Flight Literary Magazine 2019

FLIGHT

Brentwood Academy Literary Magazine Vol. XXXV 2019

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Endsheet

Everett Hurst ’20

FLIGHT 2019

Brentwood Academy Literary Magazine Vol. XXXV

Brentwood Academy is a co-educational, independent, college preparatory school, dedicated to nurturing and challenging each whole person—body, mind, and spirit—to the glory of God.

www.brentwoodacademy.com

Flight is printed by TOOF / American Digital Company The Flight staff would like to thank Mr. David McQuiddy III ‘78 and his staff for their assistance with this magazine.

Flight magazine would not be complete without Mrs. Anna Kathryn Berkompas ’06 for her fine eye for detail and layout, Mrs. Susan Shafer for her thoughtful recommendations, and Mrs. Debbie Dunn for her dedication and photography. Finally, we wish to thank Mr. Curt Masters for his unwavering support of the magazine.

“Education…is a painful, continual, and difficult work to be done in kindness, by watching, by warning…by praise, but above all, by example.”

John Ruskin Countless young lives were touched and transformed by equations, home-runs, portfolios, un amour de Francais, experiments, brush strokes, Friday night lights, Paris strolls, exhibitions, and testimonies of faith.

It is with heartfelt thanks and deep appreciation that Flight literary magazine dedicates the 2019 edition to four amazing educators: Coach Paul Compton, Mrs. Marcia Bowen, Coach Floyd Elliott, and Mrs. Debbie Dunn.

Thank you for inspiring us all to be our best.

FLIGHT LITERARY STAFF 2018-2019 Senior Editor…Coco Holliday ’19 Junior Editor & Layout Design…Stella Arthur ’20 Advisor…Mrs. Cameron Phillips Anna Bryant ’19 Izzy Chapman ’19 Jonah Franks ’19 Ansley Scott ’19 Willa Stansell ’19 Juliana Bobo ’20 Lauren Freeman ’20 Jordan Harvey ’20 Elizabeth Heckman ’20

Hannah Holleman ’20 Mabry Johnson ’20 Tariah Lane ’20 Elizabeth Locke ’20 Shannon Raab ’20 Emmaline Scott ’20 Sophia Sharpe ’20 Anna Skinner ’20 Betsy Spurgeon ’20

Emma Wellons ’20 Lily Wilson ’20 Kylie Wittman ’20 Kayla Jordan ’21 Tina Karimaghaie ’21 Annie Massey ’21 Karley Nygren ’21 Jackson Peden ’21 Mary Grace Smith ’21

ART STAFF Art Advisor…Mrs. Debbie Dunn Editing Advisor...Mrs. Anna Kathryn Berkompas ’06 Nicholas Dikhtyar ’19 Coco Holliday ’19 George Payne ’19 Ashley Sheriff ’19

Stella Arthur ’20 Katie Ann Edgeworth ’20 Hannah Holleman ’20

Karley Nygren ’21 Mary Grace Smith ’21 Chrissy Spindel ’21

ARTWORK COVER 08 10 12 14 16 18 20 22 24 26 28 30 06

Abby Danner Ashley Sheriff Betsy Spurgeon Anna Skinner Stella Arthur Ashley Sheriff Abby Danner Lizzy Throckmorton Jada Thompson Mary Grace Smith Abby Danner Katie Ann Edgeworth Ansley Scott

32 34 36 38 40 42 44 46 48 50 53 54 BACK COVER

Abby Danner Everett Hurst Alexandria Swindle Nicholas Dikhtyar Abby Danner George Payne Sydney Merrill Chrissy Spindel Chrissy Spindel Jada Thompson Abby Danner Ashley Sheriff Ansley Scott

TABLE OF CONTENTS Poetry & Prose American Cover Girl The Friend in the Frame at the Front of the Church A Life Unlived Transformation Unrequited Love Perspective A Summer Day Reality, Not A Nursery Rhyme Undertow I Lost I Lost I Found Sunflower Black Excellence Universal Language Autumn Admiration Winter Battle A Toast to Brentwood Academy Leaving My Sister Goodbye Substance Motivation Beauty Dunkin’ Donuts House Blend Defeat The Sand in Your Pockets Farewell to a Mountain What If? The Road Always Traveled By Moving Hands The Meadow That I See Lies Heathcliff A Silent Lament Letting Go Fallen Petals Dickinsonian Hope Tattooed Heart Promise The Third Type of Anger The Thread Tied Up

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Maddie Ashburn Mary Grace Smith Kalliope Clayton Lily Wilson Ragon Petty Kayla Jordan Stella Arthur Mary Grace Gower Emma Wellons Tina Karimaghaie Mary Grace Smith Tariah Lane Elizabeth Locke Izzy Chapman Ellie Michaelson Anna Bryant Sarah Cazayoux Jake Arthur Judith Duncan Stella Arthur Emmaline Scott Willa Stansell Coco Holliday Jackson Peden Coco Holliday Ethan Peat Mia Baxter Annie Massey Anna Bryant Jordan Harvey Kylie Wittman Jonah Franks Lettie Jane Myers Caroline Breen Mary Grace Smith Willa Stansell Tina Karimaghaie Hannah Holleman Kayla Jordan Willa Stansell Karley Nygren 07

American Cover Girl Maddie Ashburn ’21

White woman lives in America.

