spaghetti bolognese - it’s a family classic, but you actually choose to make it because the world is in a bad place and it brings comfort. Or Familiarity - because it’s hard to feel that anymore.

Dice two onions, some garlic, and a lil’ celery - be sure that everything is cut finely because no one wants to feel a vegetable in their mouth. Don’t get too distracted by the enchanting smells of the ingredients being sauteéd. Put on a show. You choose Friends even though your brother Nicholas hates it.

Then you change it to The Office. You’re a people pleaser.

You change it because now Nicholas will be inclined to stay and chat. Maybe pick at the food before you serve it to him.

When the sauce is done and is simmering on low heat, it will be about 6:45. At this point, Nicholas will come out and naggingly ask when dinner will be ready.

He’ll say, “Are you done yet?”

Then, “How long? I’m starving dude!”

“The beast gotta eat.”

You respond “Soon,” and get back to making the meal.

He doesn’t ask to help you, and you don’t care because you know he likes it better when you make it.

Finish all the food before 7PM sharp. THIS IS IMPERATIVE. Sauteé the broccoli and combine the sauce with the THIN spaghetti - you know Nicholas and Mom like this kind more.

At seven you scream, “DINNNNNER’S READY” - in an old western accent of course, - and as everyone comes out of their rooms, the cheering starts.

Because at 7PM every day in NYC, thousands of people roar with gratitude towards the pandemic’s frontline workers.

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Then you realize that this is why you are having dinner, there is no school to go to or friends to see - not even a single latenight work meeting. There is nowhere left to go.

When they complain the broccoli is burnt, and the sauce hasn’t been cooked long enough, or the cheese isn’t the freshest, you put it past you, and simply don’t care. You do this because at least you’re here with the people you love and an amazing meal provided by yours truly. We are safe, warm, and Covid free - which is not what everyone in the world could say this past summer.

Aidan Pesce ‘23

Tomorrow I reach the finish line to realize the track behind me was never there I stop and stare at what I thought was my past But it didn’t last enough for me to remember Always planning something or worrying what I said wrong They say life is long but it’s not if you don’t pay attention It feels easy to close your eyes Autopilots cool and all but you miss the beautiful skies Don’t get me wrong sometimes you crash But if your sleeping then you’ll turn to ash before you could even say I love you or I want something different Or find what your missing or even just listen to the people around you because if you get to tomorrow and can’t remember today Then why are you living anyway Anonymous

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Ellie LaCasse ‘22

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Thai An Rosario ‘22

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The Will To Change

Speak up and don’t be meak Be respectful and wait your your turn to speak But whatever you do don’t be weak Continue the line of success I’m told, versus Give everything you have to break old generational curses The goal is to appear a winner on the surface An education is expected don’t be disgraceful With an education you are the exception so please be grateful Both under the societal pressures of an unfair label My future consists of soccer moms and CEO’s Mine full of entertainers and athletes ready when the whistle blows Our idols and admiration coming from our television shows Ignorance is bliss to the majority And death to the minority All dependant on who has “social authority” Where hockey is my go to sport And I belong on a basketball court Breaking the stereotype is a last resort When I need help I look for a cop When I see a badge I feel my heart drop With both existing the fear of conflict is nonstop Where chaos ensues over our nation’s flag And citizens flick on the TV to see a bodybag Because your character can be questioned over a hashtag Our opinions consist of a very large range But understanding can foster from one exchange One thing we all must have in common is the will to change Autumn Coard ‘22 and Nick Donaldson ‘22

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Masterpiece I used to read between the lines of a broken heart beat I used to dance to the deafening sound of silence and sing to a broken record I would blur out the bad and recolor the new blended with lies and faulty ignorance I used to paint a picture of perfection bright hues to hide the dark thick paint to cover the cracks a masterpiece built from the manifestations of a twisted lie I was blind to the black and white truth that would cause a crease in my flawless fairytale but as the colors mixed with the tears- the picture began to bleed out a new tale one I had erased time over time and yet the lines remained etched into my soft skin a new story exposed the fantasy I had once forced myself to imbed into my mind I am a masterpiece built from layers of repeated mistakes and unresolved matters

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I bleed the colors I had once used to cover up the lines and so when last stroke is placed and the final touch is made the multitude of pain is replaced with a new in the end it’s always the final layer that reveals the beginning to the next Sofie Fisher ‘21

Eli Araujo ‘22

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Sebastian Klem ‘24

Peppermint Scarf Something as simple as a peppermint scarf should not have that much of a powerful grip on my life, but it does. This hold has been here since the first memory I’ve obtained with it back in

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Winthrop Day Care in Chicago, Illinois back in 2007.

My mom was far from the richest person in the city, or even the neighborhood. Everything had to be preserved and used within reason to stretch out its days of good value before she had to break her back and shake coins out of her purse for a new one. This happened to be the first scarf my mom got me, and it was because my first year of daycare was in full effect. Anyone from the Midwest knows that in the winter, not wearing a scarf should be illegal due to the freezing wind chills and mass attacks of snowflakes that come your way.

