Germantown Friends School Graffiti Student Magazine - 2020

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Graffiti Germantown Friends Middle School 2020

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Mountains, As Far As Eyes Can See Leo Katowitz

Dead trees sit from the ground, some standing, their leaves charred.

A lone hiker, no more than 19, roams the steep area.

Looming above are the cliffs and jagged peaks of a mountain.

Its face covered with trees from head to toe. Its sheer size blocks out the sun, Leaving a shadow that engulfs the forest below.

The lone hiker continues upon a path that was never made, wandering Around, trying to find his way back home.

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Queen of Night Kyra Sassaman

Upon this fashion A thousand crowns rustically sit there waiting to be touched Hang there in favor of my love for you My thrice-crowned queen of night You are of youth and brilliance A princess of grace and finery You are full of pretty answers And I am just a fool Without you I am just a melancholy fellow I love you more than laughing My sweet queen of night

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What Makes A Man Madeline Keenan

Watching my father cry Is like a plate dropping to the floor Not when it hits But the time in between

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The Creek is the Heartbeat of Nature Levi Dubroff

Running water the sign of nature Water trickling on rocks the sign of nature Thy crayfish snapping claws at moss is the sign of nature A little sailboat goes down into thy creek from the giver which is the little kid chasing it excited and fishermen catching the daily trout fresher than salmon from thy Canada waters Flow water flow Grow plants grow The sign of nature is the creek For the creek is the heartbeat of nature

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Alex Chi 8

Lost Voyages Izzy Spaniel

It was shrouded In the corner

Living off tiny spurts

Of rain;

Its bushy twigs had one perk They provided tiny leaves

Just the right size For an insect, That curled up Slightly, Around the edges As if withered Forming shapes Similar to bowls

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Plastic Pistols Nico Lempieri

Small arms linked As if skipping to the playground, Prancing down the sidewalk, Too young to experience.

Swaying with the weeping wind.

School buses poised to shelter Students lined up like bowling pins, Too old to look away from flashing lights.

Worry on the older children’s faces, Looking longingly behind them at Their younger selves, carefree, With memories of plastic pistols.

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Zoe Javian 11

Ellis Fast

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Foolish Youth Calder Cook

I like to get away from the nursing home a lot. It stinks of mung beans and pity. I don’t like many of the people there except for Johanna. She’s kind, she lets me go out by myself because she can tell my brain hasn’t gone yet. She’s the only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m slow. I get flustered sometimes when people do that. Usually, I go for a walk to clear my head when that happens.

Sometimes it feels like I don’t stop walking, or more that I can’t stop walking.

The seasons seem to change around me. One block and the leaves have turned red, another and they’ve already fallen. Winter’s my favorite time of the year mostly because of Christmas. I don’t get hardly any presents but I don’t mind.

What I look forward to is when I go out and see all the kids in all the windows entangling their parents in the biggest hugs. It makes me miss my family, but in a good way. Like the type of way that makes the hollowness inside you feel a little less empty for a moment. That moment only lasts for a second, quickly melting away again with the snow.

My feet are starting to feel heavier and heavier each walk. My entire body aches incessantly. I think the trees feel the same way; their branches are weeping more and more. I see kids playing under their sorrowed branches. Frolicking in the shade, singing songs only they can hear. They get lost in the off-key melody.

I wonder whether they care about their blissfully raucous voices. Their hair blows in the cool breeze, rippling like waves. I wonder whether they care about the tree that they just carved their names into. Perhaps the tree weeps because it is in pain. Maybe the names etched into its bark are too much of a burden to bear.

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Memory Asha Wilson

New World Old World Memories etched Into the deep cracks Of the dry parched Earth Dirt Passed from hand To hand Rich dark brown Soil Crystal clear waters Blanket the world Each with a memory of its own Rivers snaking Along the coasts Each with its own Memory

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Mia Adams 15

Waiting Miya Moriuchi

A soon mood Sitting, watching, waiting metal settle, keep seat, bench quench Spit spat, sparks spiral On your head Air hair, dry sigh, wet and set, puddle mirror Shoes lose, drenched quenched Soaked coat, heavy steady, am damp Light bright, noise joys Wait late, train came

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Elliot Capecchi 17

Nate Henderson

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The Clouds CiCi Spaniel

The clouds drifted over the village, casting looks down at the mountains below, which were struggling to hold the weight of the world.

