FirstFlight 2020: Idle

idle

firstflight 2020

“Halfway There” by Karina Bowden FRONT COVER: “Nostalgia” by Karina Bowden

table of contents preface, silhouettes by Cormac Cadden masquerade by Jackson Huston, untitled photos by Anton Glazko untitled photo by Solana Espino she is the Sky by Megan Peng, Under the Stars by Cormac Cadden Star Kissed by Amanda Salatino paper thoughts by Micah Levy, Beautiful Pieces by Sophie Zhu hot bath steam by Megan Peng, it’s you by Amy Ge the wind and me by Megan Peng, Renewal by Jasmine Criqui small by Anonymous just another distant memory by Amy Ge my brother’s bunnies by Annabelle Wang, On the Horizon by Cormac Cadden high tide by Sophia Ai, Hidden by Sophie Zhu uncivilized civilization by Jackson Huston, Urban by Cormac Cadden Koi by Amy Ge Hell on Earth by Jackson Huston, rush hour by Amy Ge 2:28 AM by Amanda Salatino, Euphoria by Karina Bowden Purple Mountains by Megan Peng, Peace by Karina Bowden Candle by Eryn Kargman, #10 by Jess Yu The Forest Court by Jackson Huston Screenager by Amanda Salatino, Projected Feelings by Karina Bowden Ashes by Jasmine Criqui, Waves by Cormac Cadden, Perpetuity by Nabeeha Zobair First Surgery by Tzipporah Moehringer, Hunger by Karina Bowden untitled photo by Solana Espino Untitled by Micah Levy, Sunset in Paradise by Cormac Cadden

preface Three months ago, our daily lives were filled with bustle, chatter, hundreds of tiny interactions. At times, we felt overwhelmed by all the noise, but now we realize the silence can be much more exhausting. For that’s when the dread sets in when there’s nothing to distract us from the issues we’ve been avoiding both in society and within ourselves.

As our worlds seemingly came to a halt and we were sent home indefinitely, the feeling of having nothing to do that we previously longed for became constant.

We became idle, or, by definition, characterized by inaction or absence of significant activity. It became easy to let the inactivity transform into feelings of worthlessness and lethargy. The world got dark, even from the comfort of our own homes.

But what better guide out of the abyss can we look to than art? Even when our lives abruptly change, even when we feel empty, our brains continue to create.

Indeed, that is the very nature of creativity, expanding to fill the void. The absence of the familiar is not our enemy, but a blank canvas waiting to be filled.

In this issue of FirstFlight, we hope you choose to accept that canvas, to embrace the idleness, to direct your energy towards art and its creation. For idleness is nothing if not an opportunity for expression.

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“Silhouettes” by Cormac Cadden

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masquerade

by Jackson Huston

untitled photos by Anton Glazko

A masque of lies, you hide behind.

Every word a maze, a game in your gaze.

A labyrinth of fog and echoes, the path you chose.

You lie without lying, a masterclass in hiding.

A forest of shadows, what hides in the trees, nobody knows.

The light of truth does not enter here, not within the woods you rear.

Do you know yourself still?

Or has the web of lies made a kill?

Or are the woods your garden, A paradise, and you the warden.

Do you know your own face?

Or has the masque taken its place?

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untitled photo by Solana Espino

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she is the Sky

by Megan Peng clouds glowing after a midnight shower swirling hues of grey-faded lavenders indigos aquamarines shine bright against the deep night

fresh, morning dew-air at the mountain’s peak, panting, hands on our knees relishing the untainted atmosphere too pure, obscenely perfect

a shooting star, or maybe a comet catches my gaze for a split second but that’s enough twinkling i’m obliged to make a wish

we’re foolish, reckless we throw sticks and old homework into a haphazard pile someone pulls out an old lighter get some gasoline! frenzied smoke from our fire flies up, up

our filthy claws entangle her pastel wisps she’s suffocating but all we can do is watch her dark, angry gray our sky going out

we lash out, angry at ourselves searching for someone to blame the noxious odor taints her sunrise breath we fill our lungs with the foul fragrance and we somehow feel euphoric

she is the Sky

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star-kissed

by Amanda Salatino Would the clouds hold me with arms of pure stardust and rain?

Would I feel at home?

I have hoped to uncover secrets within constellations and red-orange sunsets.

Do the stars look down at me as well?

