2020-2021 Iris

IRIS

2020-2021

Cover Art Liliana Stinson ‘23

IRIS

The Art and Literary Magazine of Chatham Hall 2020-2021

Head Editor

Gwen Werth ‘21

Sponsor

Dr. Mary Edmonds

The Board

Whitney Byington ‘22 Marisol Helms ‘23 Stella Liu ‘21 Jessy Lu ‘21 Carrie Midkiff ‘22 Vanessa RenHan ‘21 Mary Semerling ‘21 Ella Shackelford ‘21 Ruby Spencer ‘22 Anna Song ‘21 Liliana Stinson ‘23 Hannah Summerlin ‘21 Daisy Ye ‘21 Michelle Zhang ‘21

A Sky of Color Mary Semerling ‘21

Mailbox No. 124 She sat upon her wooden rocking chair, the one with the chipped blue paint, baby blue like the artisan easter egg carvings that lined the ground by the birdfeeders, 1-2-3.

Alone on her screened-in porch in the humid summer heat, alone with her thoughts that swirled, eddying round in mumbling fulminations, she peered, an old feral queen with drooping jowls and lengthy whiskers and lampshade-yellow eyes that peered through the mesh of the porch.

She sat each morning that cracked its yolk across the crooked planks and scowled hard at it as it dripped yellow down the rain chain to the hard-packed clay below, one finger tapping dissatisfaction, and lips pursed blossom tight against a snarl.

She left all alone, and alone she was left.

Her solitude thickened each coffee-stained morning, bitterness deepening as moons swung low.

Grumbles and groans whittled away at her brittle boned soul, rotted cavities in teeth, swam in her veins and sucked at that quaking, fragile husk of a heart, until all that was left was a pair of pursed lips and a tapping fingernail passing the time.

Grace Brooks ‘22

In The Woods Carrie Midkiff ‘22

Beautiful Butterfly Hannah Summerlin ‘21

Addendum Jigsaw pieces make music in my head-they clang onto the table of my shoulders- I think I am a moon dancer I think we are grass-I think the spiders are looking for warmth so I let them walk freely on the walls-I think I am dreaming But your voice is real- you speak shadows into meaning (I think) unknowingly I don’t understand how you can make me feel like barbed wire and a bird I am a knife and a cage and a floating dot in the sky- I know it’s been snowing here and the crystallized clouds on the ground are drilling their way into my vocabulary- But even in the Alabama sun, you feel like a stinging embrace of snow-drenched fingers meeting indoor air- I don’t know about endings- I don’t know what words to use for the decomposition of memories into a beginning- you unravel in my palms and I try to study each grain- I want to thank you I want to scream.

Whitney Byington ‘22

Jaded Liliana Stinson ‘23

Bubbling Stream Mary Semerling ‘21

Larger Lake i’m not the water of the larger lake nor the former drops of rain no amount of prayer will incorporate me i’m forever alien to that body covetous blood boils at the site of the pool it ripples in harmony and rhythm why can’t I do the same

Ruby Spencer ‘22 The Heart of the Magnolia Blood dripped from the heart of the magnolia, a vile testament of things yet to come. How could something of such beauty be desecrated by the scarlet mark of death? Yet still, the petals of snow ran red, forever stained by the villainous trail left behind. A fresh blossom of such promise, caged by a series of unfortunate events that marked the departure of hope. A new light snuffed out, signaling the end of good. An innocent babe suffocated in its own blanket, a final farewell to all that is favorable. And yet the blood that dripped from the heart of the magnolia was simply a predecessor to the grim reality that is yet to come.

Hannah Summerlin ‘21

Skinny Boy’s Song I wasn’t particularly strong Not until she came along It was after that time when I was much too thin I was starving for a jawline Until I almost ran out of time My shallow, ragged breath Warned of an almost death I was there on the edge My body was dredged Out of an orange juice hospital bed Mom told me I could have been dead My meals observed While med students learned My life slowly coming back Soon it was time to pack Go home and live a normal life Hope for minimal strife Time then passed I fell in love with a lass My fear took me away Saw her less than a day My heart she inspired So I conspired My fear took me away Saw her less than a day My heart she inspired So I conspired

A plan to see her again This hope made life easy to obtain I wait in fear Still haven’t seen her for a year My heart moved on Found a new gal in Lake Huron I don’t mean to say I’ve forgotten her today We keep in touch Discuss school and such Nothing major, not a crush anymore But if she were to walk in that door I’d welcome my friend Who helped me escape an early end She’s not my Helen of Troy And I’m no longer that skinny boy We met for a reason And our talks are quite pleasing No silly love Just a friendship from above

Kellyn Norman ‘22

Taeyong Krystal Lin ‘24

Tango Liv Craven ‘22

Juice Carrie Midkiff ‘22

Hollow: An Excerpt

The next time I went down to the shore, she was there.

