Epic Spring 2017

Letter from the Editors Hello Reader, This year, the Epic Staff dedicates the Spring issue to Ellen Goddard, who was a close friend to several of the editors.

As a literary magazine that reflects the pulse of KO, we want to honor the emotional events of the past semester. As you enjoy this book, we hope that you will feel connected in some small way to other students at our school, and realize how much we have in common despite our differences. Art is supposed to do that. It is supposed to make us acknowledge the feelings we may not have wanted to face in the past, and see that people share the same feelings. We hope that readers will take that lesson away from this issue: no one at this school is an island, and no one should feel totally alone. We are a community and there will always be someone here for you. In the thoughts and writings and images submitted to this magazine, we truly hope that you will see how alike and how connected we really are.

Epic is written for the students, by the students and in this issue we want to emphasize that fact. We want to showcase the amazing community of people behind Epic. We want to showcase you: your thoughts, your words, your art.

We therefore wanted a theme that represented the student body, a theme that everyone can relate to. Thus the idea of a composition notebook was born. At some point in their lives, everyone has had a composition notebook whether it be for creative writing, doodling or note-taking. Composition notebooks belong to us, the students, and we hope that we have achieved that feeling in this issue. We hope you enjoy seeing your work! Without you, none of this would be possible!

Sincerely, Phoebe Taylor and Chiara Rego, Associate Editors

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4

Sunsets in Paradise/Holly Lombardi

24

Go Down, Hubris/Chiara Rego

5

Strength/Sasha Bash

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Over the Rainbow/Julia Goldsmith

4 6 6 7

United in Blue/Nicholas Spina Culture/Manisha Satheesh

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Sea of Red/Julia Goldsmith

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10 10 11 12 13 14 14 15

15 16

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Life/Aidan Shea

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26

Moonlight/Chiara Rego

Preflight/Spencer Schaller

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28

Child/Molly Carroll*

Giraffe Created Using Conics/Olivia Coxon Lumos/Justine Strom

Sean’s Gatorade/Ryan Peterson Eyes/Julia Goldsmith

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Just Me and the Sea/Molly Baron

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8:21/Ryan Clifford

33

Flash (oil pastels)/Jason Meizels Juicy Fruit/Sasha Bash

Thankful/Julia Goldsmith

Photographs/Harris Jacobson Puppy Love/Ali Meizels

What is Heaven Like?/Esha Kataria Springtime/Taline Norsigian

Preparation/Shelby Fairchild

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Hotel/Ophelia Deng

36

As Time Goes By/Jack Gao

36

The Things I Love/Jane Dunbar

Amigas/Ali Meizels

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32

View From the Viewfinder/Spencer Schaller

Telestich/David Marottolo*

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32

The Real Meaning/Lexi Kubas

Pillow/Vivian Goldstein

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30

The Last Goodbye/Mckenzie Piehl

AT/Spencer Schaller

Coast to Coast/Chiara Rego

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Electricity/Spencer Schaller

Early Bird/Angie Delucia

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As Hope Rises Up/Jack Gao Papillon/Justine Strom

Riding the Line/Dakota McMahon

37

17

Jarno/Sasha Bash

38

Who I am/Ethan Brown Turtlenecks/Manisha Satheesh

18 19

Liberty/Sung Min Cho*

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First Moments/Shelby Fairchild

20 20

Say to Them/Sean James

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Standing Tall/Spencer Schaller

Spiderman (oil pastels)/Jason Meizels

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21

Ball Isn’t Life/Benjamin Coady

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22

Shored Up/Christopher Healis

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21 22 23

Connecting/Elise Gendrich

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Magenta/Holly Lombardi

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Early Morning Wake Up Call/Dakota McMahon On the Grind/Ryan Clifford

The Drive For 5/Kevin Boley Summer/Esha Kataria

*Gwendolyn Brooks winner

Reflection/Michael Aronson

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A Dance Described/Shelby Fairchild

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Life’s a Beach/Holly Lombardi

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2

me, i/Juanita Asapokhai

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44

The Magic Words/Saudea Bisgaard*

Glowing in the Middle of Nowhere/Casey Qi

Ocean Bring Me Home/Maggie Eberle

Never Thought About It/Amelia Boardman

Captain America (oil pastel)/ Jason Meizels Liar Liar/Esha Shrivastav Grrrr/Taline Norsigian

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Mist/Angela Yang

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Genesis/Juanita Asapokhai*

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47 48 49 49 50 50

A Break From Reality/Camilla Berckemeyer Familia/Ali Meizels View/Manisha Satheesh

Cherry Blossoms/Chiara Rego

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Fairy Tale/Angela Yang

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Mandala/Jane Shaffer

Heublein Tower/Spencer Schaller Hammer and Sickle/Humza Rashid

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Puddles/Janvi Sikand

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Blue Sky/Taline Norsigian

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Photograph/Luke Riemann

Borne Back Ceaselessly Into the Past/Casey Qi

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Screened In/Angie Delucia

57 58

Defined/Sasha Bash

7,972 ft/Manisha Satheesh

Eden/Claudenique Cousins 12:31/Emma Smith*

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Palette/Esha Shrivastav

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54

Undying Love/Casey Qi Amy?/Carolyn McCusker

“Sunsets in Paradise”/ Holly Lombardi/

“United in Blue”/ Nick Spina/

‘19

‘18

It’s Bold It’s Deep It’s Heavy The emotions that flow through my body like the ocean It makes you feel as if everything is crashing down It can unite a city When times get tough And when times are good We cheer on the boys in Blue Whether on the ice or on the streets It makes you feel safe Especially after that terrible event in September We rallied together We were together when it mattered most For the city and the players For those that go beyond the normal call of duty Feeling Sad and Ashamed Strong and United We are all United in Blue