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Be the Author of Your Own Life Alayah Campbell

Adhering like the flesh to your bones gums to your teeth hair to the scalp and heels to your feet tears shed from those who love due to the barrier of emotions that have been broken from commotion why destroy the land you are made from instead of loving those who came from it Africa stripped from all its things yet you still beat it in the midst of everything eliminate all who gave to you even your mother who continues to raise you at thirty-two beating innocent kids who have done nothing to harm you memories filled with lies wrapped in a tortilla of insanity wait let’s rewind and go back to the time when your heart caught up to your thoughts caught up to your emotions

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why still mad at me I did not decide my birth yet I was still born for a reason until your past stops stirring up your future we can decide what happens right now in the present don’t let someone write a biography of you when you haven’t even lived to tell the truth now it’s your time to shine wait you’re made from lies so decide what’s right and live your truth in plain sight

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Children’s Adoration Ryan Stumacher

For an almost reality rooted in the distant echoes Where children lay in green meadows, And bring with them the sun’s yellow Restrained not to violent ghettos.

The trees hang low and choose to sway, And towards the beach, where children play.

Reach and reach, the branches pray For children’s yellow to thwart their grey.

A gift of peace in which they drown The trees in sunlight’s yellow gown.

In starry praise, in shining crown The trees give gifts of fruit renown.

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Dreams Gabby Kramer

Seeing little light, could be spotless, but not this A splatter of color, but still a little vague with shade Soon, becoming a flowing flush of pigment Showing parts of the past, parts of now, specks of more, specks of less Thoughts of future turn, thoughts of mourning earn Adventures around every corner, discoveries now discovered Thoughts turn to reality, goals come true Truthful all through, but some truths not yet confessed.

A perspective of passion for everything surrounding No need to leave, but the sun is coming Thoughts start slowly drowning, a familiar view comes through Sadness arises as the dream is done, the adventures conquered 23

All That Is Will Never Be Again Lily Jensen

All I remember is feeling light, feeling like I could touch the sky That my fingertips could grace mystery, gaping at a wide open world All the time now I wish for that feeling to come back to me, again Come back again childish wonder Come back again weird stomach feeling That feeling could only come from that back and forth, back and forth pattern From nothing else can I feel that passion that comes from swinging I could never replicate all that is what will never be again

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Royal Mail Aliya Womack

So it is, A red mailbox in a tease of snow A red mailbox in a forest of green A red mailbox caught in a flurry The red mailbox stationary as can be

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Ali Levy

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Love Song to Language Lucy Kroll

Easy as pie, do or die Busy as a bee, 23 and me Stiff as a board, it strikes a chord Snug as a bug in a rug, a big bear hug Blind as a bat, silent as a cat Light as a feather, free as a bird Blazing hot, tie the knot Sly as a fox, think outside the box Cold as ice, don’t think twice Sharp as a needle, strong as an ox Thick as thieves, all my pet peeves Fish out of water, like a lamb to the slaughter

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Floorboard Luke Lendler

The floorboard creaks as the mother carries her newborn across the room, laying him down to sleep for the first time. He squirms as the tired woman carefully places him down on the small mattress. The floorboard creaks as the father tip-toes into the room, carefully trying not to wake the child. The wall clock reads 5:30 and the man leans over and kisses the baby on the forehead. “Have a good day little-man,” the father says and exits the room. The floorboard creaks as the baby crawls around in his diaper. He shuffles over to his mother who’s sitting cross-legged with her back to the door. The floorboard creaks as the child waddles across the room to give his mother a hug. His first steps are coming at an astonishing time; his mother is about to go on a business trip to the other side of the world. The floorboard creaks as the child adds another sticker to the back of his door. The floorboard creaks as the child shuffles out into the living room. He’s wrapped up in a yellow blanket not much bigger than he is and he’s got his index and middle finger stuffed in his mouth. The sun is peeking through the curtains, and the kid walks right up to the window and stares at the passing cars.