She was standing in silence, and so utterly still that she could have been mistaken for a marble statue. She was close to the edge of the water, with the frothy tips of the waves lapping hungrily at her bare toes. I began to cross the beach swiftly, not even stopping to take off my sandals.

I reached her side and fell still, panting slightly with the effort of my brisk run down from the palace. She did not even turn to acknowledge me; I wasn’t all that sure she knew I was even there. She just stood there, gazing far, far out to somewhere or something that I could not see myself.

Her silence felt almost unbearable. Selfishly, I called out, though my voice was low and soft.

“Amaltheia...”

For a moment I wondered if she would even respond, but then she did; she turned her head slowly and met my gaze, her expression unchanging. In that moment when our eyes met, I understood everything, with not a single word said aloud. Words were not needed with her—they were felt, and so then I felt everything, and it felt as though my chest were going to burst and overflow with the weight of it all.

A wave of icy cold seawater rushed forth and pooled up to her knees.

She stumbled slightly, knocked backwards by the force of the water, and without thinking I reached out to catch her. With my arms around her thin frame, I paused for a moment, shocked at how frail she suddenly seemed. I feared then that had I not come to find her sooner, she may have been swept out to sea by the tides.

I quickly noticed that she had begun to tremble, and, remembering that I was holding her in my arms, pulled back suddenly as though I had been struck, worried that she would be averse to my touch as she had been before.

But as I shrank back, she whipped her head upwards to look into my eyes, her gaze raw with something that looked to me like desperation. My mind was swimming; I couldn’t think of anything to say or do that made sense in that moment. I thought I knew what to do—I did know what to do—but I was afraid. Maybe even more so than her.

“Hold me, Raisa,” She spoke aloud suddenly, her voice barely audible above the crashing of the waves around us. Tightly, she gripped the sleeves of my tunic, her knuckles growing white. Her voice nearly failed her as she brokenly uttered one last request: “Please.”

Gwen Werth ‘21

in your head Liliana Stinson ‘23

luna, rosa, farfalla She fiddles with the buckle of my bag, and I’m reminded again of just how much I love her. I find it irritating, when people say things like I’d do anything for you, and yet here we are. I look at her dark hair and think of her smile, and the words ring true in my mind.

She rolls her eyes, and I’m reminded again of just how much I love her.

She scrolls mindlessly through her phone, petulantly ignoring the figures of authority around her, and I’m beyond annoyed. But then she looks up at me over the edge of the screen, makes a face that says What the hell are you staring at?, and I look away with a face of my own. I’m sixteen, and I’ve never been in love, and I probably won’t be for a very long time. When that moment comes, I wouldn’t mind being in love with her.

She laughs, and I die a little bit inside. I’m reminded again of just how much I love her. Her head is thrown back, lips stretched in a wide smile, and for a moment, I’m terrified. I’ve never been so afraid at the mere thought of losing someone.

Sarah Leineweber ‘23

The Bee Hannah Summerlin ‘21

Dandelions there are golden yellow candies scattered in the grass by the park bench smiling above the ground it’s raining but they are floating like they could never fall into the soil, like they could never decompose, droplets so casually resting on their surfaces like they’ve been here before sometimes i remember that my body contains bones. i watch them drift across space, mesmerized by my own being. this is not one of those times. now i am made of charred plastic and dandelion seeds no, the candies are not flowers Not the stems we bundle for each other Not the burst of feathered flecks she blows in my direction Not petals Not her favorite shade of yellow i wonder if she likes butterscotch

Whitney Byington ‘22

Sanctuary Ginny Hopkins ‘23

Phoenix At a time when my world Was falling apart in Front of my eyes My ears could provide ease By absorbing the music Letting it run its course Through my body and navigate My brain, Whispering in my ear to breathe Calming my nerves Recentering myself, Grounding my feet Reminding that no matter what is Thrown at me, I will be okay.

