Still Waters, Volume 4, Issue 4

STILL WATERS A BROOKS SCHOOL LITERARY MAGAZINE

VOL IV, ISSUE IV

STILL WATERS A BROOKS SCHOOL LITERARY MAGAZINE

VOL IV, ISSUE IV

EDITORS

Dean Charpentier, English Department Chair John Haile, English teacher

STUDENT EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Abbey Charlamb ’21 Ryan Winchester ’21

DESIGNERS

Abbey Charlamb ’21 Ryan Winchester '21

The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words

PUBLICATIONS

Rebecca Binder, Director of Publications, English Teacher Jennifer O’Neill, Director of Digital Communications

- William H. Gass

COVER ART

Elizabeth Packard '21 Still Waters is committed to publishing original, exciting material from a diverse collection of Brooks student writers. While we actively pursue short fiction, poetry, and memoir, we will consider any form of writing submitted.

There are no restrictions on word count, and authors may submit multiple submissions at a time. Send submissions in a shared google document or to the school email address of the student staff members (acharlamb or rwinchester).

Decisions are made on a rolling basis, and once submitted, a piece will be eligible for publication in any future issue of Still Waters.

CONTENTS

FICTION 2 3 5 6 7 8

THE BARISTA by Racquel Baldeo LETTERS TO MAMA by Annie Edwards A LOVE LIKE THIS by Gabriella Garozzo THE RIM OF THE GALAXY by Kevin Golden HUMANITY by Caroline Samoluk THE FLOWER OF LIFE by Martrell Stevens

HAIKU FINALISTS

10 Tanay Kommaredi Caitlyn Ingram Nancy Perkins Alec Fedele Nathaniel Wirth Harry Zhu 11 Kevin Golden Nolan Heneghan Lughano Nyondo Abby Dawson Aidan Shea Shea Baker Nancy Perkins

12 Eben Dooling Angelina Lieberman Kiara Mejia Evan Wirth Cali Bernier Emma Tiedemann Sergei Myers 13 Amy Mojica Sara Moeller Daniel Park Maria Munoz De Lein Marco Martinez 14 Laura Smith Preston Wong Zeb Stewert Caroline Samoluk Gabriella Garozzo Zhan Shu

This issue of Still Waters comes on the heels of our school-wide haiku contest, and on the following pages you will find the thirty-two finalists, the top ten award winners, and of course, the ultimate winner and runner up.

Most of us remember haiku from elementary school, where it taught us about syllables and a little bit about poetry, but not much else. In reality, the haiku is an ancient and disciplined form of Japanese poetry with a rich history. Its seeming simplicity belies its complexity and depth.

Jack Kerouac, the American writer most well known for his prose with novels like On the Road and Dharma Bums, was in love with haiku and considered it a perfect way to capture the Beat sensibility. He also acknowledged the fundamental differences between Western languages and Japanese, so allowed that “American haiku”—which he referred to as “pops”—could fly fast and loose with the traditional 5-7-5 syllable requirement.

Kerouac said, “I propose that the ‘Western Haiku’ simply say a lot in three short lines in any Western language. Above all, a haiku must be very simple and free of all poetic trickery and make a little picture and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi Pastorella.”

That is still shooting pretty high, but he broke his own rules as often as not, many times for the sake of humor.

The wonderful haiku in this issue reflect both the traditional form and the more contemporary interpretation. They are poignant, vivid, funny, thoughtful, and relevant. We received over 350 entries in the contest, and for a week or so, the community discussed the relative merits of haiku at meals, in the dorms, on practice fields, in classes, in the halls, and on Main Street.

Without being too overly dramatic, perhaps the best thing to come out of this contest is the reminder of the power of poetry and language. The short fiction and other works in this issue use language in powerful ways also. It’s not easy to craft language that is both concise and meaningful at the same time. These writers are highly successful in that pursuit.

Brooks School 1

Dean Charpentier English Department Chair

EDITOR’S NOTE

Sonia Fisher Card Number: **** **** **** 6473 She was American. Her hair was golden and long, cut straight above her shoulders with bangs that landed right above her eyebrows. I was wiping the counter when she approached it. I wish now that I had been attentive to every second I had with her. I asked her what she would like and I must’ve frozen the moment I laid eyes on her because I don’t remember hearing her order. Her eyes were green and the moment I saw them, I was hypnotized. I spent so much time looking at them I am sure they are perfect, like God himself took his time to hand paint her irises. Her skin was smooth with a glowing tan. The sunset behind her made it nearly impossible to look away or to fumble together a string of words and her freckles were the stars peeking out at dusk. She smiled and I knew that I had fucked up. I mumbled a pathetic apology and I asked again what she would like. Her voice was smooth and calming. “A latte and a croissant,” she said. I stumbled around trying to fill her order. I had never really paid attention to the measurements of a latte. Too much milk, not enough coffee, messy mug, excessive cream. I struggled to think of something to say to her. She handed me her credit card: Sonia. Her name is beautiful, so I told her. She said thank you and asked me mine. Suddenly I forgot my name.

