Foote Notes 2024-2025 by The Foote School

Foote Notes 2024-2025

Editorial Staff

Zachary Brenner ’25

Editorial Advisor

Skye Lee

Middle School Humanities

Design Advisor

Frances Moore

Director of Marketing & Communications

Dedications:

This edition of Foote Notes is dedicated to two faculty members who will be leaving Foote at the end of this school year:

Mr Milburn was one of the best teachers we had this year. Class was always something different, and I was always excited to see what we had each day. From sneaking around campus with nose plugs on to being “tortured” to relate to a book better, each class had us experiencing books in new and different ways. Another great experience was the weekend writing prompts, since they made me write in ways I never had before. I loved his class, and the school will miss him.

To Ms. Stanley, an amazing math teacher who has also been an incredible cross-country coach. We are grateful for the time and energy that she has dedicated to us both inside and outside the classroom. Thank you, Ms. Stanley, and we wish you the best.

MICHAEL MILBURN

LAURA STANLEY

In the Box

By Celie Akins, Grade 1

I will put in the box

A forest with green, grassy fields

The soothing sound of a storm

The feeling of a rainbow

I will put in the box

The smell of soup-not any soup, my mom’s soup

The chirping of a robin

The fun of my friends

I will put in the box

The taste of a cookie on The Polar Express

The warm hot cocoa that I love

The fire that’s warm and cozy

My box is fashioned from diamonds and tanzanite

With fuzzy fur on the lid

And beautiful rubies in each corner

I shall jump on a rainbow in my box

Forests, Forests, Forests

By Zach Smith-Wallace, Grade 1

Green forests, rain forests

Mossy, springy, moldy forests

Cloudy, hot, humid forests

Those are just a few

Bare forests, flaming forests

Dark, dim, shadowed forests

Creaky, twisted, ancient forests

Viny forests, too

Silent forests, noisy forests

Don’t forget fungus forests

Last of all

Best of all

I like coral forests

I Am

Maya Quinones, Grade 1

I am a girl named…

I wonder why trees help you breathe

I hear kids playing and laughing

I see people hugging their mom and dad

I want people to have a good home

I am a girl named…

I pretend to laugh even when I don’t get the joke

I feel the sun shining in my eyes

I touch beautiful bushes and berries

I worry about when I am under a gravestone

I cry because both of my cats died

I am a girl named…

I understand people when they are wrong

I say “I believe in people!”

I dream it’s a holiday every day

I try my best every day

I hope everybody has a good life

I am a girl named… Maya

I Am

By Martin Svolik,

Grade 1

I am Martin

I wonder who I am going to be when I grow up

I hear people having fun

I see people making friends

I want a good world for everyone

I am funny

I pretend to be the best soccer player

I feel happy when people are being nice

I touch love

I worry about the world

I cry because something bad is happening I am active

I understand everything I say loving words

I dream to be the best

I try to be kind I hope for love I am a legend

I Am

By Albert Emerson, Grade

I am funny and fast.

I wonder about the future. I want to explore new places. I worry about sharks. I am funny and fast. I understand nature.

I say, “Be comfortable with yourself.” I dream everyone has a home. I am funny and fast.

Lightning, Lightning, Lightning

By Finn Guevrement,

Grade 1

Blue lightning, fast lightning

Ziggy-zaggy, curving lightning

Stormy, death, thunder lightning

Those are just a few

Dazzling lightning, crushing lightning

Energizing, charged, bolt lightning

Destroying-tree, breaking lightning

Regular lightning, too

Flashing lightning, loud lightning

Don’t forget red lightning

Last of all, best of all

I like all lightning

Ruler

Franklin Hu, Grade 2

A strange blue and white striped zebra

Galloping the length of the paper

To find out how long it is

Tape

By Cairo Burton, Grade 2

A whitish yellow octopus

That can camouflage

That has eight legs

It grabs the torn paper with One of its sticky arms

Glue Stick

by Elleia Bruce, Grade 2

A green frog with both a sticky tongue and body

Hopping to its next project

It licks the piece of paper (getting it all sticky)

Scared

By Ward Minneman, Grade 2

Scared looks like a kid behind a rock

Scared tastes like sour lime on your tongue

Scared sounds like the fire alarm ringing in your ears

Scares smells like smoke from your fireplace

Scared feels like the thump in your belly

Anger

By Yasin Peyvandi, Grade

Anger looks like fire with flaming skies

Anger tastes like a gross drain with smelly socks

Anger sounds like broken earmuffs

Anger smells like pollution world wide

Anger feels like flaming arrows and lightning

The Book

By Iris Ederer-Kerr, Grade

My secret world inside me.

