Iris-Spring 2017

IRIS 2017

June Zhang, ‘20

Cover art by Ines Moreno Nieto ‘19

copyright 2017 Chatham Hall Chatham, VA

Iris Board 2017 Editor:

Sabrina Yvellez,’18 Art Editor: Delia Ibañez,’17 Mira Alpers Ali Ebbs Anna Gardner Frannie McBride Asha Moore India Moore Margaret O’Hare Skye Snider Maisie Strawn Lanie Walsh Dr. Edmonds, sponsor

A Flood Ignored We slept soundly on comfortable beds. Content. Blissful. Unaware.

The water crept up the yard. Flowed quietly under the door.

We snored. Continued to sleep.

The water seeped up through the floorboards. Shorted the electricity. Filled the cabinets.

Floated the strewn clutter off the floor.

We turned in our beds. Persisted to dream.

The water whirled up the stairs—lapped at our bed skirts. Splashed in waves against the gray-vinyl of the house.

We slept.

The water rose past our toes. Floated away our sheets and cotton covers. Flowed towards our gaping mouths.

Finally. We awoke. Tried to bail ourselves out. Treaded water. Heaved buckets of water from the skylights. Threw our heads back gasping for air.

Drowned.

Should have seen it coming. The signs were there.

Explicitly.

But it came for the neighbors first.

And we didn’t care.

--Maisie Strawn, ‘17

3

After the Storm-Gaby Hawkridge, ‘17

4

Countryside--

Lily Li, ‘17 5

Help Me Play Woman It leaves me breathless Red petals of the darkest rose Fall to my feet and I am breathless.

Feet bare, toes unpainted I step in between the soft flowers I become a ballerina Pirouetting on the edge of love and death I hold my breath So as not to interrupt your touch I want to laugh because I don’t know The difference between loving and being loved I mistake your hands, your eyes, your lips, your fists For oxygen You mistake my feet, my back, my words, my body For yours I hold my breath— --India Moore, ‘19

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Dancin’ Dandelions --Elizabeth Trexler, ‘17

Freckled Blue

--Guppy Utz, ‘18

Green Daffodil --Anna

Gardner, ‘17

8

True Colors

--Lily Porter, ‘19

9

Luisa Luisa loves boys who talk down to her and make her feel smaller, daintier, more breakable than she already is. Luisa shares her cherry colored lipstick and soot colored mascara even though it is not very sanitary. Everyday she asks you if you miss her. Of course you miss her, even when she’s right there. Of course you don’t tell her the last part. Luisa is like the color pink: so soft and touchable it almost makes one nauseous.

You wish she liked boys that loved her. Maybe you should buy her flowers. Maybe you should just kiss her. You don’t. Those kinds of things make her run away. Luisa doesn’t like to be held, she’d rather be hit. She looks pretty in gray sweatpants and college tee shirts and she looks pretty in dresses shorter than her attention span. Luisa is only a mystery to the ones who haven’t looked into her dark eyes. Whatever. She talks too quickly anyway and she yells at you when you don’t text her back. She wants everyone to like her, but wants no one to know her. She smells like honey, tea, and sometimes sweat. Luisa’s friends don’t like her, but they like her more than her boyfriend does, but no likes her as much as you do. There she is now. Luisa. Chewing on hot pink bubblegum, frowning at the sky. Her socks don’t match. She is not ethereal or beautiful or earth shattering, or a nebula in the night sky. She’s just a girl and that’s what scares you.

You can easily say you love the ocean, but the girl in the shorts named Luisa is a whole different story.

--India Moore,’19

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Focus--Khadijah Okoya, ‘18

Abstract Comfort- Sridha Chadalavada, ‘20

12

Welcome to America Child, child move your hips Shake like the mariachi’s maracas Make them see the music within you

Child, child move your hips You’ll get blisters on your heels guaranteed Child, child move your hips Break away from the surrounding wall and its laws You’ll want to stop but don’t, just please It’s no use trying to keep you still Child, child move your hips You’ll cramp, maybe hurt a knee Child, child move your hips Remember slow and steady is progress Yes, they will stare But remember it’s hard not to look at the stars Child, child move your hips Left, right, on your feet Child, child move your hips Mueve, mueve, and Show that you belong there Mueve some more That it is your right to move and groove Child, child move your hips Hold on to the rhythm Because it’s the only home you’ve got