The floorboard creaks as the father walks into the room; the kid is slumped over on his shoulder and is fast asleep. The floorboard creaks as the child walks to his window, the 4th of July fireworks are lighting up the sky. The floorboard creaks as the child pushes his toy cars around on the floor. He wants to give Lightning McQueen the win, but Chick Hicks is looking more and more like he’s going to take the race. The floorboard creaks as the boy puts on his favorite shirt. Today is his first day of kindergarten and he wants to look as good as he can. The floorboard creaks as the kid jams his foot into shoes that are too small.

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The child hates wearing them but they’re his only church shoes. He already knows that he is going to come home with bloody socks. The floorboard creaks as the boy sprints out of his room at a breakneck pace, his blanket eventually falls from his shoulders as the joy of Christmas overtakes him. The floorboard creaks as the kid angrily bursts through the door, his eyes well up with tears of rage as he flops down on his bed. He buries his face in his pillow and lets out a scream, he’s hurt on the inside but time does eventually heal wounds and he goes back to apologize. The floorboard creaks as the boy leans forward and wraps up his parents in an embrace, they hug him back and he feels the safest he’s ever been. The floorboard creaks as the boy places his books in a moving box. He slides the tape gun across the top of the box and slides it out of his room. The boy wakes up the next morning, turns off his alarm, and walks towards the door of his room. As he reaches the sticker-covered door he walks over the floorboard, it creaks, and he turns around. He takes a long look at his almost-empty room and many different memories flash across his mind. He takes a deep breath as he opens the door and stares into his empty hallway. He closes the door and walks to the kitchen and the floorboard creaks one last time.

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(---)

Linus Chen-Plotkin

with first line by Liam Riley

Sacred places are flying hearts.

You should not conquer Them, like Napoleon Bonaparte.

You should not destroy them, or try to find them on a chart.

Instead you let them soar (proud) (unbound) (cloud) (---) Like art.

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Alex Kohut 31

McDonald’s Avery Peterson

My mother never let me eat Fast food.

I never understood why I wasn’t allowed to Play on the playgrounds, Or discover the hidden treasures stashed away In Happy Meals.

I would wonder why, If other kids could eat there, what’s so different about me?

Why can’t I stuff myself full of preservatives, Of sad, industrial animals that Weren’t lucky enough To have a mother like mine.

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The Fool Jacob Womack

The fool shall not think he is wise, Even if he prays for it, even if he seeks for it.

The fool sits in his nest, writing and writing, In his bashful ways, the fool also seeks for love, thinking His foolish ways will get it. He says, “The world’s a stage,” in his strange Ways, damaging this fool more and more. And then I Think, am I the fool? Am I the rotten bastard?

Ringing the doorbell, I now think of the thoughtful prince, Looking up, the door crumbled and the house vanished.

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Ethan Garrity 34

Jordan Abney 35

This Is A Poem Lani Okewole

This is a poem That has been kneading my chest The whole time I have ever comprehended it.

It is about Time I don’t know how to feel about it.

Sometimes, It’s like a knife glinting in the dark Too close to run from.

And sometimes It’s like The clouds parting away To reveal the sun But the thing is I don’t think about the sun I think about The knife Those stolen moments That you want So badly Hang on to

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The moment when you finally realize that You’re not a kid anymore You are doing things that your Kindergarten self Could never comprehend Things that have no point But seem necessary at the time Things that You know your past self would say You are amazing But now you say You are not enough But what we do matters I finally realize that If you stop hanging out with your family They will end up rejecting you If you change the world changes Striking a mallet on what was once Normal When you don’t smile The thing that represents the love for the world Your love for your world at the friend To show that you are angry They will wonder Or they will do the same But it always takes time It just depends On how you spend it

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Blue

Coralie Lyford The sparkling light blue of tear-filled eyes belonging to someone in pain sweet newfound love The first time you believe in destiny The wide sky in the soft evening that makes you think about Just how small you really are.

