Head Space | Calliope Spring 2019

Calliope HEADSPACE

BOX

FARAH RAFEE

she kept her self in a cardboard box. at ever y winter, ever y r ain, it would cave in on her, folding her bones, melting her limbs, and she would collapse inwards melodically, her sanity specks of the evening paper

into one of thousands of faces that year ned to feel something, be something, but could not in fear of her self. she dissolved into the faded magazine clippings that were scattered

and blanket the gaps between her and the wor ld outside the box.

who she was and who she was not. she was not br ight nor kind nor glad. she was down and vile and hur t. the rekindling her ther apist once talked about seemed out of time , out of reach. but as i stretched my hand towards her, she seemed to see that perhaps it was not. it would be slow, but change would come .

ROCHES TER

in the mor nings, my bus passes over a br idge . under that br idge , there is a r ailroad r unning towards the hor izon, stretching out into the sky. i like to listen to stupid sad music and look out towards that r ailroad i like to pretend i’m tr aveling on it on a tr ain going somewhere far away from here but that’s only in my head then i look forward again to the road to school. there are windows looking down onto the road from my histor y class. i like to look out of them and onto the street below. i like to pretend i’m tr aveling on that road. i’m dr iving somewhere far away from here . but that’s only in my head. then i look forward again. to the whiteboard. to the teacher. planes are in the sky almost always i look up from the ground i’m stuck to and i like to imagine i’m

if only i could escape the thoughts taking up space in my head. if only i were actually on that tr ain, in that car, on that plane . if only i weren’t stuck in this place , in this secluded headspace .

FROM ABOVE ABBY KWIT

EMILY CHO WILD FIRE

i lay under the water encapsulated in our silken str ands. cold- lovely. it’s perfectly nothing.

but you laugh, dancing. taking drenched in delicious war mth. alive , intoxicatingly unapologetic . it’s beautifully dysfunctional.

and i tr ied to resist it. but you shatter the ice , fr acture the still of my mind. for your s is an ir resistible kind of

FEELING BL UE

Don’t you ever meet someone like that?

They’re wonderful.

They put their forehead to your s and you can peer into ever y star str uck crevice There are hollows of gr asping, empty br anches hungr y for another chance , just like there are cliffs of all the sunsets suspended in amber, cast in the sweet half-silver coalescence of their memor ies. You might have shared them, too. You have ugly emotions clawing their way up your throat, and sometimes you’re afr aid when you’ve jour neyed beyond an ever-escaping hor izon they’ll be able to see all these thick tar feelings hanging off of your r ibs. Look at me , they say, look at what this used to be .

But you’re here , r ight now So are they And this is your cue to revel in the sea sinking you both, because these long milliseconds will never come back for you As they star t to pass by, take their hand. There is no need to pine for closeness when you are already so close . This is not your in-love , mind you -

told your heavy third-gr ade secrets to - the one who sat by your side when you were still the leper come to town - lunch - homewor k - tear s -

hundred moments packed carefully away with delicate paper and handmade str ing that no matter the ages you will never cease to take out, blow the dust off, and unpack with stagger ing affection that feels like a light playful punch to the shoulder.

I don’t care for being in love , for now. Loving just by itself is enough.

SINGLE FLOWER

HEAD IN THE CLOUDS

MARGARITA KAZAK

GRETCHEN BOCK

SEARCHING FOR LOS T MEMORIES

YASMEEN RAFEEE

With forceful insistence , she presses her forehead up against the oak tree ,

If you cannot utter to me what I seek, she mur mur s with a deep sigh, then give to me what I need. Show me what you remember.

Indeed, she knows that she will never again tr uly remember memor ies of childhood, ardor and affection, hatred and hyster ics, and clear, cr isp days. But these regal trees of age and oak gazed upon her when she was young and vibr ant.

Reminding her of scorching-hot shouts of vehemence and fur y

with somber alabaster cheeks exposed to the autumn chill, the tree divulges her stor ies through emotions.

Contentedly, she pushes her self away from the oak tree , letting her self fall to the ground and exhale the air from her lungs. She closes her eyes, feeling the evening’s dew seep into her shir t and listening to the wind croon and chime within the trees’ br anches.

DEAR MOUTH FARAH RAFEE

Dear Mouth,

I realize that we have failed to communicate throughout my eighteen year s of living. I just wanted to say that I love and appreciate your pleasur able existence . Without you, I would be unable to speak, unable to smile , and (most impor tantly) unable to eat. These are feats that I take for gr anted on a daily basis, so I have taken time out of my day to wr ite you this endear ing letter to express that I tr uly am gr ateful for all you have done for me . Again, thank you.