I’m getting up in the morning, getting ready for the cold winter day with my mom, and she tells me to wait after I’m fully bundled up with my coat, hat, and gloves. Tying a scarf is done in so many different ways. Some people just throw it around, others put it in a knot, and the rest tie it in the traditional way or however they learned when they were growing up. My mom tied my peppermint scarf to the perfect amount of tightness to make it seem like I was receiving an eternal hug from the first person in this world to ever love me. It made me feel so secure and safe in the world.

The next weeks, and months, my mom would tie my scarf every day. Until I started to grow up over the years, I had my mom tie my scarf in the perfect way she knew how to. Then, I started getting too old for my mom to tie my scarf. I still remember my first days in elementary school having to do it by myself. It used to ruin my day, how I don’t get the exact tightness that my mom used to have. It would send me into trances during the school day, and make me feel as if my mom isn’t with me.

To this day, I still wear the scarf when it’s cold enough in Chicago. I obviously don’t feel the same fear of not being safe when it’s not tightened the right way, because I’ve grown to know that my mother will always keep me safe in my heart. Who knew that something as little as a scarf would make me feel like the world was absolutely perfect?

Nogosa Atekha ‘21

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MIA (Missing in Action) Times changed, Can’t see the reason, Feel like I’m moving in 4 different seasons, And, Shit just ain’t the same like sneaker creasing, Like life been too far out the box, And I’m no longer gleaming, It’s been so deceiving, Friends houses I walk by, Can’t link cause they get high, Whatever to hide behind, Dry, Salty stains from their eyes, Only light shining Is from the bic lighting, All people do is fighting.

IG posts to fake a real picture, Movements for them, They can’t support, That’s a real picker, Like damn these subordinates, Must of been raised in a different sector, Division just to raise the richter, Can’t just move with the wave, You ain’t no sailor, Don’t need no hook, No knee to hold you down, Ain’t no Adam Sandler, But I need a pawn to hold the crown, Like you reached my side, But ain’t no way to come by.

I found myself less alone

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When I cut them off, Like they was loans, And I paid em off, Abusing my mental, Too much heat with no stovetop, Middle of the winter, And my domes hot, Living 4 different seasons, But yall keeping me from ever leaving, Like to keep this I miss you, To get me daydreaming, Bout fake friends, Cant stick in the stream, And, Fake friends, Ain’t what they seem man.

Switch up 4 different, I means its all different, Elementary shit, Now the goals different, I passed the past so many times, I’m too far from it, Vision too forward To these see old friends tripping, Ones I used to go hang by, Stayed too stagnant, And I’m still pushing, Ones that gon be stuck in highschool fame, Die, And that’s why I ain’t looking, For monetary satisfaction, Paying attention to useless shit I’m still lacking, Don’t need no distration, You have ideas about me,

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Have it, I ain’t finished still going at it, Prove nothing to acquaintances already passed em, I’m taking it all like the rest is fasting Dr. Seuss bars for y’all below me laughing, Cause I think I’m the one missing in action, But too thinging bout action, That’s what y’all lacking.

Will Onubogu ‘22

Grace Wood-Hull ‘21 32

Charlie Davidow ‘23

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Ellie LaCasse ‘22

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Ben Cabot ‘22 She was a flood

Drain

No mercy Large and loud Vigorous Unafraid of what lay before her Proud of her path He was a drain And then she was nothing but a simple stream Until she became only a droplet Nothing but a pocket of cold water Seeping into the ground The flood was over Destruction But no water left Maia Tolentino ‘21

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Do I Have Your Attention Sick and tired, Time to pay attention, I spit this shit too raw, Shout out the steak in Benson, I know you still run your mouth, Like you aint you learn your lesson, Don’t know what life is about, Until you earn you blessing, Don’t know what the topic is, Just know I’m the best in, Cause I’m pushing, Like no se que es resting, Looking around, Can’t find where the rest is.

I play life like bully ball, Gon make Z-Bo be my next kid, The ones that hating you, Like why are you always flexing?

Im just stretching, Checking, All these Wastemans, Be second, I’m the one, you gon reckon, My words pack heat, Like a weapon, Soon they’ll pay attention...

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Will Onubogu ‘22

Wakaba Aihara ‘22

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Mining

I woke up before sunrise Threw on my clothes And finished off the leftover porridge I laced up my heavy boots Then rushed out the door The summer heat in West Virginia didn’t compliment my thick uniform I passed by a lake and quickly rinsed off Just as I do every morning My skin no longer covered in leftover dirt from yesterday After a long and hot walk, I finally arrived Men were gathered together Dreading the long day ahead I never really spoke with the others They were much older than me I found my group and we entered the dark tunnels The flashlights on our helmets only shone about a hundred feet in front of us But they were still a great help It was mostly silent in the mines There was the occasional murmur Or heavy footsteps on the ground Sometimes you could hear the clanking of our buckets The hours went slow So the days went slow Work has never finished before sundown The labor was rough Especially on a young kid like me My feet were numb My hands were tired But I was just glad to make some money for my family Even if it was only a little.