My donkey ears drop. Wait! I hear a sound.

Flip, flip

The White Rock

By James Schnabel, Grade 2

My rock is smooth as paper. It shines like the sun. It smells like the ocean breeze. I think it came from an abandoned island.

Diamantes

By Andy Liu, Grade 3 Day

Bright, sunny

Running, dancing, walking

Flowers grow in the sunlight

Sleeping, dreaming, snoring

Dark, cold Night Cat

Furry, cute

Sleeping, meowing, purring

Running around scratching everything

Barking, running, sniffing

Soft, energetic Dog

The Most Valuable Color

Aarav Jaiswa, Grade 3

A king’s crown on display, forbidden to touch

A ring that a man wears to a party

Very bright and proud; an outburst wherever it is

Shiny pieces in a rich person’s house to show wealth and power

The most valuable color of all, that you are most protective of

A shiny watch left in a throne room

The emblem on a uniform’s badge

A shiny yellow guitar string

The sunrise on a beautiful day

Miners under the earth try to find it until they cry, “I got it, I got it!”

The melty butter that shines bright as a necklace

Roll of the Dice

By Leo Berkowitz, Grade 3

Life is like a roll of the dice

A pearl sits in a shell until it is found

All alone, an egg stays waiting to be cracked

Here and there, the clouds sit in the sky

The bad parts of life are just like a big crumpled piece of paper

Dark

By Adam Oldfield, Grade 3

A cat walks around a bucket of tar on a freshly paved road

A raven crows at the darkening night sky

The burnt forest, shrouded in ash

The smoke rises from a chimney, almost

touching the churning, stormy sky

The soot of a dead fire engulfs the house in deep, deep sorrow

If I Were in Charge of the World

By Alyosha Hanson, Grade 3

If I were in charge of the world, I’d cancel peanut butter, Curse words, Toothbrushing, and also fatigue.

If I were in charge of the world, There’d be lots of math in school, You could eat crab anytime, and The Nintendo Switch 2 would come out.

If I were in charge of the world, You wouldn’t have game time limits. You wouldn’t have horror movies. You wouldn’t have bad viruses. Or “Don’t forget to floss!”

You wouldn’t even have cavities.

If I were in charge of the world, Candy would be a vegetable, Saturdays would last forever, And a person who sometimes forgot to put on chapstick, And sometimes forgot to put their dishes in the sink, Would still be allowed to be

In charge of the world.

The Important Poem

By Adriana Page, Grade

The important thing about a guinea pig is that it is caring.

It is warm hearted, cuddly, and scared of things.

And it is very soft and cute. It also could be playful.

But the important thing about a guinea pig is that it is caring.

The important thing about a dog is that it can be big or small. It is jumpy sometimes And tired or energetic. It could also get hurt sometimes.

But the important thing about a dog is that it can be big or small.

The Important Poem

By Cove Lee, Grade

The important thing about a sister is that she reads to you.

She watches movies with you, And plays with you.

She passes a ball with you, But the most important thing about a sister is that she reads to you.

The important thing about a wasp is that it stings you.

It is yellow and black, And sometimes mean. It also flies,

But the most important thing about a wasp is that it stings you.

Frost

By Luke DeCew, Grade

One snowflake

So cold

Grows bigger and bigger

Till it’s a sight to behold

The Winter is dead

All life gone south with the heron

A blanket of snow

Covers even trees so barren

An arctic wind hits a face

Its icy shards stinging

The being unfazed

Knowing it’s bringing

They slide down those slopes

That are mountains so pristine

Kicking up a plume of snow

Truly A treasure to be seen

The cold knows no bounds

The harsh freeze unforgiving

But the thrill of the moment was a reason worth living

The storm is settling

The blizzard, stilling

Opened a realm of possibility

To make a land of chilling

One by one they stacked those blocks

Not missing a thing

They created Not a fort but a castle,

Still standing in Spring.