But I suppose all of that should be expected. It is your job to function in a way where I can talk freely, laugh freely, and chew freely Although you do accomplish your job, you do so in a manner that makes my life unpleasant and agonizing In your three main functions (speech, expression, and nour ishment), you have failed miser ably. Allow me to explain. I under stand that perhaps you are not fully responsible for my vocal functions. Even so, I do not appreciate that my voice gives out fair ly quickly. I would like my vocal capacity to exceed thir ty seconds, especially when I am giving a ten-minute presentation Do take action in that cour se .

Additionally, I must ask why you allowed my teeth to grow in the way that they did. For ten year s, my crossbite prevented me from smiling cor rectly! I lived my life in the shadcoexist.

since my jaw has been locked in a way where I can no longer chew gum, bite bur ger s, or eat toast Over the summer, I had to use a for k and knife to eat a macaroon! Because your negligence has affected my eating habits, I must take action to ensure you function

Thank you for your time . I expect improvement by next month.

Sincerely,

Far ah

C OLLECTIVE L Y ONESELF

EQUANIMIT Y

i dream of a hidden par adise

JENN A KIM

a br iny breeze that dances along the shore liquid moonlight pour ing through the window panes the r ich color s of sunr ise

i dream in gold, cr imson, cor al, amber i frolic in the fr uits of autumn

there is blissful silence and an intangible sense of safety

from the chaotic wor ld

i dream in waves and sand

as i pr ance lightly on the sand beds i breathe with ease inhale

and exhale

i dream of the wistful par alian

the little gir l who gazes out her window amazed at the br illiance of the wide night sky and how small she is in a big, vast univer se and i dream of the day that the star s align and we may be together. for now, here i sit with a pen in hand.

WONDROUS IMAGIN ATION

YOU ARE NEVER ALONE MIA MERCHANT

She came to the little Main Street bookstore ever y day, at 3:45 pm on the dot. I’d been watching her took her family and she escaped, mar ked by Death forever.

Amanda came here with her third foster family one day. She was cold and empty at the time , wearing her ghosts and memor ies like an invisibility cloak could not deliver her to my father as promised. I told her to come back. She spent ever y after noon at the bookstore for two year s.

My mission was to collect Amanda Sykes, so I tr acked her to this town. My father, ironically, had told me that this mission would be different. You may not under stand this, he said, but this gir l has no place on this Ear th She knows it too, he said I told him that I was fully prepared to deliver him the nobody. I had accepted that she was out of time .

For centur ies, I had been my father’s obedient Angel of Death, always there to do his dir ty wor k He was a lar ger than life hero in my mind, a key-

believed that he only took the souls who didn’t have anything left to offer the wor ld.

Ever yone always told me not to get attached to mor tals. They die quickly. They have no mor al

gir l with cur ly brown hair and br aces. She was tr uly unremar kable , and that is exactly what made her so special She was simply Amanda, the mor tal teenager who made me realize that my father was taking innocent souls. She was the one who made me realize that no one should ever have to prove that they are wor thy of their existence

The wor ld is full of people just like her— people

whose souls I might’ve had to take .

That’s why I cut off all communication with my father I made a life for myself as Mr Weaver’s adoptive daughter, wor king with him in this bookstore That way I could see Amanda ever y day.

On that fateful day, when I came in to r un the register, something was different. My foster father wasn’t

My bir th father hadn’t changed a bit.

“I war ned you about getting attached to Mor tals,” he began, his black eyes bor ing into mine .

“Why can’t you leave her alone?” I replied “The gir l should have died with her family Let me put her soul to rest,” he said like he was some sor t of saint.

“You know she’s innocent.” I accused. I’d been dreading that moment for a long time “I know she can change the wor ld if you give her the time .”

father said ominously. His infamous scythe mater ialized in his hand I attempted to dodge the blast of ener gy that came from it, but I was too slow The wor ld faded to black. ***

I woke up in a cold cell with a pounding headache . He put me in the reaper s ’ dungeon, reser ved for the

Time cr awled by, but Father came to the door eventually. He wore a glowing orb around his neck. said, r ubbing salt into my wound.

I wished for Time to r un backwards, so I could tell my Amanda that she was not a nobody, because she was a somebody to me

WONDERFUL RACHEL ROCHLEN

how wonderful it is to see you again present in my mind this is what it feels like to open my eyes

THE MIND OF A S TUDENT ELIZABETH DYBALL

SILENCE COMES AT DAWN

EMILY

YUNDA -RAIJER

2 a.m., that’s the time . the time where i lay, ponder ing, & reasoning. the time when most are at peace . in a dream that their beautiful mind blessed upon them but I lay restless. in a reality i wish were a dream. i am numb, as my functions are taken over, by my restive mind. sometimes i ask why has it betr ayed me? why does it wor k against me? why has the most powerful function of my existence betr ayed me? suffer, that’s what it wants. it wants me to doubt all my choices, all my dreams, all my hope my head aches from the pressure , from my sweaty palms desper ately tr ying, tr ying to push my thoughts away. only if it is for a second, one second of silence , i will take it. only if it is one second where the thousands of thoughts leave , i will take it. but it is now dawn. and there are dar k circles under my eyes. i was blessed with silence . but it came too late . and left too soon.