The navy blue of a uniform clinging to a tired young woman fighting to have a place in this world The crushing judgement of a staring eye Teeth chattering, gut-wrenching Fear.

Summer rain The midnight blue of the dark eerie alleyway that no one wants to go down The night sky over a churning ocean Shadows on an ancient face All colors tell stories But none of them tell a story as beautiful as blue

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Untitled Lila Patchefsky

Cold as an icicle Limp like a washcloth He lays there Eyes open, mouth open, bones still Lacking the knowledge he once held Lacking everything he once had Left with nothing but oblivion for eternity And there he goes into the ground Sprouting new, Green life

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Ode to the Inbound Nico Lempieri

Metal glinting right past my eyes, Conductor commanding the arrival.

Passengers penetrate the silver tube And seat themselves on gray cushions.

Exiting the tunnel, accelerating, Light from the distance becoming larger.

The outside world looks like a newborn baby.

The sunlight hitting the railroad tracks stings my eyes.

I see the neighborhoods, The stores lined row by row.

I see people roaming around outside, In freeze frames.

And then the conductor alerts me.

In a loud voice, he sings “this stop, Jefferson Station.�

And step into the crowded station.

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Severed Family, Tattered Quilt Amanda Katz

You left us because you chose to undoing the stitchwork you began when you committed to starting a family work chosen over bedtime stories work chosen over us but why should we need you if you show us that you are not worthy of needing us anymore you took the melody and altered the key and now we can orchestrate our own theme the one that tells our story the one that ends our past

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All the World is Not a Stage Fiona Abraham

All the world is not a stage A stage is for a polished piece Our world is Crappy, Hateful, Hopeful, Anything but polished.

All the men and women are not merely players We are Scarred, Broken, Alive.

We don’t have exits and entrances, For matter and energy is constant.

And one man is his time does not play many parts Because he is no one else.

His acts being not seven stages, Each moment is only itself.

Shakespeare either Lived in a fantasy Or Or lived in a hole.

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Fork

Neelmani Robinson

A teaspoon, A little butler To help mix, stir, scoop Or sit in a drawer.

Coffee, Tea, Hot Chocolate, All oceans for this little silver fish.

An ocean a spoon could hold, Receiving secrets untold, from the many lips That it unifies with.

Secrets to keep, Secrets to never be told, Kept until rusted and old.

In a drawer it sleeps, next to others

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Peter Ilyin 45

Burning Wishes

Juniper McMahon

You can’t have life without death You can’t have salvation without destruction So As a solution There are many forms of destruction Things drown Dry And burn Things burn to replace the dead with the foundation for the living Things dry to give the water to a better cause Things drown to quench the fire of burning wishes Everybody wants Everybody hopes Everybody wishes But the things that set some apart is whether they are needed Or not Hopes can be true as burning wishes And wants are false as wishes are true And so they burn

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Inequality Alayah Campbell

Negativity spreads like wildfires.

Mean words, blatant disrespect, You discriminate, despise, and are you any better?

Are you?

We see the brutal depression of our generation getting more powerful How we mourn the oppression.

Oppression is vicious. Oppression is barbarous, oppression is hard, however?

The racism seeps into the heart and devours the mind.

The hate you give is the hurting heart.

Does inequality make you shiver?

Does it?

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Colorful Curiosities Audrey Ling

I had seen the trash pile a few hours ago, standing on the corner. But it’s considered rude to bring trash into friend’s houses, so I left it be. Now, however, we were leaving. I sped up, walking down the middle of the narrow South Philly street. I needed to know if my picture was still there. Approaching the jumble, I saw that the stack of weight loss books were gone. I worried someone had taken my picture too. But the rectangular frame appeared. Curiosities Illustrated No.8., it announced in circus poster font. Colorful, faded boxes made a grid across the glass. Letters with odd accents sat in every box, accompanied by Trader Joe’slike drawings. Reminding me of a picture for a nursery in the 1800s. I didn’t have much time to take in my vintage art since my father was more concerned with freeing our parking spot than my newfound treasure. It was now or never. I looked to my mom, knowing my dad would never agree to take it home. I don’t think she ever said yes, but she never said no.