Do they shine in my eyes and taunt me or mean to fill me with courage?

And I speak of the great beyond like each star is a long lost sister waiting for me to approach her with teary eyes and a blinding smile.

Is it not unfair that the moon gets to bathe in their light?

How can I touch the sky with the red threads of fate binding me to the ocean floor?

Dreams and starlight, both of which only tendrils of smoke in my palms, lifted my chin towards the blinding white light and warmth.

A tiny sliver of starlight hits the corner of my cheek, and thus, I have been found.

“Under the Stars” by Cormac Cadden

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paper thoughts

by Micah Levy words mend broken hearts that have been shattered words shatter hearts that are perfect and whole words pick up broken glass that’s been scattered but leave you to spiral out of control

words are free, it’s how you use them that costs you while words often fail, silence tends to speak they are something we should pay respect to even when the words we hide inside are weak

many say words are indispensable small talk replaced intellectualism conversation incomprehensible an eternal trap of pluralism

words should never be taken for granted they sow or reap the seed you once planted

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“Beautiful Pieces” by Sophie Zhu

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“It’s you” by Amy Ge

hot bath steam

by Megan Peng

those beautiful days when the santa ana winds were baby tornadoes leprechauns lived in tree knots crayon shavings were the key ingredient in fairy dust (making us fairies by default) rolly pollies just slightly shy little elves our dreams were glimpses of another dimension tooth fairies unicorns luna lovegoods pots of gold waiting to be found it was like trying to hold on to your friend’s frisky dog running your hands through the rapids of a cold river drawing a perfect circle in one shot the soft pop of a tennis ball gliding over the net

the smell of freshly baked gingerbread last christmas when we all took the first bite together

like darkening in the last period of the story you’ve been working on it for ages

this is the art of holding onto something good

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“Renewal” by Jasmine Criqui

the wind and me

by Amanda Salantino The breeze kissed her cheek And the rain sang her to sleep.

Simple melodies and lullabies Silent when I pass under their wings. == Why won’t they sing for me?

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“just another distant memory” by Amy Ge

small

by Anonymous i’m not a small person by any means, but you made me so small that night. you invaded my home, the one home i can never move out of, the one i am stuck with forever. kicking the door down by unzipping my pants, smashing the windows by holding me down, ransacking the rooms by grabbing me, you stole from me what you knew wasn’t yours to take. you’ve seen rooms in my home that no one else has, ones that i was saving to share at the right time, but you’re still a stranger to me. every time i think about my home, now desecrated and empty, i become small once again

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my brother’s bunnies

by Anabelle Wang A few months later, my brother’s respiratory infection left too much fluid in his lungs. Sure, he went downhill, but I couldn’t really see it. He may have sounded worse, but it was difficult to tell because he was already way too injured to sound normal. I had gotten so used to him sounding in pain and wheezy that I didn’t take notice of death creeping in bit by bit. We had a small private funeral and put his ashes in the mausoleum with a picture of him and his bunnies on the front. It was weird. The bunnies never died. Because they were in the picture, it made it seem that they were all cremated together. For weeks, my mother kept repeating sentences that began with “I should’ve,” as if she were a doctor who’d lost her first patient. It was as if she never thought death was possible for her children.

The week after my brother died, Junior hopped up to me as I was lying around on the carpet near the fireplace reading a book. He sniffed the ankles of my pants and licked them. The other bunnies came around as well, curious if there were any delicious tidbits that I was sharing only with Junior. Pretty soon, all of the bunnies came and greeted me at the door everyday when I got home from school.

“On the Horizon” by Cormac Cadden

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“Hidden” by Sophie Zhu

high tide

by Sophia Ai hearts are fickle things. they pulse and contract and beat against the fragile glass that keeps the mess of ink in, changing with the slightest word, the once clear waters darkening into angry swells of navy ink crashing against the glass like waves on a cliff. we can only hope the glass won’t break.

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uncivilized civilization

by Jackon Huston A factory stands, black smoke spilling into the sky.

A pipe breaks, poison oil killing the fish swimming by.

A forest hacked down, made into golden fields.

The ground cracked open, the metal made shields.

A steel tower kisses the clouds, a spire in heaven.

All this the struggle of men.

The forest cannot long hold, the ice grows less cold.

Bears and foxes made to run, but not from the crack of the gun.