Black Robes

By Noa Miller, Grade 4

The man in black robes is speaking gibberish.

He does not understand one word of our powerful Mende sounds

Not even “A wiana be”

“Wu waa?”

…How am I?

Does the man in black robes with wavy white hair even care?

I am not sure but the guards they listen to him

They guide us into a room

Where we cannot see Sengbe and the others

We cannot see our home

We cannot not see Africa

I want to see myself

Outside

Pause

Ayla Bâli, Grade 4

I am the breath between sentences, a quiet inhale, the unmarked place where the world holds its tongue.

I am the ripple before the wave, the space where futures form, the hush of waiting hearts, a silent thread weaving time.

Do not rush through me, for I hold the wait of what comes next, a moment infinite, The birthplace of possibility.

Snow-Mobiling

Jesse Goodwin, Grade 4

Oh how the dark sleds go

Through the colorless snow

Going fast through the wood, Very speedy not knowing I could!

Racing with my fun friends

Until the very end!

Riding through New Hampshire, With a bright lantern.

So durable, So merciful.

Coasting on flat land, Looking for a ramp.

Riding through the white wood

With my family It was very good.

Going back home

Wishing there was snow.

One more stop Before it pops.

Get some gas Then we head back.

We are at the house On the couch,

Taking off my gear

Hoping St. Nicholas will soon be here!

The Amistad

By Zach Tolchin, Grade 4

Suffering in a dark hold, taken to a strange land, taken aboard another ship, staging revolt, Freedom? Not yet.

Found Poem: Blood

By Ava Chan, Grade 5

Blood dripping down, staining skin red in the dim light

My hands are covered in it, every finger, smelling of the death I’m too familiar with I don’t mind the pain

I look away as I wash out the wound, unable to stare at the stream of red

I rip fabric with shaky hands.

Use bloody fingers to tuck the makeshift bandage beneath

Breathing heavy, I lean over to pull the fabric around the wound.

My braid slips from behind my shoulder, swinging until… It drags across the pool of blood beginning to well again atop his wound.

I suck in a breath clamping a hand around the middle of my braid

Ready to toss it back over my shoulder. My hand sticks to the hair in my palm. I look down my whole body shaking. Blood is streaked through my hair, dripping from the ends and smeared

I swallow the lump in my throat as I stare down at the blood

I smell nothing but death

Reaching for the canteen

I manage to drain the few drops of water into my palm

Before violently scrubbing my hands together

Blood swirls over my skin, down my wrists

My gaze falls to my hands, the blood coating them

The hands that held the bodies of those I loved most

Together

By Bodhi Henley-Cohn, Grade 5

Together

We climb Together

We fall Together

We cry

Some of us get bored

Some of us get tired

But no matter how we feel

We will always have each other

And the most important thing to us Is us

If one falls

We all fall

Wherever one goes

We all go

We will never leave each other’s sides

No matter where we are

No matter what we are

No matter who we are

We always will have each other

We will be Together Forever Women

By Nina Rodriguez-Dhir, Grade 5

Men Manipulate Women With Power And Secrets Make Us

Think Thoughts Like

I’m never enough

I’m ugly

I’m weak

I’m a shadow

And yet women Should be celebrated

Cheetah

By Stella Alderman, Grade 6

With skill and speed she jets through the grasslands

Dust starts to pick up as she runs Those daring eyes locked on her prey

Her long and slim body, graceful Final look at her prey

The feline pounces forward

Her sharp teeth

Biting in

Cheetah

Untitled

Aila Adams, Grade 6

I felt scared as you pushed me away, but I knew that you had my best interest at heart. Or at least, I thought you did. Your face, shining with tears, faded as something wrenched you away from me. You pulled the lever, and the bridge rocketed upward. Both you and the figure in the shadows vanished from my view. You were gone forever.

I woke up, lying on the grass, hand outstretched towards the sapphire sky. I sat up, glancing at the river stained red with blood and debris. I didn’t know who the

blood was, but it didn’t matter. I had to keep journeying onward. I knew I would have to be strong, if I were to be able to survive. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the ancient map of Zygdor. The Vixlak mountains were only a three hours journey away, so decided to head out for them.