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“Strength”/ Sasha Bash/ ‘17

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“Culture”/ Manisha Satheesh/

“Moonlight”/ Chiara Rego/

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‘18

‘17

“Life”/ Aidan Shea/

‘19

Nothing is going right You look through a one-way glass Your world is a muddy puddle, constantly hazy You are battling a one-sided fight Against loneliness Life no longer feels like a gift, rather a burden But no matter how low you feel How little you have How confused you are Know that it gets better Live without fear of being embarrassed Leave guilt in the past Ignore your ignorance and tolerate your flaws Don’t change for other people Share your love with those who return it And remember to forgive others and yourself Because one day it might be too late

“Preflight”/ Spencer Schaller/

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‘20

“Child”/ Molly Carroll/ *Gwendolyn Brooks Winner My dear child, you were not born with flowers in your hair pink on your nails and blue in your eyes you were not made with stars in your skies or pearls on your neck and jewels in your ears

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you were forged with steel in your bones anger in your mind and fire in your heart but my darling the bloodstains on your knuckles, they fit you much better than the ring on your finger

you were born with dirt on your cheeks bruises on your needs and hands curled in fists

“Sea of Red”/ Julia Goldsmith/ ‘17

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“Electricity”/ Spencer Schaller/

‘20

“Giraffe Created Using Conics”/ Olivia Coxon/ ‘19

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“The Last Goodbye”/ Mckenzie Piehl/ ‘19 Say to him, How you’re feeling.

His feelings, they don’t matter.

It is you that you’ve been protecting all along, It is you that has been crying inside.

Your words, They don’t have to be kind, They don’t have to be gentle.

Let your mind be free, Let your soul escape.

Step back a bit, he might harm you.

“Lumos”/ Justine Strom/ ‘18

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“The Real Meaning”/ Lexi Kubas/

‘19

I plan to dream big Impact others lives, not only mine I want to walk around as if it was my last day On this wild, precious earth Now, I walk as if I’m standing alone in a bubble Nervous of being alone and growing up I want to enhance my image, as if a lightbulb went off inside my head I will experience and take risks Like jumping off a high bridge into freezing water I will not take one day for granted I won’t give up Even when someone tells me, “You can’t” Knowing in the end that I will prove those people wrong I won’t give up when something doesn’t go my way Losses, relationships, education Knowing that I am stronger and healthier than before I won’t mourn in sorrow when things get hard I will get up stronger, forgiving and always forgetting I plan to always push forward, even when things seem impossible I will look out for different emotions and hints on how someone may see things different than me I will observe the little things: flowers blossoming, kids riding bikes, bubbles in the air.

Necessities in life I will grow as a human being; someone who is always aware of what they are doing and what they are trying to accomplish A human who makes mistakes, and always improves never showing signs of weakness Mistakes such as regrets, doubts, bad decisions I plan to share my emotions and not hold them inside,

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even if they are sorrow and doubt I will open up to people even when it’s frightening I know it will be worth it in the end I will live every minute to the fullest Like a heart full with different emotions and love My past experiences haven’t been lived out fully I have lived in regret and doubt and confusion Confusion in why I can’t improve in school, sports, or relationships Regret in why I keep losing and disappointing the people around me I won’t drown in past experiences, I will grow as a person and learn from everything I may fail at

“View From the Viewfinder”/ Spencer Schaller/ ‘20

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“8:21”/ Ryan Clifford/ ‘17

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“Flash (oil pastels)”/ Jason Meizels/

“Juicy Fruit”/ Sasha Bash/

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‘17

‘19

“The Things I Love”/ Jane Dunbar/

‘19

I love that you’re unapologetically loud that you’re not afraid to be yourself at all times that you’re not afraid to share your opinions I love the fact that you stand up for people no matter what that you’re not afraid to defend your friends and your opinion that you don’t shy away from a challenge I love that you demand the best from people That you never settle for less than anyone’s best That you truly bring out the best in people I want you to know that I look up to you that I keep you in mind when making tough decisions That I aspire to carry myself how you carry yourself

“Thankful”/ Julia Goldsmith/

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‘17

“Riding the Line”/ Dakota McMahon/

“Connecting”/ Elise Gendrich/

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‘19

‘18

“Jarno”/ Sasha Bash/ ‘17

“Magenta”/ Holly Lombardi/

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‘18

“Liberty”/ Sung Min Cho/ *Gwendolyn Brooks Winner

we came here to escape violence and war, the gunshots and people’s cries ringing down the street, unable to escape no matter where we went.

‘22

against people because of who they love, and the color of their skin. aren’t we all just human?

we came here to find peace and opportunity, to be able to live in harmony, and replace hate with fireworks and turn people’s cries to lullabies. but what we’ve found is something just as bad,

every now and then i get sick of the pepsi ads fireworks the celebration, the laughter while so many people’s lives are being turned upside down, this is the land of the free. this is

thousands expunged from the land of the free, the land of opportunity, the land meant for a fresh start, simply because of their origin.

us.

crimes so terrible it pains me to think of. contempt

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“Early Morning Wake Up Call”/ Dakota McMahon/ ‘18

“On the Grind”/ Ryan Clifford/

19

‘17

“Say To Them”/ Sean James/ ‘19

Say to them, Say to the doubters, Say to the shouters, That you can do it People can’t do something themselves They want to tell you That you can’t do it But you will do your best to prove them wrong Say to them, That in their spirit In their words In their hateful words That you will move on That you will succeed You won’t let them put you down And that you can do what they refuse to do That you will always believe And you will never give up

“Spiderman (oil pastels)”/ Jason Meizels/

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‘19

“The Drive for 5”/ Kevin Boley/ Winning winning again and again Sometimes we’ll take a loss Even when we have Randy Moss From one play from perfection To that goal line interception With Malcolm Butler We know we don’t have to worry about Jay Cutler Bill Belichick Can make another team look like a wreck The foot of Steven Gostkowski Can’t match the one handed snags of Rob Gronkowski From 21 in a row To 16 and O Even though the Giants had a higher score We still got 3 out of 4

‘19

We know Tom don’t like Le’veon Bell But not as bad as Roger Goodell 50 touchdowns in a season This man has no reason To stop now Have you ever heard this man say ow?

