OIL LAMP LITERARY MAGAZINE, Friends Middle School

OI L L A M P L I T

We dedicate this literary magazine to all those who are affected by any kind of violence. Guided by the testimony of Peace, we seek justice and healing for all.

Every weekday, I walk in.

Middle School

Zuri Davis '27

Every weekday, I walk in.

Sometimes someone waits Sometimes I wait for someone. Sometimes there are string lights and music.

I started middle school online and I used to think I'd end it there, too I wanted to hope that I would get to be at graduation.

I’m always tired, but happy to see the people. We all know what it feels like to not get to see each other, to be separated by blue light and screen, to wonder if we’ll ever get to see each other again

I wanted to sing and laugh and dance and learn with my classmates, to be thankful for that chance.

Once we got past March, it started seeming like a when instead of an if.

Sometimes we celebrate. We don’t have classes, and we learn about a culture. Sometimes we count down the hours.

Maybe it’s the first day of seventh grade and it's stormy. We’re on the first floor, reading weather warnings, wondering when we're going home. All cramped in a room too small to hold fifty kids.

We’re hearing the wind howl, but at least we're here together.

To Jimmy Finn Cain '29

To James Corely Cain, this is for you, the grandparent that I never knew; to the American dream, you yearned to pursue, but due to your family, it split into two

To your tall stature and irises of blue, a father, husband, brother, and son wanting something new. But, suddenly your health withdrew and we were left with the residue.

It's been twenty-five years, too many, yet too few. To my grandpa, this is for you.

Artwork: Meredith Patel '28

The Climb of Hope

Malerie Meister '29

I am at the bottom of the stairs, of the mountain, of the sea.

I am stuck at the bottom.

I am not seen. I am not heard. I am never thought of by anyone or anything.

I sit there at the bottom, waiting.

Waiting for hope to rise, to rise, so I can climb. I will climb to the top and I will be happy

Twelve years of the bottom, to rise is a long-lost dream: a dream that will never come true, a dream that fuels hope.

I do not have the fuel.

So, I will sit at the bottom.

Watching, waiting, moaning for hope, so I can climb.

Real

Poppy McDonald '29

My mind makes up stories. Meaningless, it deems: the light tap of rain on concrete the stillness of the lake, no people in its wake crinkle of paper, smell of book. the dawn of the day. It's real, but suddenly not because I wake up. It's gone.

Artwork: Penelope Caffo '27

Dreaming Poetry Anonymous

I would like to live my life without a second thought, to live as I do in my dreams

When I wake up, I would like to go about my day doing the things ordinary people do. Instead of planning out every moment, making sure that I won't waste time, repeating my plan: make toast, eat it, brush my teeth, get dressed, make bed, again.

maketoasteatitbrush-

I was raised to believe that it is okay to break the rules if they are, you are keeping you from living your best life. But what happens when I let go? What if I physically can't?

Bound to these thoughts, suffocated by my mind

I would like to go back to sleep, to dream, to experience what I should be able to do while I am awake.

The tension in my body and the constant worries prevent me from doing anything at all.

But while I sleep, the tension leaves my being and I can finally experience life as it was intended.

I wake up.

I realize that life is just a thorn in the rose that is mortality. You get through it, and then you can go back to dreaming without worry.

In my dreams, the wonder of what if and the constant tornado of emotions never appears.

I would like to dream forever.

Artwork: Lucy Melchin'29

Marcus Neulander '28

I AM LOST I stare up at the sky, the mountains in the corner of my eye and the sweltering North Carolina sun shining brightly over everything below. The birds in the trees and the lake, like glass, are silent. The clouds, so puffy, so calm, call more attention to my surroundings than the book, I think to myself: the birds, the lake, the trees.

I WISH I could freeze time; just stay here. No school, no work, no time, untethered from the world Just lay and become encompassed in a whole new world. As I stare up again, the sun somehow seems brighter. A heron flies overhead, squawking in the distance. I dive into my book. I am lost again. There is no time.

IT IS hard not to feel the pressure. I slow down and look over the edge at the water, as blue as the sky. I stand over the edge. I plunge in, the water refreshing as the pure air above. It is cool, crisp, and welcome I sink down, down, down It is like I am in the movie where the plane is dipping, and the passengers are screaming, "Pull up!" I do. I gasp for air and pull myself up. I am back, not the same.

Artwork: Amaia Ellis '27

In Progress

Zahara Shuler '27

One day when I was ten, the government was asking for a "Muslim Ban."

