The Meridian 2021-2022

The Meridian KUA 2021-2022

Cover photographEmilia Williams ‘25 Flower and mushroom photographsEmilia Williams ‘25

Editor’s Note: The Meridian is published to highlight the artistic and literary talents of the students at KUA. However, it emcompasses only a small part of the creativity, art, and writing that happens on campus.

This edition in particular draws work particularly from Ms. Masson’s Book Arts class and Ms. Cooper’s Writer’s Workshop.

I would like to extend a huge thank you to those students who submitted their work and who read through submissions with me, as well as the faculty who helped me round up submissions. Without them, and the willingness of students to put their work out there, this would not be possible.

I hope you can draw inspiration from this edition of The Meridian. To the non-seniors, hopefully you’re inspired enough to submit your own work next year!

-Liza Wolf

Table of Contents Cat's Domain..........................page 4 Inadequate.............................page 5 Toenail……...........................page 6 Black Wings..........................page 8 E-Flat…….............................page 15 Bully Brook Cascade............page 16 Love of Los Angeles.............page 18 Glimmering Crystal Eyes......page 19 The Runaway........................page 21 Birthday.................................page 25 a stranger in their eyes.........page 27

-Cole Guelzendoph ‘22

-Nate Brooker ‘22

Cat’s Domain -Isabel Brozen ‘24 The cat That sat In the window seat Wonders about the world.

Greeted at the door, Wishing whiskers brush the cracked glass pane.

Fur black Spattered on new paper like ink spot spray.

Dusty footprints in the printer tray Book dust, old paper fraying at the edges Baking bread crust and lemon scented wood.

Cat sits high on wooden shelf ledges Waking from her nap contented, Sleek and spry.

Sleeps in hanging planters In the gilded sunbeam window.

Midnight enchanter, like a dark dye stain, From her throne sits, surveying Cat’s domain Of tile stone and champagne curtain cords of lace.

Rolling ringing pennies over floor boards, under carpets sewn in gold Springing from a doting parent’s hold to chase Quilted piles, adoring smiles, and wilted flower petals.

Returning to her hiding tower nook with nothing to atone Gliding through the books, only claws to hone.

Lies knowing she is prized, half lidded glowing eyes Watching gossamer drapes billow In tantalizing shapes Over sunlight painted streets.

Plaster dust motes floating like the feathers sprung from pillows Left in window seats for cats.

Inadequate

-Griffin Hatley ‘22

-Michael Gratz ‘23 (3/16/2016) I live the best and happiest day of my life.

Smiles are daily, laughter fills the room and life is at its peak.

We chant, make jokes, and at my lowest I was never weak.

Time goes on (11/19/2016) I am happy, but choke every time I laugh.

I am confused but life is still good.

My company is still well, living life as I should.

Time goes on (10/7/2017) I woke up and my hair was missing. I put on a hat on top of it.

Wow! Cool hat they say to me. I shrug myself to smile.

They pass me and I think of it for a while.

Time goes on (3/10/2018) I woke up and I’m too skinny. I put on a hoodie to hide it.

They walk past me and say nice hoodie.

The laughter is dimmer and I wonder why that could be.

Time goes on (12/10/2018) I woke up and my feet blistered. I put on extra large shoes to cover them.

The laughter is louder but we make jokes.

I walk hiding who I am with these folks.

Time goes on (10/6/2019) I woke up and I traded my recovered laughter for tears. I use tissues to wipe them.

The laughter is once again distant.

I watch as they walk past me in a frozen stance.

Time goes on (11/17/2020) I woke up and my heart was exposed and deeply cut. I used tape to patch it.

There is no more laughing that I can hear.

They walk past me and notice that blood stained tear.

We continue our ways without much more than a stare.

Time goes on

(3/7/2021) I woke up and my arms and legs are invisible. I wore long sleeves and jeans to hide them.

I look them in the eye and they look through mine.

I go to shake hands but my hand glides through their hand.

They walk by as if nothing happened.

Time goes on

(11/16/2021) I woke up and I am entirely invisible. There is nothing to do to fix it.

I watch as they walk by. I see them, they don’t see me.

I observe as a spectator, I mind my own business.

I hover around watching their success. Good for them.

Time goes on

Toenail -Sebastian Morris ‘22 A part of my body was

It was the last afternoon of

The heat of the sun as I sat across

missing. Every time I looked

our annual spring break stay with

from my mom who was deep in her

down at my feet, all I noticed

my mother’s family in Puerto

spring break novel didn’t come close

Rico. Every March, my family

to the hot pain I was experiencing

would fly down to the island to

where my nail had once been. I put

spend time with four people: Ita,

my hand on the bandage and felt

Ito, Abuelo Antonio, and Abuela

the throbbing pulse of blood passing

Lola. Earlier that day, a nurse at

the damaged area. I looked up to

the hospital had said it would be a

see my brother splashing and

bedroom wall, but the speed at

few days before I could fully go in

spinning with his hands under the

which my leg collided with the

the water again but, to take extra

surface, creating a miniature vortex

marble caused my toenail to

precaution, she wrapped my toe

that would swallow his imaginary

completely rip off. When my

four times in a fluffy, stretchy

monsters. This aquatic battlefield

mom heard me screaming

hospital bandage. Because we

was special to the two of us, and we

downstairs in Palmas, she

were already planning to drive

called it the “old pool,” because of

from Palmas to the airport in San

the ruins that emerged from its floor.

