Melodrama Lit Mag 2023

VOL. 4 | Ladue Horton Watkins High School 2023

Melo dra m

aM

elo m d ra

Editorial Policy: Melodrama is a literary magazine created as an extracurricular activity by staffers of Ladue Publications and student body submissions reviewers at Ladue Horton Watkins High School.

Melodrama accepts submissions of any writing, art, photo or video throughout the school year via Google Form.

Detailed submissions guidelines are provided to the submitters throughout the submission process. Submitters are invited to include additional information regarding their submission. Submissions

and notes are reviewed by a student editorial board at monthly meetings and accepted, rejected or deferred based on quality, quantity and similarity of subject matter. Melodrama only accepts submissions from current students of Ladue Horton Watkins High School.

Melodrama reserves the right to edit student writing for grammar errors that are not intentional, stylistic choices, and reserves the right to design the magazine using elements from visual pieces that do not misrepresent art or prevent the unaltered work itself from being featured

Mission Statement: Melodrama is a literary magazine with the intention of showcasing the art, writing, photography and videography of the Ladue Horton Watkins High School student body. Our purpose is to be an outlet for student expression and accurately reflect the diversity and creativity of our school community.

melodrama vol. 4

Ladue Horton Watkins High School 1201 S. Warson Road, St. Louis, Mo 63124 April 2023 | Volume 4 laduepublications.com Phone and Fax: (314) 993-6447 ext. 5844 Email: publications01@ladueschools.net School Population: 1,488 total. 172 faculty. 1316 students.

prominently. Melodrama requests permission from creators before making any image alterations and grammar edits.

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april 2O23

photo

Bioluminescence

EVAN CODY

O2

Dear Reader, destruction. Each day is a canvas of limitless opportunities, capable of being colored with new memories and experiences. And just as we share these days, we can share these opportunities through art, photo and video.

When the moon gives way to the sun, our world begins to stir, readying itself for a new day. The bright morning sun parts through the clouds like a promise to bring forth the endless possibilities the day has to offer. But as we live in a perpetual cycle, the day must eventually come to a close. The sun rises in the east and it sets in the west, where we find moments of tranquility and peace. The day inevitably retreats back into the stillness of night, offering a chance for reflection before the sun rises once again, Through the magazine, we can see one cycle, one day, out of the thousands we will have in our lifetime.

We chose to begin the magazine with a piece that embodies the essence of nighttime: Bioluminescence by Evan Cody. The piece not only displays the signature darkness of the night but demonstrates light, the hope within the unknown.

To close out this letter, we have several thank yous. First, thank you to our staff — submission reviewers, editors and designers — for sharing this passion for Melodrama with us. It was a joy to watch the magazine take shape with you throughout the year.

Secondly, thank you to our adviser Mrs. Kirksey for her guidance, patience and time.

Despite being on maternity leave for a chunk of the second semester, she was always there to answer any questions (and trust us, we had many questions). Of course, none of this would’ve been possible without our submitters. We loved reviewing every single piece submitted; we’re so incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such talented and creative students. Last but definitely not least, thank you for reading, and we hope you enjoy the fourth volume of Melodrama.

Sincerely, Olivia Hu

editor in chief

Mimi Zhou

junior editor in chief

Annie Zhao

junior editor in chief

melodrama vol. 4

Welcome to the fourth volume of Ladue’s literary magazine, Melodrama! After Ladue alums Cassie Beisheim (‘20) and Anna Liner (‘20) founded Melodrama, the magazine deviated from being an arts-and-culture magazine with both typical newsmagazine articles and student submissions to an official literary magazine. Through the tremendous efforts of Rhea Patney (‘22) and Oviya Srihari (‘22), Melodrama was transformed into an anthology of student art, writing, music and video. And although this is the first year without them, our goal has remained consistent: to provide an outlet for the creative work of our student body.

This year, we decided to take a different approach to the magazine’s theme. Nychthemeron is a full period of 24 hours, both night and day encapsulated within one word.