MIDNIGHT CONTEMPL ATION

MARY JANE MCN ARY

The legs previously dr awn into the for giving cover s Shift in a continuous movement

As the sleepless route of dar kness is initiated And clar ity is unleashed

As an attempt to stop the spinning of the limitless thoughts I contemplate

How our wor ld has gotten so cr uel and br utal

As the under mining words are so highly used within our ever yday vocaular y So prominent within our society

The seduction of social media

Dr awing in the youth into a routine of compar ison and self denial

I contemplate

The immense amount of things

That are still yet to be uncovered

I contemplate

The complexity of my fr iends and their lives

As well the lives of those I have yet to encounter

Though I lie restless as I stare into the dar kness

Breathing in the cool air around me

Filling my lungs

I attempt to unr avel the mess of

Awaiting an answer to the vast thoughts

spinning through my soul

DRIFTER EMILY CHO

your honey-spun melody seeps in thick gold cascades through the window.

one illicit drop. slows my thoughts, catches me between the str ings of your honey-dappled guitar. a languid lilting song.

drowning in pools of sleepy amber, but those paper wings were no match for you.

GAL ACTIC MIND

GAL A

C ATHY CHOI

take me hunting through the cobweb liminal space slamming dust dr awer s and packing a suitcase for a beach tr ip to the shores of your eyes

therein a galaxy soar s boxes of me and my memor ied you cubes of light par sed into r ings of honeygold simmer within the abyss of your mouth

they only roll for ever in echoing chasms

with the pulse of godlent idealism and climb the crevices of our aching beings wonder when if ever

ASMEEN RAFEE

Y

W A TCH OF THE WIND

T onight , the wind is pa r ticula r l y ha r sh

She treks along the b um p y mountain path , wiping her w et nose with the back of her slee v e . She ’s

T onight , the wind is pa r ticula r l y ha r sh . She treks along the b um p y mountain path , wiping her w et nose with the back of her slee v e She ’s

“Pleas e ,” she c r ies , “gi v e me shelte r ”

“Pleas e ,” she c r ies , “gi v e me shelte r . ”

The v oices call at he r, shout at he r, chanting , W e listen. O v er and o v e r, her ea r s r ing with their rough , quiet timbre : W e listen . W e listen , we listen , we listen. Her mind is b uzzing too he a vi l y f or her to do a n ything about it The leather of her boots cha f es uncom f o r ta b l y at the skin of her ankles . A rock clatte r s loud l y beneath her f oot as she kicks it aside with a vid f e r v o r . She lists thes e , and mor e , in her mind as she t r a v e r ses along the twisting , dizzying path. O spi r it s , s a ys a legend of her childhood , where are you , when I have beholden you , when I desire your presence so?

The v oices call at he r, shout at he r, chanting , W e listen. O v er and o v e r, her ea r s r ing with their rough , quiet timbre : W e listen . W e listen , we listen , we listen. Her mind is b uzzing too he a vi l y f or her to do a n ything about it The leather of her boots cha f es uncom f o r ta b l y at the skin of her ankles A rock clatte r s loud l y beneath her f oot as she kicks it aside with a vid f e r v o r . She lists thes e , and mor e , in her mind as she t r a v e r ses along the twisting , dizzying path. O spi r it s , s a ys a legend of her childhood , where are you , when I have beholden you , when I desire your presence so?

Something is wrong sta r tles her r ather than soothes he r, as it should . It digs a hole in the center of her stomach , b u r r o wing deeper and deeper until she stum b les beneath the w eight of its v ehemenc e The wind tugs ha r sh l y at her hai r, threatening to knock her o v e r . She stops . The wind nips and tea r s at her skin , ardent and vicious , b l o wing her un r u l y hair a w a y from her fac e She b links se v e r al times , diso r iented , and waits f or her vision to clea r . The v oices silence themsel v es .

Something is wrong sta r tles her r ather than soothes he r, as it should . It digs a hole in the center of her stomach , b u r r o wing deeper and deeper until she stum b les beneath the w eight of its v ehemenc e . The wind tugs ha r sh l y at her hai r, threatening to knock her o v e r She stops . The wind nips and tea r s at her skin , ardent and vicious , b l o wing her un r u l y hair a w a y from her fac e

She b links se v e r al times , diso r iented , and waits f or her vision to clea r The v oices silence themsel v es

And then her boot , that cu r sed boot that has y et ta k en her so fa r, slips off the edg e .