She is: granddaughter of industrious European immigrant.

She is: loyal housewife and loving mother.

She is: cultural appreciation, not appropriation.

White woman uses her voice and stands up for what she believes in.

She is: fair, fresh, fearless.

Suave, sophisticated.

Empowered.

She is: everything America fights to protect.

She is: the girl you want to meet.

White woman is pulled over by metropolitan police.

She is: assured of her safety.

She is: taxes put to good use.

She is: an apology for her inconvenience and no warning.

White woman lives in America.

Black woman lives in America She is: great granddaughter of a slave from who cares where.

She is: probably a teenage mother.

She is: “Angry Black Woman.”

Black woman uses her voice and stands up for what she believes in.

She is: debaucherous, dirty, disrespectful.

Unappreciated, uneducated.

Hateful.

She is: everything America fights against.

She is: “go back from wherever you came.”

Black woman is pulled over by metropolitan police.

She is: “random” stop and search.

She is: face to asphalt and arms behind her back.

She is: high fine for being an inconvenience.

Black woman lives in America.

Why does white woman’s skin color portends of good nature; While, black woman’s skin color sows seeds of doubt?

White woman asks why we can’t all be color blind?

Black woman says the ability to see color is not the real problem, But the way we treat those of different complexion.

They are: The American Cover Girl.

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The Friend in the Frame at the Front of the Church Mary Grace Smith ’21

Ashley Sheriff ’19

As my mother told me it was time To put my black dress on once more, My yearning eyes met the raw glass.

It readily handed me back my reflection, As if it was never mine to have in the first place.

Funny how my dress has grown short on me.

Perhaps it has forgotten I’m growing older And my body weight demands to be held by a bigger number I turn away in a familiar uneasiness that consumed every inch of me I felt betrayed by my body and by this fabric It was the only constant I had after everything Because no matter what at least I could count on that black satin dress.

It use to fit me well and the zipper knew my spine The lining was stitched with my tear drops and snotty sniffles.

The neckline carried the grief of a heavy humid church That weighed it down and hung stretched out But it fits me differently now.

The seam doesn’t wrap around my shoulder like it did when my uncle passed And it leaves my thigh naked and exposed unlike it did when I wore it for my cousin’s I assume the last church pew it sat in made it stretch And tear and lose all its color, turning a rather grayish color Oh no, that won’t do, My mother angrily instructs me.

Black, it had to be black because someone long ago decided that should be the color to designate when a life is over with As if black was suppose to join them in their sorrow like it tends to do Maybe my dress has caught on to this And is hiding in gray from the perpetual threat of another time worn I suppose I will need to get a new one that’s much longer One that hasn’t seen the friend in the frame at the front of the church.

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Betsy Spurgeon ’20

A Life Unlived Kalliope Clayton ’21

I long to be not where I am now, To not just exist, but to live.

Always on the move, never knowing where I might go next, To explore, experience, and enjoy The culture, the people, and the awe of our world.

An inconceivable experience in a foreign city, Going from market to market, inhaling the aroma of a rainbow of spices, Staying up past midnight just to see the Northern Lights, Wandering down cobblestone streets and observing monuments and museums, Getting lost in cities, feeling the sudden immersion, Into the ocean of illusion, and the implausibility of it all.

A peripatetic, a gadabout, constantly visiting places, enriching the fabric of life; Visiting St. Peter’s Basilica on Monday, then Machu Picchu on Wednesday, Hopping on a train or plane, just to explore the vastness of the seven continents, Changes my own world into a global one, To learn how to say hello in twenty different languages, and To indulge in gelato in Florence, and eat fish and chips in London.

Living life as it should be lived, with curiosity and desire, Without regretting any decision and making each day more euphoric than the last.

But I am here, stuck in the same monotonous routine, day after day.

Looking at the pictures, not taking them.

Feeling homesick for a home that was never truly mine And the need for eleutheromania from my current home.

They say the world is my oyster, yet is it really?

Fifteen and still years of education ahead, staying right here, My only hope is to study abroad, but how long will that last?

Alas, my heart only knows my dream might never come true, The future, with its uncertainty, takes control, squeezing the hope out of me, I only want to know people I have yet to meet and see things I can only wish to see, For America will always be my country, but the world is my home.

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Transformation Lily Wilson ’20

Imagine a day where An early morning means you’re alive A cup of spilled coffee means you have food A road full of traffic means you have a car Meetings mean you have a job Grocery trips mean you have mouths to feed Arguments mean you have people who care Imagine a day where The glass is half full Live this kind of day And watch everything transform Because a life filled with gratitude Leads the heart to joy.