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The picture started its life with us in the back of our Subaru. Between legs and purses. I studied the strange words, only figuring out what the letters meant days later. By this time, I had already bought hangers and planned where it would go. Holding it at home, I saw the marks were not another language but a phonetic guide. One box was “a” with examples watch, what, and wander with a picture of a fancy pocket watch. Below that ă and â. I flipped “Curiosities” looking for the silver hanger. There it was, but what was this white label? I looked closer. IKEA. What?! How could my old picture have been made by the Swedish store? 1891 had been written in small lettering. Looking at the clear drawings, lettering without signs of age, and perfectly clean glass. I knew it was fake. I’d told myself I had found someone’s great grandmother’s baby gift. I had convinced myself against the obvious I’d found something truly remarkable and different.

Still, it hangs on my wall with boards and other drawings. I don’t look at it just before I fall asleep like I thought I would. Don’t wonder what other houses it has occupied and where it has traveled. Instead, I think of the first moment I saw it, so mysterious and unique. Finding something rare amongst the rest of the junk. I was so used to paying for things that taking something, even something no one else wanted, felt like stealing. It’s also an exhilarating feeling, adventure, and it was fun while it lasted.

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Sarah Wang

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Leah Cornejo

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GG

Lani Okewole

I loved GG with all my heart, but the one thing I remember most about him was his stories. Whenever we went to his house he would tell us stories, seeing the world beneath his feet and always smelling the fresh air of the sea. He was a sailor but he wanted to be an accountant, or a lawyer. But his education didn’t allow that. Sometimes when we went to his house he would make us things that he had on a boat (usually seafood), or some other lifeless lump that had no taste. But when Mami died, GG stopped telling stories and just sat in the rocking chair smoking his pipe sadly. Sometimes we asked him to tell us a story but most of the time we just watched him, hoping that he would look at us. He did neither. He would ignore us, and we walked away wondering what we did wrong. Before, when he was happier, when he smoked his pipe, you always saw joy in his eyes and the look that he gave you when he was about to tell a story.

Without that we all fell into despair. My parents said that it was just that when people get older you lose that spark of adventure. We would always sigh at that, we just wanted to get that sparkle back into his eye so we can have GG back.

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I Hear

CiCi Spaniel

Sitting at my dull desk I can hear the rain trickling And the wind whistling I hear the continuous stream of conversation, As they work downstairs Putting pairs Of paint on the walls I hear my music, Gliding from my phone As the singer crones On about her last love I listen for the lone bird Who speaks words I cannot understand Crying out lying calls, Begging for others, I hear.

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Hannah Davidson 54

Secret

Miya Moriuchi

Cloudy, calm, collected was the sky.

Right out of the fable in my hand clutched, clenched, concentrated was my grasp.

The rim of the fable pressed on my pinky.

Opened to the image lined in a drawn, dainty, delicate gold frame.

I looked up from the fable In my palm The image facing up.

My view of the sky disappeared as it was replaced by grey, gloomy, glitched concrete.

The car sped through the tunnel as I had an Instinct.

