Etchings 2020

Etchings 2020

Etchings The Annual Literature and Arts Magazine Volume 32 2019-2020 Commack High School Scholar Lane, Commack NY 11725

Editors-in-Chief Sydney Linford Paige Robinson Secretary Faizali Rahim Treasurer Paige Robinson Copy Editor Hidaya Syed Art Editor Inaya Syed Adviser Mr. Kevin Dineen

Front Cover Photo by Katie Parisi Back Cover Photo by Mia Goren

Literary Magazine Staff Stella Karaptian Sydney Linford Paige Robinson Faizali Rahim Hidaya Syed Inaya Syed

Contributors Naomi Clark Mia Goren Gabriella Mancuso Katie Parisi Ethan Sontarp

Editor’s Note Dear Reader,

After a year of hard work, dedication, and collaboration, I’m happy to share with you and the rest of our community this year’s publication of Etchings Literary and Art Magazine. I wish I could present it to you differently – covers bound, glossy pages, and that new book smell of paper and ink, but life always takes an unexpected turn; forcing you to reinvent, rediscover, and reimagine.

The predicament we are currently in was something none of us could ever have imagined in our wildest dreams. If you’d have asked me on the first day of my senior year what I thought the end of the school year would look like, my answer wouldn’t have been further from the truth. To say this ending to our high school career is disappointing would be an understatement – after all, we were supposed to be the “cool” graduating class. I mean, how cool did it seem back then that we were graduating in 2020? It was supposed to be our year. We were supposed to laugh, cry, and celebrate together as a class. Then this happened.

Although I won’t be able to sit on the turf with all 570 of my fellow seniors and wait for my name to be called just yet, there’s some solace to be found in the fact that we are not alone. We are all facing this obstacle together and we will overcome it because we are strong. We are resilient, we are determined, and we will change the world.

We will reinvent, rediscover, and reimagine our lives as young adults in the aftermath of a global pandemic. We will still laugh, cry, and celebrate together because we will find a way. You are not alone, and none of us are. This chapter of our lives will close but we will start a new one, because even when you reach the last page there are still more words waiting to be written.

The last four years have certainly been a journey, but this isn’t the end – it’s just the beginning.

Etchings, it has been an honor to be your Editor-in-Chief for the past two years. I can’t wait to see what you all accomplish. I know you will pour your hearts and minds into this magazine.

Yours truly,

Sydney Linford

Editor’s Note Dear Reader,

Please know that each poem we have created has immense value. Poetry, like any art, is subjective. There are good poems and there are bad poems, and you and I may disagree on which are which. The perceived quality of a poem has nothing to do with its value. Whether the value is found by the author while writing it, the reader while reading it, or even the audience member listening to it, poems all have value in some capacity.

While a poem or poetic style can be disliked, it does not alter the poem’s ability to affect people.

There are poems people hate, and poems people love, and their feelings do not change a poem’s intrinsic value. You may not like poems, or poetry, or there could even be that one poem that grinds your gears every time you hear it, but poetry is still art and its public perception has no effect on its worth.

Every poem in this magazine has value. It may have been valuable to the author, it may be valuable to you, or it could have been valuable to those of us who sat in a circle sharing our writing every Wednesday afternoon. I’d like to thank Mr. Dineen for giving us the freedom and support to find value in our and each other’s work.

Reader, I ask you to find value in these poems. Find how emotions were poured into the pages, and all the love that went into creating what stands before you today.

This would not exist without all the warmth and respect that was shared between those involved, and I appreciate them all immensely for it. Thank you to all the Etchings members who came before me and helped form this magazine into what it is. You inspire me every day. Thank you to Etchings for the last three years of laughs and learning, I loved every moment.

Sincerely,

Paige Robinson

Life is not a poem.

Although some days I wish it was.

The simplicity of its trauma wrapped in metaphor.

Its aggravatingly asinine ways all as an alliteration.

My life is not a poem But I’ll try and make it one for you.

Paige Robinson

Paige PaigeRobinson Robinson

Sydney Linford

Isolated was the dog, living on the long street.

Fallen, he was, without a doubt, but no relief around.

Hurdles had tripped him and made him hurt, with injuries both in and out.

