Marian Burn Literary Arts Magazine Spring 2016

bur n

[ v. 6 ] [ i. 2 ]

table of contents

10 & 11 “jelly” [ emma herold ] in the night [ olivia leatherwood ] “emma” [ courtney doherty ] child of war [ anna swaboda ] 12 & 13 “road to nowhere” [ becca williams ]

front cover “hollywood” [ becca williams ] 2&3 “drinking reflections” [ hannah lazio ] “luxury of city lights” [ jenna popp ] disturbing the silence [ brooke huerter ] auto pilot [ abi knapton ] 4&5 “catedral de león” [ maia delkamiller ] numbers, numbers [ elsie stormberg ] 6&7 “riding the sunset” [ claire killborn ] “tranquility” we weren’t made [ photo by abi knapton ] for this kind of gravity [ gwendolyn johnson ] a song [ kathryn baginski ] “leaves” [ julia veik ] 14 & 15 8&9 “recklessly brave” [ hannah “sun catcher” [ emily evans ] lazio ] “morningside” [ rachel walet ] a pebble [ kathryn fuxa ] one of those girls [ brianna unbelievable [ kathyrn baginski ] wessling ] “frank” [ gwendolyn johnson ]

16 & 17 “thoughts in a drain” [ isabel romero ] “li(nes)on” [ emily wajda ] to forgive [ susana pettis ] within a frame [ hannah johnson ] 18 & 19 “alice in wonderland” [ catherine mormino ] “lanterns” [ peggy mcgowan ] letters [ brianna wessling ] vocabulary [ megan doehner ] 20 & 21 “lit” [ shayla taute ] “hidden treasure of holbox island” [ devon gottsch ] velcro [ mckenna simpson ] give it a month [ gwendolyn johnson ] 22 & 23 “no wake” [ caroline drew ] “spikes in the sky” [ grace gustafson ] the days [ susana pettis ] false images [ becca williams ] 24 & 25 “cognizance” [ caroline drew ] “a beginning and an end” [ caroline drew ] onlookers [ elsie stormberg] in the faces of men and women i see god [ libby knudsen ] back cover “chaotic peace of mind” [ elsie stormberg ]

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...” ~ Jack Kerouac

staff

Names: First Row: Cassie Heisey (editor), Anna Slezak, Brooke Huerter, Elsie Stormberg, Lauren Merfeld & Lucy Fishburn. Second Row: Erin Walter (editor), Natalie Ashbrook, Becca Williams (editor), Rachel Sedlacek, Makayla Sedlacek, Abi Knapton & Makenzie Fuss (editor). Third Row: Kennedy Gochenour, Courtney Schincke, Bella Carollo, Brianna Wessling, Susana Pettis, Annika Zimmerman & Mrs. Christen (moderator). Fourth Row: Brighid Welchans & Julia Veik.

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 published by Automatic Printing Company. For the 2015-2016 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 GeoSans Light. The softwares used were Adobe InDesign CS6 and Adobe Phototshop CS6. 7400 Military Ave. Omaha, NE 68134

01

“luxury of city lights” [ photo by jenna popp ]

auto pilot

I trap the air in my lungs. Seconds pass and angry bees are swarming [ writing by abi knapton ] in my chest, trying to escape. Sparks are flying in my head and stars are dancing across my vision.

Then, there is nothing. The flame has been blown out.

I’m breathing again. Something stronger than my will is forcing the air in and out of my lungs. I have control over my body, but not over what my body wants. My body recognizes this as an act of defiance. It does not want to die. So it acts for me when I cannot control myself. My lungs fill with air, my wounds heal themselves, and my heart keeps beating. Like a trick candle, I re-ignite. No matter how many times I tease the flame. It always finds a way to light again.

03

disturbing the silence [ writing by brooke huerter ] A library is like an old friend When you walk in you are delicate with the silence, Reverent in the presence of something new Even zipper clicks and page turns are too unholy for the Fragile state of calm.

As time goes by you become comfortable with the soft thuds Of books closing and carts wheeling and feet tapping What was sacred is now careless You forget what it means to be in this place And lose regard for the stillness.

By the time you leave you are disturbing the silence With no recollection of the soft tone you once used The reverence is gone.

But it is never too late To come back to the quiet And begin again.

“drinking reflections� [ art by hannah lazio ]

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“catedral de león” [ photo by maia delkamiller ]

05

numbers, numbers [ writing by elsie stormberg ] Numbers, Numbers Always define you.

How much you weigh, How much food you chew.

The number of words you say, Whether it’s too many or too few.

It used to be so simple, No worries at all.

Not counting every pimple, Never counting how tall.

Being able to be who you want to be, Without a care in the world.

Now it’s hard to be free.

Your dreams are unfurled.