After every nychthemeron ends, another begins. From this cycle, we created four sections: night, sunrise, day and sunset. Every 24 hours, we are given the opportunity to start a new day. As the sun rises and sets, we witness a never-ending cycle of creation and

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Table of contents 02

Bioluminescence

Evan Cody photo

Night

april 2O23

07 08 10 11 12 13

O4

65 66 67 68 70 72 73 74 75 76

Almost

Emma Gan photo

a modern mythos

Celina Zhou writing

The Inferno portraits Silhouette Portrait Hit a Nerve

After Sunlit Days burdened

Evan Cody photo Maya Brianzi photo Anonymous mixed media Aalaa Mahmoud mixed media Austin Birk photo Benjamin Wood digital

Deconstructed

Tai Moore photo

Black and White

Maya Brianzi photo

Time Won’t Stop for Us

Emma Margraf writing

The Moon

Linnaea Ellis writing

Black and White (cont.)

Maya Brianzi photo

untitled surreal photo luminescence Ordinary Animal

Evan Cody photo Daphne Golden writing Sophia Xu charcoal

Sunrise 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 28 29

Bleeding Color Patch of Happiness portraits (cont.)

Overbearing Freedom Self Portrait

Phoebe Chen watercolor Sarana Xu photo Maya Brianzi photo Tai Moore acrylic Raquel Fellman acrylic

Pink Horror

Levi Miller writing

Autumn

Mehreen Ali mixed media

The Inverse

Aalaa Mahmoud ink

a love like you

Sylvia Hanes writing

What Makes a Face

Sydney Proper acrylic

don’t say gay

Eleanor Bender writing

64 @ Spoede

Vincent Hsiao photo

The Heart of a Brownstone

Kelly Zhang 3-D art

Day nature The Glass Box Good Boy

Maya Brianzi photo Sami Strayhorn writing Sophia Xu charcoal

Colored Pencil Drawing

Tori Thomas colored pencil

Low Break Cross

Vincent Hsiao photo

on top of the world

Sylvia Hanes writing

Iris The Gift Experience of Life God Speaks Through Music

Bea Talbott photo Gray Baker acrylic Fiona Van Allen mixed media Linnaea Ellis writing

Carnival & Hurricane

Ovya Diwakaran music

Meadow & Full Color

Bea Talbott photo

Why?

Kassia Fundoukos video

Not a Cloud in the Sky

Rachel Tang digital

strength

Sylvia Hanes writing

San Francisco’s Market

Maya Brianzi photo

51 52 54 55

Spring Sunsets

Vincent Hsiao photo

Nimbus

Logan Tussey writing

when the going gets tough, the tough get going

Stephen Song marker

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

Silent Falls

Phoebe Chen charcoal

Your Sky and My Shore

Anonymous writing

A Relationship

Gray Baker acrylic

crimson

Celina Zhou writing

Self Portrait

Ashley Gray marker

The Port City

Evan Cody photo

The New York Subway

Mate Daus video

the weather like feelings

Maddy Ta writing

Promise of Future

Fiona Van Allen mixed media

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31 32 34 35 36 37 38 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Sunset

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Night

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Almost EMMA GAN

photo

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i. mapping knossos

a modern mythos

april 2O23

CELINA ZHOU

O8

poetry

tell me how we go on in the dark listless, stringless, dancing with an echo the world a tapestry, unraveled and tangling at our feet. sing me a hymn for daylight tell me stories of snow on the sea white glitter reflections, a mirror of sun these tears of the gods, buried and remade lie to me, unremorseful: promise me we’ll see it again someday.

iii. prayer for titania

love, call yourself greed and be proud of it / take a peach and devour it / let your lips stain with nectar / let your teeth scrape against the pit / the ragged grind echoing through your throat // oh fallen god, remember divinity / a cloud of ivory dreams; a river of jade in your veins // remember the stars / white light on ink, bleeding open the sky // remember you are not a demon / you are a god / remember there is no difference but the shape of the word on your tongue // remember betrayal and lovesickness are one and the same // breathe open song and storm / your throat scraped bitter, raw and rosy // your love is fragile and worn / a gilded thing left brittle and moon white / don’t you think it’s time to let it break?

there is nothing golden left in me, plucked and swallowed by hungry gods I am gilded; ruination scraped bare. let me weep at your feet, my body a tithe – take me, love me, break me, hollow me out into devotion and an ache for a scrap of your light and pride. drown me in larkspur, ribbons of silk and vine, and plastic thorns to crown me devour my name, the syllables sweet until it, and I, are yours, too.