Skygate deflategate People are gonna hate Truth is Tom’s the best to ever play And this man’s here to stay He’s gonna win no matter who he’s with Now he’s about to get the 5th

“Ball Isn’t Life”/ Benjamin Coady/

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‘17

“Summer”/ Esha Kataria/

‘20

sunlight shines on my face Through all the way to my soul The cool breeze runs over my laying body Sending me feeling every type of way Birds chirping Waking me up I open my eyes to the sound Summer summer summer

“Shored up”/ Christopher Healis/ ‘18

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“The Magic Words”/ Saudea Bisgaard/ *Gwendolyn Brooks Winner

‘22

In a place without light In the cold dark world lived a girl She never heard of the light beams and rays in an eternal anguish surrounded by monstrous mountains that saw her as prey and kept the sun away Til one day She spoke words She spoke out the demons in her home and with her newfound words she didn’t feel so empty The letters flitted around her, making the arctic air warm Her voice had power She could heal a village with her words She spoke away the famine that faced her people Her words scared the monsters away She could move the mountains that blocked the light and for the first time Her face felt the heat of the sun

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“Go Down, Hubris”/ Chiara Rego/

‘18

She knew and she was ready. It was only them and her. She looked frantically around trying to scope out her surroundings, her eyes darting between the patches of green and brown: she began to feel lost in the myriad of trees, she was surrounded, and with every baited breath she felt the cold, wet, sodden but solid ground squish beneath her bare toes. There was no time for her to gather her things when she saw them, there was only time to grab a compact mirror and her leaky, army green gatorade water bottle with a cap the color of a freshly painted traffic cone; once she had acquired her weapons of choice, she took off sprinting into the woods vowing to protect the water bottle with her life—she knew their plan: the boys’ minds were dull, as blunt and malleable as her pillow; she had overheard them talking about it at school. They thought they were invincible; they had won the previous year and their egos had become larger than that of King Oedipus, but she—they were ready, they had been meticulously hatching a plan with the care that can only be associated with raising a young child. They were going to win—the glory and the prize money. She continued to move soundlessly like a phantom through the bulwark of the woods, when she saw a flash of the idiot boys’ license plate: BEAR. Brushing her hair, now tangled and filled with nature’s debris, sticks and leaves, out of her eyes, she cautiously peered around the rough, moss covered tree trunk; the boys weren’t even trying to be discreet; they sat atop their repulsively distasteful pickup truck, which was clearly compensating for something, each armed with water guns so large she was surprised that their scrawny, stick like arms could bare the weight. With the quick flash of a mirror, rapid and swift to ensure the boys didn’t notice, she signaled to her partner who remained perched in her room; moments later there was quick flash back and the girls attacked. As she ran, time slowed as her bare feet slapped against the cracked, crazed asphalt of her driveway—she heard the measly cry of one the boys as his face was assaulted with a stream of water that had erupted from her bedroom window; both boys’ backs were turned to her as they gaped up at her partner: if her parents were to return home, they would only be able to describe this sight as a poorly reenacted rendition of the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, naive and oblivious to the duel that was occurring within the parameters of their humble abode as their daughter neglected to inform them of her participation in this no-longerschool-endorsed recreational activity.

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Giving her water bottle a forceful shake, she ejected its contents onto the back of the still dry boy, her partner gave a victorious cry from her window and together they watched as the color drained from the boys’ faces as they realized they had inexplicably lost: the indomitable had been dominated, their hubris from the previous year had become their Achilles heel. And just for good measure, the girl sprayed the boys once more with a smug, complacent grin plastered across her visage.

“early bird”/ Angie Delucia/

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‘18

“Over the Rainbow”/ Julia Goldsmith/

“AT”/ Spencer Schaller/

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‘20

‘17

“Pillow”/ Vivian Goldstein/

‘17

Ana’s head hit the soft, plush pillow with a sense of urgency. The cold, untouched cloth felt strange against her cheek, her face sinking more and more into the cushion to the point where she almost couldn’t breathe.

She considered fighting for a bigger breath of the air, but the weight on her shoulders was far too heavy and the cotton pillowcase was far too comforting, offering a beautiful sea of darkness away from all of the fears that awaited her.

The weight above her shifted. No longer on her shoulders, the pressure of ten moved quickly down her body, freezing her with every inch of skin they greedily devoured.

She’d always been one of those people who were just naturally warm. In the middle of winter, her body would still have a faint heat to it as though from deep within her was an everlasting furnace. Now, a chilling ice paralyzed every inch of her body to the point where moving wasn’t an option.

She tried to bury her head deeper down into the pillow as though blocking everything out would make the cold of the fingers, now slipping into her warmest part, the only place yet he hadn’t claimed, would save her. But a pillow can only do so much. It cannot block out her vision and the groans and possessive screams from above her.

Somehow, more than the act, the sound of his voice, his narration, is what repulsed her. It’s the thing she couldn’t stand.

She turned her head to the side to try to cover even one ear.

If she can’t stop him, she can at least stop from hearing the sounds of his pleasure.

