Marian Burn Literary Arts Magazine Fall 2014

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footnote 367 [ mary hilton ]

“Should I eat these sour Skittles?”

In the day’s stillest moments, my thoughts drift to you.

In a swell of self-damnation, all I can think of is how wonderful you are and your perseverance under the corrosion of illness and how your smile, as rare as it is, never fails to make my heart swell.

“I ate way too many Skittles.”

I want you to hibernate in the cocoon of my arms and distended ribs. You are always welcome here. There is always vacancy.

“I can’t feel my tongue and want to throw up.”

The trajectory of your existence is so frustratingly far from mine. I think of the vulnerable axis of coordinates where I long for us to one day cross.

“I just puked all over my goddamn bathtub.”

I find your brilliance alarming -- your mind, mesmerizing. Everything about you shimmers, even on a molecular level.

“I shouldn’t have eaten those Skittles.”

You bring my biochemistry to a boil. You are an artist.

I love you and hope you might one day find me worthy of you. ...

Anyways, I don’t believe I mentioned that I read the story you e-mailed me. I printed it and taped it to the wall near my door.

I’m still trying to decipher what my overall opinion on it is. It’s short, and I enjoy the title and how it’s formatted. Between thoughts of someone in love and quotes from the one being loved. I’d like more background on who they are. The person who is being quoted, I mean. Is he normal and sane? Is he a pot-head who hangs out at gas stations? I’m just not sure. And what is the reason the other person has for loving him? And for how long have they loved him?

[ rachel walet ]

“luminosity”

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“confections“

[ megan smith ]

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[ annkia zimmerman ]

“candy shop”

I walk down the sidewalk towards what I think is my destination I follow the directions branded in my mind But when I get there, it isn’t what I wanted So I keep going I trip on the uneven sidewalk and sprawl Turning onto my back and looking up, confused

But end up in the same place

almost there but not quite [ susana pettis ]

Do I still want this?

It feels like a cycle But one I don’t want to be stuck in I reach out almost touching it But shying away when I don’t find it I feel like giving up But I don’t Because I’m close

I decide I do and keep going

Not where I want to be

I follow And follow And follow my own directions

Almost there, but not quite.

“santa monica pier” [ jenna popp ]

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“blue luster�

[ annika zimmerman ]

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“a flower of any name�

e.

b.

c.

f.

d.

a.

c. g.

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a. [ jenna popp ] b. [ annika zimmerman ] c. [ laura shaw ] d. [ kathryn burbach ] e. [ megan keyser ] f. [ kateri determan ] g. [ evelyn benda ]

a tea party with monsters [ elsie stormberg ]

Humanity showed up too early.

Hate showed up and complained about the decorations.

Hunger ate all the food and now is raiding your refrigerator.

Loneliness goes and sits in a corner.

Embarrassment refuses to talk to anyone.

Sympathy brought dessert.

Fear is hiding out in your bathroom.

Insecurity was late because she couldn’t decide what to wear.

Beauty won’t stop looking at herself in the mirror.

Heartache is crying.

You all sit down to face all your monsters and realize Depression showed up last...

Depression was the only one that was smiling.

“incoming daze” [ emma eaton ]

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risks [ kathryn baginski ]

My mom always told me to wear tennis shoes while I ride my bike, so my toes don't get caught in the pedals.

I have this blanket on my bed from my grandma, and the first night I slept with it I cried.

It's soft and hand-knit and safe.

But sometimes I get cold.

And every night before I go to sleep, I read a book, And I end up turning pages all night.

But sometimes my favorite character dies.

Sometimes, I get paper cuts.

And I wake up tired in the morning.

[ amber bridgeford ]

“i saw you and i knew�

My mom always told me to wear tennis shoes while I ride my bike, so my toes don't get caught in the pedals.

But sometimes I ride barefoot.

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[ kelsey o’connell ]

“second star to the right”

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long lost friend

[ kathryn baginski ]

“All you have to do is turn this key, and the girl comes to life!

Beautiful clockwork is at work here, kids. Can’t you see the soul of the mechanic as the fingers glide along the piano keys?” Dear Mr. Clark absolutely loved to show off his magical clockwork dolls to Geoffrey and me. Even the simplest pocket watch got Mr. Clark excited. “Forgive me, children, for I have kept you too long. Give my best regards to both of your mothers, assuming they are not angry with me again.” He winked slyly at me, and I giggled. I grabbed Geoffrey’s hand, and we ran out of his shop, searching for our mothers.