Liv Angioletti ‘22

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Debris Like the ticking of clocks, a rhythmic clash of steel and rock paired with the shrieks of drill bits echoing down the winding corridors that we reside. The industrial lighting illuminates the dust thick in the air like mist. I can feel the sweat on my neck mixing with the debris in the air, my senses tranquilized by this absurd environment.

It’s as if I am stuck in limbo, unable to free myself from the ground under which I work. I think of happier times and good memories to combat the thoughts that cloud my mind. The horrifying thought of how small and vulnerable I am in this perspective. These thoughts fade away over time but still are always kept in the back of my mind.

I look around, each worker filthier than the next. A pungent burning salt smell drifts through our heads as the main drill powers up, drowning out all the sound throughout the maze-like corridors. It would even shake the ground, I watched as the pebbles around my boots danced to the vibrations. As unnerving as it all is, I have come to terms with it. If one day that lift doesn’t resurface, I have already signed my contract with death. I quickly grappled at my chest pocket and pulled out a sliver of paper lightly coated in dust and black smudges across the image printed. On it, was a picture of my daughter and her mother. They stood out iridescently in the dim lighting.

I closed my eyes and put the photo back closest to my heart. I took a deep breath that was not quite just air and labored on, falling back into that rhythmic clash, like the ticking of clocks.

Chace Nethersole ‘21

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Hollis Churchill ‘21

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A Set of Haikus Drowning: Thought I was happy A smile crept on my sad face Life seemed okay for now Instantly that changed Since it was just a dumb thought The tears piled up and I thought I would drown Closed my eyes, tried to forget Seemed impossible An Invisible Hug: The sun comes up early My eyes open, ready for beauty Yellow sky brightens Feel the warmth on skin I linger to the water Reflection is cheerful I love bright mornings My smile grows with the daylight The sun hugs my soul Success Making Burgers Creating Technology Bright ideas Bright people

Natasha Fertig ‘22

Will O’Callaghan ‘22

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Tate Plamondon ‘23

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Trapped in the Mountains Just down from the mountains a girl hides between two large rocks. Her leg cut open from the two men who tried to take her.

She escaped them, but they are nowhere to be seen. And she knows they are looking for her. Dressed in all black with their faces completely covered. Their identity hidden. Wandering this never-ending trail. The girl checks her phone. It says no service available.

She must stay hidden, for they can jump out at any moment.

She uses her socks as bandages for her wounds, but they are no help.

The freezing air lessens her chances of survival. Her body has become numb. She has been without food for over a day, and she cannot get herself to the nearby stream for water. She remembers the stories of kids who have gone into this mountain but never returned. Never did she think she would be one of them. Forced to survive on her own, with two men searching this boundless region.

She hears leaves move in the distance. Voices follow. Her mind is stuck between two options. Staying put, or attempting to run off. Will these be her last few seconds of freedom? As the voices progress toward her, she seems to recognize them. The girl realizes she had never heard the men who tried to take her speak, which was strange. Does she know them? The men continue with their conversation and she can feel the footsteps getting closer.

“We have to catch her,” one of them says.

“She is weak. She has no weapons and we have our knives.

Remember?” the other man says.

“That’s true. I just hope the workers at the station don’t start looking for us. We’ve been gone for a while.”

The girl’s eyes opened wide. “The gas station,” she whispers to herself. That’s where she knows them from. She stopped to get gas and grab food on the side of the highway. Then she carried on with her road trip. The men must’ve followed her to this isolated place and planned to take her. She is determined to get away, and thinks of how she can do it. The girl checks her phone one more time to see if it miraculously received service. Nothing.

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She realizes the voices of the men have faded away. But this isn’t the end. They are still looking for her. Her mind races with escape plans. To run as fast as she can, to stay hidden through nighttime, or to attempt to get cell service. Minutes go by and she has an epiphany. The knives. She needs to find the knives. She needs to find those men. She stands up slowly, afraid she won’t be able to walk. Her leg is not yet healed, but she must push through the pain. The girl begins to walk, careful not to make too much noise within the leaves. She remembers the direction that the men went in, so she follows their footprints in the snow. About an hour has gone by since she last saw them, but she is eager to find the knives. She keeps her head down to follow the footprints, but her walk comes to a halt when she runs into a door. Startled, the girl lifts her head up and backs away. A cabin.

“This must be theirs,” she says to herself. Afraid that they’ll be in there, she crawls on the ground to find a window to peek through. The girl slowly stands up and finds herself looking into an empty cabin. She walks around again and opens the door, still nervous they will jump out. She can’t believe what’s in front of her. The two knives, right there on the table. She quickly grabs them along with a bag and runs out, unsure of when the men will be back.