Unrequited Love

Anna Skinner ’20

Ragon Petty ’21

Giving up all my hours For a pair of running shoes Farewell freetime Hello grass stains and turf all in my socks Sweating is my specialty But I’m getting turned on The pain increases Each step that I take My passion, my everything All down the drain Might as well dig a grave And bury my talent My doctor says, “no” My coach says, “no” My foot says, “no” No more running for me As I hobble across In the darkness of day I think to myself “Why did it have to be this way” Why doesn’t this sport Love me the same.

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Perspective Kayla Jordan ’21

“Who in the world am I?” wondered Alice to the Hatter, But soon she will discover, it does not even matter.

Once one travels through the glass Important changes come to pass.

One such as Alice will emerge With a sudden surge in urge To go back to the day before When life had been one boring chore, But that will happen nevermore.

“Have I gone mad?” the young girl asked.

The Cheshire Cat smirked at her; his piercing gaze steadfast “I’m afraid so.” He answered her, and then he leaned in nearer “All of the best people are” and handed her a mirror “Look in this and you will see The brilliant girl you wish to be.”

As Alice studied her reflection Nothing changed in her complexion.

When asked why, the cat sang back “There is nothing that you lack All of this in Wonderland Came from your mind unbidden, unplanned.

Imagination is the key To all that you aspire to be.”

To that Alice did look amazed.

She glanced about her, slightly dazed Like Sleeping Beauty, Alice wondered Had she awoken from her slumber?

Alice now realized what she’d missed By not realizing her true gift.

She’d done all this through imagination gone wild— Alice in Wonderland began to smile.

Stella Arthur ’20

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A Summer Day Stella Arthur ’20

Stagnant day, Stagnant head, A stagnant girl lies on her bed, A beautiful breeze, Does nothing but tease— Her heart is dying in her chest.

The window is open, And birds serenade, No one cares to notice and come to her aid, The sky glows blue, Not having a clue, The torment of the wasting girl.

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She doesn’t cry, But she wants to scream, When did she start to rip at the seams?

Her mind never moves, Yet runs wild and proves She has no use on this Earth.

She fell, now she’s trapped, And fears clutch her throat, She’s lost at sea, someone’s taken the boat, So she sprawls on her bed, And succumbs to her head, As a summer day passes outside.

Reality, Not A Nursery Rhyme

Ashley Sheriff ’19

Mary Grace Gower ’20

Jack took Jill on up the hill The place where couples went.

They sat and ate, enjoyed the date His words were compliments.

Jack pulled her tight she felt his heart A barely beating thud He whispered something in her ear “A lesson you’ll become.”

Jill saw all the little things he did And how much he truly cared.

She loved how much he held her tight Even how he always stared.

In her neck she heard a crack And her final breath would say, I finally found the courage to hide But he found me anyway.

Jill was in love right then and there.

To him she gave her light, But soon she would come to realize Something happened to him that night.

As she went slack, fell to the floor Her voice in him when she died.

He punched the floor board next to her face “I’ll never do it again,” he cried.

They went into a what he called a “home,” Jill following behind all the more.

“He does this because he’ll think I’m safe,” She thought as he locked the door.

As he arranged the funeral, He found a girl named Liz. A beautiful girl, who arranged the flowers, And soon she would receive his.

But as she looked closer and saw the locks, The bruises on her arm, She wondered how she was captive, How he had worked his little charm.

So Jack took Liz on up the hill The place where couples went.

They sat and ate, enjoyed the date “He seems nice,” to her defense.

Jill had to leave, get out of there But he held her tighter still As she tried to come out from his grasp He didn’t listen to her will.

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Undertow Emma Wellons ’20

Things that I will keep in my forever memory Rarely even cross your mind.

People who find a way to love intentionally Always give you their time.

I cry to get rid of the water I was drowning in Finding the difference between chaos and calm.

I’ve learned that I can’t let myself get involved in Trying desperately to make sense of my wrongs.

Breathing deep and letting go, I know I will see tomorrow, But finding release is not what you think, Always caught in the undertow.

Abby Danner ’19

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I Lost I Lost I Found Tina Karimaghaie ’21

Lizzy Throckmorton ’19

At six years old I left my home and I never went back.

I lost my dad, and I lost my culture.

At seven years old I learned how to speak in English.

But I lost all chances of having friends, because I had a translator at kindergarten‌ At eight years old I gained my first real friend, But then she moved and I lost her too.

At nine years old they realized I was good at math.

But only boys were good at math in the third grade, so girls thought I was weird.

At ten years old my sister stopped hanging out with me.

Because as a middle schooler, she was too old to be seen around me.

