Burn Literary/Arts Magazine of Marian High School, Spring 2021

burn [v.11] [i.2]

burn magazine volume 11 issue 2 featured artists Front Back

00-01 02-03 04-05 06-07 08-09 10-11 12-13 14-15 16-17 18-19 20-21

Eva Kriener ‘24 - her Rachel Achola ‘21- only angel

22-23

Kate Hoppe ‘23 - logic Ceci Urbanski ‘23 - arbitrary

24-25

Kate Hoppe ‘23 - what about a butterfly Rylee Gregg ‘21 - love Eliza Turco ‘22 - sun’s valentine Ashley Doehner ‘22 - assisted art project Katie Corpuz ‘21 - daybreak Kate Hoppe ‘23 - the night of the snowfall Katherine Rodis ‘21 - flower girl Bailey Kollasch ‘22 - january dandelion Naomi Delkamiller ‘21- letter to the editor & signed and sealed Ellie Kripal ‘21 - denim Eliza Turco ‘22 - siblings; muses of the modern era Bridget McGill ‘24 - waterfall tears Quinn Findley ‘21 - new space age Mattighan Zielie ‘21 - creator Aviana Kampe ‘24 - ethereal Emma Alm ‘21 - kicks Katie Corpuz ‘21 - women Murphy Mertz ‘21 - remember us Elizabeth Foreman ‘23 - i was speaking Ceci Urbanski ‘23 - reaching Scarlett Wharton ‘24 - self embrace Grace Sparwasser ‘24 - self-love Sophia Torres Salvador ‘24 - esperanza Audrey Van Dyke ‘22 - endless words Naomi Delkamiller ‘21 - when the coffee shop closed Rylee Gregg ‘21 - pen to paper

Callaghan Cavanaugh ‘21 - discography & record breaker Ellie Kripal ‘21 - dear piano Lydia Rose ‘21 - ketchup disgust Murphy Mertz ‘21- time & this is for you Rachel Achola ‘21 - seeing double Ellie Kripal ‘21 - smudge Katie Hedrick ‘21 - the illusionist Mattighan Zielie ‘21 - onward & to be great

Burn Staff

Editors: Rachel Achola ‘21, Ellie Kripal ‘21 Junior Editors: Madison Adam ‘22, Cali D’ Agosto ‘22 Staff: Callaghan Cavanaugh ‘21, Katie Corpuz ‘21, Naomi Delkamiller ‘21, Rylee Gregg ‘21. Grace Virgillito ‘21, Bella Beck ‘22, Hai’den Davis ‘22, Elleiana Green ‘22, Melina Piperis ‘22, Anna Rasgorshek ‘22, Christina Tinley ‘22, Adelaide Witte ‘22, Maria McLeay ‘23, Margaret Morris ‘23, Ceci Urbanski ‘23

Editorial Policy

Marian presents Burn, a literary arts magazine that strives to showcase the original art, 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 Elizabeth Foreman ‘23 - optimism abounds Eliza Turco ‘22 - rocking chair & where we’re going corrections. Burn is a forum for creative student Ashley Doehner ‘22 - wildflower view expression. 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 Ceci Urbanski ‘23 - aging gracefully Rylee Gregg ‘21 - light reflection Regal Publishing Company in Omaha, NE. For the Katie Hedrick ‘21 - papa who 2020-2021 school year, there will be 800 copies Katherine Rodis ‘21 - meet me on the homefront printed per semester. All titles of pieces and page Abby Jacobsen ‘21 - garden of glass numbers are set in The Bambank Script font. The Callaghan Cavanaugh ‘21 - donna or randy writing is set in Avenir Light. The softwares used Bella Beck 22 - midnight were Adobe InDesign CS6 and Adobe Photoshop Rachel Achola ‘21 - fire for you CS6. Our adviser was journalism teacher Mrs. MarElizabeth Foremen ‘23 - waiting for green to return sha Kalkowski. For inquiries, contact us at burn@ Grace Sparwasser ‘24 - my candles omahamarian.org or write 7400 Military Ave, Omaha, NE 68134

arbitrary [ art by ceci urbanski ]