She then traces her footprints back to the rocks, but instead of stopping, she passes by them. Hopeful she will make it out of the mountains. She has never felt more exhilarated in her life. The girl’s body goes numb. Her face feels frozen as the wind forces her backward. Suddenly, she hears screams from behind her. She turns around, but continues running. The men begin to chase her, close to catching up. She knows she’ll run out of breath soon, so she slows down a bit.

The two guys approach more and more as each second goes by. Their screams closer. She doesn’t have much time left.

“She’s slowing down!”

“Keep running! We’re about to catch her!

Without hesitation, she stops running. She takes the knives out of the bag and launches them toward the men who tried to take her. She watches as they fall down. The knives went perfectly into their hearts.

Liv Angioletti ‘22

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Maya Hampton VanSant ‘22

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My Grandma at Twenty-Two There’s a bandage on my arm, Wrapped up tight, A cut that will open up again, The scar that will last forever, Memory of a glass door and my first born son.

I use these arms to carry boxes, Unpacking late into the night, In a house surrounded by nothing, I do my best to make it a home.

My arms are strong from carrying children Pausing my childhood before it was time, He grabs my hand and I hold on.

We walk to the library for another day.

The song of trucks play in the background , While I read line after line, For two years this is what we do, For now it is just him and I. When we moved to the unknown town, Where anything open, closes before the light, Our hungry stomach rumbled And tears have stung my eyes, I did not graduate college like I planned, I have another baby on the way, I can hold him in the other hand.

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My arms become strong and my sense of humor great.

When my children are grown, And when I sit down with theirs, I will have done everything I can.

Memories decorate my arms.

Alice Fisher ‘22

Magic All Day All Day Long Hanging on the back of that truck, making everyone’s trash Magically disappear, trying To make our world a cleaner place No respect No kindness Just bad looks People focus on my smell What do you expect?

I clean up all your shit every day!

Not a lot of money in this Line of work But, I trek on Everyday going through the same smells and looks I trek on

Will O’Callaghan ‘22

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Samantha Takacs ‘23

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116 Sullivan Street I remember very little of my childhood on Sullivan Street, yet what I do remember is the bad stuff. The kind of stuff parents hide from their kids. I vividly remember our tension-filled family dinners. I remember how slowly the dinners would end, my family members disappearing one by one. My older sister would leave first, always occupied with her friends or with her sports. Then it was my mom, an orthopedic surgeon who seemed to always be busy. Then it was my dad, always on a phone call. My twin followed, usually occupied by a friend. I remember I used to love these dinners and being excited to have my head full of knowledge after hearing about everyone’s day.

116 Sullivan Street is the house where my family fell apart.

I remember these dinners slowly becoming dreadful because they always left me sitting alone. I remember sitting in the living room hearing my parents fight. I remember thinking to myself that they would be okay, and they would overcome their obstacles. When I was four years old, I made my mom promise me that she would never get divorced. Years later, I remember going upstairs to what used to be my parent’s room and hearing the water running. I thought she must be in the shower. I remember hearing her phone buzz and since I was eager and curious, I checked to see what it was. My left fist clenched, my teeth were grinding, and my eyes were shaking, I even remember typing the passcode in. I saw some texts between my mom and what seemed to be a man. I then realized that my mom was having an affair and a dark pit in my stomach developed. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and the fighting between my parents never stopped. It was becoming more and more familiar. I remember the thoughts I had in my head about what to do, should I tell mom I know? Should I tell my sisters? Or should I just run away? Family dinners just seemed like one big lie.

This house marked the beginning of the end. A few months later, my parents sat my sisters and me down and told us the truth. I broke down into tears after the first words spilled out of their mouths

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because I knew exactly what they were going to say. My hand was shaking, my eyes became like a pond, and I began feeling the immense pressure to take care of both of my sisters because I had had more time to prepare for the news. My parents continued to fight constantly, even after the divorce. We tried making it seem like it didn’t really affect us. Even to other people who would ask if we were okay, and I lied to all of them and saying Yes, I am fine, my family is still the same. As angry and betrayed as I felt, I had to remind myself that adult relationships are something someone cannot understand until they are in one. I knew in my heart that she just made a stupid mistake and I began to understand that my parents do not love each other anymore, as much as I may have wanted them to.

Finally, I remember that this may have been the house that ruined my family, but it is still my home and will forever be the place that made me who I am. Sullivan Street crushed me and created me, and I will always remember it.

Natasha Fertig ‘22

Ada Kennedy ‘22

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Liv Angioletti ‘22

Maia Tolentino ‘21

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Observations Stepping out into mid-morning cold wet air the hair on my neck shivers with me. I take my first steps forward crunching the brittle ice beneath my boots. From a small pipe laundry exhaust lifts up into the sky greeting the top of apartment buildings. The hustle of the morning commute coming to an end. I pace around the concrete that makes up the parking lot behind our house. The lot laden with cracks and tar that peels away at the touch. A row of pine lines the edge of the lot. I walk between the trees and into the small woods behind.