Through the binders stacked up high, long inkless pens littering the desk, and that dreaded copy of Othello being used as a coaster she saw it: that stupid notebook, the only reason he’s in here right now. The bloody red colors of the clip bleed over her vision.

She could hear the red in her ears, smell the red in her nose like a thousand roses, and taste the red on her tongue. She could feel the red spreading through her veins, pumping slowly until it reached her heart. Until she could feel the warm again back in her slowly-clenching fist.

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“Telestich”/ David Marottolo/

*Gwendolyn Brooks Winner

‘18

Trodden on, Silence soothes like a Balm.

Like the tide, Shrouded in a fog That stretches to The swirling folds of the Watching sands.

Hands move with The rhythm of the tide, Creating that which will never Have a mouth to speak or eyes to see.

“Coast to Coast”/ Chiara Rego/ ’18

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“Amigas”/ Ali Meizels/ ‘19

“Sean’s Gatorade”/ Ryan Peterson/ ‘19 Helpless and still, Sean’s Gatorade didn’t make a peep Its orange liquid not being, but remaining It waited, waited, waited—for some kind soul to act upon it To drink or to fill, but not on its own It didn’t care what happened to its contents HE just wanted to be anew Sad and alone, the boy sat at a lunch table Waiting, waiting, waiting—for some kind soul to act upon him A timid hand reaches for the absent touch of another To no avail, the boy returns to the his lunch and his Gatorade Friend or foe, he just wanted to be noticed Sean, just wanted to be anew

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“Eyes”/ Julia Goldsmith/

‘17

“Photograph”/ Harris Jacobson/

‘19

A sly smile and lust for greatness Everyone would expect Me to mess up To do it wrong And so of course they Think it’s me.

But I did not mess up. The picture is not of me.

But it is an innocent kid just like I was A happy, proud kid with miles of potential With no worries, as the challenges ahead are unfamiliar A cunning smile, and a pose not of aggression, but of comfortability.

A checkered red shirt that will tear and split, a frilly plant that will wilt, but a smile that will last forever.

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“Just Me and The Sea”/ Molly Baron/ ‘19 I think I could turn and live with the ocean The water so calm Animals so quiet The breeze so soothing The sand so warm Creeping onto my feet and in between my toes As I approach the water, the shells feel my feet The schools of tiny fish bolt away I fall back The water catching me I float, feeling the seaweed rub against my back There are no loud noises The creatures keep to themselves Not a moan nor a cry Just me and the sea I dive down, Pulling the water with the palms of my hands To ease my body farther from shore Away from the chaos and expectations The sun creeps down, In the sky, Vibrant yellow fades to orange then red I wonder where they go at night What do they do to pass time during the day?

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“Puppy Love”/ Ali Meizels/ ‘19

“What Is Heaven Like?”/ Esha Kataria/ ‘19 What is heaven like?

Are there angels roaming the sky?

Are the rivers flowing light?

Are the people floating on the sun?

Or are the skies opening up?

Do the people dance through the day?

Not fearing judgement or worrying of pain?

Do they carry authentic smiles and laughs?

Or do they love forever and truly live at vast?

Not minding the shadows that seem to have cast, Are they finally free... at last?

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“Springtime”/ Taline Norsigian/ ‘19

“Preparation”/ Shelby Fairchild/

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‘17

“Hotel”/ Ophelia Deng/ ‘17

We tried to never leave that hotel room that summer. We met in a summer school, living in the same hotel. He was the one with the few words. Sometimes he would stay in my room for one cigarette, later a few, to avoid his roommate.

I would watch, quietly. Sometimes I told him to stay. I would look him in the eye, hold his arm against my chest, and wait. He would look at me, and light up another joint. The tiny, crowded hotel room was the shield we escaped to, a space where we had things we do and things we knew we shouldn’t do.

We loved to cuddle. He would surround me in his arms, and I loved being embraced in the warmth of his breath and body. We loved being close. I loved being close, physically close. Every single cell of mine cried for the sensation of his slightly rougher skin brushing through mine, his body temperature transmitting to my skin. On some days, he would sit there, speechlessly, on the tiny couch. I would crawl into his arms and lie on his chest. He smoked, and I watched, strings of gray rising towards the light and eventually vanishing in the air. But we never kissed, on the lips. It was redundant.

We watched television together. I watched television with him. He would put on a commercial channel, happy and passionate people cheering, interacting. He mostly stared quietly at those. Occasionally, a fleeting frown would narrow his perfectly shaped eyes. Sometimes, there was a faint smile flickered across his lips. We would sit there for hours and hours, the television lights kept flashing on his face. His side profile seemed so angular under the shadow and light; that’s what I remember.

Conversations were unintentionally avoided. We weren’t in favor of exposure. That was a part of the reasons why we loved this room so much. It was a place that required no explanation, no confession or honesty, no words. We were sealed in this bubble that exclusively belonged to two of us.

There was one mid-night. He leaned against the headboard of the bed, and I lay on his chest. He held me in

34

his arms; I still remember the scent of the cigarette between his fingers. A commercial channel was on, but niether of us was watching. We sat in the dark.

“My father and my mother, she and I,” he paused.

“You know.

I nodded.

“We are awfully similar, you know,” he scratched his forehead. “My parents and us.”

I listened quietly.

“But we are not the same.”

A string of smoke drifted up in the air from between his lips. “She was nothing like my mother. You know, I was deceived.” He turned to me, and his fingers gently brush through my hair. “How about you? Your last one, you know, how was it?”

I didn’t turn to him; I didn’t look at him. We fell into a long silence, peaceful as an autumn pond in the woods, waiting. I thought, retrieved, felt, and processed.

Then my lips trembled, twisted, and said, “it was that. It was similar, yet nothing alike. I don’t know. You know.”