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ii. archer moon

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1O

EVAN CODY

photo

The Inferno

portraits MAYA BRIANZI

photo

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Sihouette Portrait ANONYMOUS

mixed media

AALAA MAHMOUD

mixed media

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Hit a Nerve

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Bleeding Color

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watercolor

S E

april 2O23

SUNRI

PHOEBE CHEN

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Patch of Happiness SARANA XU

photo

NOTE FROM THE CREATOR:

photo MAYA BRIANZI

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portraits

People are one of my favorite subjects to photograph, espeically when they do not know that you are taking pictures. I love when you can take a picture of the true essence of a person, without the usual mask that you use when you know that someone is taking a picture of you.

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Overbearing Freedom

april 2O23

TAI MOORE

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acrylic

RAQUEL FELLMAN

acrylic

Self Portrait

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Pink Horror LEVI MILLER

poetry

april 2O23

They’re not big enough. It’s too small.

The auburn light speaks frankly to small inadequacies.

Yet passions blaze fiercer than midnight comments Straighter standing, smarter smiles, sterner stuff.

Socks and spats and thievery flies flags I can’t focus But in the morning it’s black or blue and back to business.

2O

NOTE FROM THE CREATOR: I made this piece to summarize my tumultuous feelings on gender and my experience with crossdressing, as well as the emotional strife I went through while questioning my own identity. I learned that it’s always good to try new things and expand upon yourself, but you should never feel pressured to do so.

mixed media

Autumn

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MEHREEN ALI

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22 AALAA MAHMOUD ink

The Inverse

april 2O23

a love like you SYLVIA HANES

poetry

i want a love like a butterfly kiss one that feels like the soft brush of a cheek the gentle caress of fingertips a ripple on a lake i want a love like a bubbling fountain spilling out in laughter and beaming smiles playful and safe, a place for healing

i want a love like a blazing fire passion as intense as a burning flame fearless and strong as the lingering smell of smoke i want a love like a roaring river daring and brave enough to withstand even the rockiest shores free and wild in all of its glory

i want a love like you sweet and joyful and powerful and deep to heal me and hear me and help me and haunt me my gorgeous ghost the lovely light of my life

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april 2O23

SYDNEY PROPER

acrylic

What Makes a Face

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don't say'gay ELLA BENDER

poetry

just because you don’t dare utter my name, doesn’t mean i disappear. you know i notice that whenever i get near, conversations get quiet and eyes glaze with fear. what do you think i’ll do? are you afraid i’ll poison the minds of your kids? or maybe i’ll stain your soul with sins?

you kick me out of your quaint club, rubbing it in that i have no home inside your hollow hearts. judging me for the “decisions” i make, you glue my mouth with a single glare. but I’ve had enough, I won’t stay quiet anymore. you can make it taboo for me to even open my mouth, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop fighting.

no, I’ll only fight harder, stronger, louder.

I’ll rally the troops, dressed in flags, our uniforms, we’ll take back our name, decorate it with gold, and wear it with pride. so by all means, don’t say gay if that’s what you please.

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it’s insane that you give so much power to the people you hate.

you tarnish my name, twisting my letters into a snarl, a slur.

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AVES

CELINA ZHOU

poetry

april 2O23

i. LARK HUNT

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daybreak – the kingfisher sings me sisterhood kindly as he can bear; equinox carols break on the shore. there’s a voice in my head that says surrender your human heart and make a widow of our god — it falls silent when I weep, balks at the sight of salt in the water. I am winged and hollowed, I tell it, my rage a wretch

on my tongue. the sun is not the sun but a star; laugh with me at the horror of it all, hand in pitiless hand. ii. DEAD DOVE the sky lies open and bleeding on a demon’s tongue: we break and we mend and we break by whim. there are no mothers left who can tell me what to do with all of this fury, how to storm a castle and burn it to the ground. the monsters

are in your head and in the clouds, disarmed and eating worlds. come now, hero, dragon-tamer, queenkiller aren’t we all hopeless romantics? don’t these violent delights have violent ends? listen, listen – you broke me first, so stitch me back together before I break you too. iii. GLASS KITE

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some nights I dream of crimson and gold, dusky pearls scattered

on the horizon, stained windows blotting out the sunlight – some nights I wonder how long it would take me to tear it all apart how far we could go, playing pretend, dancing under a howling sky. waltz with me, fall with me, white out the pain so I can’t remember to mourn all the things we left behind; in my sleep I unwind the moons and devour a distant dawn, the god of an ailing world.