“Just where were you?” I heard my mother scold from behind me.

Kicking the dirt with my now scuffed shoes, I let go of Geoffrey’s hand and spun around, my head hung low. “Listen to me. My daughter will not be running around the market place getting dirt all over herself with a boy from town.”

“No, Mother, we were visiting dear Mr. Clark,” I corrected, noticing that Geoffrey was hanging back. Often, Geoffrey was the victim of my mother’s temper, so I did not understand why he stayed there. Perhaps he had a terrible memory.

“Quickly, Annie, come over here!” Geoffrey urged. “Run!” Slipping from my mother’s grasp, I ran over to Geoffrey as fast as I could, and we resumed our little adventure.

The world seemed limitless whenever Geoffrey and I ran through the town together. Using the small tokens we found as treasures or clues to a great mystery, there was never a time that our minds weren’t teeming with excitement and adventure. Valiantly we fought dragons and monsters, saving the town from ruin and evil. We played Sherlock Holmes, and watched with wonder as dear Mr. Clark brought to life his magical clockwork dolls. X marked the spot, and my mother’s disapproving glare marked the end of our playtime.

Years after our last adventure, I found myself wondering where my friend might be and if he ever reminisced about dear Mr. Clark, now deceased, and our runs through the town with our small hands interlocked. Zero days had gone by that I had not thought of Geoffrey, too many days, so I buttoned up my coat and headed toward the town, vowing to at least have one more day of freedom, one more day with my long lost friend, one more day of adventure.

“impending storm�

[ collette gillaspie ]

forbidden love [ jess olmstead ]

Isolated; like an animal in a cage Unfinished; like a book with a blank page Punished; for something I cannot change Alone; with forbidden love that is deranged Nights pass unchecked Innocent fantasies wrecked Of what it would be like on the other side To live by their rules and to abide Yet they turn away and close their eyes Cowering from me in a corner, with tear-filled cries Punished; for something I cannot change Alone; with forbidden love that is deranged What a beautiful world it is Summers with blue skies and cherry coke fizz She is a rose by any other name She is different, but the story is the same Aphrodite could not compare To those sapphire eyes that ensnare Oh, those lips, for just one taste I would trade my immortal soul with haste But Lord above, condemn me to hell Because I will never have her, and I never will Punished; for something I cannot change Alone; with forbidden love that is deranged

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It would start with her shoulders in the afternoon.

They’d hitch themselves forward like a grown man was piggybacking her.

Then her face in the evening.

Curved at the edges, it would concave like a crescent moon, leaving the brightest sliver for show.

Last her knees at night, crunching in like the folds of a fortune cookie, her bed receiving the unlucky crumbs.

The blankets would iron her out.

She was the wrinkled blouse that made your grandmother suck her teeth at the negligence because don’t you know how to take care of your own clothes?

The nocturne hours flatten her like a rolling pin.

She was the dough, the dough that muddled itself into one form only to pound itself into another not five minutes later.

The stars were islands in the oblique sea of the ink sky.

She was the sandcastle a child had made along the shore, and left to the tides that ebbed at its grains until there was nothing more than a damp mound of its former hand-made glory.

Grey dawn was enough to illuminate the stitches the dark covered.

(But the sight was a singular one, and for her eyes only.)

Though the two had been bitter adversaries once upon a time, the mirror had grown kinder in recent years.

Perhaps it had softened by way of sighs, fluttering like a feather or heaving like there were skipping-stones in her lungs, smoothing the glass.

blue is the color of a cloudless sky [ lilian watkins ]

The night always missed a spot — it muffled everything, everything but the bruises under her eyes.

But the boulders in her throat when she swallowed had thinned, that must have counted for something.

Impecetible erosion wore them down to round-cornered ores, wearing further until they were pebbles that slipped with a small click into her stomach with every warm word and living laugh.

Her tongue was the water, her throat was the riverbed, her mind was the mountain spring that fed her stream.

“sunset in seaside” [ kathryn burbach ]

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“One day,” she swore to herself, staring back into red-ringed ocean eyes, (even her mind’s voice could ripple,) “One day, you’ll flood them all out.”