Juan the next day, my family

It looked like an ancient Roman

thought it best to leave Antonio’s

aqueduct, but with a touch of Puerto

then and drive back to Ita’s home

Rican graffiti and fading color to

just outside of San Juan. Back in

decorate its historic frame. Luke

Dorado Beach, and now the late

was playing pretend Pokémon

skin bordering where the nail

afternoon, I sat by the pool

because he had just been given a

had once been. My mom was

discontent with my inability to

game by his Godmother. She didn’t

worried at first, but it did not

submerge myself in the water.

buy me anything that nice at Toys R

was how much bigger one of my toes looked compared to the others. I thought that I had just stubbed it really hard against Abuelo Antonio’s

quickly ran up to his bedroom to console me. I was totally freaking out, curled up on the floor staring at the blood beginning to emerge from the

Us. She wasn’t my god parent I

the wall because I was a very

suppose, so I guess it was okay.

energetic boy. For this reason,

Luke was so lucky to be swimming

it seemed to me that she was not moving at the speed a parent usually should when an accident occurs, and it felt like an eternity for her to get ready to go to the hospital.

-Kyle Murray Smith ‘24

surprise her that I had run into

in the pool, while all I could do was sit in pain on the folded beach chair.

My mom wasn’t even watching me.

My toe began to itch. I wanted to get at it and shred all the bandages off. I wanted to cut at

them and tear at them until my

waves pulling me away from my

foot looked normal again. I

seat in the sand, as they do when

wanted them gone and I wanted

monitoring the road from

they finish cooling your toes and

to swim with my brother like we

their beach shack at the top

splashing the bathing suit you’re

of a man-made dune. The

trying to keep dry-- I was worried I

beach was expansive, and I

was going to move even an inch. I

heading home to New York, we

was enthralled by the clarity

was at peace enjoying the

packed in the golf cart and moved

of the water; the turquoise

changes the wind made to the

to a different swimming spot. I

blue sea was magnificent. I

surface of the water; it was

struggled to climb into the

felt a sudden jolt of the cart

always did. Eager to see the ocean adorned in the light of a sunset one last time before

backseat because I couldn’t bend

when the wheels went off

my toe-- it was wrapped so tightly that if I tried to move my foot, the

the path and onto the sand,

soothing, and I was laying dry and close to my mother. To my left spiky rocks jutted from the sand, which created pools of still water

toe would go numb. The light

as we parked it a few yards

casted on the ruin pool faded

from the lookout. When my

from my vision as the car drove

mom finally came around

Noticing a small crab emerge from

the back and helped me off,

a hole in the shore, I let its tiny legs

my feet were greeted

crawl on my open fingers. It felt

completely dark; we were going

warmly by the sand. A few

prickly, but I did not shake it off; the

through the Celva Terecoptus, or

grains stuck onto the

crawling was funny to me and I

what we called the “dinosaur

bandage, but I didn’t mind,

was curious about its movement. I

jungle.”

because she held my hand

turned around to see if my mom

down the steep hill. More bushes, branches, and vines obscured the sun and soon it was almost

and guided me to the I looked to see if my mom or brother were looking in

breaking waves.

for small marine life to inspect.

was looking. This time she was, and she smiled at me when I pointed at the crab. For the first

the rear view mirror to check if I was okay, but both of them

where kids like me would search

time all day I didn’t mind my

We sat just in front of

broken toenail-- I was able to be

were looking head on into the

the damp sand where the

forest. After a few minutes, the

waves break, as the ocean

hours on the island. I couldn’t stop

golf cart turned a sharp right,

came and went. Each time it

myself from grinning as I looked

the trees cleared away for an

would recede to the depths

out into the unknown that was the

open sky, and the light hit us

to collect more strength I

water in front of me. Laying back in

again. We were rounding a

would tense up-- I didn’t

the sand, I scooched closer to my

point where we would always

want the

mom and we watched the sun

slow down the golf cart because of the two lifeguards

happy with her during my final

begin to set over the horizon.

Black Wings -Tho Duc Le ‘22

-Aidan Davie ‘22

The colors dye the sky like little

The two girls are sitting at the kitchen table

fireworks, except they won’t explode. These

listening to music, swinging their legs to the

are ordinary people with the wings that connect

exciting rhythm. Kakera jumps down from the stool

to their shoulders which shape like a cape.

to answer the door while Yuzuki starts to set up the

Each color represents what is deep inside a

dinner table.

person. Just like the stars, they absorb the energy and release it in their own color.

The town hall slowly collapses as a result of

“Mom, give me a moment I can’t open the door!” Kakera shouts to her parents outside.

It takes both of the girls to shift the slightly

the snow storm. People crowd the exit. A light

oversized piece of wood out of its frame. An officer

from the blue wing rises up attempting to stop

comes up to their door and announces that their

the old rusted column from falling over. Then

parents sacrificed themselves to save others, just

comes another purple light pierces through the

how they are supposed to according to the assumed

panic crowd to help the man. One man and

purpose of their wings- the wings of saving and of

one woman emit waves of magnificent lights to

hope. Kakera can not let the man finish his

buy time for people’s escape. Soon the stars

announcement and burst into tears, screaming the

on their backs fade one by one. The woman fell

pain of losing her family. Yuzuki stares at him with

down unconscious; the man frowns from

anger and shock in her eyes, completely static as her

exhaustion as the last light from his wing fades.

feelings start to fill her body.

“Why were they the only ones that died ?”

“I am sorry Miss, your mother was stuck and she tried to save others…”

“Was she the only one? What about my dad? Why does he have to die, too?” Yuzuki starts to raise her voice.

“I’m sorry, I…” “Why are they the only ones that died ?” Yuzuki does not let the man finish his sentence and starts screaming in his face. Her words slowly become unrecognizable as they mix with tears.