Here I see puddles of once layers of snow now coagulating with the dirt and decaying leaves. I look up to a web of branches, barren now but still mesmerizing as I gaze into their fractal patterns. The snow that was here just yesterday had already sunken and evaporated, the only thing left was slush and scattered snow piles.

Chace Nethersole ‘21

Ava Cappella ‘21

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COVID the Real Life I have not had a day off in over 280 days I am working over 16 hours a day.

I work seven days a week.

I wait every day for my 10-minute lunch break where I can finally sit down and rest.

Most of the time I don’t have enough time to take a lunch break.

All my colleagues are exhausted, including me that some of them have been falling asleep.

By leaning on walls and falling asleep in chairs overnight.

At night when I walk down the hall, you have nurses all in chairs fully asleep.

This is the 180th day in a row where we have had to turn people down with covid.

Every day feels like the same each person I take care of looks like the same face I can not remember anyone’s name I am fully sucked into this lifestyle it is affecting my sanity.

I have never seen so much pain and suffering by so many people at one time.

It comes to a point where I can not do this anymore.

The dying people the coughing it’s all that is in my head.

Children getting sick Athletes are dying People are dying.

I come to work every day Hoping that a vaccine will come out.

Hayden Riva ‘21

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Cora Brennan ‘21

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A Series of Haikus

1 Raindrops on the window A curtain of dancing fog Fall comes, dark skies.

2 The cows rip up grass swifty Always hungry for more, they never stop, Rough leather, dirty feet.

3 My hair is wet and heavy, It sticks to my neck with the rain, I cut it off.

Alice Fisher ‘22

Fear Just down from the mountains, a squirrel with severed body parts lay dead. Behind its body I could see large paw marks imprinted into the ground, yet I did not think much of it. I carried on moving through the forest, which was surrounded by tall oak trees, almost completely covering the daylight above. I needed to move fast if I wanted to make it back to the camp before it was too late. I could hear a whispery noise coming from the brushes on both sides of me. It sounded too familiar, though. It was a voice I could recognize. I continued through the crunchy packed snow that covered the majority of Alberta. The whispering noises left my ears, and the temperature began to drop rapidly. I looked ahead and the paw marks from earlier started to appear on the trail in greater detail. I began to follow the trail of the animal and it was still moving towards the camp. My body temperature was decreasing, and I lost feeling in my toes, fingers, and ears.

Daylight had officially run out and a burst of fear rushed

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through my body. A crescendo of voices began ringing in my ears. It was not just one voice I could recognize; it was three. Earlier, all I could hear was noise, almost like a song was being sung. It was different now. The tone had changed in the voices and they began forming words. The wind was whipping in my ear in harmony with the voices, yet all of the sudden, the wind completely stopped, and the voices shouted at me, “RUN.” My heart dropped. All feeling and emotion had left my body while I stood in the middle of the trail. Earlier in the day, it felt like someone was watching me. Now, I feel surrounded, yet one of the voices began talking again. It was a voice I could recognize, though… a voice from my childhood. I started running towards the camp while keeping my head on a swivel. As I approached the entrance of the camp, I could see a person hanging from the tree. I came to a complete stop and the voice whispered in my ear, “Turn around or you will die.” I took a closer look at the hanging figure and realized it was Brett, a crew member who I had met five days before the trip.

The wind was swaying his corpse from left to right and the voice reappeared saying, “Leave now!” I could feel my lungs tightening as the hanging body began to whip around like a rag doll. Another voice appeared; however, this voice wanted to talk with me. “Bryan,” the voice whispered. “You need to go back to the mountain. I have a present for you.” The voices I had been hearing throughout the day were familiar, but this one was recognizable.

It was the first day of eighth grade at my middle school and I was ready to finally be done with middle school. I had heard rumors that a new kid was joining our class, yet I did not think much of it. I walked into the classroom expecting to be greeted by everyone, but lo and behold, everyone was surrounding the new kid, Connor. It angered me that no one acknowledged me or wanted to talk to me; this random person was taking all of the attention. My best friend Jack was sitting around the kid, his laughter fueling my envy. I knew from this moment that I would not let Connor become between me and Jack. The next day, I decided to play a little prank on Connor, just to let him know that I was the bigger man. The very next day, I had my plan ready to be executed. I took the bucket of paint I stole from

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my parent’s basement and set it beside a tree next to the playground.

When it was time for everyone to come outside for recess, I targeted Connor and followed his movements. When he reached the edge of the playground by the swing set, I grabbed the paint and showered him with the black colored paint. Stunned and blinded by the paint, Connor began screaming and flailing towards the road. Fifty feet away, a truck was speeding towards Connor’s direction, yet he was unaware of the danger he was in. The whole class began screaming for the car to stop… but we were too late.