After around an hour, I saw a wyndigar. It had moonlight gray fur, with yellow-green eyes and large ivory black wings. Since wyndigars are such friendly creatures, it let me mount it. We soared into the sky, and then landed at the edge of the Vixlak mountains. As it flew away, I prepared for the hardships of my journey.

Untitled

Areej

Kassem, Grade 6

The Atlas mountains, the way of the water, the warm breeze making its way through my hair. It’s different, it’s so different in Maghrib. Whether taking donkey rides at night with my cousins, giggling with my aunties, hide and seek with the kids of my homeland, it just feels like a dream. The ocean and the seas aren’t salty but sweet. The sun hits differently in Maghrib. I’m so far away from home but I feel like this is where I’m meant to be.

Where Our Story Begins

Daphne Altin-Fahey, Grade 6

Once upon a starless night, a child was born. The child had existed before, and would exist forever. When it first came into existence, there was only darkness. The child was content at first, but it slowly grew lonely and wished for something to

do. From the deepest depths of childish wonder, a single star was created. The star brought light into the child’s world, and gave it color. The child was so delighted that it created more things. At first, it was just formless lumps of stardust that fell apart, but as the child grew more practiced, they soon turned into birds, lions, wolves, bugs, and reptiles. When the child created the earth, it planted all sorts of plants so that the animals could feast and live happily. Soon, things began to change. The child had placed the star that it had created inside of the beautiful planet, and imbued it with the magic that had led to its creation. The star, swallowed up by the planet, let its magic flow through the cracks in the earth. Soon, new life forms were being created, a monkey that walked on two legs and only hair on top of its head, lizards that had grown to unfathomable heights. Some creatures were born purly of magic. Because of this, dwarves, elves, and gnomes all had a very intimate connection with the magic that flowed through them. Years later, humans had dominated and all other species had been wiped out. This is where our story begins.

Elizabeth Freeman

By Roo Myers, Grade 7

Elizabeth

Who is honorable, clever, and beneficent to abolition in America Mother of Lizzy Freeman, Daughter of parents who were split from her during trading, Lifelong friend and worker of Theodore Sedgewick

Who loves her husband, who was lost in the Revolutionary War, Her daughter, Lizzy, And the Sedgwick family

Who feels a want for her freedom, Self respect,

And fearlessness against unspoken enslavement rules

Who needs education in her rights

All people of America treated equally, And the Massachusetts Constitution used correctly,

Who fears the loss of her dignity, The farmers finding the Sedgwick families valuables during Shayś Rebellion, And her daughter getting injured by Mrs. Ashley

Who gives the hope of freedom to many generations,

Teaching to whoever crosses her path, And the leadership to start the process of abolition in Massachusetts

Who would like to see Slavery fought against, Colonial Ashley sued, And respect for everybody

Who lives in the Hudson Valley of New York, Sheffield Massachusetts, 1742 - 1829

Freeman

John Copely

By Will Caplan, Grade 7

John

Who is talented, hardworking, elegant

Who is brother of Henry Pelham, stepson of Peter Pelham, son of Mary Copely

Lover of Susannah Farnam Clarke, his family, and himself

Who feels Overwhelmed yet brilliant and accomplished

Who needs to always be improving, to be the best

To create stunning paintings, to impress all

Who fears disdain of his work, not being the greatest painter, becoming unsuccessful

Who gives life into painting

Providing his unique perspective on portraiture, and a luxurious life for family

Who would like to see more works of art, freedom of America, his paintings revered by all

Who depicts history through his own style of portraiture.

Who gave a new look to the art of painting human kind

Who showed the modern dress, and painted humans with realism

Resident of Boston, ventured to Italy

Settled in London, a career filled with joy and sorrow

Always seeking more fame, more praise But it was never enough

Copely

EARTH DAY POETRY WINNER

Lake Placid

By Gwendolyn Swift, Grade 6

I sit on the green moss, the lake sparkles in the moonlight.

The stars show in the lake, the pine is dark on the water. The silhouette of my body sits there, my silhouette is skinny and tall.

A firefly flies over the lake, like a little lantern flying through the sky.

An owl sits in a pine tree, the reflection in the water, it seems almost like the owls soft hoots are reflected too.

The dark Mountain of Whiteface sits in the water,

I reach for the reflection, my hand slowly dips into cold water of Lake Placid.

A cicada sings its song, others do too.