It is the yellow predator, the black roads, the grey boxes, crafting a city.

The missing ice, the poison spray, the farmers plow, whistling a ditty.

The song of death flies through the air, Only now laid bare.

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“Urban” by Cormac Cadden

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“Koi” by Amy Ge

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Hell on Earth

by Jackson Huston Earth trembling, sky shrieking, water rumbling.

Cycle shattering.

Wind screaming, Thunder booming, lightning crackling.

The world is dying.

Clouds freezing, ice melting, forests burning.

We are lying.

Children choking, fish drowning, birds falling.

We are dying.

Rivers blazing, moon fleeing, fields drying.

All is bleeding.

Machines stopping, cities quieting, illness reaching.

Darkness falling.

Footsteps leaving, family dying, world warring.

Our fault.

“rush hour” by Amy Ge

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“Euphoria” by Karina Bowden

2:28 AM

by Amanda Salatino The moon was the girl’s only indication of the time of day. Or night, for that matter. Ever since she could possibly remember, she learned how to decipher the moon and stars. Each one was like its own piece of the puzzle of time and space. And the girl knew just how to read it.

So she laid her heavy head on the grass and stones and opened the pages of the sky. She opened them up and read every star like she read her stolen books. (Never mind the stolen part, she was sure to take the ones no one liked anymore. Those were the things she liked the most. Stuff no one cared for. Gems long forgotten in dust and webs).

A curious faced cat trotted over to the girl’s spot on the edge of the forest, barely peeking into the meadow. He wanted to lay in the grass, too. This was their routine every single night. This exact spot, these same stars.

Everything was the same, ordinary night. Until it wasn’t, but she didn’t know that yet.

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So the girl let the cat curl under her head, his soft white fur mixing with her black curls. Like the sky. Together they made the sky.

purple mountains

by Megan Peng Wandering aimlessly, engulfed by a soft wave backstage, hide-and-seek in the velvet curtains

What’s hidden in those chocolate spheres when the sun flashes at the right moment?

It’s a beautiful day to get lost rolling down grassy hills on our backs staring at the blameless blue expanse over us out of breath for no reason

Let’s get lost––lose ourselves even like the pink shoes of Barbie, my only Barbie the sapphire ring from a little shop in Juneau the capital of Wisconsin memorized in fifth grade

I’ll never lose that rope knotted around something in my chest tugging just a little bit tighter

“Peace” by Karina Bowden

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Candle

by Eryn Kargman While you’re lighting a candle, it starts out slow The wick slowly beginning to burn until it makes its way towards the edge of the wax A small pool forms under the wick, warm, nearing hot Eyes reflect the heat, until they slowly shut Fingertips so close to burning, yet you don’t pull away It getting hotter, and hotter, and you melt into it It burns, but doesn’t scold The wax melts and runs smoothly down the sides You plunge into it, your fingers wrapped in the hot wax The flame burning brighter and brighter A warm feeling in your stomach grows with the flame The candles wick gets shorter and shorter as the flame reaches its peak And then as suddenly as it started, it fizzles out, and the candle hardens once more.

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The Forest Court

by Jackson Huston

Pine trees, towering and noble oak trees, wise and gnarled Willow trees, flexible things Make up the Forest Court.

Hear the wind rush through the branches, whispering laughter on every leaf follow its voice, but make no sound And come to the Forest Court.

Sun dappled leaves, emerald to gold, scattered across the ground a choir of cicadas and thrushes abounds, anointing the Forest Court.

A mighty rock, jagged and cold, thrusts into the air, but look at its base, and you’ll find, the creeping roots are there A burbling crook, a rushing brook, with waters black as night, twists around and finds itself, Guarding the Forest Court.

Hear his roar now, see the Forest bow, For he has arrived at last. Muzzle scarred with memories, of days long past. The cougar stands, this is his land, King of the Forest Court.

“#10” by Jess Yu

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Screenager

by Amanda Salatino Our hands are not reaching to the sun.

They grasp and hope to find a connection, For the blue lights you put in our pockets Will never be enough To create a bond, Share the love, With just a tap.

We are not the issue.

It is the world we are thrown into, The one we must watch burn from past carelessness.

The one we must watch flood From our own depressions.

The one we must watch suffer From meaningless violence.

And the blue lights become brighter, And our necks sink lower, To search for hope At the end of the tunnel.