I was now sprinting towards the mountain, my feet heavy, my lungs gasping for air as each step I took weakened the balls of my feet. A black tint filled the Canadian sky above and a shiver crept down my neck down to my spine. I could feel a hand grasp my arm, almost like it was the hand of a child. I looked over to see if there was someone there, but I was alone. I was alone the whole time. During the entire trip, I convinced myself that I was being watched, like I was trapped in a glass ball and someone was looking down at me.

My body began to feel numb again as I trudged to the basin of the mountain. Ahead I saw a figure standing on a rock, a dark figure that had the resemblance of a spirit. As I inched towards the rock, the dark figure turned around. It was Connor. He was still covered in the black paint I showered him with in middle school. “I have to ask,” Connor said. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill me?” A tear rolled down my face and my throat started seizing, like the final gasps of air were coming out of my body. I replied to Connor saying, “I didn’t mean to.

You know that. I couldn’t stand seeing you take all of the popularity away from me.” His eyes were filled with darkness and misery while the fresh coat of paint dripped down his corpse. “You know Bryan,” Connor responded, “you’re a lucky guy. After you killed me, my parents were broken. They did not feel like they had any purpose left in their life.” The seizing returned to my spine and neck and Connor clenched his fists. “The affliction that consumed their lives when they found out their only child was killed was unbearable, yet they forgave you,” Connor continued. My knees had given out and I was standing at the feet of Connor. His face was remorseless, like an entity had

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completely taken over his body. As I struggled to stay alive, Connor finally spoke. “The only problem is, I didn’t forgive you. You took my life from me all those years ago, but now, I must take yours.”

Gabe Rich ‘22

Maya Hampton VanSant ‘22

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1.

The river flowed Through the land that no one sees The water flows in peace.

2.

The leaf is blown through the air The crisp wind Cutting like a knife tough me

Hayden Riva ‘21

Alley I walked step for step holding my father’s left hand as we walked through the lucid streets of New York. My mother walked to his right, talking to him about warmer weather. I was lost in this landscape, so many people doing so many different things. Lights covered buildings like ivy and reflected off puddles like mirrors. I was captured by it. Everything I could see amazed me. So I wondered what I couldn’t see. My grasp loosened and I slipped away from my father’s hand and slowly distanced myself from my parents. I watched as they faded away into the spaces between the streetlights. I looked around for anything I hadn’t already noticed, something new, something to discover. I spun around until my eyes locked on something unlike the rest. Protruding from the corner of two brick buildings, a small triangle, absent of light. I was confused how this pocket, empty of the neon’s and billboards that painted a collage across the city, could exist. Before I could wrestle with that idea I had already been engulfed by the void. I walked slowly to avoid falling in the darkness. I felt like I had slipped away further than I had wanted to, between the cracks of society to a place abandoned by time. I looked

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up, only a few power lines graced my sight with a single dim light illuminating a crooked window frame. This place hidden from the world to see, yet so close to our eyes. I kept looking around for something that reminded me of those pretty street lights that hung so high above my head, but I saw nothing, just purgatory, the end of the line, a place where many come through to visit but never to stay.

Then I saw something. A short glance in that direction and I saw it again. A movement, a gesture of a silhouette. My eyes darted trying to understand what I was seeing. A man, somewhat around the age of my father. His face looked cheerful but weathered. his arms laid at his side where he sat, and a pile of belongings were laid out Infront of him. I took a step back, stunned to see someone else wandering this limbo. Quite dark, I squinted to see. He was looking back at me now. I felt frozen. Was he lost? I wondered. I noticed a facial expression form between his cheeks, a smile. He then pulled one of the belongings out from Infront of him and laid it over himself as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. I looked around one more time puzzled. The brick layered along the walls looked cold and the metal pipes lined the walls made for a desolate scene. I finished gazing and faced the man once again. He was beginning to doze off into a world far from this one and hopefully a little brighter. I looked at him one more time and smiled. Unaware the man continued to doze off as I began to reel myself out of this abyss. Slowly I made my way through the winding corridors back to the world I knew. As I exited the darkness the light surrounded me. I walked out of the alley and across the street. I stepped up onto the opposing curb and a hand grabbed my right shoulder and yanked me around. My father stood over me with my mother not far behind. He gave me a firm look then sternly grasped my hand, preventing me from pulling away. He started walking and I watched as the opaque triangle grew smaller. It shrunk and shrunk until the door to oblivion faded into nothing and just as it had appeared to me, it had gone.