The other dogs looked and laughed, teasing for not walking on the brighter path.

Failed was the first step, but that didn’t stop this dog.

It took minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and even years.

But when that dog did get up, it was the final success.

Faizali Rahim

48 Oh god.

What will my mother think?

What will my father think?

Will I be disowned?

It’s ok.

It’s fine.

I’m alright.

I’m going to die.

I’m never going to be part of my family My parents will lock me away and throw the key I can’t breathe.

Somebody help, I can’t breathe!

Wait, is that a 6?

A 6?

Instead of a 4?

Let me get closer.

Yep, that’s a 6.

Phew!

Wait...

Hidaya Syed

Ethan Sontarp

Shackled I'm shackled by harsh reality I walk through this world staggeringly Lock me up with chains And let me rust when it rains Negativity overcomes I can't help but succumb I'm in shackles Reality tackles Weighed down by ferocity That is my fatality I must break from your judgement I'll be triumphant But you weigh me down with negativity With your reactivity Why don't you just say you hate me?

Why must you save me?

I'm in shackles Reality tackles Weighed down by ferocity That is my fatality Just say it Why don't you say it?

I created this hell for myself That this shouldn't even be touched on a bookshelf I'm not okay, I say Why can't you just stay?

I'm in shackles Not ready for the world’s tackles Inaya Syed

Sydney Linford

Rag Doll You throw me around Then you pick me up You put me down And shut me up You act like you care But then you talk like I’m not even there You say “why can’t we just talk?”

Then you make fun of the way I walk If I wasn’t similar to you, Would you even love me?

Could you be capable of that?

Because it doesn’t seem so.

You tore me at every chance, Never spared me a glance.

I was five And you made me feel Like I was barely alive.

You came back ten years later Saying you wanted to start over.

How can we start over If we never even started?

I would really like to know.

So that I can believe that it isn’t all for show.

I’m done being your rag doll.

Something you can play with for a while Until you get bored.

I’m done with it all.

Hidaya Syed

Mia Goren

Sydney Linford

2:00 am It’s 2:00 in the morning, My eyes are burning, And I guess I’m learning, That trying to write the essay, On the last day, Might not have been the best idea.

Stella Karaptian

Dear my unanswered emails, With every click of the send button I hear hollow reverberating all around me *click CLICK click CLICK click CLICK* Another email into the a b y s s One day Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe Someone will read them But until then I will Re Load and Re Load and Re Load My inbox And hope my voice has been Heard Best, Paige Robinson

Mia Goren

Sixteen “Another year gone…”

“Today’s the day!”

“New music and movie tastes!”

“I miss the old ones….”

“A year to grow as a person!”

“And to forget who I used to be…”

“Really, man?” “...yes…” “...Well... At least we can remember those good times, can’t we?”

“I guess so, yeah….”

Sixteen: an age where you have chemical imbalances Sixteen: an age where you learn to be an adult Sixteen: an age everyone wishes to skip, but goes through anyways Sixteen

Hidaya Syed

Inaya Syed

Drowning You stand there In front of a crowd that doesn’t know who you are Telling them your story You are drowning them in a facade, You are drowning yourself in idealization Your attempts to breathe are failing You gulp in desperation For something. anything.

You are failing Your throat closes up.

Everyone can see you Everyone is judging you Keep calm. Keep calm You tell yourself But those words fail as tears prick the corners of your eyes The truth is nobody can see you And nobody will Drowning

Hidaya Syed

Sydney Linford

Blue Anthropomorphic Tyrannosaurus Rex I loved you You loved me Until you tried to destroy me From the inside out Messing with my sanity Won’t you please just let me be I loved you You hated me I’ve blocked your name please don’t call me With a wave goodbye And a shove out the door Please abide by the court order Paige Robinson

Paige Robinson

I’m sad to say, I won’t miss you.

All the times you tried to push me down, And even when I got back up, You kicked me to the ground.

But when you yell and yell just to be heard, And no one says a word, Your voice gets hoarse, And you wonder if it’ll ever be worth it.

I’ll be sad to say, On our last day, I really won’t miss you At all.

Sydney Linford

Mia Goren

“Please mind the gap, We’ve widened it”

Paige Robinson

Gabriella Mancuso

Sheet of Glass A sheet of tinted glass divides you and me.