Too worried about clothes, Because you never have the right shirt.

They are never at your dispose, Never the right sized skirt.

The way society numbers you, Dependent on a scale.

It always feels askew And there when you fail.

As the numbers add up, Your self-confidence is down.

The anger builds up, And you feel run down.

Things get hard, But your future is bright.

You may be scarred, But there is always a light Numbers, numbers Do not have to define you.

You don’t need the perfect shoe.

It doesn’t matter if your eyes are the perfect hue.

You are beautiful just being you.

04

“riding the sunset” [ photo by claire kilborn ]

we weren’t made for this kind of gravity [ writing by gwendolyn johnson ] Don’t drive Don’t fly Don’t forget feet are made to stay on the ground Right Jump Skip Walk Saunter Let your feet kiss the ground as your hands caress the sky Spin Dance Jump Play Let your hair down and be wild Let everyone see your smile and hear your laugh Because happiness is contagious And everyone should catch yours The stars waved at you so you would watch them Because they want to show you they can dance too They want to twirl you around so fast all you can see is them Because they want you They love you But we love you more

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So dance with the stars But don’t forget to come home

[ photo by julia veik ]

“leaves”

a song [ writing by kathryn baginski ]

Do you ever hear a song That captures your soul perfectly, So perfectly, in fact, that you can’t imagine Moving on and living your life the same as you were?

The world clicks into place As that song grabs everything that’s wrong, Everything that’s right, and the blurriness in between.

Your chest feels tight, your breath feels true, And everything before was a dream.

Do you ever hear a song That pulls you underwater so deep, So deep that you are sure you will drown?

But you don’t. You float.

Everyone around you stands on dry land As you become the waves, the ocean, the mist in the air.

You want to shout, to sing, to ride the melody To the understanding in the distance, Away from the life on shore.

Do you ever hear a song That acts as a weapon so sharp, So sharp that life can’t touch you, Friends can’t screw you, and your mind can’t fight you?

Reality bleeds, lies are sliced in half.

You become invincible with an ally by your side.

You want to punch, swing, stab, And wound the world you lived in before.

Do you ever hear a song That makes you feel so alive, So alive you are sure you must have been dead before?

Life settles in, consciousness floods your mind As that song slowly comes to an end.

But you don’t die again. You don’t fall back asleep.

The ocean still surrounds you, but it isn’t quite as deep.

And you feel that, for now, you won’t have to fight, That you’ll be okay in the life after.

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“morningside� [ photo by rachel walet ]

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“sun catcher” [ photo by emily evans ]

one of those girls [ writing by brianna wessling ]

08

Yes, I am “one of those girls” I am every cliche written about teenage girls I am every distasteful detail I am the girl who loves driving at night, just to look at all of the lights I am the girl who is a hopeless romantic the one who can’t help but love every cheesy YA novel I am the girl who loves overused quotes even the ones that really just sound pretty I am the girl who loves to stare at the stars I am the girl whose words read straight from a hallmark card I am the girl who embraces every stereotype But that does not mean that I am less than I burn just as bright and hot as every other girl out there Just like all of the others I am powerful My hands shake when I pick up a pen My lungs still yearn to speak I am still an oncoming storm that cannot be stopped Judge me if you must but I am not less authentic I may just be one of a thousand others But I am one who is not afraid of the stereotypes

“in the night” [ photo by olivia leatherwood ]

“emma” [ art by courtney doherty ]

10

child of war [ writing by anna swoboda ]

I am a child of war The war that I live in is not a normal war It is not fought with guns and swords But rather words and actions The death toll is not counted By numbering the bodies on the battlefield But by the number of suicides Or the look of emptiness in people’s eyes The body count racks up every time a child is told That their dreams are too big Or when a teenager gives into the bullies Or when an adult decides that their goals Are too far away Too hard to reach Too difficult to accomplish I am a child of war New soldiers aren’t shipped in from across seas But they are rather born from a woman As infants, fresh to life Fresh to the terrors of our world Giving up on a dream or goal Is like leaving behind a comrade Because we are told by our commander That they aren’t worth the risk That it’s too late, we can’t save them So we leave our dreams to die alone Our commander isn’t a single person It is the media, trends, celebrities, gossip They fill our head with orders And if you dare disobey you are cast out Ostricized from others Seen as a disgrace by the public We are told that we have to be a perfect soldiers Incapable of mistake or flaw We rip ourselves up trying to accomplish something impossible Trying to become something we aren’t I am a child of war Celebrities are equivalent to teacher’s favorite Sometimes they deserve it A lot of them don’t I am a child of war

“jelly” [ photo by emma herold ]