At eleven years old my mom got married, And I finally had something amazing in my life: A man who loved my mom, more than anyone in the world ever has, A man who chose my sister and me, despite how much we screamed, kicked, and fought, A man who knew the world and understood people, A man who has paid for every mistake I have ever made, A man who has forgiven me for every mistake I have ever made, A man who has loved me despite every mistake I have ever made, A man who has protected me, Always.

Before I saw a man love the person who I loved more than anyone else in the world, Everything was black.

Everything was bad.

But now I have hope in love.

I have hope in family, In God. I do not count every day in every year and wait for it to pass.

I do not see what I have lost.

For what I have gained trumps all the pain.

I owe it all to one man.

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Sunflower Mary Grace Smith ’21

The sunflower always wondered where it came from It always asked the birds who was its real mom They never did answer and gave no reply So it simply looked to itself to understand why And it found that its home was where the secret was So it grew as tall as it could to get to the sun But the taller it got, the weaker its base And the heat of disappointment soonly erased Its expectation of any real name And the flower felt sad because it couldn’t reach the love That was supposedly promised when you met the one from above So sunflower, sunflower is that why you are so tall To find the mother that never called But take ease, take rest For there’s really no contest For the sun will still reach you Even if you are motherless.

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Black Excellence Tariah Lane ’20 Black Excellence, Black Excellence You make me feel proud To be a person of color To stand out in a crowd.

Black Excellence, Black Excellence You give me a choice To speak up And to have a voice From Killmonger rightful grief, to Kaepernick’s NFL beef, And even Kanye’s ignorant beliefs Which warranted his black card be revoked Reminded me to always stay woke.

It was women like Tessa, Rihanna, and Queen B Who reminded me it’s okay to be Black to be me.

You removed the chip from my shoulder Made me just a little bit bolder And you replaced that chip with a crown When Black Panther reminded me that Kings and Queens can be Brown Now we’ve got Royalty like Kendrick, Chadwick, Lebron and Meghan Markle Reminding the world you need some Black to show real sparkle But this world it’s corrupt I mean we even get shot when we put our hands up But runneth over has my cup Because Black excellence picks me up Up from the depths So that now I can make big steps It was Starr Carter who showed me what THUG LIFE really means–

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It means Thinking before you do Having compassion for those who don’t have it for you it’s Unconditionally pushing for what is right and Giving Courage to those who aren’t white And when the world gives us acts of hate and disdainful blows Our forever first lady reminds us to go high when they go low And when life throws punches left and right Adonis Creed reminds us how to fight We’ve got legends like Drake, Childish Gambino, and James Earl Jones Who got finesse, talent, and major clout flowing through their bones And we applaud those like Logic, Zendaya, and Obama Who despite being both Black and White simultaneously, Always embrace their African roots painstakingly And let’s not forget our ladies Our queens and strong sisters Showing us we can do bad without our misters From Taraji to Angela Bassett, Lupita, and Letitia Wright We’ve got hundreds of amazing women Reminding us that to have timeless talent and boundless beauty you don’t have to be light

Jada Thompson ’19

We mourn and celebrate the greats like MJ, Prince, and the Queen of Soul too With much R-E-S-P-E-C-T We bid you all adieu

You see Black Isn’t Whack It means being Brilliant Laudable Accomplished Courageous and Keen to how Our people are: Strong, Compassionate, Radiant and Tough And all around equipped with the Right stuff What needs to be known, is that I am You are We are Enough That’s what I kept missing What I did not see That all those things lay right here, Inside of me.

I am Black Excellence Altogether so are we So Brothas and Sistas No matter what they tell us No matter what we or they do to yourself always be true Fight prejudice, privilege, and petulance With your bold, boundless Black Excellence Telling this nation That this is who I am And I’ve got Blackness Embedded in every gram.

And when the world sees us as base And throws Injustice in our face Attempting to “put us in our place” Because of our race Black Excellence reminds me that’s not the case

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Universal Language Elizabeth Locke ’20

There is one thing in this diverse world That keeps people together.

It defies culture and Languages, And transcends countries.

It comes in many forms And can be accessed by anyone.

It has the ability To touch everyone it reaches.

Music is all of these – A universal language Portrayed as bars and lines That flow together to create one beautiful masterpiece.

People may be moved to tears Or jump for joy at the sound of it.

Mary Grace Smith ’21

Music brings people together.

The differences do not matter.

It is a gift to the whole world That we cannot help but appreciate.

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Autumn Admiration Izzy Chapman ’19

It was in the beginning of the fall, When vibrant hues of green had gone to rest And were replaced with naked boughs, and all From spindly sticks to broadened limbs undressed.

As I reclined among the dying trees, The aftermath of summer’s used-up fuse, Despite the growing night and chilling breeze, I relished in warm tones and earthy hues.

Discovering delight in the crisp air, A ritual of sipping steaming blends Of robust spices blossomed and ensnared A heart whose love for fall could never end.

As surely as autumnal wind does blow My favorite season sets my world aglow.