A cricket rests under a pine nuzzled in pine needles, I watch it, it stays there calmly.

Not scared of the world, like me.

A bonfire has been going for a long time,

the smell drifts and I sit and enjoy the world,

for a second, I drift away then the owl’s hooting slows down,

I drift off more, a wolf howls somewhere in the mountains,

I snap back and then it feels like I can’t take a breath,

Then I have to remind myself of the rules of the world again and again.

I take a moment to contemplate, about the meaning of the world,

I slowly hear my breath again finally, my feet move, my body breaks, my state is broken.

Seventh Grade Blackout Poems

Don’ts & Do’s

By Matty Matouk, Grade 8

Don’ts

Don’t shy away from challenges

Don’t let fear fog up your dreams

Don’t compare yourself to others

Don’t hold on to past mistakes

Don’t settle for less

Do’s

Do embrace change with open arms

Do be patient with your growth

Do ask for help when your feeling lost

Do be curious and never stop learning

Do remember nobody is perfect

I’ve Learned and They’ve Lived

By Avery Bruce, Grade 8

I’ve learned

Through the eyes of

The frightened

The brave

The dead.

A world controlled by hatred, lived by the weak.

Jews on the verge of life and death

Not humans, but alive corpses

Most women and children were put in flames

And

Strong men, like fathers, Had become childlike: weak, frightened, vulnerable

They ran Worked

And obeyed

As zombies. Men in the camps Were counting on each other to survive, But would also kill others for a Single Piece

Of Bread .

Many Jews were worked to their deaths and were never replaced

Yet

When the SS were tired, They were replaced.

I can’t even imagine living though those horrors

But before the war They probably couldn’t either.

Families

Had lived perfect lives

Until they were shattered by yellow stars stating “Jew”

Our Lost Freedom

By Ela Kaya, Grade

We are tired. We are tired of our daily work Fatigue like boulders on our shoulders.

We are hungry. We are hungry for a crust of bread Hungry for justice, for God to save us from this torture.

We are fearful.

We are fearful of losing the ones we love Fear was greater than hunger, more than love or hope.

They give us one message:

ARBEIT MACHT FREI

Work makes you free.

But the more we work

The more our freedom is lost.

Where is God? Where is he at this moment, when his people are suffering Malnourished, beaten, dead.

Why, but why would I bless Him?

Poem from a Soviet Soldier

By Eli Lopez, Grade

I got the jump on him.

He had no chance to fight back

He turned around just in time to see Me shooting my rifle right at him

He seemed to be no older than my age

One of the last Germans protecting their destroyed capital city

I told myself to never forgive They had destroyed my hometown Beaten our Russia to a pulp

But as he slowly fell down onto his knees

I felt a terrible sense

It is a feeling that has never left me, that consumes my soul every waking hour

The look in his eyes as he gazed at me has never left me.

A few minutes later the Soviet flag flew from the Reichstag

Success

By Lucas Charles, Grade 8

A man sits alone, Surrounded by gold and jewels. So hard he toiled for such luxury.

His loved ones had forsaken him long ago. He holds his riches tight, For they are all he has.

He blinks,

And his hands are empty.

“Everything worth doing is worth doing well.”

Leonard By Dorthea Myers, Grade 9

Leonard hadn’t always been in love with his ear. In fact, it had always seemed just another boring piece of himself. Something to listen with, something that poked out from his head in a fairly aggravating way. He’d been embarrassment about it and its odd shape. At school, kids made fun of Leonard’s ear. It was bigger than everyone else’s, it looked like it belonged to a cartoon character. In his teens, he’d tried hiding it with his hair and wearing hats to cover it up, but nothing worked. His ear would always be his ear, and it would remain that way forever.

On his thirty-fifth birthday however, something changed. It all started when Leonard sat at his tiny desk, in his tiny apartment. The air cold because it was early in the morning, the kind of stillness that dusts over a surface. He had just eaten his usual breakfast, a dry muffin and a coffee, and was scrolling through his emails. Suddenly, the softest of breezes brushed against the side of his head. He could sense it. It was like a whisper, light and gentle, but excruciatingly familiar. He paused and touched his ear. It was not the same, as if it had been awakened from

some resting place, attuned to the world in a way that it had not been before. The skin was warm, soft, but firm in its definition. He mapped the shape of it with his fingertips, amazed at how the light danced off of it, the shallow concavity nearer the lobe, the hump along the outer edge. There was something hypnotic about the sensation.