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“the war eagle”

[ kelsey o’connell ]

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uneven pavement: a personal narrative [ mary hilton ] I live in a world where people find profound beauty in a sunrise. Of course, the sun rises every morning; it is by no means an uncommon occurrence. It is not beautiful because it is a rarity but because it is symbolic of something. To an average person, Saturday, February 23, 2013 was nothing more than a typical day. If they were asked about it, they probably would not be able to remember anything that occurred that day because nothing about it was significant enough to earn a spot in their memory.

On that particularly cold February morning, I forced myself out of bed, stumbled downstairs, and told my mom I was “going over to Amber’s to watch a movie.” Of course, I was not actually going to Amber’s -- I just did not want to go driving with my mom because I had extreme driving anxiety. So, I gathered some books, my mp3 player, and my purse, then went down to the spot where I usually sit when I say that I’m going to Amber’s but am actually just trying to avoid adult responsibilities (ironically, “my spot” is just a section of sidewalk down the street from her house). However, 90% of the entire sidewalk was covered in snow, so I meandered a bit more until I found a dry patch of sidewalk twenty feet away from where I usually sit. I read a bit from one of my books, but it was such a dumb f****** story that I could not take it seriously. A few cars drove by, but nobody yelled at me or threw s*** at me, which does happen sometimes! So, I thought, Yeah, this is an okay spot, until a red minivan drove by, piledriving me in thick, gray slush. It was not terribly bad, but it got in my hair, purse, book, and jacket, so I literally said aloud, “Holy f***.”

I got up and shook the wet snow out of my hair, then decided I would be better off sitting down by Emergency Pregnancy Services, which is approximately a mile away from my house. However, as soon as I had reached the corner I had to turn to get there, I changed my mind -- there were too many people shoveling their driveways on that street, and I did not want to risk making awkward eye-contact with any of them. Instead, I shuffled down to the martial arts place between Bank of the West and Wendy’s, where I sat whilst texting Amber and Charlotte. Overall, I was pretty comfortable and warm, apart from my hands, which were painfully exposed to the frigid air. I was having a genuinely nice time, but I could not stop worrying myself with thoughts like, what if mom or dad drives by for some reason and sees me? How am I going to explain this to them?

After sitting there for less than half an hour, Charlotte texted me saying she was depressed, so I told her to walk down to the martial arts place and I would meet her halfway. Ten minutes later, we met on the corner by Amber’s house and planned on taking a walk, but first I went to Amber’s to ask for a glass of water while Charlotte waited outside. Charlotte ended up letting herself into Amber’s house anyway though, and nobody knew what was going on because at the time Charlotte and Amber were pissed at each other. After uncomfortably standing in the kitchen for a while, we all agreed to go ice-skating in the creek behind Amber’s backyard. I feel like that says a lot about the type of friendship the three of us have. However, I wasn’t wearing boots, pants, or a coat; just my flimsy Vans, a long black skirt, and two jackets layered over a long-sleeved shirt. So, we trudged through the ankle-deep snow back to my house in order to get my boots and my coat.

Once I had changed into some appropriate clothes, we went back outside but decided not to go ice-skating; instead, we went to Charlotte’s house to get money, then proceeded to go to Sonic. The three of us got Sweetheart shakes and shared an order of chili cheese tots. Our server’s name was Larry, which I thought was pretty damn funny; Amber and Charlotte both thought he was cute, but I was like, he’s not as cute as the guy with the gun tattoo on his neck. Eventually, we all got pretty cold because, uh, we were sitting outside eating ice cream when it was below freezing. We loitered around at Aldi’s for a bit, but Charlotte kept spilling her damn shake all over the produce section, so I was like, “We need to get out of here right now.” We proceeded next door to Arby’s, where we sat and ate curly fries.

A little after 5:00, Charlotte’s mom picked us up and drove me home. I ate pizza, wrote fan-mail to some members of The Dead Milkmen, and played solitare, all while probably listening to some nu metal garbage. While laying in bed that night, I kept thinking of one specific moment from the day: while sitting in a booth at Arby’s, Charlotte looked at me and said, “Right now, I really feel like a teenager. Like, when I was a kid, this is how I imagined what being a teenager is like. It’s sort of as if I’m fulfilling a childhood fantasy, even though I’m not doing anything significant.”

Significant.

When she said that, I knew exactly what she meant because I was thinking the same thing. And it was in that moment, laying in bed on that blustery winter night, that I realized life is nothing more than a complex series of events which do not really mean anything but can still feel significant if you spend them with the right people.