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Winter Ellie Michaelson ’21

The first chill in the air, the trees, mere grey, and brown shadows stand sentinel having been stripped of summer’s green magnificence.

The blazing golds and reds of autumn is a mere memory.

Scattered evergreens bear witness to natures vitality.

All is not dead just dormant and sleeping.

The smell of wood smoke drifts between houses.

Indoors the crackle and pop of fires accompany the smells of warm ciders and hot teas.

The aromas of cookies, pies, and cakes baking fill the air, all missed for so long during the heat of the summer.

Eventually, a white blanket falls, coating the earth and the trees, providing a sense of purity and silence, that encompasses all of nature.

Still, people venture out into the cold.

Wearing a riot of colors and patterns– sweaters, coats, and boots.

Abby Danner ’19

The days are short, more darkness than light even in the extended night, people find fellowship and love.

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Battle Anna Bryant ’19

Like David with his flock, I want to find A way to give protection from your fall; I sense the black storm raging in your mind And feel the winds that keep you to a crawl.

This giant looks at me to place the blame With yellow eyes that see into my fear, His twitching nose sniffs out my stench of shame Each heavy step an insult and a jeer.

Goliath tempts me to give up the fight And let the waters take me from midstream, To run away into the dark of night, To live as if your pain is just a dream.

But I must go and take my rock and sling With faith that soon the giant’s head I’ll bring.

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A Toast to Brentwood Academy Sarah Cazayoux ’21

Let’s Toast To… The good grades, And the bad ones.

The momentous moments, And the times we wish to forget.

The friends made, And the friends lost.

The classes we loved, And the classes we didn’t.

The state titles we won, And the few we lost.

The hard workouts, And the rare easy practice.

The old coaches leaving, And new coaches beginning.

The teammates we grew to love, And teammates we didn’t.

Katie Ann Edgeworth ’20

The triangle philosophy, And the spiritual emphasis.

The chapels spoken, And testimonies shared.

The connection through faith, And the multitude of prayers prayed.

The love shown for the Lord, And those surrounding us.

The continuation of laughter, And occasional tear.

The moments in the middle school dens, And the upper school hallways.

The teachers that watched us grow, And the teachers that raised us.

Let’s toast to seven years at Brentwood Academy.

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Leaving My Star Jake Arthur ’19

She is my star Her soul is one in my own I’ll miss the long rides in my car But the path I’ve taken is known I’ll leave a scar We aren’t prepared to be alone But we are never far We aren’t ready to be grown But my star is wherever I can see the sky Whenever I miss her with all my heart And the longing leads me to cry We’ll both have to play the tough part And brush it off with a shaking sigh Because I’m her rock and she’s my art She’ll be my star until I die And this end is only a new start (For my best friend and sister)

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Goodbye Judith Duncan ’21

The day had been coming for quite some time, Never dreamt that this soon I’d be saying goodbye.

Give you one final hug before you walk away, The love I carried for you nothing else could outweigh.

The memories shared were like precious metals, And even more delicate than flower petals.

“There through it all” was the one way to describe it, Our personalities were somewhat of a perfect fit.

California was to be your new home, And all throughout it you would continually roam.

Never fully feeling quite at peace, As your longing for home more gradually increased.

We were loyal companions like Wilbur and Charlotte, Never fighting or making the other a target.

You were the type of friend that all longed to retain, So seeing you leave filled us all with such pain.

However, we know it is not the end of our story, For your return was almost obligatory.

We could hardly wait for the day to come, Hoping that the end of your stay would provide a different outcome.

Ansley Scott ’19

The day came again to say our goodbyes, But this time we knew the departure would not be made better by cries.

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Substance Stella Arthur ’20

My joints are jutting and my stature is short, My feet are small and my knees are weak, There are bags under my eyes and a slouch in my spine.

My bones are hollow like a bird’s, Like any passing wind could blow me away, Like I could topple down with the slightest touch, Or bruise at the gentlest hit.

My blood flows thinly and my stamina runs dry, I am made of wisps and cotton and dandelion seeds, I feel as if I will not last, as if in one breath I’ll be gone.

I come from dry dirt and to dry dirt I will return.

But my loved ones smile at my words, And I lend them my hand when they need me, And I speak surely of God and know Him through my heartbeat.

I stand firm and unflinching in the winds, Strong despite my lacking.

I am substantial and solid, If not in body, then in character.

Abby Danner ’19

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Motivation Emmaline Scott ’20

Everett Hurst ’20

worm on the sidewalk crawling towards the soil you can do it man

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Beauty Willa Stansell ’19

There’s strength and beauty in all people though my mind is quick to ignore and mindlessly categorize.

There’s beauty and strength in jungle trekking and desert crossing and island hopping, In gala attending and gown wearing and In book reading and nook finding and story writing, In penny saving and dollar stretching and In boat rocking and awareness raising And in rest.