He tightened his arms around my shoulder, pressing me into his body. After few seconds, he released me, like such a thing ineffable had been pulled out of me, left an empty hollow shield inside. He kissed me on the corner of my forehead, and carefully tucked me under the sheet.

He covered my eyes with his giant hand, whispering goodnight so lightly that I almost missed it to the air. I closed my eyes. I knew he was watching, smiling. He gently patted my shoulder, and watched. Every nerve of mine felt it, the gentleness and the tenderness. I drowned in this moment, till my consciousness started to gradually dissipate. Then his existence started to blur and eventually faded away.

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“As Hope Rises Up”/ Jack Gao/

‘19

“As Time Goes By”/ Jack Gao/ ‘19

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“Papillon”/ Justine Strom/

‘18

“Glowing in the Middle of Nowhere” /Casey Qi/ ‘19

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“Who I Am”/ Ethan Brown/ ‘20 I was, left out, Abandoned, Buried, Erased, Forgotten.

I had, Fallen.

In between the cracks.

The cracks of the sidewalk that lead me to school Everyday, Everyday.

Consigned to oblivion.

Omitted.

Repressed.

Blank.

I am,

Here.

A place that lifts me out, Of the same cracks, Of the same sidewalk, And gives me hope.

Remembered, A lightbulb, Twisted back into place, Recharged with energy.

Changed.

And I am here, Now.

“Turtlenecks”/ Manisha Satheesh/

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‘17

“me, i”/ Juanita Asapokhai/

‘20

me i can change. me i can curl my lashes with my own fingernails me i can unfurl a whole red rose with my pink tongue me i unspool like black thread & me i sew myself together two times as fast as one. me i fold like bodies back into the earth me i dance and God sees me first me i sing so the birds know how to me i remake my own world. me i pull my own honey from the flowers and me i drain my own white milk from the blue sea (me i) shine when the sun is dunked in grey and forgets how to do it and me i flicker so fire can too. me i love so love knows what shade of blood to color her heart in and so love can be me i me i me i

“First Moments”/ Shelby Fairchild/ ‘17

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“Reflection”/ Michael Aronson/

‘19

When you close your eyes, Replay your day, Drift off.

The day starts vivid, bold, fresh, unaltered, As today progresses, And you fall off, Into a slumber.

Your board is wiped clean, No remanence of what has happened.

It is not until when the sun pries your eyes open can you see, The remnants of yesterday, Only the faint marks of what stayed fresh and prolonged, Can be seen.

Your memories: Important, necessary, and confusing, They are parts of the world that you Feel, as the world controls your emotions, touch, like the world, is in brail, smell, like a scratch and sniff sticker, Hear laughter and pain, Taste, each meal a buffet, choosing what you want, The flavors of the world all alter your memories.

Constructed One piece here, Another there, Each part has a different sound, An image it evokes, Only when all the parts combine can you truly see and feel what has happened before you, And only then are your ready to keep the beat, Day in, Day out.

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“A Dance Described”/ Shelby Fairchild/

‘17

The sooty color of the worn stage opposed the dancer’s ivory dress almost perfectly, creating a contrast so stark that she was visible even to those in the back rows. Every mark that her pointe shoes made as she danced blended seamlessly into the mosaic of scrapes and scratches already on the wooden floor. She moved to the front of the stage, bringing attention to the pit orchestra and their series of fleeting harmonies. The infinite beauty of the combination of the music and the expertly choreographed routine could almost make the members of the audience forget about the dull lives waiting for them outside the theatre.

The dancer seemed to be draped in a waterfall of crystals as the lights caught the sequins on her dress and sent flashes of reflected light over the walls and ceilings.

Sometimes, if she danced too close to a brightly painted set piece, the color would be mirrored on her dress for a few seconds until she floated away in time to the music.

To those in the back, she was merely a figure of beauty to be admired from afar. From the front, her face could be seen, a perfectly porcelain map of features accentuated with stage makeup to create a striking expression of effortless concentration. Smokey eyeshadow followed the curves of her eyeliner to give her azure eyes a truly ethereal beauty. The contour of her cheekbones directed attention to the center of her face and her painted lips. Her russet hair was pinned in a regal manner, half of it woven into intertwining braids above a cascade of silky curls. Nothing was able to fracture her connection to the music or stoic visage until she executed a complex pirouette with flawless poise and a smile briefly graced her features . As she crossed the stage for the last time and struck her final pose, that barest hint of a smile transformed into a beaming grin of pure ecstasy and the spotlight transformed her hair into gleaming gold.

“Standing Tall”/ Spencer Schaller/ 41

‘20

“Ocean Bring Me Home”/ Maggie Eberle/ ‘20 Bring me to the water Lay me in the foam Waves wash off my sorrow Don’t tell me this ain’t home Bring me to ocean where I can’t see an end Waves wash off My sorrow Tell me I have a friend Bring me to the deep seas Say you’ll never leave me Ocean please hold me Read me a sweet story Deep blues never wash away Light ones stay behind Kissing the shoreline I am one of your kind I sing all of your stories I dance in the sea foam Thank you for your kindness And giving me a home Ocean bring me home Ocean bring me light Lay me In the current Looking at the starry night

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“Life’s a Beach”/ Holly Lombardi/ ‘18

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“Never Thought About It”/ Amelia Boardman/ Away fear drives us apart I never thought about it; I let it set us apart A dividing line, a crease, a seam a simple thread between you and me It’s not me it’s you But actually no, I take that back, it was me I put on a show Our differences are slim; but I’ll make sure that the world will know Really? both human?

‘20

Never crossed my mind Divided Close minded Subconscious decisions I never noticed Do I myself cause impact?

Fear?