We are set against each other Let loose like wild dogs Tearing at each other’s throats In the hopes of receiving a prize at the end of the day But the only prize is knowing that you have hurt someone Maybe your words just offended them But maybe it was the final push toward suicide And the body count climbs higher and higher Everyday people shoot their metaphorical guns And too often, they hit people Guns can be fatal Words can be fatal So why don’t we try to stop it Why don’t we give people shields Armor Support So that the bullets leave a bruise Instead of a gaping hole never to be filled Why don’t we teach people how to hold their guns Teach them not to fire unless necessary Give warning shots And never aim to kill But we are a war torn world Everyone for themselves Everyone in danger Everyone facing terrible odds Dreams are left on the battlefields to rot away Hopes and dreams are fatally shot Friends become enemies And enemies become the devil I am a child of war My children will be children of war Then my grandchildren, then my great grandchildren and so on There is no way that I know of to stop this war But there is a way, No, there are innumerable ways That we can lessen the fighting Lessen the despair and emptiness Lessen the death toll There are so many things we can do to save the children of war But we don’t for fear of being added To the list of bodies left on the field To die alone

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“road to nowhere” [ photo by becca williams ]

12

13

“frank” [ art by kathryn fuxa ]

a pebble [ writing by kathryn baginski ] I put a pebble in my pocket, and it grew as I got older.

Soon it was a rock so big I had to carry it on my shoulders.

The pebble grew to an impossible size until, on my back, I carried a boulder.

The boulder weighed me down, and my back began to curve.

No matter how heavy it got, I continued the forward march.

Exhaustion overwhelmed me; The future became bland and stark.

Then, one day, I felt a hand on my arm, a voice saying, “You can choose your lane.”

Out of that hope, I dared to dream that I could live with much less pain.

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So the boulder became a rock, and the rock became a pebble that I could fit in my pocket again.

unbelievable [ writing by gwendolyn johnson ]

You started a revolution and I got caught in the craze Your words created an ocean and I drowned in the waves Promised different and better to the people outside Gave no indication you had something to hide Speeches destroyed mountains and men We were all behind you with sword and pen We fought battles against something we didn’t get You didn’t give us a reason to not trust you, as of yet Waging a war that we never thought to take up Was it Kool-aid we were drinking in that red solo cup Word of you spread like smoke You said we were no longer such a joke We were a force to contend with, that’s what you said We all believed you, until we started turning up dead You put pipe bombs made of pipe dreams in our head and set them off The ideas that dissipated with the smoke made us cough Those promises you made guilded mistakes we now know Vibrant colors and bright lights can’t mask a terrible show

“recklessly brave” [ art by hannah lazio ]

15

“thoughts in a drain” [ photo by isabel romero ]

within a frame [ writing by hannah johnson ]

a picture says a thousand words the mouth can say much more but deep within the eyes is where the words become a blur the mind can form simple phrases but the tongue cannot always say them knives can stab you in the heart but words can kill you without a thought touch lingers like the tune to a song and my heart yearns for you when you’re gone a picture says a thousand words a letter says words unspoken and silence sings a million verses that will never be forgotten

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“li(nes)on” [ art by emily wajda ]

to forgive [ writing by susana pettis ] to forgive sometimes it’s hard to realize that forgiveness is somehow slamming the door shut it’s closing it’s final it’s whole it’s taking a knife from the wound and knowing will hurt more than keeping it in it’s letting the hate and revenge leave your body and letting yourself bleed out slowly but surely it’s accepting that it will hurt to heal and it will be excruciating but worst of all it’s knowing that the scar will never go away

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letters [ writing by brianna wessling ] Every word that I write is the beginning of a letter to no one A letter that I do not want anyone to see All of the things that I feel are spewed onto a page Dressed up with pretty lines and nice words I’m not always sure what they mean but they sound like art They roll off of your tongue and look pretty on paper These letters are full of cheap imagery They’re made up of broken crystal balls Of frost bitten days and sunny nights They are full of blood and skin and bones These letters are not intended for anyone Yet, I’m sending them out to everyone

“alice in a winter wonderland” [ photo by catherine mormino ]

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“lanterns”

[ photo by peggy mcgowan ]

digression

moments

[ writing by kathryn baginski ]

[ writing by brianna wesling ]

vocabulary

[ writing by megan doehner ] I love words I love how they’re impressed onto a tongue Shaped gently in the crook of the mouth Softly sung by notes on chords Air breathing life into them Giving them shape as they make their mark Born into the world Words unspoken are not words unsaid Our brains are constantly thinking What ifs Background music

Random thoughts All fly around in an indecipherable consciousness I love how each person has their own personal vocabulary Adjectives I use often are words you would find in a thesaurus The way she stresses her “t”s and he slurs his “s”s Each voice has it’s own unique touch A fingerprint No, a voice[print]

19 19

[ photo by devon gottsch ]

“hidden treasure of holbox island”

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velcro

[ writing by mckenna simpson ]

I have elastic lungs, that never quite burst from the pressure your wax dipped fists seem to carry.