And in HAIR RAISING YELLS. And in the quietest whispers.

And none of their beauty diminishes one another.

And in their differences also lives beauty and strength.

Dunkin’ Donuts House Blend Coco Holliday ’19

The sheep roam, bleating in a golden haze, eluding– in the brush of the pasture– enumeration, my mission of days.

Heavens roar, without warning: a rapture.

The sky opens to a stark, moonless night my toiled-over task: lost and forgotten.

Closed off from feeling and still without sight: time has been stolen, my mood turned rotten.

From my sweet, old oasis I was ripped, yet distantly– in the depths of despair– I could hear the first percolating drip.

A subtly sweet scent wafts in to declare: He’s here to forgive restless pariahs Raised from the grinds, my liquid Messiah.

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Defeat Jackson Peden ’21

A pretty tough pill to swallow, To see our hard-work’d fields fallow; Embarrassment is underway, But we can’t let ourselves wallow.

Seeking pity is not the way, It just leaves our emotions grey; It is time that we take the fight And do so without delay.

Don’t worry about current plight; It is time to take off in flight; Defeat is not fun or easy, But it builds us to a great height.

Acceptance may make us queasy, And it sure is pretty cheesy, But it fills the darkened hollow Inside us after we’re uneasy.

The Sand in Your Pockets Coco Holliday ’19

like the sea washing over the sand: green tea, honey sunset blues warm, welcome golden hues dripping in sweetness, and sickening brilliance soft, heavy dusky truth: like the cold sand in your pockets weeks after your trip to the beach. empty your pockets and leave. go back out into the downpour— with raindrops like pellets against the hard shell of your umbrella

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Alexandria Swindle ’19

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Farewell to a Mountain Ethan Peat ’19

Part 1 I met him when I was 4. He was and still is my best friend. He is the nicest, most kind hearted being I have ever met. “When it comes, should we cremate or bury him?” my mother asked with tear stricken eyes. “We should cremate him, he’s a big boy, it’d be far too painful to bury him,” I replied. This morbid talk reminded me of a time when he wasn’t under the pressure of cancer. His prognosis is roughly six months to a year.

His once beautiful coat that glistened in the summer sun is now speckled with brown from age.

His smooth and muscled body is now scattered with lumps of fat. It used to be a pleasure to watch him dash around the yard with the speed of a greyhound and the grace of a cow. Now I must suffer watching him limp and hop a single circuit around the yard before having to recline for another short nap before repeating the wounded cycle again. His incredible strength used to tear my skin to shreds due to him dragging me down the road if he happened to see something he felt the need to chase. But now, I would gladly endure that pain again to bring his strength back so that I might not have to watch him groan and shudder as he struggles to just stand. Fortunately, he does not know that he is dying yet. He is happy and full of life. While his body has deteriorated, his loving heart has not.

The Kubler-Ross stages of grief are as follows—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. For myself I am going to skip the first three stages and jump straight to the sadness and acceptance. I know this because I understand that I have given him the best life possible. So when the time comes in a few months for me to lay him to rest, I know I will shed tears for his absence, but I will be filled with happiness from the life that he brought me.

Nicholas Dikhtyar ’19

Part 2 Now that I have sufficiently depressed most of you I feel obligated to give you something cheerful to counterbalance the sadness. Yesterday we celebrated our dog’s 13th birthday. We gave him puppy ice cream, a tradition we’ve held for years. Slightly related fun fact, apparently you can buy puppy ice cream at Publix. They come in a ton of different flavors such as peanut butter banana, peanut butter bacon, and peanut butter cheese.

Part 3 It has been just over five months since I first wrote this. He has since passed. Ironically it was not the cancer that took him, but it was his own legs. The whole ordeal was rather sudden. I came home one night and he could no longer walk on his own. The next day we had no choice but to let him go. We gave him the best day a dog could ever dream of. It was a feast of peanut butter, grilled cheese, grilled chicken, steak, and the remainder of the puppy ice cream. I held him in my arms and sobbed for what felt like an eternity before he finally letting go. I have not shed a tear since his passing; it wouldn’t be fair to him if I did.

In loving memory of Thunder Mountain Peat.

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What If? Mia Baxter ’21

What if...

Alice never tumbled down the rabbit hole To discover a whole new world, Where animals celebrate un-birthdays, And dodo birds chat with moles?

What if...

Bilbo never joined an adventure To reclaim stolen treasures And stumbled upon a ring of great power Whose strength could not be measured?

What if...

Lucy never sought shelter In a wardrobe containing magical realms Or explored a world of eternal winter But never of Christmas to tell?

What if...

Huck never escaped with Jim And floated miles for freedom, Or Jim wasn’t captured again But, by Tom’s tricky tactics, sprung?

What if...

No author was ever inspired No book ever pinned?

Oh, what the world would miss!

Would people be glued to technology, And become as mindless as a robot, Forever missing the novelty Of a tome with a fascinating plot?