Chace Nethersole ‘21

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Angella Ma ‘24

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Celina Zhao ‘24

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Spank’s Haiku String cheese and Smoove Bleu Cornflake and Fried Baloney Norm is with Norma

Hank Morgan ‘21

Uphill The purposefulness of god, oh my, the fruits that grow in great numbers under the sun. With every breath I take, life flows through me as do the trees and rocks and rivers. I venture down to the water bank where I can see a dancing self portrait on the water. Continuing in as I drag my toes into the muddy basin scraping my toes on rocks and debris. I exit the water on the other side, water dripping off my body into tall grass back to the dirt. My legs dotted with dried mud now, I carry onward and upward. I continued on along the path before me until I reached the mountain. I looked up towards the peak hovering in the air like a phoenix, the jagged edges of rock and boulder separate the peak in two. As I climb, brush kicks and pokes at my legs urging me to slow down and seek rest. But the flame burning inside told me to keep moving and so I marched. Continuously watching my step being careful to avoid loose rocks and pebbles. Steps away from death I continue my journey not frowning at the challenges ahead. I look down to bleeding feet, raw with blood and wood shredding caked in mud. I took another look up at the peak, but this time we stood almost face to face. I look toward my challenger with weariness but my hunger drives me the rest of the way up. As I approach the peak a sense of calm rushes over me, I do not feel the pain anymore. I had won, a moment of sheer will. As I look around taking in everything that was intended. I glimpsed down to where I started my struggles. That was me I told myself, look at me now.

Chace Nethersole ‘21

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Sanitation Engineer The truck rumbles beneath me, We drive faster, the scent lingering behind us, Always following but never catching up.

I shake as we move along, Hands sore from gripping tightly, Heavy boots weighing me down.

I leap down, hard concrete under me, The bins shuttled back and forth, The more we go on, my arms strain.

People drive to work ahead of us, dogs walk.

We watch their lives from the outside, Their garbage gives us peeks at the inside.

Rylan Kennedy ‘21

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Alice Fisher ‘22

Maya Hampton VanSant ‘22

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An Excerpt from “A Winter’s Ball”

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Leo Yang ‘22

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The Beauty We Call Black Black is beautiful and tough Black is everything Smart and Strong and Proud and Decent Our skin courses with melanin Caramel and Milk Chocolate and Dark Chocolate We hunted and fished and formed kingdoms And lived with great honor Some met a new type of person They could be nice but not yet Now we were monkeys This kingdoms sold their people To someone with the skin of a cloud Scared and hungry and thirsty We became dehumanized and so much more A darkness formed It came to hearts and minds To the stars then moon then clouds then soil We left on ships came somewhere colder No people or happiness Just work Picking and picking at endless fields of cotton Because the cloud skins couldn’t do it themselves Sad we became Sad we were taught to be Beaten Whipped Raped Killed Lynched We could buy freedom Only to have it taken again A country was born Born on the plane that chocolate and caramel were worse than the clouds Then nothing ever changed Because we all were chocolate and caramel skinned A first generation of many formed Black Lives Matter formed then Looking to the North Star A black woman leading people to freedom We learned To read and to write

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Poets and lawyers and success soon came Juneteenth came Finally free Until we weren’t The cloud skins still had their heads in the clouds Thinking chocolate and caramel may be human But are just sloppy Filthy Half humans Half monkey Crazy and Idiots Blackface was funny to them And as the first generation of heroes ended A new one came They started to stir up the pot Really show us what they can do These were the Business Owners Reporters Writers Singers Dancers They don’t get talked about What they did goes unspoken They kept the revolution going Everyday Showing the clouds what black means Then we go back to the history book We know what’s coming next Who’s coming next The King A King One of many Kings and Queens of the time Just a pretty important one He had a Dream that still didn’t come true To have his children Live in a world Where they are not judged By the color Of their skin But by who they are As. A. Person.

Then that era ended We could vote We could do a lot Then something didn’t just rock the boat It obliterated it I think you know who I grew up with him A lawyer

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Harvard Grad Good father Even better person The President Barack Obama The first Noticeable Diversity In Government Wow A black president Who would have thought So proud So proud Now today We have more heroes Some I know Some I wish I knew Yes we have the Obamas We have all the news people We all know that I’m talkin about my generation Generation Z The generation who is sending kids To the best schools In America All ready To change the world And rock the boat Again So proud That includes Me I’m one of them Ready Able Committed Wanting Wanting to use this caramel skin To an advantage Wanting to turn the tables Not to say I can’t breathe But to wake up and say Breathing feels good No weight on my shoulder No walking home from school Passing that police car And having that small question in my mind Is today the day

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Equal protection Equal rights Equal access to happiness in all forms That darkness is lifting Some clouds embrace us But we still have work to do We all know it People still have Confederate flags People still look up to Confederate war leaders The government has passed laws But isn’t color blind Let’s be honest America can’t change Unless We Change the system that created it A system created on the darkness The hunger and the thirst The rapings and killings and lynching So I write this to say Black is beautiful Leaders Awesome Compassionate Kind Black is Hugs Kisses I love you Black is LGBTQIA+ Black is Understanding Black is Leaders and Changers and Boat rockers Black is Singers and Dancers and Rappers Black is Elegant and Simple and Loud But most of all Black is You So go out there And be proud Be black Be you And be true Thank you

Kyron Stevenson 24’

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Jada Ihekwoaba ‘23

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Wide Awake The older I get, Reality facing me, I still cant help but dream, With lids folded back, In the night, When the rush stagnates, And responsibility pauses, I dream, Of the far future way out of the grip of my hand, But still so close.