Shortly after the officer leaves, the two girls sit on their table again. There is no more music, just an unbearable silence covers the house from the door to the deepest crack on the walls. They are alone tonight and all the nights to come. *** In the morning, roughly two years after the accident, Kakera is making her morning meal with the cereal boxes that have been on the shelf since forever. They never seem to run out, though she eats the same thing every morning. She pulls out her favorite bowl that her parents bought her; it is interestingly shaped with rainbow color on the side where stands the clumsy handwriting: “love you Kakera.” It was made by her and her parents at the festival. She takes such good care of it that she has a separate place to keep it in the drawer. Yuzuki walks down the stairs after Kakera has finished her breakfast. She puts on her clothes and gets ready for school. They are high school seniors and both turn 18 in about a month. The sisters step out of their door on the creaking of the old wooden floor. One starts her journey to school with the ordinary road, the other one spreads her wings toward the sun and starts taking off. Yuzuki always ends up being almost late since her wings are not capable of flying. Yuzuki and Kakera are in the same class sitting next to each other, but only Yuzuki’s table has her name on it just like everyone else. The teacher walks into the classroom flashing his red cape wing reflecting the light from the window; for a second he dyes the whole space with red; he seems more formal today.

“Next week is the deadline for your career surveys, some of you have turned 18 and your wings have shined with their own colors, and some of you still have the white wings of innocence. If you already know your color, I want you to think of a job that would fit you as a person with the color reflected on your wings.”

Mr. Kardel does not bother to explain again how important the stars on each wing represent; they are directly connected and reflect a person’s viability. Almost everyone feels this connection, but schools rarely teach about sacrificing those stars to push one’s mental and physical strength beyond the limit. Kakera and Yuzuki are the only ones in class who know about this since that was what happened to their parents.

Everyone sits in silence listening, either looking for the smallest strand of color on their cape or thinking about what they should be in the future. Kakera looks back to admire her barely purplish white cape occasionally unfolding from her shoulder, then looks back to the board. Purple wings are of saving, blue wings are of freedom, green is of peace, yellow is for pride, orange for ambition and red for initiation. Below these notes, the job suggestions are written below each type of wing. The girls’ mother was a nurse but

their father was just a normal officer. Sometimes, there are people who do not want to choose what they are suited for but their wings still reflect their personality.

Yuzuki observes her wings carefully, hoping that the confusing dark color she saw is just a mistake in her perception of blue or purple. Yuzuki hopes to have the same cape their parents had. But she soon realizes that her cape has lost half of its meaning since the day she lost the ability to fly.

“I have the wing of saving.” Kakera said in a melancholy tone, acknowledging her sister’s problem with the cape. She has been very careful since then.

“If possible, I want to be a nurse, just like mom. But I don’t think I can, my wings are…weird.” Yuzuki doesn’t seem to pay attention.

“No no no, if you are thinking of the wings of downfall, you do not have them.”

“Then how do you explain my inability to fly?”

“I…let’s go see the doctor tomorrow, okay?”

They kept the silence all the way back home, Kakera is not flying today.

As their birthday approaches, Kakera wakes up seeing her wing shining a more splendid purple; but Yuzuki is in terror finding her cape turning darker every day, the stars on her back becoming clearer on black cape.

“Are you ready?”

Yuzuki looks worried as she puts her coat on to cover her wings. Yuzuki has an appointment today with the doctor. They walk outside. As Kakera spreads her wings to fly, she quickly realizes and folds them back. She never knows the feeling of being unable to fly since for her, it is like breathing.

Kakera makes jokes on the way to cheer up her twin. Yuzuki smiles and giggles sometimes but she could not hide the fact that she is under the pressure from her own imagination where everyone around them is staring her down for her blackening wings.

They arrive at the clinic and Kakera has to wait outside. She is confident that her sister just has some illnesses that do not allow her to fly. As time passes, Kakera loses her patience and confidence though. It should not take this long for a simple test.

The doctor finally walks out of the room with his purple wings, the same color on Kakera’s wings except stronger. Kakera tries to calm herself down and slows her heartbeat and greets the doctor.

“You are Kakera?”

“I am. How is my sister?”

“I will cut to the chase. We performed the test three times according to her request and there are still some lights from her wings. We see that her wings are black wings though. Usually these will not emit any lights so there is still a chance where her wings are not the wings of downfall. You will just have to look for changes. Let’s see if they get better.”

Kakera stopped listening after the words black wings since Yuzuki has all the common features of the wings of downfall.

“He said you will be fine!”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

Every step to school is becoming heavier for Yuzuki, the strangers on the streets look at her with different eyes. Some find her pathetic, some find her poor. No one talks to her anymore, except for Kakera and the teacher who has the duty to. Yuzuki finds herself floating even further from life as her wings keep getting heavier as time passes. The two sides of the classrooms are painted with two tones of color: The ones that received their color including Kakera, and the ones with white capes trying to stay away from Yuzuki. People with the wings of downfall tend to be the source of trouble in their community; most of them are jobless due to social judgment. Yuzuki never thought of herself as one of those people; she has always wished to be like her mother, the violet saviors. Every color emits energy toward others except for black.

Kakera has tried to make her twin feel better, but sometimes she disgusts Yuzuki herself. *** Yuzuki has her eyes on the board but only the red color from Mr. K’s cape reflects her pupil. Her head slightly leans to the side and occasionally switches in a slow steady pace to another side. She seems to be as still as a statue in the space that everything is constantly moving, her glance goes straight into the void. She daydreams of the warmth and magnificence on the wings of initiation. Yet to her, the distance from her seat to the cape is infinite. She would adjust her posture every time a question is asked then relaxes again after she heard a name that's not hers. Her face leans on her hand again, waiting. She does not need to look to feel Kakera’s existence next to her on the other side of the spectrum, where everything is shiny and positive.

Kakera sits with Yuzuki at lunch as they always do. No one else is at the table.

“I miss them,” Yuzuki repeated the third time.

“Stop mentioning them, when will you start to pick yourself up?”