For truly, a world without books Is a ship without sails, A house without windows, And a body without a soul.

What if?

Abby Danner ’19

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The Road Always Traveled By Annie Massey ’21

He disobeyed Robert Frost And ventured down the easy path, Maybe it once was beautiful...

But now the path is ragged, Worn from the steps of everyone who has treaded it.

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He turned around and looked back At this overpopulated path, And realizing he could not go back without being trampled, He carried on this horrid road No chance of being noticed He ran with the crowd, terrified of falling.

George Payne ’19

He forever regretted this mistake, As his life was miserable on flat ground, So he told himself that he would take the high road, If ever granted another chance.

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Moving Hands Anna Bryant ’19

The birds come down to feed, The snowcaps melt as the seasons change, As Hands mold and move the Earth.

The lonely Trinculo sits among the skies Spewing empty words and waiting As Hands mold and move the Earth.

Terror makes his untamed will a slave And soon will leave nothing but a body on which The birds come down to feed.

A quick wit sharpens the mind Into a blade that guides its captive owner As Hands mold and move the Earth.

The broken man may still lift his eyes to Him And join in nature’s escape from death to life: The birds come down to feed As Hands mold and move the Earth.

Response to “Trinculo” in W. H. Auden’s The Sea and the Mirror as Gonzalo in the style of “Miranda”

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Sydney Merrill ’21

Each blade of grass redeems the dirt.

On land which once was barren, The birds come down to feed.

The Meadow That I See Jordan Harvey ’20

The sun rises in the morning As I look out the window.

A meadow waits for me.

Green grass and flowers bloom galore.

I open the door and step into the sunlight.

The open field goes farther than the eyes can see– but that doesn’t bother me.

I like the meadow that I see, the flowers dancing around my feet.

I see the flowers as they are– beautiful and alive.

I do not see them withering, as they will be.

Just as I do not see the winter in the spring, and I do not see the sunset in the morning, I do not see the flowers dying.

I see them now.

The seeds are planted, the flowers bloom, the flowers die.

I admire the flower in its beauty, in its youth, in its bloom. Now. I do not look at the grown flower and see seeds, nor do I see its death– But I see the flower as I see everything.

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Lies Kylie Wittman ’20

All the lies.

The evil little guys.

I want to leave.

They don’t want me to believe.

I’m feeling low But they don’t wanna go.

Far away.

I don’t wanna stay.

I’ve got to hide, But they’re in sight.

Where did they go?

It’s hard know.

They follow me Everywhere I see.

All the lies.

The evil little guys.

Oh my soul!

They wanna take control.

Hurry up.

They’re so corrupt.

It’s not too late To close the gate.

It’s hard to explain, But I’m always afraid.

Hear me now.

I’m ending the game with a bow.

I hear the cries Even in the night.

The evil little guys.

All the lies.

You’re leaving me.

My mind will agree.

No more will I claim That I was the one to blame As I end this game.

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Heathcliff Jonah Franks ’19

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the life that I lead It’s if you cut a good man a hypocrite will bleed There’s no room in heaven for a man like myself And that’s fine God can have it all to himself Right and wrong are A luxury of the rich When life gets hard See if you still care which As I drown these thoughts In alcohol and lots As sure as God is Love, And a heaven hangs above, And Sins on Souls leave their Stains, And angels watch over a worldly plane, You will choke on my pain

If Christ was forsaken, his night on the tree Then Christ was no less an orphan than me If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the life I’ll soon leave When you scratch the good men Hypocrites bleed Needs give way to Greeds Greeds give way to Creeds When Good Men are cut, hypocrites bleed When Bad Men are saved, Good Men are freed Because Jesus is no less an orphan than me.

Chrissy Spindel ’21

If something is real, it’s something you feel Suffering is silent, but brings you to heal Suffering is violent, it tempers your will Leaves good men an inch from the ones who kill

I’ve known goddesses and reverends Deacons and heathens— When they fall down When they break even You find out They’re all the same You find out They bleed the same blood Are worth the same mud Wear the same skin Different casts of the same hideous grin And if they preached what they practiced they’d swallow their sin

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Chrissy Spindel ’21

A Silent Lament Lettie Jane Myers ’21

Hush, child, and don’t cry.

Don’t let me hear you lie.

Hush, sweetheart, and hold fast.

Grasp tight to the things of the past.

Hush, my daughter, and look high.

It is too late to say goodbye.

Hush, my dear, and remember this: I leave you with a parting kiss.

Quiet all, and listen close; Never was there one whom I loved most.

Letting Go Caroline Breen ’21

Nobody tells you when you are young That hard times are going to come.

That sometimes things do not turn out how you planned, and you have to go through it.

The days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, and months slowly turn into years, and you feel like the days are never going to disappear.

You walk through life Like you are in the middle of a hurricane, the storm is all around you, and you can barely see the light.