We can’t see past the differences between us.

We can’t see past the sheet of glass that separates us.

I belong in one category, while you belong in the other.

So, why fight with one another?

I want to make amends, but I don’t want us to be friends.

Since we will be toxic towards each other, Why bother?

I know I’m going to be bad for you, and you’re going to be bad for me.

So it’s best to leave loose ends, and sometimes to not make amends.

To conclude this mess, I think it’s for the best.

Inaya Syed

Mia Goren

Paige Robinson

F

I sit there, at the Entranced as the flame I am (a little) frighte But I know I’m safe be The flames get bigger, only “Don’t give “do “do “do “do I gave it t

Hidaya

Fire

once small flames es get higher, and higher ened as they get bigger ecause of the glass cover to get smaller as I turn away it attention.” on’t.” on’t.” on’t.” on’t” too much.

a Syed

I Shan’t Compare The

You hide behind your metaphors as if th You’re wasting w You say your implications are a “mani Like that mea Your words are cowardly an And There’s you and your sesquipedali Because you d Despite your ever so valuab You can take your I hope they become som

Don’t wri

Paige Ro

Paige Robinson

ee to a Summer’s Day

hey make you into something you’re not words over here! ifestation of your inner aggravation” ans anything. nd futile against emotions yet ian words blocking out the world deserve it all ble words being worthless metaphors back. mething without you.

ite back.

obinson

The demon “Don’t trust the demon.”

It’s advice I would have told myself 6 years ago.

When I was young and gullible, When I was full of life. Her name? Ayani.

It would have undone all the years of torture I had to face.

But thank you, Ayani, for teaching me perseverance.

Thank you, Ayani, for teaching me about life.

Thank you.

Inaya Syed

Gabriella Mancuso

A Mantra for the Emotional Live your life the way you want.

With fear.

Without fear.

But live it well.

Love things.

Or hate things.

Provide no justification Defend yourself for days.

Feel how you feel for no reason other than that is how you feel.

Do reckless things.

Let your mood change your plans.

Be in a funk for a decade.

Befriend every person you meet.

Have opinions.

Don’t prove yourself to anyone.

Laugh a lot.

Send angry messages.

Cry through the day.

Ghost people.

Be spiteful.

Be caring.

Think your own thoughts.

Know them to be fact regardless of what anyone says.

Trust your emotions.

Refuse to change your mind.

You are valid.

Your beliefs are valid.

And anyone who says otherwise needs a mantra for themselves.

Mia Goren

Paige Robinson

Cage Some people relate to wolves.

Some people relate to lions.

But I am a domestic bird.

I hide in a cage.

I talk while others talk.

I yell when others yell.

I am easily irritable.

And others call me annoying.

I act like I don’t care.

But really, I do.

I keep quiet the rest of the time.

And everyone asks me “why don’t you talk more?”

Like that will make me less quiet.

People constantly poke and prod me with their fingers.

I know they don’t mean any harm.

But it doesn’t make me feel more comfortable, Or any better.

I know I scare them.

They think I hate everything and everyone.

But I don’t.

And it hurts me that they think I do.

I am a bird.

Hidaya Syed

Sydney Linford

Dear Mr. Sand Goby, Please get it together. Go help your wife for once. You pretend to be the perfect dad when courting your lovely lady. She swoons. The second she leaves you alone, you eat your unborn children. What gives? You two faced, double dorsal finned, five-centimeter long (on average) monster. You’re just like a three-spined stickleback male. Is that really who you want to be compared to? Who do you want your legacy to equal?

Does your skin turning darker during breeding season make you crave the taste of eggs, like some weird faux pregnancy craving? Go find a chicken for god’s sake. I’m sure you can figure out a way to make it happen. At the very least, go eat someone else’s embryos. You can leave your nest, it’s not like you’re much of a father to them right now anyway. Reflect on your actions and change. Be better.