“logic”

[ writing by kate hoppe ]

i won’t Adhere To logic Thats The Choice i’ve Made Some Will Think im Crazy And Some Will Think im Brave

i won’t Adhere To logic Which Is Most logical sense Forgive me For This paradox This Is my Common sense

i won’t Adhere To logic When logic Tells me No If logic Says It Cant Be Done Based Off A Ratio

i won’t Adhere To logic When it Tells me To Be 1 Manner i’ll Write In A Way That Will Not Adhere Two any Grammer

i won’t Adhere To logic When it Tells me To Fear So bravery Is illogical Thats Something Nice Too Here

i won’t Adhere To logic Forgive my Dramatization But i won’t Adhere To logic Or To CapitalizatioN

you won’t Adhere To logic If you Red This As Without Mistake; And When you don’t Adhere To logic bravery Is What you Take

01

[ art by ashley doehner ]

assisted art What about a butterfly Floating in the breeze Landing on a flower And flying through the trees

And off it flies, to where?

It is not for us to know Where the creature came from Or where it wants to go

It glides above the children’s heads Who would like to see Where the creature’s headed And where it wants to be

How to describe the butterfly As it soars above the lawn The elegant Mariposa The graceful Papillon

And when the insect stops To gain energy flying took It’s really granting us the chance To have a closer look

02

“what about a butterfly” [ writing by kate hoppe ]

“love? ”

[ writing by rylee gregg ]

Onward and upward is what they say but if the knife in my heart gets its way spiraling downward would be more apt My mind is running, I’m feeling trapped

You’re a song on the radio, I’m singing along never been more happy, it’s like nothing’s wrong Over and over, I hear it play ‘til the notes become sour one fateful day

It was never love, just simple attraction though I can’t imagine this was a fraction of anything, my head couldn’t stand it You stole my clear thoughts and left me stranded

You’ll always be special, but I won’t be taunted It’s pointless to wait when I’ll never be wanted

sun’s valentine [ art by eliza turco ]

03

“flower girl” [ writing by katherine rodis ]

I have my days spent in the sun’s basking glow Craving the constant soft murmur of the soft-spoken Peonies and Lilies of the Valley.

Letting their gentle sways guide me through the endless horizon of fields The gentle patter of water-sent showers rejoices through the patches of flowers, as they drink merrily and sway gaily.

I wait for my endless array of children to sprout from the confines of the dirt. The daffodils shine as they reach up toward the sky.

Colorful and graceful, rising without a sound.

Their smile glimmering and shining so very bright They wash upon the garden with resound The kaleidoscope of colors, bright enough to stun My form, sat on the delicate grass that itches at my knees I sit and talk with the rows of roses and peonies For the simple life is best made When the flowers bloom while I sit in the shade.

january dandelion [ photo by bailey kollasch ]

04

“ the night of the snowfall” [ writing by kate hoppe ]

Sitting by the heater vent It’s like I’m six years old With blanket and a make-shift tent To shelter from the cold And now today we shout hooray There’s no school after all The blissful yay of a snow day As snowflakes float and fall It’s dark and cold but I don’t care So I watch them glitter by the street light And snowflakes fall to grace my hair From the orange and purple night I’m kept awake from 100 dreams Though to bed for sleep I went At least that was how it seemed Sitting by the heater vent

daybreak [ art by katie corpuz ]

05

signed and sealed [ photo by naomi delkamiller ]

When does it end The bias, the vulgarity and the commentary When will you write, not to start a fight, but to shine a light On the injustices in our sight When does it stop The arguing on the screen because it makes me want to scream The truth is not a prop or something to be cropped We don’t know what you mean You have us convinced there’s no in between When does it begin The truth on display without your intentions turning it grey Black and white is not always possible But the truth is unstoppable When it comes from within

“a letter to the editor”

06

[ writing by naomi delkamiller ]

“siblimgs : muses of the modern era” [ writing by eliza turco ]

Middle child syndrome runs deep.