Everything happens for a reason, and you have finally learned that the horrible time in your life was all just a season.

A few years pass, and suddenly you know that everything that has held you back, has now made you let go.

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Fallen Petals Mary Grace Smith ’21

In the beginning There were two seeds Basically, the same They were without weeds But as they grew They steamed apart Becoming more different They knew change was about to start Oh oblivious they were To their petals falling off For they didn’t even realize How many layers they have dropped And once they saw All they had lost They were already too cold And a friendship was lost.

Dickinsonian Hope Willa Stansell ’19

Emily told me that hope is the thing with feathers but I’ve often found it has scales.

Emily told me that hope perches in the soul but my hope is more of a migratory species that never stays anywhere too long.

Emily told me that hope sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all but my hope seems to hibernate an awful lot, And I’m not so sure about the tunes Emily’s hope sings because I’m lucky if I can hear the faintest breathing of my hope.

It’s not that I don’t believe Emily about hope, it’s just I think mine might be a different breed.

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Tattooed Heart Tina Karimaghaie ’21

My mother always warned me, “Don’t you dare get a tattoo!”

Oh, I wish I listened back when she had told me what to do.

But now it is much too late to get it removed, Because I am afraid the scarring will cause more pain than good.

I pushed you away, then you pushed me, and now it is understood.

My joy was genuine, I cannot argue with that.

I felt so privileged to know a you that nobody else knew.

I felt so privileged that you said I was one of few That you could look in the eyes.

I rolled my eyes and giggled at my mom’s warning.

I did not know that she was saving my heart from burning.

You came. You stayed. I broke down the walls of protection.

Jada Thompson ’19

And then you left.

But you did not leave before pricking my heart a thousand times.

You did this without saying a word.

Your silence is violent.

I bled, I cried, I did not sleep.

I deserved closure, but you stole that from me.

I do not know why I am expecting it to fade.

For a tattoo is eternal ink.

Its permanence is something I cannot alter.

But maybe I do not desire it to desert me, And maybe I am too afraid to accept you are gone.

I am ignorant, I am naive.

Like a nomad, you stopped by for what you needed, But left me with nothing, Except a scar.

Yet somehow I am wishing you the best.

Because I will always be marked by you.

I will always have your touch.

I will always have your ink.

I will always have a little piece of you, Tattooed on my heart, And I want it that way.

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Promise Hannah Holleman ’20

The grey of the sky above her, The light breeze blowing through.

What is a promise worth When it is broken in two?

He said he’d never hurt her, Swore he’d never dare.

He showed his promise with a ring; She knew he’d always care.

She forgave him for the first bruise.

And the second, and the third.

But after regular nights of suffering, Her cries remained unheard.

When no one would listen Or try to understand, She found she’d had enough And she assumed the upper hand.

They thought it was an accident, An unfortunate event.

As they all came and wept for him, She did not lament.

Standing on the edge, With the breeze whistling past, She was far from regret.

She swore she’d endured her last.

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The Third Type of Anger Kayla Jordan ’21

Anger takes three main forms.

Anger can be explosive— Fiery and bright, Blazing for all to see, And leaving destruction In its wake.

Anger can be cold, And hard as diamond.

An icy wind that cannot be penetrated.

Blocking— no, freezing Everything out.

Anger can be a rattlesnake: But the warnings are ignored.

Anger hides in the underbrush Watching, waiting for a chance to strike.

Abby Danner ’19

One can try to kill the snake, Or keep it from escaping.

Only the experienced know To kill the snake you must Let it go.

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The Thread Willa Stansell ’19

Sometimes in moments of breadth or depth of experience When the shadow of deities like Wonder or Grief pass over me, I am comforted by the thought that others have written poetry about a similar experience.

I feel the thread that connects me to the blanket of humanity.

I feel known.

Yet only a moment later I feel bound.

Trapped.

This blanket which is so quick to toss us up in the air like children to Lift Us High is the same as the net that now holds me, holds us, down.

Tied Up Karley Nygren ’21

I think that I must be a marionette, bound to an unseen choreographer and forced to dance until there is nothing left in me.

Or maybe I am a fish, having taken its bait, now irrevocably pierced by a fisherman’s hook.

Ashley Sheriff ’19

It’s possible that I am a kite, twirling in the wind, and that my string is the only thing stopping me from flying free.

But perhaps I’m an anchor tied to a ship, keeping it from drifting away and drowning in the process.

Have I committed some great treason and been left to hang from a noose?

Am I a pendant strung around the neck of an aristocrat, blinding her acquaintances when I catch the light?

A dog eager to be freed from its master’s leash?

I could even be the string itself, plucked in accordance to the will of my musician.

Or a spider’s web, ruthlessly killing to provide for its maker.

Of one thing I am certain: this life I live is not my own.

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Everett Hurst ’20

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FLIGHT Brentwood Academy Literary Magazine

Vol. XXXV 2019