She was in Canada at the time but it looked like she coulda been from Iran. She was scared, looking for a way to come back without getting attacked or stacked with the other Arab immigrants that our former president was trying to stop, like he was putting wet cement around the borders, waiting for the head scarfs to get caught in it just so that it could dry around them and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't do anything but cry.

She wrote a story about it. It was in the New York Times. Sometimes people would get mad in the comments sayin' serves her right cus they knew she was doing bomb tests.

Where was her Green Card? Without it, she was 9/11 again, sending 7 people named Evan to Heaven.

She couldn't take it anymore, so she got that Emerald Badge. Yeah, she went and got one. It took a ton of time, to learn things no regular would ever have to. It was like they were asking her to teach a baby what is a hepatocellular.

And when I was four, me and her went on a tour Went to Japan just me and her, without her man.

Thing is, my father he's like, like one of those white dandelions, so light and always blown past airport security lines. My mom, her skin's like bronze. Always mobs of TSA officers holding back the "foreigner" from bombing up another tower.

Her olive face like a mask warning everyone that she was tasked with destroying the US of A, but did she ever ask for a color that made traveling alone with her own baby daughter would mean the guards would applaud her brainless attempt to steal an innocent? How insolent the terrorist was!

The guards, they took my littlest hands and escorted me away. I couldn't see her past the array of navy black pants

I was trying to find my mother's hands, trying to dance past the guards who were pulling me away, taking her to a room and leaving me, "relieving" me, of the pain of being stolen. I couldn't see her, but I could hear her.

"ZeeZee come back! Please please, don't make me leave her!"

I felt strong arms against my shoulders, pushing me away They were like a boulder. I was just abandoning. I was too young to understand what was really happening.

I was just four years old. I did what I was told

But I found her. Got past the guards. They circled like vultures as she asked, "Why didn't you come when I called?"

I couldn't find you, that's all.

Haiku

Henry Dymond '29

Mangoes here and there

In the blooming mango tree

A sweet yummy treat

Artwork: Charlie Fisher '28

Proud Jew

Rox Lichtenstein '28

Being Jewish is something I've been aware of since day one. I knew when I got to leave my music class in kindergarten early because we had to start the matzo balls for the matzo ball soup. And I knew when I dressed up like Queen Esther for Purim. I knew when I read the nasty note engraved by hurtful hands on the gas station wall, telling my people to go back to where we came from.

There's been downs and ups, hills I've had to climb and walk back down, and I'm proud. I'm proud that I can say that most of my family survived Nazi Germany. I'm proud to say that my family owns one of the oldest German restaurants in the country I'm proud to say instead of one day of presents I get eight crazy nights. I'm proud to be here today. I'm proud to be Jewish.

Dreaming

William Reifsnyder '29

I would like to go to space.

Reaching for the stars.

Stepping on the dreamy surface of the moon, gazing at the sparking dots scattered all across the universe: the colossal orb made of fire refusing to burn out

Etta Colantuoni'27

Hadynn Sund '27

I sit down and I am all alone. I wake up.

The dream ends. I feel my soft bed.

Just staring at the blank ceiling laying there with only my thoughts for company.

Artwork: Charlotte Andrews '27

Dog

Nicholas Mendoza '29

Happy, playful

Running, panting, fetching

Furry, cute, animal paws

Sleeping, nipping

Grumpy, sassy cat.

Odell Beckham

Eli DeVeaux '29

Fast, shifty

Juking, diving, scoring

Running a post.TOUCHDOWN!

Prancing, bragging. calm.

I Nap with My Cats

Zahara Shabazz '29

I lay down after a long day. Before I know it, one cat is sitting on my shoulder. The other cat is sitting near my feet. I close my eyes expecting to fall asleep in less than a minute. The cats move. One is on my head. The other one is on my shoulder. I would like to nap with my cats, but the cats continue to move. I close my eyes again, attempting to fall asleep. Before I know it, I pass out in less than a minute. I wake up wondering where I am. The cats are asleep. I would like to get up, but the cats are asleep. I don't think I can nap with my cats.

Artwork: Nate Block '29

Artwork: Rhys Brown '27

Blue tile

Meddy Oyenuga '27

White and gray and blue tile. Many little cubicles. A smiling student who is probably really bored here in the Pediatrics rotation, ready to graduate in May. Bunches of questions that I shake my head, already bored A cheap pair of sunglasses from an institution I've never heard of. They don't help much against the light that is suddenly blinding my face. The student unwraps a simple blue packaging that is terribly foreboding. She pulls out dangerous-looking utensils like a cross between gardening rakes and power tools. This is when I begin to get terrified "Open wide," she says sweetly. I open wide and close my eyes, feeling as she pokes and pricks, doing everything with a little mirror. I groan silently Scrape, scrape, scrape. "Let me know if it hurts."