Respectfully, The Female Pomatoschistus minutus Rights Committee (FPMRC)

Paige Robinson

Paige Robinson

Colorism Is a word that isn’t used often in our generation, But was used in past ones I hope And pray That one day People won’t judge a person Based on how light or dark they are If they have patches of different colors On their skin They deserve to hear And we will Tell them they are beautiful As we make the world a better place And learn from the past’s mistakes

Hidaya Syed

Naomi Clark

It doesn’t matter It doesn’t matter how much I cry No one’s ever going to hear my screams Sometimes I dream But today is not that day My crying and screaming won’t help my problems Nothing will Everyone hates me, and I hate myself And people hate people who hate themselves But I can’t My internalized screaming will never reach My crying will never teach those who are a leech Drinking my intelligence up as if it was a smoothie Dining on my weaknesses as a hamburger I could never tell anyone about what I think Everyone already has their own problems I don’t want to be a burden And yet, I am Inaya Syed

Paige Robinson

Bubeleh “When we cross the Brooklyn bridge the water will part beneath us” she says. We laugh.

“And on the other side will be bagels and lox” he says. We laugh. She chides—or should I say ‫ח‬ides—him for interrupting her comedy routine. It is, after all, her time to shine. Finally.

She sings Hebrew songs as we walk and taps her toes to the drums.

She catches a woman who trips and helps a child find her mom.

She knows how to apologize, but she won’t do it unless she means it.

She uses her elbows as weapons stronger than the backhanded compliments that roll off her tongue.

She shoves me as she walks by, but I understand. She does what needs to be done.

She travels, but not too much—can’t have the kids missing Bubbe.

She owns a hat that says “Happy Challah Days” and posts a selfie on Facebook every time she wears it.

She is unapologetically herself and won’t back down from a fight.

She is strong.

She is brave.

She is.

Paige Robinson

Paige Robinson

Paige Robinson

Cl

I grew up Watched him fro Gave him p I molde His self co Who h But I built h And he c All I ever wanted was for him But he n

Hidaya

Ethan Sontarp

lay

with him om the shadows part of me. ed him onfidence he was him too high collapsed m to give some part of me back never did

a Syed

We, the assorted We, the accepting We, the loud We, the determined We, the searching We, the connected, for better or worse We, the united We, the youth... are here to get this done.

Stella Karaptian

Paige Robinson

What am I to you?

Am I – A pretty smile, Wrapped with a bow and some lipstick?

Or am I – A sing-song voice, That is but a whisper, Carried by the wind to your ear?

Didn’t they teach you not to judge a book by its cover?

Looks can be deceiving, you know.

Sydney Linford

Mia Goren

Hopeless I feel hopeless.

The sight of our world hurting makes me worry for the future we have The fights, the rallies, the injustices are making us more wary We have thicker skin, however, Thicker skin, to help us make a difference Thicker skin, for moving forward I don’t feel so hopeless anymore, knowing our generation is stronger than before, And we won’t back down.

Inaya Syed

Paige Robinson

SPECIAL THANKS Mr. Charles Schulz The Commack High School English Department Mr. Robert Raeihle The Commack High School Art Department The Commack High School Office of Student Life Mrs. Leslie Boritz COMMACK PUBLIC SCHOOLS BOARD OF EDUCATION Mr. Steven Hartman, President Mr. Jarrett Behar, Vice President Mr. William Hender, Trustee Ms. Susan Hermer, Trustee Mr. Justin Varughese, Trustee SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS Dr. Donald A. James ASSISTANT SUPERINTENDENT FOR BUSINESS AND OPERATIONS Mrs. Laura A. Newman ASSISTANT SUPERINTENDENT FOR CURRICULUM, INSTRUCTION, ASSESSMENT AND STUDENT SUPPORT SERVICES Mrs. Amy J. Ryan EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR OF EDUCATIONAL RESOURCES AND SPECIAL PROJECTS Dr. Michael Inforna ASSOCIATE PRINCIPAL Ms. Sari Goldberg EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR OF INSTRUCTIONAL SERVICES Mr. Jordan F. Cox CURRICULUM ASSOCIATE Mrs. Carrie Lipenholtz COMMACK HIGH SCHOOL ADMINISTRATION Mrs. Leslie H. Boritz, Principal Mrs. Andrea Allen, Assistant Principal Mr. Matthew P. Keltos, Assistant Principal Mrs. Susan Shapiro, Assistant Principal