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64 @ Spoede

april 2O23

VINCENT HSIAO

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photo

KELLY ZHANG

3-D art

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The Heart of a Brownstone

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april 2O23

Day

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nature MAYA BRIANZI

photo

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april 2O23

I wake up to the harsh fluorescent lights flipping on, scorching my eyes.

Rubbing them back into function, I groan and roll onto my stomach. Mind still foggy, I dramatically shove my pillow on top of my head. Trying to get one more blink of sleep, I press my eyes shut to the point of a migraine.

In a suspiciously timed fashion, I hear the knocks of, most likely, grimey little children on the glass windows surrounding me. The constant banging creates a tune in my head, slowly drowning me in my own agony. I begrudgingly roll over and throw the flat pillow on the floor. The cheaply made bed squeaks with any movement made.

A slam on the window makes me shoot up in bed. I frantically look around trying to see where that noise

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came from. I see a uniformed man glaring at me from the glass. He shakes his head in a disappointed manner and yells out of his stupid megaphone, “Wake up time was thirty minutes ago. I know you are newer around here, but you dirty little inmates need to abide by my rules. You know the consequences.”

Putting my head down, I slowly nod in agreement. The crowd surrounding the glass had slowly multiplied, getting drawn in by my shame. Some chuckle while others allow an ounce of sympathy to flicker across their face.

But then it all returns to normalcy.

Kids with their curious eyes peering into my life. Watching my every move.

I pace around the room slowly. One foot in front of the other, staring at the

floor. The couple dozen eyes on me burn holes in my skin.

One, two, three, four. Wall.

One, two, three, four. Wall.

Four steps. My entire life is secluded in a four step by four step box. Its full glass walls offer me no privacy.

The outhouse-like bathroom is all I have. My safe space. The one place I can go and truly not be seen. I can still hear the chattering and laughing from the outside. The modern slang that I will never care to understand. The outlandish clothing the Futures wear.

As a Former, wearing the intricate, flashy clothing they give me makes me uncomfortable. How I would love to wake up and change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. But I’m forced to put on a show. My whole life is a show.

The Glass Box SAMI STRAYHORN

fiction

I got sentenced on October 12.

And since then, my days have been identical. Get awoken by brutally bright lights and terribly loud tourists.

Spending my day pacing the room.

Staring out into the crowd of strangers that are captivated by my existence.

Getting fed food that should be illegal to give to a human. Then tossing and turning in bed for hours, waiting for the darkness.

Accepting how I got here was the hardest thing I have had to do. Laying in bed staring at my ceiling. The stark white in contrast with the black rimmed lights. Accepting responsibility. Accepting myself.

My trail of thoughts was rudely interrupted. A knock at the only door in my cold glass box snaps me back to

reality. I yell “Yeah?!” questioning why anyone would think it’s ok to interfere.

“Breakfast is here!” A cheery young voice yells.

“You can come in,” I say as though I even have a choice.

Skin as smooth as an untouched body of water. Hair silky and the perfect shade of blonde. Carrying a tray displaying my delicious meal of unflavored oats and a single orange. Unsliced. But right now I am not focused on this terribly bland food. My eyes are fixated on the beautiful woman in front of me. Her eyes shimmer in the natural light that peaks through the door. Her perfectly structured face offers me a pitied, fake smile. Sighing, I thank her quietly and close the door behind her.

melodrama vol. 4

read the full piece here...

As I am closing the door, I feel the fresh air from outside and can’t help but take a deep inhale. This air chokes me. The extremely polluted air is nothing like the crisp air from my present.

The past. The futures have destroyed our already suffering environment. Artificial trees are planted in an attempt to raise oxygen levels.

I almost pity the Future’s. Children growing up with nature only being a thing in textbooks. Them researching the 2010’s, learning about real plants and how we have things like beaches.

Not the tacky, fake beaches I learned they now manufacture. The joy of standing in the sand, feeling the real ocean water cooling off your legs. I almost pity them. Almost.