Anxiety was taking over Affecting every aspect Every moment of my life I felt drowned And hearing these melodies Felt like a message

To breathe To win back control over my life To not fold But to rise and defy it When it wanted me To give up and Lose faith in myself I rose from the ashes As a Phoenix To find faith in myself To stop worrying And to live my life As I should live it Triumphant feelings Of conquering this fear to become One with myself, Leading away from my anxiety

Alexa Keating ‘22

ZOOMbie Starr Brooks ‘22

sunset climb of camelback mountain Madelyn Boltz ‘22

street shall we walk to the market, you and i? and sing our hymns in hums to disturb the dawn, and wave our grinning at all the neighboring creatures that stoop on their step out in bright cheery pale. we will go down the lane, and marvel at revelling chit-chat we missed, in those gloomy days when the clouds dropped to crack the pavement and we fought fog alone and were lost from each other. but now we swing wide screen doors, drink in yellow sun uncorked, mop away sludges and hedges that block the stark vibrancy beaming from porches where strangers are friendlies and the women sell berries and bargains to talkers who toss out their wobbly howdyados,

while unboxed young peapods all tumble round rumbling chortles on patios open and paved weathered smiles and we clap skin to skin in uncouth stumbles. the music laughs yellow and the guitar does too this food is atrocious but we all missed the memo (and we sure missed the menu, the iced coffees, salsas, the cinnamon-spiced joy) so we all fail together, and deliciously so. ah, forget raincoats it’s much better this way, drenching in sunlight and closeness; what better way to say ‘I love you.’

Grace Brooks ‘22

Cherry of My Eye Liliana Stinson ‘23

Small Town Moon I A small town moon shines like a diamond quite rare, But never have I had to pay a fare, To see it climb through the starry sky, Like a pearlescent goddess on high, Because it is a moon the world and my small town share.

Small Town Moon II A small town moon sits upon her heavenly chair, Up so high yet I feel her fingers running through my hair, But not all consider her as close a friend as I. Some only see her distance, aloof and shy, But they forget how a small town moon can be an atheist’s prayer.

Small Town III A small town moon reigns her kingdom with no heir, But she has no need for a spare.

Her purpose is to light up the darkness so we do not wander awry, And when Earth is swallowed by the sun, she will not cry.

A small town moon will only follow, stars shining in her hair.

Carrie Midkiff ‘22

Button Nose Liv Craven ‘22

Sunset Clouds Hannah Summerlin ‘21

My Generation My generation, Plagued with past mistakes; the more we mend, the more to be remedied.

My generation, Caught in a place of controversy; told we are the future, criticized when we try to change it.

My generation, We are not a continuation of history, and past mistakes.

But who can say for sure?

All think themselves just in their ideals.

My generation, We struggle with those too scared to move forward, and those too scared to learn from the past.

My generation, We are diverse and distinct.

Hopeless in our endeavors, to change a world, yet still we persist.

Anonymous

Untitled Oh, my old friend, I am so tired.

When I wake the smell of ozone on my tongue, with the exhaustion hanging heavy from my frame, its fringes shawling my hunched shoulders, its beaten edges layering my breast, cinched tight around my bursting chest, I cannot breathe for the constriction that winds in guilty complex ‘round and ‘round — and round is its message.

My life has ached your absence.

Where once you stalked my every hour, your yellow lampshade eyes glowing forth from couch cushions and bedsides, vacancy has echoed of late.

Where have you spun away the days?

Perhaps you crouched underneath the potted geraniums by the secretary’s desk, trailing her home to scrounge off her solitary dinner plate.

To lounge by her feet, your breathing drowning out her rom coms and canned familiarity.

Maybe you hitched a ride on the underside of a tin-can truck rattling home, one half of an oozing divorce tucked in its underbelly.

I can picture you, spitting your acid into his Worcestershire, caking his kids’ framed diplomas with your muddy prints.

I knew you well, once.

Your musky smell greeted me every morning, familiar fare, as of my own grubby handprint, my playmate and first mate on the seas we sailed in our minds’ eyes so glimmering like spyglasses in the night’s stars.

By day we made play of the comfort we knew, nestled tight to each other, haunch to haunch But by night I would cry out as you knawed at my stomach lining, squeezing each drop of memory on the horizon into my mouth as a blood-bitter pill.

And when morning made the most of its cracked egg face, I welcomed you in the light of the yolk, always a little cooler than the day before.

And soon, after time trundled trolley years by, you left my periphery as I mounted the sunlight, trading yellow for yellow.

But you have come haunting and I cannot reconcile my playmate with you, you jagged, cold thing that stings at my throat, and shrieks out cold nights in bone-freezing arias The seas that we sailed are lost in stupored fog Is it I that has changed? I have lost your face.

But I am piecewise without you, an unfinished puzzle And as I straggle and stumble on pages and keys, you weigh on my feet, a ghostly familiar.

Grace Brooks ‘22

Go With the Flow Mary Semerling ‘21

whistler engulfed in a cloud Madelyn Boltz ‘22