I nod. She gets out a small, thick hook that could be mistaken for a part of an earring, except it's extremely sharp and I'm about to say,

"Don't come near me with that." But then the light is readjusted and I'm blinded into silence. "Open wide " Pricking and probing. "Let me go get my faculty." Soon there is a professional, another student to "help with the cleaning" a few miscellaneous bystanders, and a nosy supervisor. How'd I end up with 5 people around me? I don't know. It's always been like this, Ever since I was six. I hate the dentist's office.

Artwork: Etta Colantuoni '27

Look at the Stars

Lola Dominguez '29

Whatever you do, don't interact with the small people in the night sky. They will blind you. Nobody knows what will happen when you're stunned. What are they saying? Are they aliens? No, they can't be. It's like you can almost understand these strange creatures. The girl on top of the hill shouldn't have snuck out of her secure house Her parents will be very angry when she comes back Well, if she ever does.

She spotted these paranormal-like creatures on the full moon, thousands of them. They started pouring down like heavy rain on a Sunday night. They looked like holes poked in the jar so we humans could breathe. She followed these small unhuman creatures, and they kept multiplying like cells getting attacked by a virus. The little one ran and ran and ran She was a curious cat looking for things to do. She kept walking and running, not even noticing how far she was from home. She was so tired. She splatted on the ground like a ragdoll. The tiny people carried her into the ground. She arose from the ground like the balloons let go from a child's grip.

No one knew where the small girl has ascended to when the small people took her. Her parents miss her dearly, still having memories of their daughter They claim she was energetic, funny, entertaining, and very lovable. The people near her make theories about where the creatures took her. Some say they took her to a place in wonderland, living a dream no one could imagine. Others think otherwise, claiming they did girl. And some other things they t them. But it still remains a mystery.

Artwork: Etta Colantuoni '27

The Paper Wings

Erik Laurens '28

"If you give me ten dollars, I will be able to make you fly." That's what Emmanuel told me. Emmanuel wasn't very smart and often lied to smart boys like me, but I wanted to fly I had always seen birds soar around the sky, and I felt jealous because I wanted to soar like them and have my hair blow in the wind.

It was a cloudy but windy day, and I could tell because the tire swing in my backyard was swinging. My friends Rox and Ranika were nowhere to be seen, so they were probably off causing mishaps. I was on the roof of my house after putting on the wings Emmanuel gave to me. I almost slipped and fell due to the crusty shingles rattingly noisily around beneath my feet. The itchy wings hurt as I put them on, the elastic band about to lash out and bite my skin with its tight grip.

I had forgotten what it felt like to be before because people were always telling me to pick up my trash, clean my room, and blah, blah, blah. It felt freeing to be on the roof where no one was. It felt like the old left me to go on vacation and never come back I then heard Alex, the next-door three-year-old, wailing and bawling, probably because she wanted food. I looked at her with jealousy, wishing I was a baby, ignored her, and then ran around with my eyes closed. I pretended I was a bird. I then opened my eyes to see my backyard and I jumped.

It felt terrifying, but also liberating. I saw the ground beneath me and I saw Alex stop wailing just to stare at me with awe. I closed my eyes, just for them to open again, staring at the ceiling in my bedroom in sheer shock because it had felt so real.

Artwork: Meddy Oyenuga '27

Me & My Dad

Ellison Chesire '28

It was always just me and my dad. It was just us who spontaneously took the hour-long drive to Ocean City. And I loved it.

I loved the feeling of the cold, salty ocean breeze against my face. I loved the sun on my skin. I loved the tall waves, blue and clear. I loved the smell of cotton candy and hot dogs. I loved the sand between my toes I loved the cold ocean waves cooling me down I loved the wooden boardwalk, which was hot like lava.

We spent hours on the beach making sand castles that felt like they were just as great as the castles in the fairy tales. I body surfed like I was Superman. We dug through the sand to try to find white crab-looking things like we were explorers at an archaeology site. Then we went on one ride that made our heads spin while screaming, "Aaaahhhh!"

We played games to win colorful animals. And it was always just me and my dad.

Artwork: Amaia Ellis '27

Artwork: Sophie Lun '27

O I L L A M P L I T

A community of writers shining their light.

Artwork: Charlie Paska ´27