Overall, it really was a perfect day, and I didn’t even have to go driving.

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coffee and a view [ brooke huerter ]

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small talk. [ erin carollo ] Girls push past me Stylish combat boots Finding basement stairs Tight pants, low-cut shirts And straightened hair.

Theirmascara-edeyesscan and skip The spot where I stand.

But I’m grateful for The lack of acknowledgement.

If their eyes lit up on me I would freeze Myshoulderswouldscrunch And the words they would throw In my direction Would meet brick wall.

All I would reverberate Is a hesitating smile Accompanied by unsure eyes.

My brain just isn’t taking small talk tonight.

With your reflection In the bathroom mirror.

I don’t care How many weeks You’ve gone steady With this boyfriend I’m dying to ask Where you stand With your god.

I don’t care if you dyed your hair where you got your dress or what you put for #3.

Thosequestionsstickinmy throat.

And I envy the conversationalists Whowhipthroughthemlike flash cards While I’m stalled in an intersection Trying to read Backwards

What makes you ache?

Have you ever felt insane?

AndIwillneverunderstand Do you believe in Why cursory conversation soulmates?

Slaps me in the face like a Who would you take a 20stepalgebraicequation. bullet for?

How far would you go for The truth is: an adrenaline rush?

I don’t care What song are you what you think embarrassed to know all of the latest Netflix craze. the words to?

I wanna know And do you ever worry what you think that your mom isn’t proud about trees in the fall. of you?

I find it hard To compliment you I just find that On your post It’s so much easier With 147,830 likes To talk to people When I’m wondering When they’re actually If you can hold eye contact saying something

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“collar bone”

[ fiona kennedy ]

“cubism dream”

[megansmith]

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[ megan szwanek ]

“fearless”

constantly burning [ gwendolyn johnson ] I'm standing here Watching my life burn Not literally Metaphorically It's a huge fire Raging And screaming Begging for people to see But somehow No one does They can't see The flames lick Up my happiness Every drop I seem to have Run dry So I add propane So the fire stays Alive Cause I can Finally Feel It's a bad feeling But anything Is better than Apathy

[ collette gillaspie ]

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“too busy for sunsets�

living room sob stories [ gwendolyn johnson ]

“glow”

[ ione enderez ]

I’m sitting in my living room Listening to my cousin rant about How in love she is How every second is another piece of her missing.

And the only way to put her back together is to take her To the place where she claims to belong How she is unable to watch love movies Without screaming in frustration because her other half is missing How even when she is with him, it’s still not enough because she Isn’t with him forever At least not yet Now she never said any of this but I See it in her furious texting And constant movements.

In her sharpie covered hand with some number that is too high 26 25 24 days till she sees him I can tell by her way too long Skype calls that go late into the night In her love sick eyes And her constant emotion that brinks on insanity She says that she hopes I never know the pain she is in The pain of loving some with more than you have Leaving you with a debt that you can never repay.

So as I am sitting here in my living room Listening to my cousin Rant about her impossible love life Her too perfect boyfriend And the constant ache in her heart.

I think if love Is a constant text message Or a never ending Skype call If it is numbers permanently engraved on my hand If it takes all that you have and more Then love must be something special

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blank pages [ amanda skalka ] I put my pencil to the paper.

The fragile point of graphite ready to make a mark Seconds pass and minutes more But the page remains pure white Anyone who saw me, would think my mind empty No thoughts to put down, No story to tell.

But though the page remains blank, my mind never does.

In my mind a story comes to life An image of the hero clear in my mind His every quirk and trait so easy to define I see another character, female this time And with just one image of her, One fleeting glimpse, her name and life and personality are already known to me My pencil twitches as it begins to move, It scratches as it goes, My eye is trained to it’s every movement, But my mind is somewhere else.

An entire background for each character forms in my brain Entire histories for each man, woman, and child.

The villain’s story takes form in my mind His misdeeds already known to me

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I flip my pencil over, When I don’t like what I see.

I press the rubbery pink end to the page And rub away my mistake, As I start over again.

The plot unfolds in my head.

The characters dance across the stage of my imagination.

I feel their trials and torments and every emotion As they fight their antagonist.

I watch the scenes unfold in my head I feel the suspense as if I were the reader, But I already know how it ends.

When the curtains of the theater of my mind close, And the story I created ends, I look back at my paper to see what I have written.