“Why shouldn’t I talk about them? Don’t you miss them, too? They would always bring little presents when they come back. They made a bowl, they bought pencils, they…”

“Would you please stop talking? They died because they wanted to save others.”

“They died because no one saved them.”

Kakera stands up and leaves as soon as those words come out. One of them will tell a story of her heroic parents, the other one will tell a tragedy of the victims. At that moment, the only thing they share is their appearance and nothing else. Not even a lunch table. *** As her birthday approaches, Yuzuki misses her parents more than ever. She misses the taste of her

favorite dish that their mom always made on the special day. So she thinks she might try to find the taste again. She struggles to reach the shelf for several minutes thinking that she could ask for Kakera’s help but she does not. It is always so easy to reach those handles when one can fly. Yuzuki is used to walking, too; she has become accustomed to jumping and reaching objects. Yuzuki had her fingers on the edge of the bowl, but its weird shape confused her when she tries to find a spot to hold on to it. Kakera rushes down the stairs as she hears the noise.

“Are you ok, Yu...zu…”

Kakera could not finish her sentence. Her words and emotions are broken just as how the pieces of her favorite bowl are. She slowly collects the pieces. Yuzuki tries to reach and help her but a cold slap hits her hand. Yuzuki sits there in the corner and waits for Kakera to finish cleaning up and leaves.

She still sits there in silence to the point when the ringing in her ear is as loud as a passing train and her vision starts to blur from the edges. She finally falls asleep in the kitchen; the meal waits to never be served. Yuzuki’s wings get darker as the night passes.

Kakera does not eat breakfast that morning. She comes to class early and tries to calm herself down so her mood will not ruin everything. She sits there and thinks about what happened, she knows too well how difficult it is for Yuzuki to do anything now. Yet, she is angry. She is angry not understanding why her twin still can not get over their dead parents; she is angry at herself for being unreasonable with Yuzuki. The thoughts slowly sweep her mind until the second person appears in the room. Then comes the third and fourth. Kakera’s friendliness makes her friends with almost everyone.

They greet each other and start talking about everything in the world, from the TV show to the homework to the miracle of the wings. For a while, Kakera forgets about the unsettling feeling. Yuzuki finally appears at the last minute. Kakera does not look but she sees in the corner of her eyes, Yuzuki is wearing their father’s coat to cover up her wings. Yuzuki makes her way through the classmates and stops in front of Kakera.

“I am sorry for breaking it…”

For the first time in a while, Kakera feels like her father is in front of her. She has tasted a tiny bit of Yuzuki’s sorrow and its bitterness freezes her to the brain. She thought she understood what her twin had been through. She clearly did not.

“I will buy us cakes today, it’s our birthday tomorrow.” Yuzuki continues while sitting down.

“I’ll go with you!” Kakera still has her eyes stuck on the coat.

Kakera feels like she is looking now, both at her father and at the mirror. She has tried to bury everything inside and it results in herself, a hopeful and optimistic girl. Yet those feelings seem to channel through and end up in Yuzuki. Only then the both girls realize they share more than just their faces. ***

They walk down the street in the blows of wind and rain rethinking their decision of going to the store. They rush into the building soaking wet, start looking for the sweet that might be a mood booster for a rainy day. The woman greets her customers with the spreading orange wings. Her wings fold and the smile on her face shuts as fast as a fire in the rain once she has her eyes on Yuzuki.

“What do you kids want?” - She asks with a not so pleasant voice.

“Your cakes, what else do we buy at a cake shop? A TV remote?”

Kakera stepped in the front to confront the woman and her attitude after seeing Yuzuki’s hesitation.

Yuzuki smiles slightly but her eyes glow as if she found the only fire source in the snow storm. They hold hands and walk around the store to find the best ones. They struggle to find the perfect one since they both have different opinions.

“This one is too big…

“And this one is too tiny.”

“I like this one but it looks like it’s gonna taste like trash.”

“This one? Meh…”

They come across a cake that is shaped like a trunk from Alice in Wonderland. The old roots tried it’s best to stick to the ground. It was made with such care that even the leaves look like they are being blown away. The wind approaches with raging speed bringing with it a massive blow force. Yuzuki can’t hold back her amazement looking at the trunk that is half lifted revealing the rabbit hole. The tree can not hold any longer and finally decides to free itself from the ground. The two girls open the container to admire the masterpiece better.

As Yuzuki locks her sight on the cake, a terrific sound hits her ear. Behind, one of the trees cut through the freezing air, with its roots blown up by the wind, slowly falling onto the building next door. The heavily damaged roof starts to slip through the pillars and drops its crumbs onto the running family. Yuzuki barely sees the glimpse of green light under the dust. The whole scene of her parents’ accident shot through her head as she sprinted out of the door and dove into the crumbling house. When Yuzuki realizes, her cape is shining its own light; a soft light breaks through the darkness of the downfall to emit the hesitant yet powerful purple.Yuzuki, with her back against the trunk, is holding it from falling down to the person. The woman on the ground is unconscious and Yuzuki’s last star is fading away. Shouts come through the streets calling for help. They would call and cry but clearly, none of them is interested in lending a hand; at least not in time. *** The memories start to rewind to the old house. Three people: one blue, one purple, and one little white are cooking together, reading together. Then there’s only one left, with the purple so dark that it turns to black.

She just stands there, sometimes eating cereal, sometimes not, sometimes walking out of the house, sometimes flying out. The picture of the family of three is hung on the wall and covered by dust since no one comes back to take care of it. The girl was found dead, under the trunk of the giant tree embracing the dead woman. The girl’s wing was purple and her name was reported: Yuzuki Kakera.