For the next few days, Leonard couldn’t shake the feeling. Every time he touched his ear, a strange warmth washed over him, and it wasn’t just physical warmth it was also an emotional warmth. His ear wasn’t simply a part of him; it seemed an existence separate from his own. He began learning it in the mirror, observing things he never had before: how it fell when he turned his head, how the creases caught the light, how it appeared to listen to the world around him, even when he wasn’t paying attention. Before long, Leonard was sitting for hours, turning his head in different positions so that he could see his ear in the window mirror. He was amazed at how small and seemingly insignificant something could be yet make him so content. He enjoyed the way it framed his face, the way it added character to his otherwise plain appearance. He treated it as a treasure, a precious relic which he had brought with him for all his years but only now did he truly appreciate its worth. At first, only fleeting moments, a glance at his ear in the mirror or a touch when he believed himself to be alone. But soon, Leonard was spending increasing amounts of time by himself.

He didn’t need people. He had his ear, and its beauty, was enough. It was the perfect companion. Late at night, Leonard would lie in bed, his head propped on the pillow, his ear pressed into the cool cloth.

He would drift off to sleep, comforted by the sense that the ear was sleeping next to him. He occasionally asked himself if everybody else was the same as him concerning their ears. Could they sense this connection that he had formed? Could they look at their own ears like he was now looking at his? He kept the secret between him and his ear. Leonard never told anyone the depth of his love, but in some way, he did not need to. The ear was his friend, his lover and his wife all at the same time. And, somewhere in that odd and secret love, Leonard found peace.

The Start of the Fire

By Alden Neuman, Grade 9

By the way all of the characters in this story are real medieval lords and ladies. this marriage didn’t happen but it was proposed to end hostilities between france and the plantagenets.

Henry III, Crown Prince of England, Normandy, Brittany, Anjou, and Aquitaine, and heir to the Plantagenet Empire, sat bored at his own wedding. Part of it was because he had never met his bride. Part of it was because he was only eleven—and his soonto-be wife was twenty-one.

Seated beside him was Agnes of France, sister of King Philip Augustus of France. She sat rigidly, her posture perfect, her expression cold. Henry hadn’t had much experience with women, but even he could tell that if your bride wouldn’t even look at you, it didn’t bode well for the years to come.

Of course, this marriage wasn’t about love. Henry’s father, King Henry II, and his bride’s brother, the King of France, had

been at war for nearly twenty years. A fortune in gold and countless lives had been lost in the fight over northern France—but that was all over now. This wedding was meant to unite the two warring kingdoms.

Henry took another gulp of wine. He wasn’t used to alcohol, and it was already going to his head. His gaze drifted across the grand hall. The high table was reserved for the families of the two kings, but nearly every noble of importance in France or England was present.

Down the hall, William Marshall was deep in a heated conversation with French General Otto IV, the Evenstar. The tension in the room was unmistakable—twenty-year-long rivalries could not be so easily forgotten. Henry’s father seemed to sense it too. He rose to his feet, and silence rippled through the hall like a wave.

“We gather here tonight to mark the end of twenty years of bloodshed,” his voice rang out. “We gather to celebrate unity. With this royal match, we will bind our great nations together, and may the glory of the Lord shine upon us all.”

Polite applause followed as he sat down, but Henry noticed that King Philip was scowling—and had been all evening.

Then, the doors behind Henry suddenly slammed open. A messenger in French royal colors rushed in, knelt beside King Philip, and whispered something in his ear. The King’s face darkened even further, if that was possible. Without a word, he stood and motioned to Agnes.

For the first time, she finally turned to look at Henry. Her gaze was ice-cold, and he shrank in his seat. What had he done wrong? Should he say something to his father? No—he couldn’t let him down. Not

this time.

Henry glanced across the hall again and blinked. King Philip wasn’t the only Frenchman who had left in a hurry. He looked more carefully—yes, there were dukes and barons of England, even lords of the Holy Roman Empire—but not a single French noble remained.

No one else seemed to notice, too caught up in the festivities. Henry leaned toward his father, but before he could speak, twelve knights in full plate armor entered and took up position at the far door. More soldiers were filing in.