It’s hard to pity your enemies...

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april 2O23

SOPHIA XU charcoal

Good Boy

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colored pencil

melodrama vol. 4

Colored Pencil Drawing TORI THOMAS

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36 VINCENT HSIAO photo

Low Break Cross

april 2O23

on top of the world SYLVIA HANES

poetry

i am flying floating free i am soaring not a care in the world where i’ll land

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april 2O23

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Iris

BEA TALBOTT

photo

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april 2O23

GRAY BAKER

acrylic

The Gift

40

mixed media

Experience of Life FIONA VAN ALLEN

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God Speaks Through Music

LINNAEA ELLIS

poetry

Music is the means for our souls to speak It ebbs and flows with the waves Dances among the stars, And tells beyond the imperfections of language During the day it slips through ears, At night it gently caresses the mind To tell a story that words cannot It’s mission our very souls to unite

april 2O23

The world of song is vast and endless Music expresses every disposition ever experienced And may we, through God’s greatest gift, Learn of our divine and eternal natures

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Carnival & Hurricane OVYA DIWAKARAN

sheet music

listen to the first movement of “Carnival” here....

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april 2O23

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BEA TALBOTT

photo

Full Color

Meadow BEA TALBOTT

photo

watch the video here...

Why?

short film

melodrama vol. 4

KASSIA FUNDOUKOS

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april 2O23

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not a cloud in the sky

RACHEL TANG

digital

strength SYLVIA HANES

poetry

there is beauty in strength and grace in power there is something perfectly soft in something so incredibly stoic there is safety in strength comfort and security protected by the assurance that nothing could ever break it

melodrama vol. 4

there is beauty in her smile and safety in her arms she is so strong and soft and safe

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San Francisco's Market

april 2O23

MAYA BRIANZI

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photo

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april 2O23

5O

t e s n u S

NOTE FROM THE CREATOR: This is yet another shot I took of Interstate 64, taken in April 2021 in the Chesterfield Valley. I was still in the early stages of learning photography; it was my four th month using a mirrorless camera. Getting a intense sunset shot like this has always been exciting.

Spring Sunsets VINCENT HSIAO

photo

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april 2O23

I could feel each step crunching against the bone dry ground. What used to be dirt turned dry and brittle after eons under the sun, caked with sand and dust. I could see the heat rising off the ground, hovering above the surface, embracing my group and me. I looked forward, and saw only desert, I looked back and the results did not change, days of traveling in this hell of a place.

The last week was filled only with walking and struggling to continue in this sandy place, interrupted only by an abandoned shack or the soft embrace of night.

I could sense my legs growing tired, my muscles struggling to push me farther. The most recent hill taking what little energy and

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patience I had remaining. The top of the hill opened into a large clearing, the trees forming an almost perfect circle around a field of grass and the odd flower. I turned to Barney, keeping my voice a whisper.

“Do you think we’re stopping anytime soon?” I said, out of breath from even attempting to speak. “ I don’t think I can keep walking like this, it’s been like this the whole day.”

Barney turned to look at me. It was clear to me that he was in a similar situation, his face red, his lips dry, and his eyes struggling to focus on a clear point. He was sweating, losing water I wasn’t sure we would be able to replace anytime soon. But my worries were

useless, as I noticed Barney stretching his hand upwards, and I turned to match his pointing.

No matter how out of place it seemed, I found myself facing a creek outlining the clearing, providing a border, a place of reference, and most importantly, water.

Almost unconsciously I began a rush towards the creek, and from the side of my eyeline I could see Barney follow my lead. Before any major ground could have been gained, an arm came down before Barney and myself, blocking our way to the creek, to water. I glanced up, growing increasingly annoyed at these series of events. Before I could even think of what I would say, Barney beat me to it.

Nimbus

LOGAN TUSSEY

½GXMSR

read the full piece here...

lection of junk and material stored inside. After an awkward moment of watching he triumphantly shot his hand out of the pocket, clutching an even older pocket watch. Not yet ready to speak, the man flicked up the watch, read its display, and seemed to spend time thinking about what he read. After another moment he decided to speak.

He walked into the clearing, momentarily pausing to take in some aspect of the environment I did not understand. He kept his head on a semi-constant swivel, registering everything that happened within his gaze. He cleared his throat and turned back to face us.