After her parents died, Yuzuki Kakera had continued her miserable life after she lost everything. She was lonely, and to cope with it, she would decide to swallow all of her feelings some days and to let them come out on the others. As time passed, Yuzuki Kakera started to separate from herself. They refused to be the two halves of the girl. The girl herself is only brought back to reality once she finally unified her feelings at the moment she tried to save someone else. She felt the feeling from Yuzuki of how ignorant society had become; she also felt the urge to save another person just how Kakera always thought of her parents. She died, but she felt more alive than ever when she finally realized that her black does not mean downfall; but rather, it refers to the light and

-Emilia Williams ‘25

inescapable feelings.

E-Flat -Anonymous You feign ownership of the forest – The last place you were allowed to infiltrate. In the forest, You inhale arboreal breath.

If we listen carefully, There is a faint breath buried between the notes.

You suddenly stop playing and place the violin down. For the weight of loss is

Every time a forest loses a cell,

Heavier than money.

Every breath of a creature ceases.

For Nature is an orchestra –

You make a violin out of mature pine; and

And we are but the Strings.

Sheet music out of hemlock While never recognizing you are killing your own kind.

Unheard – The sound of a creature’s fading breath

-Sophie Tommola ‘23

By a malevolent minstrel strumming the violin.

Bully Brook Cascade

Early morning drives on The twisting Vermont backroads,

-Sophie Tommola ‘23

Dawn’s blanket untucking itself From the valley’s bed, letting in the sun.

The soaring foliage thickens as we near, Bully Brook Cascade whispering to us Through the leaves like a mystery of nature That only we can know.

Trekking the uneven earth with haphazard steps, Stumbling like newborn doe on unstable legs, Finding our way up the winding path.

Astounded by the beauty our forests can hold, Foraging for fungi, collecting crystals, Taking in the scenery surrounding us.

Imagining as if we have been plucked out From a fairytale and placed onto this trail.

Twin falls welcome us like old friends, Inviting us into their pools with roars that Soak us in serenity and fill us with serendipity.

Floating in the basin that supports our Tired bodies, taking away our aches from the hike, We stare forward at the canopy of flora Protecting us from the harsh glare of the sun, Casting marbled shadows onto our alluring home.

The sun reaches its throne at the top of the sky, Guiding us back into the towering trees down the turning Mountain path riddled with rocks and roots.

Wandering far from the marked way we came, Footprints are retraced and laughter mixing with Birdsong is heard throughout the lofty boughs above.

Finding our tracks gives us more time to admire This world hiding beneath our noses.

The winding roads make our fairytale world slip from our Fingers as we return to the everyday flow of Route 7.

Yearning for the parallel world we had just vacated Leaves us with pits in our stomachs that reach out to our Hearts and squeeze as watch the city grow nearer.

One more stop before the adventure ends at the Cold River Food truck to try and soothe the unease within us, Wishing we could escape to the Vermont woodlands evermore.

Love of Los Angeles -Aretta Xin ‘23 Los Angeles, you inspire me to write.

How I love the way people talk ‘bout their dream-like it's already done, Invading my mind day and through the night, Always dreaming about the In-n-out burger bun.

Let me compare you to a gallery?

You are more vivid, ardor, and diversify.

Coyote bites the debris of February, And wintertime was like a mortal butterfly.

How do I love you? Let me count the ways.

I love your splendid fashion, sunshine, and beach.

Thinking of your smart summer fills my days.

My love for you cannot be done with a single speech.

Now I must away with an attached heart, Remember my sound and words while we're apart.

Glimmering Crystal Eyes

But the doctors seemed to only fix

-Takeo Kawasaki ‘23

closest help I could give, plucking

My first touch, a real physical touch, was water. As the shocking array of beaming lights exposed my newly translucent body, the cold air separated me from the sanctum warmth, and I arrived.

their heads right to left as my mother held her eyes. With my voice still lost, I tried to find the weeds in the garden, or shoveling snow off the stairs. But whenever I reach for a rake or a shovel, my mother’s nerves would frazzle.

Over time, I was told that it would be better off watching the world run by. My parents would pat me on the head, tuck me to bed, grace me with smiles and say that

I could hear the muffled sounds of those around. Although I could not piece the puzzle of sounds together, I could see those who towered before me. The blank faces, with full black figures, gazing down toward the clump of energy struggling for life.

they loved me. But when together, congregated under the single light above the table, voices were tucked and eyes wandered only in the boundaries of the circular plates. And every day, the red wrinkles on my father’s head would continue to stretch, and the

There in the ramble of sounds, two large hands engulfed my body, and carried me out of the lukewarm water. The first face I had seen, the first voice I had heard. That was my mother, my mother who did not know me, yet saw everything of my future. With the glimmering crystals set in her face, she asked “Hello there young one, who are you?”

My family and I lived in a large metal box, and while my father replaced himself with letters and presents, my mother and I would work on the house. But one day, as I stared at an envelope with my name written in his familiar scrawl, I opened my mouth in a question but no sound followed. My mother said that the doctors would fix it.

Seeming as if it was a chore, a nuisance, he would grab my shoulder and drop one tear all the way home. I found myself in the way of those around me. I thought it would make it better, maybe I could free those that were chained to my weight if I left. So I would pack my bags and break the chain, but every time I attempted, my father would be at the end of the road. Every time he would embrace me in his arms and chain himself back up, he would never let me go, the contract with his signature binding him with no escape.

tired blue eyes of my mother would sink deeper into her skull.

I could not foresee that one family would become a family of ones.

All searching for something they could not have. The only knot left to tether this fluttering flock together was their product of the past.

But soon after the days of exhaustion, my mother’s eyes had worsened, until she closed them and never opened again. Since then, we began to leave daisies at the stone where mother laid under, and my father took up the task called me. For years we would drive the same road, lay the same daisies, and drive home. He would take my hand, and would drive with a quiet that surpasses even space.