I raise an eyebrow at my own work and smirk as read.

For there is only one line on the page.

“I have nothing to say.”

I chuckle as I close my notebook.

Maybe I’ll write another day. though my mind is filled with ideas None can come to paper, Even if I try.

I can describe the story in my head in the greatest detail, But my pencil will not write.

It may seem like I am lazy.

But my mind is never idled.

It is easy for one to dream, To create a story, But to control the inspiration to write?

Nearly impossible.

“fall color at guanella pass in colorado” [ hallie mcnamara ]

chapstick You bought me chapstick I didn’t ask you to buy me chapstick And I think I’m offended

[ charlotte elsasser ]

“something about love” [ evelyn benda ]

Because while I was talking you were staring at the winter on my lips But you weren’t listening to what the winter was saying I was trying to tell you something Since my mother died My mother wasn’t just another person November 16th isn’t just your birthday And I am not just another thing for you to fix You aren’t mother nature Or the south side of the equator This winter will pass on it’s own

To you I am a perfect broken porcelain doll Everytime you put me back together I fall apart again If only you had kept the receipt You can’t understand what it’s like to go weeks on end without ever feeling hope And be addicted to that feeling You dont understand how weddings can make me so nervous Or how summer can make me sad But luckily, seasons come and go And as long as you don’t make like the seasons As long as you are not my summer My weeks on end with nothing to do As long as you aren’t my winter My cold chapped months It’ll be okay I’ll be okay Don’t blame yourself You aren’t my mother nature You’re my dad And it’s not your fault

Seasons come and go And this winter will too You forget that my predispositions Do not come from your side of the family Don’t tell me It’s my negative outlook Don’t remind me To take my medication Don’t say That I just need to let it go I’ve already lost it all I’ve grown out of all of your parenting books And I forget That you are more human than me You’ve broken more rules and more hearts

“to infinity and beyond”

[ laura shaw ]

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“400°” [ brighid welchans ]

“cheveux” [ megan szwanek ]

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“when you lose your mind”

[ emma eaton ]

the new generation [ gwendolyn johnson ] Running away isn’t always the best option Hiding from everything that hurts us Scares us We are not convicts They are not the police They are just adults with a God complex They do not control us We are our own people We deserve to be respected We are the source of power We are the new generation And we will not be oppressed by people Who demand respect without earning it We are creatures with more to offer than we will ever know Our talents and dreams remain undiscovered Stand up against this discrimination Saying that teenagers are dangerous Saying we are worthless Useless Going nowhere in life Show them we are a force to be reckoned with Be who you need to be Love who you want Listen to what you want Wear what you want Be who you want We are the new generation And we will not be controlled

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“into the world” [ brooke huerter ]

una mosca en leche [ maria valadez ] i walk. i stop. i see . . . . . . i see no one . . . . . . no one like me . . . my mom was right. i’m a fly in milk.

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“in that autumn shade of gold” [ kelsey o’connell ]

kayla sullivan ‘15 kathleen bever ‘15

brighid welchans ‘16 maria valadez ‘15

makenzie fuss ‘16 abi knapton ‘16

amber bridgeford ‘15 charlotte elsasser ‘15

The

Burn Bunch

anna slezak ‘16 cassie heisey ‘16

rachel sedlacek ‘16 natalie ashbrook ‘16

audrey burt ‘15 grace bradford ‘15

lucy findley ‘15 steph huber ‘15

emma fletcher ‘15 erin carollo ‘15

maggie white ‘16 emily welchans ‘15

megan smith ‘15 [editor] kenna silvey ‘15

editorial policy

Marian presents Burn, a literary magazine that strives to showcase the original artwork, photography, and creative writing of our student body. Burn is published twice a year, once per semester and we accept submissions from all grade levels. Our submissions are judged anonymously and those that are selected are subject to minor grammatical or spelling corrections. Burn is a forum for creative student expression and our goal is to give students a place to publish their work and a place to have their peers appreciate their work.

Burn is printed by Automatic Printing Company. For the 2014-2015 school year, there will be 800 copies per semester. All titles of pieces and page numbers are set in FFF Tusj font. The text of the stories are set in Geo Sans Light.

The softwares used were Adobe InDesign CS6 and Adobe Photoshop CS6.

Marian High School

7400 Military Avenue Omaha, NE 68134 burn@omahamarian.org

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