I wouldn’t know I never thought to notice.

Keep the world the same; Carry on with your day If nothing changed, would you notice?

If I myself changed, would you notice?

“Captain America (oil pastels)”/ Jason Meizels/ ‘19

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“Liar Liar”/ Esha Shrivastav/ everyone says that lying is wrong and that those that do should be punished with this i agree, wholeheartedly then they say, “let’s do this.”

‘20

deep down they know that they did it deep down they know they didn’t deserve it deep down they fear being caught living with the truth, day after day because even liars have a conscience the worst part is, if they want to vent to someone their guilt, their misery or their regret they have no one to do it with

give them a break, i say to those people they already have two punishments punishments beyond compare after which they stare at me, confounded it is my belief, that those who lie are going through the worst even before we discover them untruthful because while they may have fooled others, the one person they’ll never fool is themselves

the second punishment, far more scarring i believe is that they’ll never be able to trust again because at the back of their minds, they’ll think “what if he’s lying?” “i mean if i do it, what’s to stop others?” never being able to believe again, now that’s the biggest punishment

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“Grrrr”/ Taline Norsigian/ ‘19

“Mist”/ Angela Yang/

‘18

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“A Break From Reality”/ Camilla Berckemeyer/

‘19

The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud, The feeling of the shore marsh slushing between your toes The feeling of sinking into the shore marsh Feeling as free of the sea-crow Flying without boundaries The smell of happiness and simplicity The smell of salt that can’t be washed away Stays for hours and days on end The smell that stays for the summer The smell of relaxation and peace I feel the weight being lifted off my shoulders The warm air pressing against your skin The brisk water washing away all your worries And soothing your soul Spending time in the sun A break from reality A time away from pressure and stress And finally all of your senses are consumed They are lost Focusing solely on the horizon’s edge as the sun kisses your cheek Close your eyes and it forces you to smile And you can feel the cleansing of the salt air, cool marsh, shore mud and the freedom of a sea-crow

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“Genesis”/ Juanita Asapokhai/ *Gwendolyn Brooks Winner

‘20

and in the beginning after man came woman, who pulled the rib back out of her right side with her left hand and laid it on the counter next to her gold wedding ring, and asked man why he felt she couldn’t be herself by herself. and man shrugged, and took the rib back because he had nothing to say. man shrugged when he had nothing to say.

“Familia”/ Ali Meizels/

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‘19

i once got asked “which color are you?” i sat there, perplexed not knowing what he meant

reading my face, i guess, he said “each color is a personality type,” “for example, i’m red because i’m always mad” “and as for him,” he said, pointing right at his friend “well he, he’s blue, because he’s always sad.” i thought about this for a minute well ok, i said, give me a sec but all the moments i considered were always multi-faceted

because when i was blue, i was red too an authentic blend of lilac when i was upset, i was stubborn too a beautiful shade of shamrock

never was i solely one color i was a spectrum, roygbiv all the way from the r to the v just like a palette that belonged to a French painter standing outside the Eiffel tower i am all the colors in the sunrise and all in the sunset all the colors in the cherry blossoms that line the streets and all in the luscious grass that rests beneath the tower i am all the shades of blue in the Seine and a reflection of the entire city

‘17

‘20

“View”/ Manisha Satheesh/

“Palette”/ Esha Shrivastav/

i said this to them and just for a moment, they stood, in awe “wow that was beautiful” said one, and the other agreed they looked at each other and in unison they said “she’s definitely an orange” and so they went, galumphing back mistaking beauty for futility

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“Defined”/ Sasha Bash/ ‘17

“Cherry Blossoms”/ Chiara Rego/

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‘18

“7,972 ft”/ Manisha Satheesh/

‘17

“Photograph”/ Luke Riemann/ ‘19

There sit my brothers and mother.

On a vacation, they capture a memory.

Sporting a yellow shirt and Nike shoes, my brother leans on the stroller.

Excited to be there, looking at the animals.

Happy to be together.

The other, with sandals and a red shirt, holds a map, planning out future moves.

Wanting to see the penguins and the monkeys.

Guiding us slowly, Careful to look at each and every animal.

My mother, with her flip flops and green top, smiles Just glad we are having fun.

15 years later, I look at the picture, And realize, they all were young kids too.

Young, vibrant, and full of hopes and dreams.

Now, fully grown up, away from home, They live their own lives.

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“Fairy Tale”/ Angela Yang/

‘18

“Borne Back Ceaselessely into the Past”/ Casey Qi/

‘19

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“Eden”/ Claudenique Cousins/ ‘17 Fig leaves and fornication. But why don’t I feel shame?

God talks of damnation. Something eternal. Rain and wrath waters the earth and life grows up and out of sin. Now, you’re ripe fruit hanging from a cursed tree.

Temptations and terror. Then, sweet unimaginable sin.

Blessed are the poor in spirit. Now, you’re smoke and lightning. Now, we’re in a time of serpents and shepherd boys and salvation. A time to laugh and a time to cry. A time of famine. A time of great floods. A time of harvest but my own vineyard I have not kept. Black and comely. Now, I am a daughter of Jerusalem. Now you stand behind a burning bush. Is that you I see? I hear blessings and blasphemy. I feel curses and comfort.

And now, I am back and I am supposed to feel shame.

The first to sin. Now I know why you taste like fruit. A time of milk and honey. Where have you been? What can I buy with 40 pieces of silver? I was never highly favored.

Here comes an exodus then exaltation. Here comes the sea and sky splitting. What am I leaving behind? Now, I am a pillar of salt. This time, you find an empty basket in a river. You find tablets of stone. What else? Spirits and psalms. Now we’re in a time of kings and barren women. You rebuke my name? My name is oil poured out. An anointing. Now, I am in an ark. The whole world under and over me. Abominations and adultery under the depths of flood water. The whole world at once. The whole entire world at once. I am here and I am history.