Years spent living in the backseat.

Hybrid’s dull roar juxtaposed by speakers, bouncing us down city roads.

They conversate, laugh, big plans, dreams unreached they’ll step to achieve and I tune in, absorb words, breathe in the layered chords and remain unheard.

It’s times like these I most feel like me. and for so long, I resided in the belief that like an assembly line, you all built my personality; endowing tastes, truths, and idiosyncrasies without me lifting a finger in the name of individuality.

Now at seventeen, my time passed by in cheetah-like strides, I drive a muted periwinkle car, that’s all mine

denim [ art by ellie kripal ]

and always invite little blue eyes to sit passenger side; ask questions, she confides, and play songs we both like.

So hopefully, she’ll never self-define as a soul just tagging along for the ride.

07

“creator”

[writing by mattighan zielie]

i was made by the fingertips of someone i have never laid eyes on before someone somewhere far far away loved the idea of me so much they made me exactly the way they pictured handcrafted me into a perfect mix of the pinks, oranges, and yellows of sunsets, the feeling of running on under the stars and the smell of fresh rain in the hopes that i could be extraordinary if i so chose and i’ve realized that i can go around with the idea that i have iron from the stars running through my veins and elements from our planets core coursing through my body and have no reason to think otherwise

08

waterfall tears [art by bridget mcgill]

“etheral”

[writing by aviana kampe]

new space age

they were ethereal [art by quinn findley] too perfect for this world they were filled with love and kindness driven by no hate they were delicate and soft but also very strong and brave how can they be so perfect you may ask in a world fueled by hate where we discriminate each other based solely upon a name why do we have to hate someone because of what they wear or because of their skin color or their ethnicity and really just by how they look and how they show they care whether they’re “deranged” or truly they’ve just seen way too much that it became too hard to bear well, no one person is the same and no one will ever be we will never fit the stereotypes that you’ve been told to see the truth is that our skin color will never be the same we will still stand for equality and hope the ignorant can change and once they change we welcome them with open arms and when we do that’s where they come in and take a stand and see how far this has gone and how long it has been

09

[ writing by murphy mertz ]

“remember us”

women

[ art by katie corpuz ]

If one day we part

And crumble into dust Please don’t forget me

And all the things we did.

“i

10

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kicks

[ art by emma alm ]

11

reaching [ art by ceci urbanski ]

[ writing by ceci urbanski ] “Reaching is what gives us a purpose. Philosopher Soren Kierkegaard stated that existential anxiety and questioning of our purpose was reason enough to prove we are, in fact, alive. Our obsession with our flaws may simply be due to our frustration with our own limited mortal lives as opposed to our idealized lives. And being flawed truly is a painful thing, but in my opinion, life is supposed to be lived with pain. I believe that we are to take on the tragedy and triumph of our human nature with equal eagerness because it’s all we really have to work with. I’ve learned to accept the flaws in my nature and take them on as a piece of my identity. And I’ve learned that there is still merit in reaching without ever having grasped anything for we gain everything we need as humans from simply reaching.“

12

self embrace [ art by scarlett wharton ]

“self-love”

[ writing by grace sparwasser ] she looks she waits her reflection smiles she smiles back in the mirror she knows she is beautiful and real true self-love

13 13

“esperanza” [ writing by sofia torres salvador ]

The human in the eyes of the Artist is made to perfection, made with no thought for scars, flaws, nor shortcomings.

We, then again, have our blemishes.

We are tinted with the colors of the wounds of past memories that cut so deep and reach the heart.

These scars run to the depths of the chasm we call human.

This that courses through our veins, sometimes giving way to a world unknown, fills us with doubt and guilt.

What we must understand is that wounds are not the rule, but the exception.

This humanity defines us in a way that is so true that we feel the need to flee, like a flock of birds in the cusp of winter.

This migration is nothing more than a false shield to protect ourselves from past mistakes.