Child, child move your hips Place her ear to your heart to hear the beat And pass the movement on to your

Child, child move your hips You don’t belong in a prison But in an office, law firm, a stage, anywhere else

Child, Child move your hips

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--Sabrina Yvellez, ‘18

Barn #4--Margaret O’Hare, ‘17

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Traveler--Khadijah Okoya, ‘18 15

Life in Color-- Joaquina Guevara, ‘17

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Our Lord and Savior The angels dove into the crusted earth Bursting through barriers and landing on fire For the Devil is just another fallen angel in reverse People cried out in terror as explosions Filled the deep smog ridden air And as the crosses were burning They fell And they screamed the Hail Mary As the waves hit the bodies of our broken religion And we just lay there.

Watching.

--Ali Ebbs, ‘17

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Maddie --

Anna Gardner, ‘17

18

Wave after Wave--

Catherine Hare, ‘18

Poseidon--

19

Catherine Hare, ‘18

The Cathedral-

Christie Wu, ‘18 20

The Lie Detector

Translation:

I know only write, knot wrong I can knot tell you who did it Jane eye Is innocent

I know only wrong.

I can tell you who did it.

Jane is innocent.

What a scary site Gun in your hand Detective Detective Who Really You ask me Who I can knot tell you who did it Just listen to me Eye you eye Eye Eye need to pea Let me go now I have-

I can tell you who did it, Just Listen to me You need to let me go now.

I Have A Gun

Eye eye Eye eye Eye Eye Eye a gun Eye Eye Eye better Eye Eye Eye run Eye eye Eye now

Better run now.

All I have left to say is Rest in Peace two Thee poor innocent dead

Oh yes, and in case you didn’t already know,

Detective that is all No more questions now Oh yes, and in case you didn’t already know,

21

What a scary gun in your hand, Detective, Detective, “Who?” Really?

You ask me, “who?”

I was knot width the murderer.

All I have left to say is: Rest in peace.

Poor innocent, dead detective.

That is allNo more questions now.

I was the murderer.

--Sabrina Yvellez, ‘18

Hands--

Ryan Jeon, ‘18 22

Knot-23

Kelsi Zhao, ‘18

Nesting Goddesses--

Guppy Utz, ‘18

24

Apologies Rose colored emptiness Sits on her sailboat heart The weight of the ocean Smells yellow like teeth And blue like sleep Memory is truthful like The songwriter at night But grandfather never spoke Of this dejected aggression He said, “Sorry is not beauty.”

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--India Moore, ‘19

Red-Hooded Nightmare Scraped knees and busted emotions Despair creeps into the hardened passion we possess Torn up thoughts and handwritten memories Filling our hearts with trust Our dreams get tied up in our caves of innocence Hidden for the day we cut the rope With blades of our sharpened mind We let them crash down And we set them on fire Burning brightly into the night In our own deep abandoned woods

Hiding in our soul.

--Ali Ebbs, ‘17

Ghost Town--Delia Ibañez, ‘17

26

Barn #4- Margaret O’Hare, 17

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Fuji Television Station- Christie Wu, ‘18

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Sunday Mornings- 29

Gaby Hawkridge, ‘17

Dear Em, I haven’t decided if I’m sending you these letters. This is my second one to you since our breakup two weeks ago. Shouldn’t I know if they’re for sharing or simply for my own therapeutic needs? I should, I’ve decided, but i don’t. Do I let you see how much I love--loved you? Did you reciprocate? Do you reciprocate? Of course not, Em. You never did, never will. The thing is, Ember, there was a time when I thought you did. It was the day we met.

I remember seeing you that day, what seems to be forever ago now. You were working. It was that café I used to go to, Serenity. You were my barista that day, and I remember the way my heart jumped at the sight of you.