I am now and then. And you are supposed to be always?

A time of mothers and managers, wise and foolish men.

A time of burnt offerings and false idols. Remember to keep the sabbath day holy. Commandments and condemnation. The blind are now bold. Miracles and ministries. A time of crosses and crucifixion. The whole entire world sprouting from sin. The world at once.

Now, I am in a garden. A familiar taste of sweet fruit.

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“12:31”/ Emma Smith/

*Gwendolyn Brooks Winner

‘18

And so to begin with, there was everything and to conclude, there she was.

One day she had stars in her eyes the next, headlights cosmically impossible when she didn’t see the difference as if todays blended all too quickly into yesterdays, as if tomorrows were becoming yesterdays too, too quickly how it all became contained behind too narrowed eyes, too quickly so she sat down and looked up and wondered if all of it meant anything at all, now or ever That is where this ends and you begin, you who can move mountains with a half smile, you who rearranges constellations in several words, then looks up at the sky, none the wiser somewhere in the mix of it all, though you became her, she forgot that she moved her own mountains, made her own stars the world is too big for her

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to measure, easier to think that everything is nothing, easier to feel like this is where she ends, maybe you don’t come back this time, she loses herself for good breathe in, breathe out. she knows you’re there, after all she can still see the stars. your stars. and so to begin with, there was everything and to conclude, there she was.

“Screened In”/ Angie Delucia/ ‘18

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“Mandala”/ Jane Shafer/

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‘17

“Heublein Tower”/ Spencer Schaller/

‘20

“Hammer and Sickle”/ Humza Rashid/

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‘18

“Undying Love”/ Casey Qi/ ‘19

Muttering, you are secret as one of your eyes, Dark, piercing, elusive, misleading, innocent: You have slippery spells spilling out of your sealed lips: Muttering, you are uptight as the black cloak that wraps you.

Muttering, you are the shadow of darkness; The hollowness of a black hole;

Muttering, you bewitched Harry in a Quidditch game; Muttering, you argued with Quirrel; Muttering, you took Dumbledore’s life; As you wished The “good side of yours” shall Never be “Revealed”

People don’t know that-You are the one who saved Harry from Quirrel’s cantantation That you have saved Harry’s life a thousand times That you are his unrecognized patronus charm They don’t know that-You are the one who knew things The only one who suspected Quirrel And the only one who gave all he had to stop him They don’t know that-It had to be you to kill Dumbledore They don’t see the tears being inside you The arduous time you have went through

Being the double agent for Dumbledore Giving Voldemort what appears to be valuable information While withholding the essential You have spied for Dumbledore And lied for him Putting yourself in mortal danger every waking second A job he entrusts no one but you to do A job you have devoted your whole life to For what?

Nothing Nothing except

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Perhaps Those green eyes That you dream of Same as the ones that you gazed at Before you died Satisfied Being the double agent for Dumbledore Giving Voldemort what appears to be valuable information While withholding the essential You have spied for Dumbledore And lied for him Putting yourself in mortal danger every waking second A job he entrusts no one but you to do A job you have devoted your whole life to For what?

Nothing Nothing except Perhaps Those green eyes That you dream of Same as the ones that you gazed at Before you died Satisfied Expecto Patronum!

A beautiful silver doe glides across the ceiling “Lily?”

“After all this time?”

You stayed Motionless In a deadly voice “Always”

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“Puddles”/ Janvi Sikand/

‘19

“I’m trying, alright, look, I promise I’m trying.” She says this, and the truth is that her promises are a lot like a gas tank running on empty. Whenever she says this, he never knows whether or not to believe her, he only knows that she’s crazy. She’s that certain kind of crazy that you can feel on her wrists, on her thighs, when he holds her hands late at night and tries to rub away the increasing number of lines in her skin. If he places his thumb on her pulse, he may feel it like a tribal drumbeat bursting out or like the slow, sluggish flap of a butterfly’s wings. She laughs and calls it her own brand of pseudoheart attacks. He wonders if she’ll need a pacemaker. This of course is the least of his real worries; what’s more concerning is the thought that maybe one day, soon, she won’t need anything at all. He can feel her crazy moving under her skin and so can she, because if you ask her and ask her and ask her, “why?”, she’ll deny and deny but eventually confess that there’s bugs crawling out from the crevices of her mind, wriggling and itching and screaming. That, she says, is why she must unzip herself, to try and let the bugs fall out. Alas, they never leave, and she never learns.

He frets: She’s the kind of crazy to forget to eat for days to immerse herself in some project, then abandon all her progress in favor of cooking a thousand things or cleaning the apartment with a wild ferocity or, even better, staying completely inert doing nothing at all. He thinks she’s beautiful, and she doesn’t think anything.

He thinks that’s something he can fix. She says, “no, you can’t do anything. No, there’s no saving me, there’s nothing you can change, there’s nothing here for you.” It’s a word they both say a lot, nothing. He says no, you’re the reason why, you’re my reason why, can’t you see? But she’s blind to all that, she must be, because she says no, “no no no no NO!” She screams at him to leave, just take his things and go. “You’ll find someone else, better than me, not crazy.” He tells her he can’t stand to see her like this, in pain. “Yeah? Then that’s all the more reason for you to get out! You’ll never have to deal with me and my pain ever again. And if you want to stick around for that, then you’re the crazy one.” It’s funny because it hurts so much. It hurts so much because it’s true. But he thinks that if he ever goes away, she’ll wither away like some sort of plant, shrink until there’s nothing left of her.