You have a liquid smile that spills down your chin and into the cracks of my broken fingernails.

I have velcro lips that stick to your felt tipped thoughts, capturing and never letting them slip.

You have salt water kisses that burn into my ice-chipped skin, melting away every doubt.

I have pulsing thoughts that match up to the inflections in your cursive voice as you slur between the syllables of my name.

You’re gorgeous in the ugliest of ways.

They say once the liver goes so does everything else And my grandma brings him back from Iowa so he can die at home Cancer I don’t cry when I find out this time It’s not like the last time Because last time I was ten when I went to my grandpa’s funeral

I told her that was crass and she said it was life I guess she’s right

give it a month

I’ve always loved showers because of the quiet Because I can hide in them

My family was supposed to go to Michigan next weekend When I asked my mom if we were still going She shrugged her shoulders She said there is never a good time for a funeral It always effs up someone’s plans

[ writing by gwendolyn johnson ]

I’ve always loved showers I love the sound the water makes when it hits the tiles for the first time The way the pipes rumble and then chssh I love the feeling of my fingertips massaging my scalp And the warm water that rushes over every crevice of my body I love the feeling of my razor on my legs and the smell of my rose body wash

The first time I lost someone I wouldn’t leave the shower for three hours I was pruney and cold and my dad had to carry me out But I can’t hide in the shower this time Because my family is coming over for a dinner I am helping make And I have a test next Tuesday

“lit”

[ photo by shayla taute ]

But I’m 16 now I’m older Definitely not wiser And I still hate the idea of death I asked my mom why my dad wasn’t sad And she said give it a month They don’t plan the funeral Even though they know he won’t make it through the weekend

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“spikes in the sky” [ photo by grace gustofson ]

false images [ writing by becca williams ] I’m terrified of losing everyone I’ve ever loved not to death not to distance but to pure disgust with them and in result myself

but now I’m starting to learn a little involuntarily learn about me I’ve discovered dark things I don’t want to know like how that sweet girl has turned ugly in my mind and that smiling boy now irks me to no end

there are so few people who have remained with me more than a few years some partings were easy others not as simple some goodbyes were my doing and some were forced upon me, in the process grinding my heart against the floor with the bottom of a dirty shoe

I’m terrified I’ll never find forever because my brain twists someone into another someone they’re not and it’s this false image I will begin to see and then begin to hate and one day I’ll be left with no one and it’ll be all my fault

23

“no wake” [ photo by caroline drew ]

the days

[ writing by susana pettis ]

I long for the days when we can lay in the grass and watch big fluffy clouds turn into bright stars, winking at us I long for the days that feel eternal and full of possibility of everything and nothing I long for the days when talking is easy and the words pour out of us like water and even the days when our words seem more like a leaky faucet I long for the days when the radio is on more it isn’t and we can watch storms instead of being in the middle of them

22

I long for the days when we can just be and I long for the days that are long gone

in the faces of men and women i see god [ writing by libby knudsen ] As I sit on a bench in the middle of a park I see the birds fly and I hear the dogs bark.

A woman passes by with her ear to her phone And a man sits on the curb looking sad and alone.

He is waiting for money to buy something to eat He has no jacket on his back nor shoes on his feet.

When all of a sudden the woman hangs up And gives him twenty dollars, a doughnut, and a coffee cup.

The man looks delighted He is almost in tears.

Then he whispers something bewildering “This is my first coffee in years.”

As I lay in bed that night thinking about my day I can’t help but wonder why she acted that way.

Was it the way she was raised?

Was she just a bit odd?

Then I say to myself “In both the man and the woman’s faces I saw God.”

“cognizance” [ photo by caroline drew ]

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“a beginning and an end” [ photo by caroline drew ]

onlookers [ writing by elsie stormberg ] It’s 6:27 am.

I’m leaving to go to school.

Not because I have homework to do But because I just need silence.

When you live in a city Though Omaha is small You don’t really get a whole lot of silence.

I walk out my door I feel the crunch of snow under my feet And a brisk wind.

I hear a bustling city all around me.

Almost like a dull noise I look up at the dark navy sky And only see a few stars floating in the air like ships and the ominous moon above.

In the city, that’s all you get.

But in the summer I know somewhere to go That is completely silent Except for the roaring cicadas.

It’s a cornfield down in Bellevue.

The dirt road drives are quiet But the bumps and music.

The moon is guiding us.

It’s the same dark navy sky But there are millions of bright ships floating there, Having wars against each other With the moon as their silent onlooker.

I’m standing there staring up at the moon, Ready to face the wars of humans With God as our onlooker.

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