Doubt is the enemy of dreaming, for if we do not dream to live, we do not dream at all.

We are here to cherish the opportunity, share in its happiness, and continue to dream for only those who dream, can see something better, something like... Esperanza.

when the coffee shop closed [ photo by naomi delkamiller ]

14

endless words [ photo by audrey van dyke ]

“pen to paper” [ writing by rylee gregg ]

Writing is my elysian dream and my personal hellfire Reliving everything I survived and immortalizing it in color burgundy and dazzling gold Each careful stroke of my pen filled with echoes of the past until everyone remembers and I never forget

15

“optimism abounds” [ writing by elizabeth foreman ]

Watch where you step In this field of life Snakes will abound And so, too, will strife Build up your walls, But include a gate Let the worthy in; The others can wait Enjoy each chapter And each plot twist Each one will end But you will persist Life is a journey It’s destination unclear But don’t worry about the future Worry about what’s here

16

wildflower view [ photo by ashley doehner ]

from the rocking chair on my lawn I see your house, a sunset’s outline, close My eyes and breathe the air of hallowed nights. we sat side by side on the unfinished deck sawdust caking our legs as they swayed off the rail free edge never looking down at the pristine cement below, but at the sky above, where fireworks shown each one screaming till it reached its peak then bursting into a thousand glittering grains in a second, the black sky alone again. but I’m here now. in My rocking chair summer air past a year [ writing by eliza turco ] with a mind full of memories lives I’ll never again meet.

We are all bits of moments, puzzled together and always at risk of missing a piece.

“rocking chair”

where we’re going [ photo by eliza turco ]

17

“papa who” [ writing by katie hedrick ]

Papa who coughs with joy even with blackened lungs who is an iced tea and a rocking chair whose mouth speaks only of happiness is too sick to get out of bed today who tells me with confidence that beans will give me warts who tells me with silence that he is happy can’t be seen today sleeps permanently in his boat on the lake who used to sit with Louis on the couch is gone is cigarettes and husky voices doesn’t go anywhere but to the fishing line who hasn’t been seen in minutes, hours, days, months, years is my heart who tells me there is no point in quitting is the old porch and destroyed truck who starts his day with coffee and bathroom again and again and again is the leather couch in the room soaking in the sun and moon asking who’s there who’s there to talk to, who’s there to sit with.

aging gracefully [ art by ceci urbanski ]

18

“meet me on the homefront” [ writing by katherine rodis ]

Meet me on the home front Balancing on the line between freedom and familiarity I will hold my outstretched hands towards yours Urging you to fall with me Into the valley of uncertainty and hope Join me on the adventure of a lifetime To leave the world we have spent so long enduring We will celebrate our good fortunes And bid goodbye to our glorious friends and bitter enemies Grab my hands and join me On the eve of the waning past And the dawn of the brightening future Cross the line with me Meet me on the other side of the home front

“light reflection” [ writing by rylee gregg ]

I’m fragmented glass filled with imperfection Racing thoughts and sleepless nights shattered me but the light shines through me and I sparkle all around catching the light and spreading it further than it could alone because I may be broken and feel like I could fall apart whenever but I will never be a waste of space as long as I reflect the beauty all around me

garden of glass

[ art by abby jacobsen ]

19

midnight [ photo by bella beck ]

Green was never a favorite of mine It’s crayon was never picked first But of the bunch, it wasn’t picked last Consistently used to color the grass Broad strokes blanketing the earth

“waiting for green to return”

In the summer, I’d loathe its presence I’d cringe when nature came near me Escaping to clean and clinical tiles Not one speck of dirt for what seemed like miles But I find now I’m missing it dearly

20

[ writing by elizabeth foreman ]

donna or randy [ art by callaghan cavanaugh ]

fire for you

[ art by rachel achola ]

“my candles”

[ writing by grace sparwasser ] a candle flickers, then another. the light grows, envelops me. these are my candles of hope. they comfort and brighten my ways. let me share my candles with you

21

“dear piano”

[ writing by ellie kripal ]

Dear Piano, I am sorry I left you for so long. I missed the days when my feet could not reach the floor. I missed the days when my fingers could barely play an octave. I missed the days when I walked down the stairs to the cold basement, sat in the black folding chair, set out my books, and played you.