Greta Rossi, Barista Greta, she said. As she handed me my latte, I told her that was an incredibly beautiful name. Her accent was gorgeous but I turned without saying a word.

Still Waters Vol. IV, Issue IV

2

The Barista by Racquel Baldeo

doing everything I need to do to learn

Dear Mama, I wake up each morning at 6:30am and

from my mistakes. I am growing up,

arrive in my mirror. I brush my teeth,

Mama. Please visit me.

splash some water on my face, and

I love you!

change into today’s clothing. I wander to

Dennis

my bed and add some new lines to my mural, it’s getting rather large now. After

Dear Mama,

that I have to attend to some business.

They told me today that due to my hard

Once my work is complete for the day I

work I am receiving time off my

am allotted leisure time, which is when I

sentence! How exciting! I hope I am able

am able to write my letters to you. It has

to finally see you once I am home. Has

become my favorite part of the day. I

anything changed since I have been

hope you are able to visit soon, the

gone? I hope people don’t look at me

security around my room is getting far

differently. They have to know it was an

less strict. I miss you Mama. Only a few

accident, right? Mama, I miss you. Will

more years until I am out of here!

you visit me before I go home?

I love you!

I love you!

Dennis

Dennis

Dear Mama,

Dear Mama,

This cold, dark cell is a terrifying place. I

The guards outside my room were talking

miss the warmth of our California sun and

about my departure today. It should be

the salty ocean coating my skin. I’m

approaching soon! Will you come pick

trying to keep a positive mindset, but it is

me up? I hope you have been receiving

challenging while being alone. Will you

my letters. I miss the smell of your

send me letters? Can you ask Daniela to

perfume or my sheets when they were

send me letters? How is she? Is she

freshly washed. Do you think I can start

doing well at her new school? How is the

work again when I come home? I want to

puppy? He must be so big now! Will you

apply to colleges, but I don’t know what

send me photos from home. I could hang

college would want to have a criminal at

them up around my room. I have been

their school. They would have

Fiction 3

Letters to Mama by Annie Edwards

Dennis

have been receiving some treatment for my anger and I feel much calmer about

Dear Mama,

life now. Father would be very proud of

I think this will be my last letter before I

how far I have come. I hope you can

see you! The guards let some man into

forgive me for my mistakes. I would love

my room today to talk to me. He told me

to talk with you about everything I have

about the afterlife and how I could better

learned during my time here. You

myself. It was really strange, but I guess it

wouldn't need to stay long. Just a quick

was nice to talk to someone. I wish it

hello. The guards were saying it should

could’ve been you. BUT! I was told I’ll

only be another week or so.

see you very soon, but I still wanted to

I love you!

write something before they move me

Dennis

out. I hope you can forgive me. Father just made me mad. He shouldn’t have

Dear Mama,

done it like that, but I’m better now.

They moved me to a new room today.

Nothing like will ever happen again. I’ll

The guards said it would be my final

see you and Daniela soon!

room before exiting the prison. It’s very

I love you!

different, but I was excited to have a

Dennis

change of scenery. I got the most delectable meal today! It was all my

“Mama!” Dennis shouted from the chair.

favorites, you must have told them!

Thank you, Mama. They told me I can

She nodded as tears filled her eyes and

have visitors tomorrow before I leave. Do

she held her husband’s photo close.

you think I will see you? I cannot wait to

Dennis waved to her with a large smile

see you! Why don’t you ever write back

that faded away second by second.

to me? Is it because of Father? I told you it was an accident. It was never meant to

“I love you, Philip,” she said as she

happen. He knows how I get when I get

placed her husband’s photo on the

angry, but I am better now. It was a big

ground and walked away.

misunderstanding and I’ll be home soon.

I love you!

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to understand, right? It was an accident. I

“We never have fun anymore.”

“Okay, Moira,” he dismissed me and returned to his book, War and Peace, the one he’d read God knows how many times. Well, I did what anyone would do: I stood in front of the window to block the light, the cold brightness that only a fresh snowfall could produce. He set the worn pages down.

“No, seriously. When was the last time we went sledding? Twenty years ago?”

“You want to go sledding?”

“We’re only sixty, for God’s sake. We’re young! It shouldn’t be that weird!”

When he finally agreed, my young husband peeked through: the one that enjoyed himself, not the workaholic shell of a man. I kissed him, and his lips felt light as air against mine, as if he wasn’t even there.

Before the high of his touch wore off, we arrived at Cherry Hill. To my dismay, the tree we’d shared our first kiss under was gone.