William Marshall stood up, frowning. Henry’s father rose as well. Something was wrong. Henry tugged on his father’s tunic, but as usual, he was ignored. Then, with a sudden, chilling ring of steel on leather, William Marshall drew his sword. Hell broke loose.

With dull thuds and sharp rattles, crossbow bolts slammed into tables, crockery— and people. Screams echoed through the hall. The music stopped. Henry dove under the table, covering his head with his hands as the chaos unfolded. The acrid scent of smoke filled his nose. He peeked out— flames licked up the walls, and panicked wedding guests ran in all directions.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt. Henry flinched, then exhaled in relief—it was William Marshall.

“Come with me! Now!” Marshall barked, his sword in one hand, dragging Henry with the other.

They charged toward the door. The enemy knights stood clad in steel and mail, while Marshall wore only cotton and silk—but even so, he cut through them without breaking stride. He shouldered the door open.

Something twanged. A crossbow bolt struck him through the shoulder. He stumbled, releasing Henry. His sword wavered. “Run, Henry! Run!” Marshall shouted, just before a second bolt took him through the throat. Wide-eyed and trembling, Henry bolted into the night. Behind him, Château Gaillard burned. The years of blood were over. But the years of fire had just begun.

I Will Meet My Older Self for Coffee Tomorrow

By Esther Schonberger, Grade 9

(A spinoff of the poem “I met my younger self for a coffee,” by Jennae Cecelia)

I will meet my older self for coffee tomorrow. I will arrive 5 minutes late, wearing sweatpants, my hair looking like the reason they call it a “messy” bun.

I hope she will arrive only one minute late wearing something fashionable, but not too dressy, her hair worn down with the curls I can’t ever get to curl, curled in the spirals I see only online.

She will still be late but nobody will care because wow she looks pretty

No one will assume her lateness was purposeful

No one will notice the stain on her shirt

Someone will walk by that I’ve never met and will know her name, and that she loves when the people who you only kind of know act as if you are their best friend.

I will meet my older self for coffee tomorrow. She will sit with a posture that’s only acceptable but still better than mine, and she will drink her coffee and like it.

I will be wishing we ordered hot chocolate, but still envious of the pastry she eats that she won’t care that it’s sweet or might make her bloated, she will see all her perfect on the cloudiest of days.

I will sit there, with confidence that’s a little fake, and I know her confidence will still need to be made up on some days but not most.

I will meet my older self for coffee tomorrow. I will be ashamed that I laughed at the wrong time but she will laugh shamelessly at everything and tell me that that laugh will make friends you will never forget. She will tell me she likes writing poetry, the corniest kind, and I will laugh because that’s embarrassing, but she really won’t care.

I will meet my older self for coffee tomorrow and she will still be me, a little late, a little messy, a little distracted, but she will be all of my goals in a person, perfectly imperfect, and still fabulously me.

I will meet my older self for coffee tomorrow and she will still be me, but she’ll be older and have even more to see.

Clock, Table

By Ollie Sweet, Grade

Ruby was sitting in math class, not paying attention as per usual. She was learning something about the quadratic equation, though she wasn’t really learning anything.

Ruby was preoccupied, thinking about her swim meet after school. Her teacher kept on talking, but Ruby couldn’t care less. This swim meet would determine whether she would make it to the finals, and she was under serious pressure. She received a worksheet and was told to work on it with her partner, whom she had never seen before. He seemed really smart, so she went along with whatever he said. Eventually the bell rang and she was off to lunch. Ruby’s best friend Lila was waiting for her at their usual spot, and that got Ruby’s mind off of swimming for a bit. They gossiped and laughed for twenty minutes, until Ruby had to go to history, and Lila, Spanish. Ruby took her seat promptly and really tried to be present for class. After everyone made their way in, her teacher announced a pop quiz on the Vietnam War. Ruby was already really stressed out, and this pop quiz wasn’t doing anything to help. The timer began and Ruby picked up her pencil. Ruby read the first question under her breath “What year did the Vietnam War begin?” She knew this. It was part of her homework two nights ago. She went over it in class the next day and she was correct. Think, think, think, she thought. Suddenly the sound of everyone’s pencils writing on their papers annoyed her, and the clock was ticking abnormally loud. As soon as Ruby looked at the time, the clock fell right off the wall and shattered on a table only three down from hers. Everything warped and it felt as though Ruby was dreaming. Her classmates vanished and she wasn’t in school anymore, at least not high school. Ruby was in her old elementary school, and she was very confused. Lila asked her to come over and look at the drawing

she made, but she looked like a little kid. Ruby didn’t really have control over her response, she was forced to say yes. While Lila was showing off her picture, she told Ruby about how she just started swim lessons. Ruby realized what was happening. This was the day she decided she wanted to swim. The clock fell off of the wall and shattered.