You know, café baristas are stereotyped for being sexy, and boy did you live up to it. Your dark hair, falling softly across your forehead, your gray eyes that sometimes looked blue under the sunlight, and your smile, Em. You must know how enticing that smile of yours is. You used it on me all the time. When I was angry with you, a smile. Happy, a smile. When my day was the worst it could’ve ever been, a smile. I love your smile. I love you. Ember. I love you. I love you and you were my barista the day I knew it. I had walked up to the counter, a frown bending my lips. It had been a bad day. When I got to the front, there you were, smiling. Always smiling, Em. You were always smiling, and never smiling. Never smiling, because you never meant it. It took me too long to realize that. So you were smiling as I placed my order. I had to swallow to keep myself from reflecting such a beautiful thing. The ocean can’t not reflect the sun, right? You had no idea how hard it was not to smile back at you. You also didn’t know, Ember, that while you placed my order, I studied you. I studied the slight crease between your eyebrows as you focused on the register. I studied how your hands wrapped around a pen, marking where I would need to sign the receipt, and I imagined those same hands enveloping mine. I was jealous of that pen, of everything you touched. You also didn’t know that I smiled. You weren’t looking at me, so it was okay to let go. And when you looked back up at me, that vibrant smile still plastered on those soft lips of yours, my smile dropped. “One latte coming right up,” you said. I nodded once and moved to the other line to pick up my drink. And when I did, a little note was written on the cup, right under my name.

“You have a great smile, use it :)” And I smiled. I smiled despite my disbelief that you had seen me smile, and when I looked up, I was surprised that I wasn’t surprised to see you staring right back at me. You were leaning against the counter, eyes burning through my my skin, a smile as vibrant as our love. Our lost love.

I hate that I love you, Nyssa

--Asha Moore, ‘18

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Bee--

31

Joaquina Guevara, ‘17

Hummingbird--

Iris Wo, ‘20 32

33

You’ll Remember the Green- Delia Ibañez, ‘17

indigo child you are purple and yellow and blue and green, lighting up the room with your spirit of darkness and beauty and light you are beautiful. you speak and the world fades away you are beautiful. you see me and i finally see you and you are beautiful. i’ve known you before but i just met you now, magical and flourishing and dazzling. such beauty should not be contained.

--Asha Moore, ‘18

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Colors of Identity- Lily Porter, ‘19

35

Finding My Culture The world’s a stage Behind a curtain For all those Whose skin color Ain’t beige Yet I slip in I stick in But I’m ethnically different But People say I’m a part of this crowd So I have to be loud I have to be proud About somethin’ I don’t know No Sometimes I say I’m more alike them In ways The colors are swirling But the world keeps on turning Stop Keep the balance Go Tryin’ to find an answer That’s missing in action Becomin’ my own faction It’s all just a fraction I’m no mathematician So just shut up and listen Just shut up and listen Why am I lyin’ So sick of cryin’ Can’t stop tryin’ To find That piece lost in time Hidden in an unwritten rhyme But who am I shittin’

I have to accept They made a decision To speak to me in America’s tongue Right then it begun The words filled my lungs And Awakened this writer So I pull the ropes tighter I am a fighter Lighter of fires It’s my goal and Imma go find her Yeah Imma go find her Take a shot I say I am I’m not Better call the cops Because I Don’t stop Won’t stop Till I look in the mirror And I finally see her.

Will I finally see her?

Find the song Sing along And maybe pass it along --Sabrina Yvellez, ‘18

36

Purrrrrfect-37

Caroline Slicer, ‘19

Blackberry Inn- Catherine Cullen, ‘18

38

Trail--

Kelsi Zhao, ‘18

39

Parallel Vision--

Sridha Chadalavada, ‘20

40

Cigar there’s a man sitting in ninety-seven degree weather on a lawn chair. beads of sweat stick to his dark chocolate forehead the way dew sticks to grass the morning after a storm. he holds the world between two fingers, breathing in the joy of the children playing in the crisp green grass surrounding him, the laughter of family and friends filling the air, memories of newborn babies and sweet breast milk, a man walking from a prayer session with his family, proudly wearing their religion with head scarves, people of all shapes and sizes happy with themselves. the man exhales fear, a brown boy afraid to wear his hood and hide his hands in pockets, people no longer comfortable in a bar where they find love, simply because they have their own definition for love, women unable to walk to work in peace because a man just couldn’t hold his tongue. these fears and dangers fall from between the man’s chapped lips in a cloud of silver gray smoke, rising into the air and polluting the world oh so slowly. and other men join him in releasing their smoke of dead bodies and broken dreams, and the sky has turned gray a sickly gray that is almost black. it shoves itself down throats, choking into brains, contaminating and we are all a slave to this sky. there’s a man sitting in ninety-seven degree weather on a lawn chair. he does not light the cigar, but breaks it in two.

--Asha Moore, ‘18 41

Back cover art work: Iris, by Ryan Jeon, ’18 43