I led the way up; maybe he wasn’t as excited as before to get to the top, or maybe the weight of his sled dragged him down. His staggered breath pierced the silence, yet I couldn’t see him. I was alone.

“Cal!” The wind howled, empty. Oh, I could have combusted.

“Cal! We’re almost there!”

But he had already disappeared.

The cold air wrapped its hands around my neck and squeezed. The snow slapped my face as I collapsed. On the wind, I heard his faint words. His presence embraced me; I celebrated him. I celebrated our love, the love that refused the limits of biology. And I celebrated me, someone so fortunate to feel a love like his.

Now, every now and then, he visits me, and the familiar taste of his lips returns. But these visions only go so far. I digress.

Fiction 5

A Love Like This by Gabi Garozzo

She walked back home along the

made the little girl proud. The road had

rim of the galaxy. Pebbles wedged into

seen ten more years of use since those

the soft skin on the bottom of her feet,

days, but she still knows it like the back

hidden underneath the hem of her long

of her hand.

white dress. By her waist she swung a

She moved slowly as she admired

pair of pointy high heels, which she had

the beauty of the open sea and listened

taken out of her mother's wardrobe. She

to the distant music from the high school

had been dreaming of wearing these

auditorium, which carried itself nicely

shoes since she was a little girl playing

along the water. No matter how long she

dress up. A cool salty breeze lifted her

spends on the walk, it was never long

long brunette hair on the right side of

enough. When she finally pushed open

her head. The waves, no more than a few

the rotting white wooden gate, she

inches tall, gently lapped at the

dodged empty bottles and cans on the

glistening shore of the rocky beach. The

walkway to the creaky front steps of the

moonlight shone across the ocean like a

old cape house. The windows looked

beacon pointed directly at her. “A

down upon her as if desperately asking

beautiful ending to a beautiful night,”

for attention. It was on this very porch

she thought.

that she would sit with her mother and

The sharp grey pavement, riddled

talk for hours with no interruption aside

with potholes, was in desperate need of

from the periodic crashing of waves on

replacement, but its rough sharp feeling

the rocky shore. When they sat on the

on the bottom of her feet brought her

porch watching the sun fade below the

back to warm summer days walking back

horizon, and the hospital would call,

from the beach with her mom, imitating

tears would roll uncontrolled down her

her every move, placing one foot in front

cheeks, but when she felt her mother’s

of the other and twisting her hips in the

warm arms wrap around her tiny body,

same manner. Her mom would turn

she felt as though nothing could go

around to watch her daughter, which

wrong.

always brought a smile to her face and

She pulled open the screen door whose handle, once gold, was now grey after

6 Still Waters Vol. IV, Issue IV

The Rim of the Galaxy by Kevin Golden

man in his worn leather seat, empty cans

brushed off the pebbles stuck in her

on the floor near him.

delicate feet and gazed upon the snoring

She wished her mom could have seen her tonight.

Humanity by Caroline Samoluk She sat at the wooden desk, gross

need it. She clicked on a tab. LinkedIn.

yellow lamp light burning sickeningly just

Nothing. Another email, another email.

above her head. Its brightness somehow

The window rattled. She jumped

made her feel more tired, more worn

out of her reverie and put her glasses back

down. A dead sun. The tea-filled mug sat

on. Nothing. She sipped the bitter tea. I

at her right hand, staring across the desk

need the caffeine.

into the outdoors. Flakes of ground black tea freckled the bottom.

Her thoughts wandered down the darkened streets and back to the hospital,

Elizabeth sighed, her breath full of

and the man who had been brought in by

something too heavy and too muddled to

his daughter. He had barely been able to

label. Disappointed in me. She scoffed. If

breathe for all the blood and the daughter

only her parents knew the things she had

had panic in her eyes. They all knew it was

seen. Seen and done.

hopeless. What a day it had been; what a

At some point within the last year she had come to the conclusion that humans were very fragile. Not mentally, necessarily, or emotionally, but physically.

week, what a year!

She almost broke her mug as the pane rattled again.

Opening the window, she stuck her

They died much too easily. It was a wonder

head outside. A long way down and

to Elizabeth how humans as a whole had

nothing else, at first glance. She nearly

come so far. In that moment, she struggled

missed it, but there it was. A dark shadow

to recognize herself as one.

with a human form, hovering untethered.

She pulled her glasses off her face and began typing again. Always another

email, like a never ending stream. Please, I

years of use. She stepped inside,

But there was no humanity in this figure, only darkness.

Fiction 7

Flower of Life by Martrell Stevens Life just happens.

When I tell her this I don’t really think she gets it because she is sure she gets it. Sureness is a weird characteristic because this area between confidence and ignorance blurs and creates new worlds for a few, but a prison for most.