“Now why would I be cautious?”

He asked, shooting a curious face

to Barney, and then back to me and so forth. I looked to my left, giving Barney a confused look, which he shared. I peered back at the man in the clearing.

“Because it’s a new place?” I guessed.

“Yes it is a new place, very good.

But that is not the reason I am so cautious.” He replied. “The answers dumber than that, it’s right there, you’re just too tired to grasp it.”

Feeling drowsy and dehydrated to lash back, I kept thinking about his question. After what seemed too long, I faced the man and softly said.

“Because this place shouldn’t be here.” I said, growing more confident at my answer as I read the...

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“What’s the deal?” He spat out, obviously just as frustrated as I was.

“We’ve been following your lead for the last week, we haven’t stopped walking at all today, and yet at the first sign of water you won’t let us go?”

The tall man lowered his hood, revealing short kept white hair, and his face turned brown with decades of sun and complemented by numerous scars of varying sizes. The man reached into the once purple cloak he wore, years of dirt and mud changing the colors to a more earthly shade.

I watched as he reached a bony hand into one of the numerous pockets, and watched as he took a long moment fiddling with the col-

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april 2O23

marker

Self Portrait ASHLEY GRAY

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STEPHEN SONG

marker

When the going ge tough, the tough gets going

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april 2O23

Your Sky and My Shore ANONYMOUS

Silent Falls PHEOBE CHEN

charcoal

poetry

On one morning full of rain, someone ran along my beach.

You, a storm of white and thunder, grabbed me by the neck.

Yelled to me— beautiful words, that which I had never heard.

On some clear, dampening day, you held my hand with violence and spoke lightly without opening your mouth.

I could do nothing but look upon you; old eyes and older songs.

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On this evening full of sun, the wind whispers of my lonesome.

There are no clouds to bless your spotless sky and I sit alone in the sand, right where you left me.

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acrylic

A Relationship

GRAY BAKER

april 2O23

NOTE FROM THE CREATOR:

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This was a part of a series depicting the ways we experience different forms of connection. This painting was the one I’ve cherished the most out of the three, and it’s a visualization of a combination of relationships I’ve been apart of and witnessed.

crimson CELINA ZHOU

poetry

hey, babe, don’t you know we’re all gonna die? we live under red suns and a sky on fire dusting the earth in ash and hate.

I watch you paint gold and glass to flood out the flame; a lily and the storm, unrelenting. taste blood on your lip

and ash on your brow and sing for me, won’t you? won’t you sing for me? remember how you promised we’d find ways to be happy again well there’s a world out there where starlight can still reach us – there’s a world out there

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The New York Subway MATE DAUS

animation

NOTE FROM THE CREATOR: Last summer I did a program at the [School of Visual Arts] in New York. It was a really cool experience and in my spare time I worked on an animation from what I observed. I used the subway a lot and couldn’t help but notice the patterns and movement found in the people, the stations, and the subway cars. A lot of the animation is based on actual events that I saw and really isn’t that much exaggerated. It was really fun to make and I hope you have just as much fun watching it!

april 2O23

watch the animation here....

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EVAN CODY

photo

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The Port City

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Promise of Future

april 2023

FIONA VAN ALLEN

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mixed media

the weather like feelings MADDY TA

poetry

own clouds People get hurt and pretend they’re fine because we are told the sun always looks better shining That is what our society wants The perfect weather Parents to child taught only sunshine can show through Then rains start All because that one person couldn’t share their sunshine but a storm Rain, is unpredictable, Rain will always be there hiding in the dark clouds even if the sunshines Rain can come from anywhere But rain feels cool Rain helps the flowers grow Rain is the earths way to grow the Earth

The tears that run heal our wilting flowers But it won’t always last, rain will always be temporary But we need the rain and sun We need those feelings, The weather is like feelings.

NOTE FROM THE CREATOR: I made this because I have had a lot of people asking me how I always have a smile on when I come to school and my friends always ask how I stay so peppy. In reality a person can seem happy and cheery but they can be going through something you truly never know!

This piece is just about the normal feelings someone can go through happiness and sadness and there is nothing wrong with feeling however you feel.