And then her boot , that cu r sed boot that has y et ta k en her so fa r, slips off the edg e .

va r ious rocks and rough te r r ains , she c r ies out Her back is in ago n y , h a ving st r uck against a boulde r, te rr i b l y un f o r giving .

For a moment , her vision fades , and she is i n undated in a silence that is so he a v y , b lack , and dee p , that

For a moment , her vision fades , and she is i n undated in a silence that is so he a v y , b lack , and dee p , that

When she a wa k ens , she is bathed in gold .

When she a wa k ens , she is bathed in gold

The wind ’s g r ip has relented . She is b loodied and b r uised , b ut she is intact . The v oices call at he r, shout at he r, chanting , W e listen. O v er and o v e r, her ea r s r ing with their rough , quiet timbre : W e listen W e listen , we listen , we listen. va r ious rocks and rough te r r ains , she c r ies out . Her back is in ago n y , h a ving st r uck against a boulde r, te rr i b l y un f o r giving

From ab o v e the r idge of the mountains , the sun ’ s light peaks through , emb r acing her in its tentati v e , hesitant light She gasps , and then sl o w l y , indubita b l y , she begins to laugh , the sound r inging through the ai r .

From ab o v e the r idge of the mountains , the sun ’ s light peaks through , emb r acing her in its tentati v e , hesitant light . She gasps , and then sl o w l y , indubita b l y , she begins to laugh , the sound r inging through the ai r

The wind ’s g r ip has relented . She is b loodied and b r uised , b ut she is intact . The v oices call at he r, shout at he r, chanting , W e listen. O v er and o v e r, her ea r s r ing with their rough , quiet timbre : W e listen . W e listen , we listen , we listen.

MAKE UP THE MAKEUP

DUALIT Y AARON GALLEGOS

then they were there saving me

i cr ied

that was what i needed

i begged

i didn’t want to end it

i pr ayed

i didn’t want to jump

T O BE A ROSE EMILY

YUNDA -RAIJER

i used to wish they knew what a delicate rose i was. and how it felt when they for got to water my roots, display my petals, and share my existence . i used to wish my smooth, Vibr ant, subtle petals, had meaning in their eyes. and that they would have focused on that, not my thor ns. but they never did. they let me tur n brown and fr agile at a single touch. they let my stem grow weak, and used.

they let my petals close up they let me fall piece by piece to the ground i fell. but as i slowly drop and emer ge into the gr ass, and my eyes dr ift into a sleep

and i thank them for letting my hear t

MOON

ALEX YUNDA -RAIJER

When I arr ived there , the cold and old smell of air greeted me It’s freshness, clean enough to save a planet. It caresses my face , searching makings of an industr ialized countr y. Behind that, mounds of grey peak at me , through the still, silent air Elsewhere , the makings of a footpr int embed itself into my mind. A perfect still, in me forever, never able to

not impor tant enough to view.

Inspired by “A Wor ld Without Wor k” by Derek Thompson

BURN KATE OS TROW SKI

bor n of ashes, scorches the ground on which I stand so bur n away my tear s and succumb to my fear s dar kness envelops the blaze ember s fade to gr ay live another day bur n not the body but the mind

You Create • We Collaborate • Calliope

We hope you e njoy our newes t edi tion of C alliope , Headspace, a s much a s we did cr eating i t . A s G le nbr ook Sou t h ’ s li te r ar y and visual ar t s maga zine , we showca se a var iet y of poet r y, shor t s tor ies , essays , photogr aphs , and visual ar t . We value all cr eative s tude nt s at G B S and t heir wor k , and we s t r ive to pr ese nt their incr edible ar t to our communi t y.

EDI TORS

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF

Ya smee n R afee

SECRETARY

M egan G nospelius

PHOTOGRAPHY

Er in Ak gun

Paige D uck le r

Quinn Toomey

VISUAL ART

A bby Hage r

POETRY

Chaeyeon Par k

A nne R ibor d y

PROSE

Isabella Delator r e

Claudia Par k

ADVISOR

Mr. John Allen

S TA FF

M eg A k i

Da kot a B et t s

Emily Cho

Nomin Chuluunba at ar

Maddie Da shnaw

Clair e G illis

Ve r onik a G liwa

Danbie Han

Mar cel Hoang

Clair e L awle r

Mia Me r chant

J ose phine Mo

O m Patel

Far ah R afee

Misha Romanov

Ava Steve ns

Olivia Sully

Nicole Sur cel

A lex Sz y md

Rebecca T homa s

Ru t h T homa s

Nz ah Tajuddin

A lex Yunda- R aije r

Emily Yunda- R aije r