For the longest time I believed that we were distant, that we were sad people, but nothing in my family was wrong, no one fought, no one left, no one was alone. I was, as they say, loved. Only when time passed, my perspective shifted, I noticed my past was trapped, a trap set by myself and triggered in turn by myself. Over time I began to wonder if I was truly the reason for mundaneness. Was I the regret, was I infusing a distorted message in fathers tear drop?

Maybe I was simply a product of timing gone wrong. How could I know, I never knew who they were, before I had entered that water.

Nevertheless, I had forgotten all of this. The image of my mother grazing my hair, my father’s grip on the car handle, the driveway coated with tears, the days of misunderstanding, all simply stored away deep in the cabinets of memory.

Time had passed, life had been lived, with children of my own, and struggles endured.

All I could hope for was a family, together, to mold worth, to give, to grow, and to love. To face each other's smiles under the light above the table.

Now left with two rings on one finger, one bed, and one toothbrush. The nest I once called home was filled with fragments of memories played on repeat in every corner.

Fingers brushing against the old coats of paint, reliving the years that built this sanctum of warmth tethered tightly through countless knots.

I sit, watching the world run by. Opening letters every day, from my blood spread across the land show photos filled with the same glimmering crystal eyes, a memory from a distant time, I found myself to be enough.

I see now how it was supposed to.

-Aidan Davie ‘22

So I lay in the tub, neck high, aged older than I would care to be. I recall all of the years, months, and days. Pain began to fade, with all the pages stored in the infinite athenaeum fluttering into the abyss. I could feel my mind becoming lighter, off loading all of the life that makes the I, you, us, and them. All becoming lighter, now with nothing but the simplest understanding of the beaming lights. With the long lost mind of my dearest beginning. I sat there and noticed, the last thing I touched, a real physical touch, was water. Deeper, and deeper, simply too tired to fight, too tired of the struggle, only to be released engulfed by water.

The Runaway -Kylie Donovan ‘23 I guess it all started when I

over, and my dad held out his hand

was in high school and my life

so I could hold it while I threw the

finally caught up to me. I grew up

rest of my body over the bike. I felt

in

all-American

a wobbly unfamiliar sensation tingle

family. My father was a successful

throughout my whole body, and my

the

perfect

self-made CEO of one of the

From a young age, I

feet against the pedals felt slippery

largest financial firms in the

always idolized my father.

and strange. I gave my dad a look of

whole city of Seattle. Needless to

Maybe it started the day he

readiness, even though that was not

say, growing up, I had everything

taught me to ride a bike. It was

how I felt on the inside. He smiled

pretty much handed to me on a

a crisp early April day and the

back and gave a slight push to send

silver platter. My family hosted

buds on all of the bushes

me on my way. I panicked at first; it

huge dinner parties weekly, we

around my house were just

felt like I was being thrown into a

vacationed

practically

every

weekend, and my three siblings and I attended some of the most

starting to bloom. “I am heading outside to the driveway,'' I yelled back as I

prestigious private schools in the state. I cannot even recall a single time I did a homework assignment

tank of hungry sharks, but then I relaxed after I heard my dad's voice.

Unlike the harsh criticism my father would usually give me for any sort

dashed out the enormous double glass doors with my dad

of imperfection, he looked at me and said, “Chris, I’m proud of you.”

by myself growing up. My father

running behind me, still dressed

Those four words were the best gift

hired the best tutors in my area to

in his work clothes. I pulled out

my dad ever gave me. My biggest

come and work with me, but they

my brand-new red bike my dad

role model telling me how proud he

would get frustrated by my work

had just bought me. Every

was of me was all I ever needed.

ethic and end up sweeping the

detail was perfect. My dad

assignment from my hands and

made sure to order the bike

whose jet black hair was just starting

doing all the work for me. Unlike

with the latest features,

the early stages of graying. I knew

the other kids, I never had to experience the discomfort of not

whistles, and the best training tires. I threw one leg

My father was a tall man,

this because one day when I went to grab a towel from his bathroom, I

knowing how to do a task but still

saw a hair dye box laying out on the

having to work through it. I

sink counter. I knew it was for my

always had nannies and people to

dad right away because my mom

help me. I think that was part of

had platinum blonde hair that she

the problem…

got done every other day and would

never trust any old ordinary hair dye for her blonde locks. I laughed to myself when I saw this box because it was such a thing my dad would do. He was so focused

on

appearance.

The

thought of even having one gray strand of gray hair in a full head of black hair sent shivers down his back. That summed up his way of life. He fell in love with his high school sweetheart, got an amazing job straight out of college, worked his way up the corporate ladder, had four beautiful kids, and decided to settle in one of the most elaborate homes in all of Seattle. I secretly believed he wished the same path in life for me as well.

I went to Deerfield High School, a school that had rigorous academics and a cutthroat environment. I transferred there my sophomore year after a fight broke out at my old school between my parents and the school due to a disagreement over my grades. I slacked a lot at my old school, never trying very hard, and always showing up late for classes. My parents moved me to Deerfield so I could start fresh, but in reality, it ended up doing more harm than good. I fell into a group of friends who were

Being homeless in Seattle is

slackers like me, using marijuana to help them get through the day. I picked up on this habit pretty quickly and was soon getting high before every class. I used it as a coping skill to get through the hard days at first, but then it turned into a daily habit that I could not live without. When I smoked, the pressure from my family life went away, that's what I wanted the most in life, the pressure to be perfect lifted off of my back. And smoking pot did it for me. Although, the school caught on to it, and it was not long before I got asked to leave. This marked the beginning of my downward spiral. It was also the last straw for my parents. They were not going to save me again.