A dream of a future home oddly you see, A journey with ups and downs, But to be permanently, Oh to be permanently.

Will Onubogu ‘22

Riley Russell ‘23

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Be A Man Don’t be a girl and cry, hit him back; I know you miss your father DeVon , you never saw him right? But do you think he would want to see his son is a b****; DeVon, your gonna let a white boy, A WHITE BOY, come and show you up, no black man can do that, be a man please and strike back harder; Devon, Devon, Devon, yes me; I have to remember to be strong man; I have to listen to that new Lil Baby right, because If I don’t I’m not black, not a black man, thats that “tough” music right? and tough is what I have to be to be a man; Play sports too they say, basketball and football in particular, those are manly sports and I can assert my dominance; Dominance, yes? it’s what I want, it’s what I was told to want by my step-father, by my uncles, by my coaches, by my older male friends, by my TV, by my favorite songs and movies; “show that b**** who the real man is” said Kanye, similar to what my step-father said to me when I asked what girls like; girls like a man who is a man, who is tough and undisputed champion of the other man in the room, who doesn’t let other men show them up; so be better DeVon, better than every man aroundstronger, faster, cooler, smarter; command attention. And if you’re hurt no one shall ever know, women don’t like a softy who can’t control his emotions; and that’s what you need to be a man, DeVon— woman. Speak to pretty face women, command their attention with your manly statue and strength; and pay the bills, men who can’t pay the bills are bums, dirt bags, losers, who lets a woman pay the bills right? Men make money and run the house, it’s how our country was built, built by manly man who did the work while the best wifes ran the home; this is how you fight DeVon, hands up protect your face, because you will not talk it out, you will fight; compete always, don’t let other boys show you up DeVon, I can’t stress that enough, especially white boys DeVon; don’t be a p****; go play with airsoft guns, your not joining theater; never cry, ever; stop reading so much, go play basketball; beat up the kids that disrespect you; and DeVon disrespect others—especially other males, it asserts your dominance; get ripped at the gym, people will know not to mess with you then;

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DeVon, stop watching Doc Mcstuffins, are you f****** crazy? at least put on some f****** spongebob don’t want such girly shows, ha that’s what my friends would tell me, my friends that I hung out with, can’t say I loved them because love is an unthinkable element in a mans world, I don’t know if I love them, but I love calling them a simp, I love proving my manhood through competition among my friends, weird right?; wrong, no matter what, hone in on power, among everyone even your friends, your teachers, your mother, and your father; but DeVon, are you still hurt by the absence of your father? Maybe it’s time to…

DeVon Thompson ‘22

Talk About It Its okay Devon, you can cry about the things that hurt; listen to your mom DeVon; its okay to love properly, and it okay to let those you love know you love them; manless is nothing more than a “biological concept”; your passions, fears, hopes, emotions, they are not merely topics that go unspoken; I know your hurt by what others say about you, its okay to saddened by it, its okay to feel any other emotion but violent anger; Be more than what society wants you to be, than what society contains you to be, DeVon you are more than a pawn in the unwinnable never ending game of patriarchal masculinity; never be complacent with misogyny; Don’t use violence to assert your dominance DeVon; DeVon you don’t need dominance, you need to be loved, all the money and power in the world cant compensate for a “manly” soul lost in the never ending ocean of patriarchal competition, a soul that gives up the truth for artificial reassurance offered by other lost “manly” souls, a soul that has surrendered proper mental health in the name of maintaining manhood, a soul that can never be seen behind the “manly”mask; But I am me, I am DeVon, I am a man who cries when he losses, when he fails, when the stress of society is too much to handle; follow your dreams; love yourself, love others; feel; because its okay to feel, no matter what they tell you, its okay to feel; be a partner, a lover; I am a talker, not a fighter; I AM A MAN,

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who loves, who feels, who doesn’t attach oneself to what other men believe to be tough or cool; but the question remains– who am I? I am a learner, one who focuses on how I can be better, because now and then patriarchal expectations wail on my front door; but who am I? I am DeVon, one who understands that our world is more than mere pseudo-connections, connections that lay on the thin grounds of patriarchal presuppositions that perpetuate inequality and disconnect everyone from the root of what makes our world pure–love; love, it is all we have, be a man DeVon, and learn to love.

DeVon Thompson ‘22

Midori Fitzgerald ‘22

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Angella Ma ‘24

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Five Words Walking through a field of tall grass feeling the wind whip the tops of the grass at my face.

There is silence in the night the water is like glass. this beach is the best place.

The age of this beach being a secret is over, celadon water glows at me reflecting the full moon waves crashing forever like a never-ending motor.

My feet sink as I walk over the dunes.

People began to find this secret place.

The silence of the beach is gone.

People think they create, don’t realize what side they are on.

The hidden away beach will never be the same, people from all over the world coming to this place.

Hayden Riva ‘21

Sammie Glogoff ‘23

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Ben Cabot ‘22

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Marco Wilson ‘21