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Something I have found is that Peoples emotions are like the weather Changes every day and how they are treated The weather because of climate change and that’s what we’ve done Our parents try to shape us into the mold Starts as we are kids we weren’t supposed to notice The sunshine we were told always had to be shining on our faces and onto others Their smile is like, sun You can always tell when people start to act different The seasons are changing When their whole mood is ruined because someone said one thing Because they couldn’t just keep it in their

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april 2O23

Night

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AUSTIN BIRK

photo

After Sunlit Days

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burdened

april 2O23

BENJAMIN WOOD

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digital

deconstructed TAI MOORE

charcoal

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april 2O23

Black and White MAYA BRIANZI

photo

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Time Won't Stop for Us EMMA MARGRAF

poetry

april 2O23

It waits silently behind the mirror, A reflection of our sanctuary.

Give me a piece of the light, to hold when the day starts over, Then the darkness won’t take me so soon.

Write me a poem, fresh from your mind Make it the elegy of our journey away from the world.

Our path which was only just beginning.

7O

Time won’t stop for us.

It is a rapidly moving train Heading for a field keep secret from our counterparts

A place, a space overrun with wildflowers And when the wind brushes over them, over you, I can hear whispers of how you made me feel They sing to me, lyrics dripping with an unrecognizable sweetness Words that mean nothing, that mean everything.

Time won’t stop for us.

We are insignificant stars Measured only by our own truth.

We may try to slow the sun's revolutions, To banish the shadows from our minds, But our power is limited by our belief that we will

always get a second chance, And if the world does cease to turn, So will our system, So will our brilliance, So will our lives.

Time couldn’t stop for us.

Even if it wanted to.

Even if I wanted it to.

melodrama vol. 4

Time won’t stop for us.

It is a variable of our own creation, But like all images from our mind, They are adopted to fit the common perception Everyone is lying.

But when you taught me to listen I could finally discern ignorance from reality.

A skill I never knew was so valuable, So key to blocking out the noise.

Time won’t stop for us, But it will leave us gifts.

Memories.

To be spun into endless stories, To be poked and prodded and embodied To be held tightly to our chests, as to never be pried away by unfit hands To be cherished like masterpieces.

To be sung as magnificent ballads, Ones that haunt my dreams.

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The Moon

april 2O23

LINNAEA ELLIS

72

poetry

I love the way the moon shines Reminiscent of my engagement ring if only it shone eternally Now it sits in a box far away Tarnished with memories I pray to forget Even now it hurts, as love always does To heal I spend time with the moon every night Wishing you were here to lend me your light Sometimes there’s a new moon and I must think alone, But her company always returns just as bright And you are gone Why this pain must I endure?

As I watch the moon glow evermore You said everything would be alright You promised you would be home that night One last trip, a single flight Ended more than just your life

photo

Black and White

melodrama vol. 4

MAYA BRIANZI

73

74 EVAN CODY

photo

untitled surreal photo

april 2O23

Luminescence DAPHNE GOLDEN

poetry

With a face so bright, Yet old in its course, The sun arose with light Of radiant yet gentle force.

The glorious passion awoke All the creatures of the dawn And with vivid harmonies they shook Into musicality and song.

The pattern is repeated the day after, All paying homage to the luminous crafter.

Despite universal laws, the path never grows sore And continues spreading light forevermore..

melodrama vol. 4

The time of the glowing face soon ended And along came another Whose visage would soon encourage and extend To creatures of the night like a mother.

Soon came a symphony of noises From the stars of the ground Whose melodies were not sung from voices But from lights abound.

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Melodrama staff 2022-23 adviser

writing editors

design staff

SARAH KIRKSEY

RILEY COATES

TAREK AL HUSSEINI

ALLEN YOU

PRANAVI CHINTHA

editor in chief OLIVIA HU

april 2O23

RORY LUSTBERG

ERICA SHI

KATIE MYCKATYN

ANNIE ZHAO

photo editors

submissions staff

MIMI ZHOU

SYDNEY COLLINGER

FIONA HAYREH

JACK REEVES

AVA HILLEBRANDT

junior editors in chief

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art editor

EMILY LIU

design editors

ARTI JAIN

OLIVIA CHEN

JASMINE PERKINS

MAC HUFFMAN

EMILIE TIAN

SOPHIA XU

charcoal

melodrama vol. 4

Ordinary Animal

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