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Violent Crescendo Ryan Stumacher

I hike down the street through the promenade An unveiling trip through the city The cold wind pierces my face And herds the trees to the east The lamplight cascades my path And I follow it like a beacon through the twilight A white streak blazes across the dark sky My stomach plummets My head swimming in dread And time stands still One moment stretched out into a thousand Waiting for something to happen Then I see a second streak The two veins of light Painting a picture between the stars Telling a story of assurance Originally it is parallel to the ground And then it arcs upward The two streaks collide A flare lights up the city Then the barrage of noise wakes them

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At first I feel startled Then that feeling is replaced by Peace of mind I know that they’re safe at home Sleeping soundly in their beds Untouchable The perpetuity of streaks is unnerving But the opposing perpetuity Is equally as comforting As the last Sometimes I ask myself why Why something like this needs to exist What warrants such violence

Olivia Lutey 57

Ball of Twine Finn Jamieson

It lies forever observant Endless snakes curling inward Worms rotating outward Fusing into a dizzying circular illusion Sporadic outward eruptions Circling around before returning to the core Endless frizzy strings wrapped from wrapped strings Small openings of light partially obscured by thin fibers Monotonous brown with sparks of gold Beautiful as a flower Ordinary as a tree It remains hidden like a singular blade of grass Only absorbing attention if noticed But overlooked and unused Resting until it is wrapped stretched and twisted To an unknown purpose

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Nina Braum-Bharti

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Serenity Calder Cook

Steam rises up, blown from the dark face of the tea.

Slowly the leaves sway to the bottom, whirling away in their frantic dance.

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The Phillies

Sarah Goldberg

Why are they so bad?

They’re like a balloon, at first they inflate like they will last forever then they wither and die like there’s a curse that can never be lifted they turn your stomach round and round like taffy being turned why does it seem like there’s no hope of success for this devastating team they put themselves out there like a lamb to the slaughter making all of us perish, not just themselves

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Man Up Theo Robinson

Wrestling is a good sport, here’s how to wrestle. Acting? No way son. Here is a football. This is how to throw the football. This is how to catch a football.

This is how to run with a football. Good. Here son, get on the bus. Good luck at school. Who is your favorite football team? You don’t watch football? You must watch basketball then. No? Weird. Weird shirt. Do you always wear pink? Cut your hair, you look like a girl. Don’t sit next to me on the bus. You probably have the cooties. Be more like a boy. The kids at school are mean dad. Stop crying son. Man up. Boys don’t cry. This is how to make a fire in a fireplace. This is how to make a campfire. How to tie a knot. How to climb a tree. No not like that!

How to climb a rock with a rope. Here watch me. This is how you climb a … Son! Put that book down right now! Watch. Here is how to swim. Here is how to dive.

Help me put up this tent. Remember how to make a fire? No? Let me show you again! Pay attention son! MAN UP. Yes, you have to kill the fish when fishing!

No, don’t throw it back!! No tears about getting food! Man up. This is how you hunt a rabbit. How you hunt a deer. This is how you hunt with a bow. This is how you hunt with a gun. Play with boys’ toys. Dolls? No! Man up. Here lets build a treehouse. Let me show you. This is how you use a hammer. Watch me use this drill. Here you try. Stop drawing the tree and get back to work. Do you want to finish this treehouse or not!? Good. You want to play an instrument? How about the drums? Maybe the guitar? Violin?!? Man up. Ok son, good luck at boarding school. Here is where you unpack your bags. Here is the dining hall. Football or basketball? That’s not an option. Yes, you must choose a sport. Here is your cabin. Hey weird kid, whatcha reading? Hey do you even talk? Stop being so boring. Man up.

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Claire Rigdon 63

Halle Smoger 64

These Words

Gus Curry

I say nothing new, nothing different I am just another guy Why listen to me, I’m not famous But you don’t need fame to have respect These are all words someone has said before me Whether anyone remembers someone else saying it or not Why listen to words that have already been said?

Well if you haven’t heard them before Or you’re wondering how I’ll use these words When your parents or grandparents talked about their stories They had probably already told others But each person can think of it in a different way What it says about the story, the moral, the person Our lives can be summed up in a story So you should make it the most interesting, right?

Well the best story isn’t the best life You don’t need to be a millionaire to be happy These are all things that people have said before I have

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Sarah Li 66

Ethan Garrity 67

Rana Roosevelt 68

Seedless Grapes Luca Cappechi

O where do seedless grapes come from, Long before the vine?