They

could

not

handle

the

embarrassment. Their high-class worldviews saw college as the only path leading to success. If I did not take the same route as my father to becoming a self-made millionaire, I would be seen as a failure in their eyes. I would not live up to their high level of expectations; the bar was set too high for a kid like me.

So they kicked me out of the house and left me with no other option than to live on the streets at the young age of 17. It was scary at first, but I learned to survive.

an experience. You see lots of different kinds of people. People with nice big families, teenagers shopping with their friends, people walking around with AirPods in, and my favorite of all, people who look like they have a little money in them. Walking home from a long day of collecting money, I explained to a friend who had just recently found himself homeless, “I have been living on the streets for seven years now. I know the lay of the land, every alleyway, all of the tricks to stealing money, and how to look for the people who look like they have money.” I have developed many friendships with other people who also live on the streets that I can call my family. Together we work on the streets of Seattle to gather all of the loose coins on the ground, steal money out of people's bags, and convince people to fork over some extra cash to us by writing persuasive words and drawings on pieces of cardboard that we hold up. Money is not always guaranteed, but we can usually make around four dollars in total altogether if we work hard and all pitch in. This is the usual for me: wake up, scavenge for money and food, see my friends, think about my past, and go to bed.

Except on this one day near the train station.

I was walking by the train

some scratch cards, or even a board

station, one of the best places to

skeptical

improved

game! But no, I wanted a bike. Even

look for money when I excitedly

grade. However, they were

though I knew it was a waste of

grabbed what I thought was a

elated and so proud of their

money that could be spent on more

one-dollar bill. I then saw through

son. When I walked up to my

practical things, the fond childhood

the lens of my cracked glasses the

room to change, I saw that my

memories of riding a bike with my dad

number 50. This was twice the

dad had left me a 50 dollar bill

saying he is proud of me overrode my

amount of money that I had ever

laying on the desk in my

rational thinking to the point where I

had or even seen in cash form while living on the street. I immediately picked it up and

of

my

bedroom. I felt guilty because I knew I had cheated my way to get it. I did not have the heart to

stashed it in my pocket before anyone could see what I was doing. My whole body was

could not think of using the fifty dollars in any other way except for buying a bike. I knew exactly what store to get it from. The Metal Pedal

buy anything with the gift I had earned by cheating, but I

was a trendy bike store that had opened six months earlier. I had

riddled with excitement, but at the

thought it would make a good

walked past it one time when I was

same time, I did not know how to

bookmark

Spanish

looking for money on the streets and

react. It felt like another lifetime

textbook. Now that I was

remembered it due to the bike tire that

ago that seeing 50 dollars was

homeless, I knew that 50

hung from the door as a decoration

normal. Growing up, that amount

dollars was worth much more

piece. That night when I went to bed, I

of money would be nothing to get

than a bookmark. I felt terrible

tucked my precious money in between

excited about. I can remember one

for the person who had just lost

myself and my ratty blanket, just in

time in fourth grade when I was struggling in my Spanish class despite having the best tutor in

for

my

their money but convinced myself that it was a gift from God and I should not feel

Seattle. Minutes before the test, I pulled out the reference sheet my tutor had been studying with in

the perfect way so that if anyone tried to steal it, I would be right there to catch them in action and grab my money back. When I woke in the

guilty.

morning, I was relieved to see that my

As I was walking back

beautiful money was still where I left

order to review it. When the

to my home base, a few ripped

it. I grabbed it, crumpled it up into a

teacher told us to put everything

pieces of cardboard with a

ball that I shoved into my hole-filled

away, I tucked it in the sleeve of

ragged yellow blanket an old

pocket, and excitedly walked to go

my Brooks Brothers shirt. By

lady had given me draped

make my new purchase.

cheating on the test, I got a 100,

around the top, I thought about

which was the first time I had ever

what I might possibly buy with

Pedal, a few blocks from my home

gotten a perfect grade. When I

my newfound fortune. Maybe a

base, I was surprised to see how busy

came home, I was nervous that my mom and Dad would be

nice dinner, a fancy new watch,

When I arrived at The Metal

it was. “Must be a popular time to buy bikes,” an old woman said to me as

she held the door for me to walk into the shop. As I looked around the store, I heard a familiar sound: a deep, loud, yell that I recognized from my childhood. I could not clearly make out every word, but it was something along the lines of being unsatisfied with the quality of the new bike that he had just purchased. It had started to create a scene in the store and the worker was noticeably more upset by the minute, but the man in the Brooks Brothers suit continued to yell on. After glancing around the store a little more, I realized that 50 dollars was not going to be enough to buy a bike, so I looked around to see if there was a bike that I could grab

while

everyone

was

distracted by the yelling. As I silently browsed, I caught a glimpse of the man who had been causing the scene, but he did not notice me. My father kept going on about the broken bell on the bike, I turned around and ran as fast as I could out of the bike store into the cold, harsh Seattle streets...

-Anna Lucia Staiano ‘25

Hat and gloves.

Puffer coat over snow pants, over insulated rubber boots painted with little red flowers.

Slide down the gentle slope on my little black sled, Tramp back up to the top and slide down again.

Throw snowballs for the dog to chase.

Return to the icy back step, Snow-soaked with flushed rosy cheeks and running nose, Fleece sweater soaking up sweat.

Birthday -Isabel Brozen ‘24 A mug of hot milk and fluffy slippers To match the fluffy robe wrapped around me.

Sitting in the piny living room by the wood stove Glowing with heat and light.

In the morning I found the little angel in an orange dress with golden horn Inside the dark blue box marked ‘15,’ And today her magnet lets her soar between wooden stars Over a stable and little magnet cows.

The tree stands at the far end of the room The cold white lights gleaming like stars Between the branches and whimsical decorations.

An ornament for every year or trip away from home A story for every one.