Now Ruby was at a swim meet, but she didn’t remember this one. Everyone there was in high school, and it was at a fancy indoor pool, unlike the one she practiced in. Someone announced the winners of the finals, and it was three people Ruby had never met. Then it clicked. This was the swim meet she was attending later, but she lost. To her surprise, she was sad she didn’t win, but everything was alright. She would still be able to swim with her team, whether they won or not. The clock on the wall fell and shattered. Ruby was back. She was in her history classroom taking the pop quiz. She was incredibly relieved that everything was back to normal, but the clock hadn’t broken. It was right above the door like it was before. Ruby had no idea what happened but she only had fifteen minutes left and was determined to complete her quiz. She turned it in right as the bell rang. For the rest of the day Ruby felt content and was able to focus on her work. She realized it didn’t matter whether she won, Ruby was doing what she loved most, swimming.

Whoosh

By Teo Antonello, Grade 9

It was late afternoon, the kind of evening where the sun is just starting to dip below

the trees, making everything look like it’s wrapped in gold. I was sitting by the old fence, peeking through the crack between the planks, my knees tucked up to my chest. I liked sitting there when I wanted to be alone. I was staring down at the cracked pavement, watching ants crawl around, when I noticed something odd. A man. He wasn’t there a second ago, but suddenly he was standing in the middle of the road. I couldn’t make out much of his face, but he was tall and wore a dark coat that seemed out of place for the weather. He didn’t move. Not even a little. He just stood there, perfectly still, staring down the road like he was waiting for something—or someone.

I tried to look closer. His face remained hidden in the shadows of the evening, and his eyes—his eyes felt like they were staring straight through me. I froze. I felt my chest tighten, like something heavy was sitting on it. My breath felt stuck in my throat, and I couldn’t look away.

A car turned the corner, heading down the street, its headlights bright against the dimming light. I thought the man would move. I thought he’d step aside, or at least look around. But he didn’t. He just stayed there in the middle of the road, staring. Staring at nothing, or maybe staring at me. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to yell. I wanted to warn him, to scream for the car to stop, but my voice wouldn’t come. The car got closer, and still, he didn’t move. I wanted to close my eyes, to look away, but I couldn’t. It felt like I was caught in the moment, frozen, like everything around me was holding its breath.

The car didn’t slow down. The headlights bathed him in light just before it hit him.

But instead of the crash I expected, there was a strange, almost silent collision. It wasn’t like the normal sound of a car hitting something. It was more like the air around him had shifted, a heavy whoosh, and the man… he just… disappeared. One second he was standing there, and the next, he was gone. The car screeched to a halt, its driver slamming on the brakes, but when I looked back at the road, the man was nowhere to be seen.

I stayed where I was, pressed against the fence, not daring to move. My heart was pounding, and the quiet of the evening felt like it was closing in around me. I didn’t know what I had seen, but I knew it wasn’t a trick of the light. The man had been real. And then he wasn’t. The next morning, I went outside, expecting to find something—a mark on the road, maybe a clue, or even just the feeling that I had imagined it all. But everything was as it always was. The street was empty. The road was quiet. No sign of the man, no sign of the car. Nothing had changed.

But I knew something had. Something inside me had shifted, and I couldn’t shake it. The image of his cold, silent stare haunted me. The next morning I heard a knocking on the door. Mum was out shopping and dad was still asleep, he always slept in on saturday mornings. I looked through the peephole to see if it was amazon again. All of a sudden shivers trickled down my body as I was me with the same concealed face of the man standing in the road yesterday. His wide staring eyes were piercing through the glass of the peephole as I watched him slowly walk away, keeping eye contact with me.

He was smiling.

EARTH DAY POETRY WINNER