O where does the seed for it come from, To yield seedless grapes (divine)?

O how do you create, A seed from a seedless thing?

O how do you create A thing with seeds

From a thing that needs

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Pain

Barry Liu

None can eliminate your pain, Pain is within not without, Teaches you lessons, Works you hard.

Pain can be soothed, But always there.

A winter with leaves Hidden under the snow.

Pain lasts forever.

Always a part of you, Never leaving ache, Constant agony.

Ceasing only to increase, A hose never closing Wasting away the water, Until there is none left.

Healing can help Stemming the flow but giving up.

With pain lurking nearby, Ready to explode out again.

When something is truly lost, One can never get it back again.

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Calder Cook

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Kissing Coralie Lyford

They wouldn’t stop I don’t know why; we didn’t do anything wrong Then what were you doing? They ask sitting there, they just came up to us Really?

We were kissing. We add Oh, that makes sense. They say simply.

That was the reason we were beat up and stranded, waiting for someone to find us covered in each other’s blood We stare They stand up and escort us outside, get cleaned up. They smile.

So that’s it? We ask They look at us with confused expressions and lead us to the bandages.

Oh, that makes sense. They had said They don’t seem infuriated that I will have a permanent scar across my face because I was kissing Kissing the person I love, that’s a crime?

Something that will get me hurt? Even killed?

What’s the solution, stop doing something most adults do every day?

I’m a person, Just as valuable as you Oh, that makes sense. they had said Not to me.

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Don’t Fall Juliette Kang

It creeps behind your nightly stroll And twirls your head behind What stands back there is just a shadow But seems more undefined.

The tightrope sways back to and fro All you see is down What’s on the other side is hidden A frozen breath has drowned.

Again, the simple line of string Has caused a large commotion Before the church bells followed in The fear is now in motion.

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Isha Naik

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Dusk

Cara Appleberry

She gently tugs the blooming part of the flower up and away from the part where the stem is rooted in the ground. She tucks the glowing yellow tulip into her pocket so it doesn’t get crushed before she goes home. The sun begins to descend from its place up in the sky, and she hears crickets as dusk settles in slowly. Streaks of orange rush into the darkening blue sky. She perches on the edge of the bench as she watches the sun end its long day above her.

This bench isn’t just any bench. It’s the bench she sat on with her mom as she showed her what the different flowers were. It’s the bench she sat on with her dad when she was just a little kid and they listened to the bird calls. It’s the bench where she and her brother and sister would sit and talk about anything and everything. Once the sun is below the distant horizon, it’s time for her to keep walking. This is her favorite time of day to walk, with the sounds of the night just starting to emerge into the cool air.

She remembers the yellow tulip in her pocket and she takes it out. In the darkness, it looks deeper somehow, magical almost. If she closes her eyes she can hear the way the kids would have been running through the fields of tall grass. The shouts of them chasing each other. Their parents sitting on the very bench she just left behind her.

Once all three of the kids were through college, their parents moved down to Florida in their retirement. She visits them at least twice a year, and they come up for every holiday. Her siblings got jobs and moved to scattered states around the country. She’s the one who stayed here, in their old house where they grew up. She’s the only thing remaining to tie her family to this small town.

She would never leave here, though. She doesn’t understand how her family had other places they wanted to be. Their small town is her favorite place in the world. She doesn’t know how they could leave behind their town with all its special memories.

When she gets back to the beloved house, she removes the ten flowers she picked on her walk from her pocket. This is what her mom always did. She would pick an array of flowers on their walks, and arrange them in a vase on the dining room table.

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Elliot Capecchi 76

2019-2020 Staff Cara Appleberry Alex Chi Lyla Conley Leah Cornejo Ellis Fast Sparrow Green Zoe Lallas Coralie Lyford Isha Naik Lani Okewole Aggie Parrott Daniella Place Mia Rutledge George Ryan Ryan Stumacher Benedict Tessler Giulia Zuccoli

Cover art

Front: Miya Moriuchi Back: Becca Rasmussen

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