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For reasons that neither of them can fathom, he holds on tight. He keeps a firm hold of the girl with a smile that can make everyone she meets fall head-over-heels instantly; the same girl who lies awake, shoulders quaking for hours, tears running so quietly down her face that if you listened closely, you could hear her heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces. There’s something coming after her, she says, she sees it around corners, feels its breath on her neck. It’s coming after her, and she doesn’t know if she can outrun it. Is it bad, he wonders, that every time he’s around a tall building he can imagine only her at the top, dancing and leaping against the sky until she’s l aun ched herself right off its edge?

Is it bad that imagining a future with her seems futile, like he’s only setting himself up for disappointment?

“You’d be better off without me around. You really should leave.” He won’t. “Won’t, or can’t?” He can’t answer that one, so the conversation usually ends here. In his mind, it’s clear that this is his purpose, but if you were to look at them, really hard, you couldn’t tell who takes care of whom. Isn’t that strange? He knows it’s terrible to romanticize mental illness, you should never, ever, make it out to be cool or easy. He’s here romancing a selfdescribed “walking, talking, mental illness”, shouldn’t he know better? But he wouldn’t want her any other way.

Relatability, he’s found, serves only to diminish uniqueness. She’s crazy, sure, but he’s crazy for her. And she is so much more than that. Beautiful. He holds on because if it was never meant to be, why had the cosmos led them to believe the opposite? What compelled the universe to trick them so? There’s questions and questions, but they don’t answer them right away. It’s what’s now that matters. They’re going to run to the ends of universe, and they’re going to escape the things closing in on her, no matter what. There’s still questions and questions and questions, but they aren’t important to ask. One time, when she jumped in a puddle, and kicked up water with her rubber shoes, and threw her head back to face the rain and smiled, he thought he found the answer. She held out her hands and invited him to join her under the clouds. He did, smiling right back into her eyes. He thought, this, this is what love must be.

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“Amy?”/ Carolyn McCusker/ ‘17

Her name was Amy. Amy. Period. But she couldn’t just say it like that, could she?

Amy could only speak in questions. Her parents told her it wasn’t so bad—there was that boy a few years ago, their neighbor’s nephew’s classmate from high school, who could only make train noises. His family took him to a speech therapist, and eventually they got different kinds of sounds out of him like steam engines and old-fashioned locomotives, but no matter how much they tried it was just train noises. That made Amy feel a little less sorry for herself, but even then she felt pretty depressed.

Her brother spoke in numbers, which she resented.

There’s so much you can do with numbers! “How fast is your mile?” 6:30. “Which meal do you want from the menu?” 5. “When did Columbus come to America?”

1492. The kids at school liked him because he was so succinct and honest.

She, however, had quite a hard time with friends.

For the first couple weeks of second grade, she was one of the most popular kids; as it turns out, people really like to talk about themselves. What’s your name? Where is your favorite spot to cry? What do you want to be when you grow up? But eventually, the kids at school realized they knew none of these things about Amy herself, and when new people came along they had no reason to stick around someone they found so entirely uninspiring. For the entire second and third grade, everyone called her Lauren because the teacher called her that once by mistake, but Amy couldn’t exactly correct them, because that would be a statement, not a question. Even after some kids figured it out, they still called her Lauren as a cruel joke. The best Amy could come up with was Are you going to stop? but they would just reply, “no,” and that was that.

One day, Amy decided to stop speaking at all, to see if they would notice. They did not. Not even her teacher, Miss Andrews, who had twenty-four little surveillance cameras growing out of her head instead

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of hair, which meant that she could look at all the kids in class at the same time. Amy’s experiment went on for the whole week, even at home, and still nobody noticed.

On Friday, she almost broke her silence for a golden opportunity. It was History class (her brother’s forte) and Miss Andrews was quizzing the class on Greek mythology. “Now, let’s see who did the reading,” said Miss Andrews, as she paced around the classroom with her cameras squeaking and turning as she walked.

Finally, she stopped at the front of the class. “What question did the Sphinx ask Oedipus as he was trying to get to Thebes?”

Amy was ecstatic. This was the first chance she had to participate in class in months. Her hand shot up in anticipation, making her feel a little light-headed at such a strong, sudden movement. She didn’t care. Now was her time to shine.

Miss Andrew’s cameras all turned to focus on a spot in the back-right corner of the room. “Tyler? Do you know the answer?” Amy slowly dropped her arm.

She looked around at the room, even stared directly at the girl sitting next to her, but nobody looked back to acknowledge her gaze. Even when Amy got up and ran out of the room, nobody moved a muscle.

Suddenly, everyone heard a big crash coming from the Girls’ bathroom across the hall. All twenty-four of Miss Andrew’s cameras shot towards the door, and some of them even gave a tiny flash out of surprise. All the kids gasped and jumped out of their chairs; Tyler was the first to run out of the room and into the Girls’ bathroom, but soon they were all crammed into the bathroom, even Miss Andrews, standing on their tiptoes to see what was going on.

For those tall enough to see, or the lucky few like Tyler who were short but got there first and were therefore standing in the front, here is what they saw: Amy, blood dripping down her forehead and all over her hands, standing in front of a shattered mirror above the only sink. She was staring directly at her face in the mirror, leaning in very close, ranting with a raspy

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and desperate voice. The kids in the bathroom realized they hadn’t heard her voice in a very long time.

Where do you want to go for lunch? Why do you look so sad today? What goes on four legs at dawn, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening? What are you smiling about? Can someone please help me? Why do I have to ask for help, when everyone else just demands it or gets it without having to try? What is sickle-cell anemia? What is your name? Where is your favorite spot to cry? What do you want to be when you grow up?

What is your name?

“Blue Sky”/ Taline Norsigian/ ‘19

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