Because maybe, just maybe, Our screens can replace the stars.

Can fill the void.

With just a tap.

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“Projected Feelings by Karina Bowden

ashes

“Waves” by Cormac Cadden

by Jasmine Criqui

Nostalgia holds no place with me Just bitter, twisted scorn For all the parts that I have played That have died and gone unmourned

The solution isn’t pretty But I’ve found no other way To keep on moving forward And keep the emptiness at bay

The times I’ve been a failure The shame that settled deep Disapproval burning brightly On my eyelids when I sleep

I allow my memories to burn In a place I cannot reach I seal shut all the doorways Scrub the stained floors white with bleach

Were they ever really me Or even real at all Do I only exist in triumph Am I nothing when I fall?

I don’t think that it’s healthy No, I don’t believe it’s right To let mistakes that I have made Come haunt me in the night

“Perpetuity” by Nabeeha Zobair

And so I am reborn A phoenix from the flames Say goodbye to those who knew me Set fire to the pain Someday I long to change this Sort through the ashes and the rough Find all the versions of myself And let them know “You’re good enough.”

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by Tzipporah Moehringer Under the bright spotlight that shone on my brother’s ostensibly lifeless face, Dr. K prepared to extract the final wisdom tooth. The room was cold and smelled oppressively sterile. The monotonous sound of IV fluids dripping anesthetics into my brother’s veins and the gentle beeping of the heart-rate monitor let me know he was okay. The low hum contrasted sharply with my rapidly beating heart as I witnessed my first surgery. The surgeon then asked, “Can you go put on a pair of gloves from over there?” Confused about why I suddenly needed to be protected in this pre-COVID-19 era, I nevertheless trotted over to the counter and eagerly snapped on the gloves, enacting the fictitious professionalism portrayed on “Grey’s Anatomy.”

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“Hunger” by Karina Bowden

untitled photo by Solana Espino

I had tagged along to my brother’s consultation the day before because I have been interested in dentistry since I was 7, and my mom likes to give me as much exposure to the field as possible.

When I asked if I might observe Andrew’s surgery, the surgeon kindly pushed the idea aside with a nonchalant “we’ll see.” After I littered him with questions about the surgery and post-op procedure, however, Dr. K was convinced that, even though I had just turned 15, I was mature enough to witness the operation.

As Dr. K began the procedure, he led me to a spot so close to him I felt like I was part of his surgical team. He started with the top right tooth, and I watched in awe as his steady hands made the extraction and sewed the hole shut. Soon came the question about putting on gloves. As I returned with my new surgical garb, the doctor continued, “Can you hand me the tool second from the left?” Again, I did as I was instructed. To my surprise, he then inquired, “Would you like to help me remove Andrew’s final wisdom tooth?” Is he kidding me? Of course I would! His gloved hand securely guiding my nervous one, we ushered the plier-looking tool into Andrew’s mouth and hooked it around the tooth. With a slight twist and pull, I had helped with an official tooth extraction!

As Dr. K sewed up the last hole, I became fully confident that this would not be my last surgery.

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untitled

by Micah Levy With society on pause People are looking for a way to hit play Something to cling to When up is down Black is white Night is day Opinions flying right and left Where is the light that once shown Saint Patrick’s Day isn’t so lucky anymore Surrounded by fear of the unknown A division among people Material reliance Conflicted hearts, minds and souls A total lack of alliance Although we are fighting a virus This is not a struggle against flesh or blood But against greater powers we cannot see Spiritual ones of a greater degree Searching for a way to cleanse our hands When only He can wash us clean Have you ever considered that maybe He has a purpose in this quarantine?

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“Sunset in Paradise” by Cormac Cadden

While Information Confrontation Isolation Constant frustration Economic probation And-well, this virus Continues to spread So do his arms.

So does his love.

So does his message.

This may come as a shock...

But this is no surprise to Him The grey clouds in our view?

Those clouds He can see through To be quite honest, I am not without fear But amidst this chaotic season I know the presence of God is near He wants to spread a different kind of virus One that results in eternal life His everlasting promise Leading us out of our current strife If you’re looking for something to cling to Rather than that last toilet paper roll If you feel like you’re completely broken He’s here to make you whole I hope that God’s virus will soon spread Rather than this tragic COVID-19 Before you skip to the next post Try looking up John 3:16 :)

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