You have to know, however, that it was against my will. I loved the idea of you. I didn’t love you.

You lived first in my grandfather’s music room. You stood there, not as a small plaything to be plugged in, but as a brown studio piano.

Your noise made no sense to me. Your three gold pedals stuck out awkwardly with no purpose. Church hymns and Christmas music on five lined bars were thrown in overlapping stacks and a red metronome rose victoriously above them all. You were a mess. Often I sat at your complimentary bench and struck you at random. I figured I would at least try to understand your unfamiliar mannerisms.

After about two years, I would have rather climbed trees or played video games or talked to the one or two friends I had saved on my cell phone. I would have rather done all the chores in the house than spend time with you. You bored me to death. You didn’t make me a better pianist, let alone a better person. Every Tuesday came and went as each lesson stayed the same; I played the same songs, missed the same notes, and listened to the same lecture again and again. Something had to give, and it was not going to be volleyball or swimming or even the video games. I had to let you go. It had to be you.

22

Six years passed. I no longer had those friends with whom to talk. I couldn’t climb trees or play volleyball or swim. I still had things to do as any teenage social-butterfly does, but none of them provided the sense of accomplishment I required.

It was winter. I was alone. I showed up crying at your dust-worn doorstep. I sat at the black folding chair once again and I took time to listen to you and your stories. You had so much to tell me. Were you always so reserved? Did you always have that one B6 that never played when pressed? Did your legs always shake when touched too violently? “I’ll fix it,” I told you. “I will make this right.”

Just like that, you accepted me. You opened your arms with a smile, shouting, “Look how big you’ve grown!” I was no longer the small child you knew me as; this time, I found comfort in your hard, plastic embrace. While snow fell outside, I learned more and more about you. The cold basement felt warm, as did your touch. We built walls up around us and broke walls down between us. I moved you closer to me. I fixed your broken key. I donned you with a stack of my favorite short stories and sheet music.

Your black folding chair kept my cardigans when I needed them, and you were always there when I needed you. On sleepless nights, I found you several feet away with a pair of headphones and an iPad from which to learn music. When I forgot your sound you were there to remind me. As we grew closer, you became my ultimate remedy. I am sorry I left you, but I thank you for letting me come back.

Love, “Me”

record breaker [ art by callaghan cavanaugh ]

discography [ art by callaghan cavanaugh ]

23

ketchup disgust [ art by lydia rose ]

“ this is for you” [ writing by murphy mertz ]

To the girl who once read by flashlight Who stuck to her dreams and held on tight Who saw pegasi through the clouds in the sky Who kept fireflies in jars with no reason why Who felt alive and explored in worlds that never were Who climbed all the trees without a care Who ran through fields of daisies and buttercups Who eventually had to grow up..

This is for you.

“ time”

[ writing by murphy mertz ] The heart has proven to be very slow At accepting what the mind already knows.

“ to be great” [ writing by mattighan zielie ]

for something to be great it must first be broken for only in the darkness of hate can shine through all thats golden for my life to be remembered it must first be lived true and all who i once treasured in their memories, I’ll shine too

24 24

smudge

[ art by ellie kripal ]

the illusionist [ art by katie hendrick ]

seeing double

“onward” [ writing by mattighan zielie ]

stop! we’ve got it all wrong! if you are living for anything or anyone but yourself then, my friend, you are not truly living. this life is cruel and fragile you must trudge on until your boots become lighter and the ache of your dusty bones settle you have nothing to prove to me to them prove it to you find your deepest fear and crush it in your palms make your wildest dreams tomorrow and make your impossible next tuesday do it until it cannot be undone and please, do it for you.

[ art by rachel achola ]

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spring 2021