Straw stars and glass bubbles, Wooden ships and metal towns, Clay mice, famous figures, and brightly painted sea life, Creatures of wood and resin peek between pine needles, Birds - carved, beaded, feathered, or sewn soar around the upper branches.

The fluffy abominable snowman (that I was frightened of for years) Hangs the star from the very top.

Shiny paper - gold red and blue looped with ribbon and hidden tape.

Glitter snowflake print and pastel peonies on aquamarine.

No poinsettias or holly to be seen Wrapping gifts Stacked at the end of the table, On the deep blue, heavy cloth Covered in white stitches.

Chlorine scent in my nose Sharpening the cold prick at my lungs.

The scent clinging to my softened skin and in my still wet hair Feeling the bump of the ground under my feet Each step a reminder, that out here, I can no longer glide Through a world of cerulean skies Marked in light fragments of the surface.

-Griffin Hatley ‘22

Pale buttercream cake Piled in pink frosted twists of petals A mountain of beautiful swirled roses Green curling leaves draping down like thread.

A cake I shared with my great grandmother so many years ago, Her birthday 4 days after mine, 87 years before mine.

I saw her reach her 100th year before I watched Her absence from our gatherings, Stretch long and wide and full And dull and smooth with time

Dirt ground into the lines of my palms.

Sweet horse sweat and feed, Dusty hay chaff Cold rubber ground Swept cement floor The cold creeping under doors, through windows, and up walls.

The warm soft prickle as today’s partner wipes her nose off On my tight fit pants, wrapped in chaps around the calves A smear of green hay spit is left behind My birthday gift Nothing compared to the calm, happy, tired, and centered I now feel Thanks to these gentle, curious, and contented creatures, And my favorite bossy lady who commands the respect of the barn That today reaches another anniversary of existence.

Pasta dinner and cupcakes Carrot, caramel, or chocolate Neatly frosted and quickly devoured.

Sitting round the coffee table by the roaring wood stove On the couch, chairs, and cushions on the floor.

Shrieking with laughter at each witty response.

Or the clever tactic designed to thwart the opposing colored chips on the board, It’s sprawling leaves covered in tiny bright icons and directions.

Little faces made of pixels Separated into grids of boxes Still manage to show their loving chaos Through the chaos of the year.

No need to do anything But listen and laugh.

The crunch of ice beneath my rubber boots painted with little red flowers Sharp and crackling like the December air in my lungs Wreaths on doors and glowing windows in the dark afternoons.

The mad rush to the end of the school term To enter the rush of the holiday season.

Soon to see family - We’ll sing, work Christmas puzzles, eat excellent food, And celebrate each others’ presence at the New Year.

But that’s next week.

This week (or what I can scrape away from school) belongs to me.

Shiny paper - gold purple and blue looped with ribbon and hidden tape.

Patterned cloth knotted cleverly round gifts Stacked at the end of the table, On the deep blue heavy cloth Covered in white stitches.

Lights out.

Tiny little flames dancing atop pillars of striped candy colored wax Standing on a dais of glossy chocolate, Little purple frosting roses round the edges, My name in loopy letters.

My mom’s sweet notes soaring, my dad’s notes dragging out of tune.

The little stars of fire shine through the glass of the hanging beveled bubble Sending fragmented spiders’ webs of light and shadow across the ceiling.

Swell my lungs and think a wish.

Whatever is wished will be too big or too small, and never quite fit the moment.

A wish from all the years of wishes.

Puff out the air And (for just a moment let the light flicker and flutter like billowing cloth) Blow the candles out.

The light comes back on.

Lights onto a new year.

a stranger in their eyes -Sophie Tommola ‘23 there is a stranger looking through their eyes in the place of the person you love. sitting on the brink of losing themself to the anguish within, hiding their heart from love. falling off the precipice of depression renders them hopeless; you won’t let them cascade alone. it’s ok to unleash the unruly growth of feelings that hold them at a distance from the world, trapping their soul in briars that reopen wounds that a bandage can’t heal. this thicket of struggles can be torn down; together, you can bring down the confinement of their thoughts. they're tired from fighting this never-ending battle, but you need them to be strong until they win. for you. and for them, too.

you can’t let them know how terrifying it is when they try to whisk themself away into a world unbeknownst to you. keeping up your strength in this time is just as vital to keeping theirs afloat; you are their pillar of stability, for better or worse, in sickness and in health. no matter how much it pains you to see them wishing they never have to see the light again, you know this is when they need you the most. holding a strong facade during visiting hours and staying to crumble beyond the door that feels like the gravest hardship you’ve faced yet. you do it for them. spending your days pacing the hallways of a stark hospital is never ideal, but you do it for them. anything for them. however big or small.

slowly, you can chip away at the towering walls they built in a panic to reveal their masterpiece. when they feel overwhelmed and want to re-stack the stones you both worked so hard to knock down,

you will be there to pull them closer, reminding them of the progress they have made already. healing takes time and is a linear process, you’ll wait for them however long they need. their courage to push through the hardest days will be worth it, they inspire you every day. the day that their smile comes as easily as your love for them will be a beautiful day, but that doesn’t make any other day under the sun with them any less perfect. you miss seeing them smile.

sleep can’t be their escape from reality, but you’ll be here to help them brave the harshness of life. if dreaming is the only way for them to glimpse hope right now, you’ll wish on every last star. the storm behind their eyes may be hiding the constellations, but your whispers can clear the sky. when they can’t find the light, you’ll wait with them in the darkness until the sun hits their face. letting go of whatever is keeping them in this tenebrous state will turn their pain into vigor. you’re here to support them as they re-grasp their soul and come out of this a stronger person. they are loved and always have a shoulder to fall back on when they need it, you won’t go anywhere. you promise this to them.

-Aidan Davie ‘22

-Aidan Davie ‘22