I can tell that her certainty is purely superficial—after all, it’s how we’ve been conditioned; we must know all of the answers and if we don’t we go looking for them. My perception has faded, but I can tell that beneath her beating heart there is a place I would want to live until the end of days. This one knows, but she isn’t sure and the only reason she isn’t sure is because she doesn’t know. I can sense the eeriness within her vibe, but her anchor shouldn’t be our attachment.

I now realize that is where I’ve gone wrong in the past, so instead I’m picking a different root. The power of knowing will cost each individual their sanity because they try to figure it out with the same brain that knows 2 + 2 equals 4. The first time I found out I spent midnight hours in a state in which my brain pulsated trying to establish a truth. The key word is hours; what I needed was infinite time, what I needed was sleep.

Every individual has their own experiences, but it all starts with one, just one, and then down you go. In my opinion to feel whole is to have grabbed I am me but it is truly impossible in this physical world, it is the weight we drag.

She has her whole life to figure out whatever she pleases, but as I am here present with her cosmic glow, I can be sure that in a few years time we will be having very different conversations. She compliments my energy in a way that doesn't bind us together. I figure in a thousand years we will be able to pick up right where we left off, but let’s first hope that we leave together.

8 Still Waters Vol. IV, Issue IV

A ball in motion is one that has acted kinetically upon its potential energy. Her youth lies within her Omega and her potential is plenty but she is still lost. She looks forward to or back at, but I don’t think she’s ever lived. I told her one thing that hopefully resonated, but if glided across her scalp she might fall victim. The one thing I told her takes little evidence to believe, but years of perceiving to understand. I told her that the key to happiness is to always be in the present moment. With the right thoughts you come to understand that the only truth you can take from this new world is the truth of love and of omni-interconnections.

You and I, we are connected.

Her elements are pure but I know it can all be tainted with one drop of ink.

I would rather leave it alone, but who along her path will show her home?

Gabi Garozzo '21

Fiction 9

Tanay Kommaredi Caitlyn Ingram Ripped hands hang on oars Achy legs and sore backs Everything is right

Ashy smoke rising up Hitting the fiery sunset’s face Trouble in paradise

Nancy Perkins Dewy grass dampens my shoes. A morning walk through the glistening field

Alec Fedele Above the dark trees Through relentless dreadful fog The dark black crow flies

Nathaniel Wirth In the balmy heat, Birds chirp to the sound of love.

I walk towards spring.

Harry Zhu The green months are here Pink changed the tone of trees Under tall buildings

10 Still Waters Vol. IV, Issue IV

HAIKU FINALISTS

Kevin Golden Nolan Heneghan

At night I wonder.

After all is said and done, What will I become.

Our lake waves care free Racing minds fly in bliss Worlds spinning among

Abby Dawson

Lughano Nyondo

What happy songbirds He thinks, Obliviously What tragic songbirds

fresh River-stream breeze alluring flowers blooming beside petals on the ground

Shea Baker

Aidan Shea Running down the field Black pellets filling his cleats Sudden wave of joy

It's my senior spring The most work I've done so far Is writing haikus

Nancy Perkins The shining sunrise Beats through the chiffon curtain Waking tired eyes

Poetry 11

Eben Dooling Angelina Lieberman

A rowing shell is set out on the water-the lake is like glass.

She grabs tugs and weeps Pulling the corset tighter Beauty is pain she exhales

Evan Wirth Kiara Mejia one more point to win winning for what exactly? oh, love means zero

All mirrors I've used Always reflect back at me My mom's pretty face

Cali Bernier

Emma Tiedemann

Don't say you miss me When you don't even try to Talk to me again

I had a vision That wolves wandered city streets Those wolves, you and me

Sergei Myers The dark blue depths below are beasts waiting patiently for the sound of fear"

12 Still Waters Vol. IV, Issue IV

Amy Mojica Sara Moeller The heater is bro-ken in my dad’s busted car It’s as hot as hell

my mom made black beans./ rice, too. sick of it now / but i'll be homesick, soon

Amy Mojica lovers whisper at / dawn professing their love / (sun and moon listen)

Daniel Park Spring can’t be here yet, I don’t see enough smiling.

Maybe it’s the masks.

Maria Munoz De Lein Austen Blames Bronte, Darcy Blames Jane for the thought, Who and what is love

Marco Martinez Michoacan corn fields Golden as the sun reaching Beyond the edge"

Poetry 13

Laura Smith Twenty-twenty-two Gas leaks, Triple E, Covid Whats next, dinosaurs?

Preston Wong I exude sugar And a little bit of spice Still need work on nice

Zeb Stewart Dropped an egg Oops I’ll get another Dropped two eggs

Caroline Samoluk I’m tired of words Too simple for my feelings I’ll just sit with them

Gabriella Garozzo Next time you see me You will not recognize me Which one of us changed?

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Zhan Shu Faces locked in grids People separate through space Social distancing

Nancy Perkins '21

Brooks School 15