Marian BURN literary/arts magazine - Spring 2023

[v.13] [i.2]

Marian Literary Arts Magazine

burn

table of contents front and back: izumi’s first love by jasmina kleensang ‘26, i wish by audrey arthur ‘23 0 and 1: “spring” by sophia mcnally ‘26, mostly unintelligible by tong yual ‘24, magnum equilibrium by tong yual ‘24 2 and 3: the brains of the inspiration by greta justice ‘25, hello there by erin line ‘23, “meet me in my garden” by katherine dietz ‘26 4 and 5: “nostalgia” by maddie smith ‘24, “matches” by allie mohr ‘23, coziness by elizabeth foreman ‘23, to accept what you don’t know by elizabeth buescher ‘25 6 and 7: “never the same again” by aubrey thompson ‘25, “things I didn’t” by caitlyn dunham ‘24, jaded by sophia tripp ‘23, rosaline by sofia bostrom ‘26, “someone there” by sarah mohammed ‘25 8 and 9: “ships can’t sail in bottles” by kate hoppe ‘23, “shower thoughts” by brynn ullerich ‘23, touch up by grace comstock ‘24, painted dribble by yena kelly ‘25 10 and 11: “cigarette” by julia ramadan 25, “living on a daydream” by lily biggs ‘24, jellyfish by addison ostronic ‘25, chicago street view by tyler raikar ‘23 12 and 13: “a strange goodbye” by sofia torres-salvador ‘24, “i want, i want, i want” by caitlyn dunham ‘24, the shoe by gabriella birkel ‘25, JJ4L by brynn ullerich ‘23 14 and 15: “alone” by amelia mlnarik ‘26, “four walls” by aya khayati ‘23, i guess we’re growing up by grace comstock ‘24 16 and17: coal reef by eden smith ‘24, “he loves you” by hayden blaney ‘26 18 and 19: “the gilded age” by chizzy okolo ‘24, horangyi by yena kelly ‘25, flourishing and thriving by hannah nutsch ‘25 20 and 21: clamped by sara steinbruck ‘23, morning time by maddia groff ‘23, “my dear sweet friend” by layla wilke-conant ‘25, “the last day” by elin siedlik ‘23 22 and 23: “the sense of a memory” by laura torres-salvador ‘24, lipgloss by claire fitzpatrick ‘24, the world is big and ours by greta justice ‘25 24 and 25: hole in the rock by betsy piernicky ‘24, interrupted by ceci urbanski ‘23, night drive by adrienne ernst ‘26, “the school’s portal” by mary beatty ‘26 26 and 27: “vulnerably me” by lilly mcandrews ‘24, in one ear, out the other by hannah taylor ‘26, rose blue willow by charli brusnahan ‘23 28 and 29: “long live the woodchuck” by kate hoppe ‘23, listen to him despise your presence by elizabeth buescher ‘25, playin’ the hues by ceci urbanski ‘23 30 and 31: “star crossed lovers” by chizzy okolo ‘24, sun soaked by abigail mcguire ‘25, “dusk with a side of rain” by bailey shea ‘25, distant hills by maggie morris ‘23 32 and 33: red ruby jewels by audrey arthur ‘23, “ariadne” by katherine dietz ‘26, the way i see you by karis simon ‘25, “the fall to the impact” by layla wilke-conant ‘25

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spring 2023 burn staff editor team: Ceci Urbanski, Lizzie Evans, Elizabeth Foreman, Chizora Okolo, Eva Kriener, Kenadie Rudloff and Madison Shaffar. staff: Aya Khayati, Brynn Ullerich, Elin Siedlik, Kate Hoppe, Maggie Morris, Maria McLeay, Natalie Bullock, Sophie Ortmeier, Sophia Tripp, Brianna Sedlak, Caitlyn Dunham, Eden Smith, Lilly McAndrews, Riya Kumar, Ruthie Barrett, Scarlett Wharton, Abby McGuire, Bana Kakish, Coventry Thompson, Karis Simon, Mary McKay, Yena Kelly, Kaylene Bialas, Layla Wilke-Conant, Jasmine Carranza, Mia Ramirez, Maddie Smith, Elizabeth Buescher and Lily Biggs. spring 2023

[digital art by tong yual ’24]

magnum equilibrium

mostly unintelligible

[watercolor and colored pencil by tong yual ’24]

Scan QR code to see our online publication!

You are my daisy, Beautiful and new, My old mistakes are hazy, I want to bloom, Your voice is like a violin, And you make me feel completeness, A sound so pretty draws me in, I am a fool for simple sweetness, So I’ll be your daisy and grow, Gazing hopefully at the sky, [poem by sophia mcnally ‘26] Never mind the dirt below, Without my daisy I would die, No one comes close, it’s you I adore, I’m yours, evermore.

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 in print twice a year and online at https://burnmagazineonline.wordpress.com. We accept submissions from all grade levels. Our submissions are judged anonymously, and those that are selected are subject to minor grammatical corrections. Burn is a forum for creative students’ 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 printed by Interstate Printing Company in Omaha. For the 2022-2023 school year, there will be 800 copies printed per semester. All titles of pieces and page numbers are set in Hiragino Sans W8 font. The writing is set in Avenir Light. The softwares used were part of the Adobe Creative Cloud suite. Our adviser is journalism adviser, Mrs. Marsha Kalkowski. For inquiries, call 402-571.2618 ext 1134, burn email us at burn@omahamarian.org or write to us: 7400 Military Ave, Omaha, NE 68134.

“spring”

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the brains of the inspiration [colored pencil by greta justice ‘25]

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spring 2023

“meet me in my garden” [poem by katherine dietz ‘26]

meet me in my garden my quiet, secret place and all of those who pass through here will never see my face meet me in my city through which the sorrow seeps and in these ancient walls of old a deadly curse will keep meet me in my palace take the dangerous way the world cannot find you here but for long, you cannot stay

he re

meet me in the darkness at night, disguised, alone the others will wait for you as you return to your home

h e ll o t

[digital photograph by erin line’23]

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“nostalgia” [poem by maddie smith ’24]

The only thing winter and summer have in common Is the nostalgia they make you feel for spring.

The summer is chalked full of sunburns and swimming; Stomach aches because you’ve been laughing so much (But also because they didn’t invite you); Sightseeing and celebrations— even of the holidays you don’t like, But you smile at the fireworks nonetheless, Because you know you’ll regret it later if you don’t.

Breathe, the Wind whispers, teasing you with her cooling care landing just out of reach.

Breathe.

Winter, on the other hand, is full of frostbite and fleeces;fireplaces that aren’t warm enough; friends that are too busy.

One day, it will be nice enough to step outside (Even for just a moment) Without a coat on.

And you will feel free In the same way you do when you’re home alone And just for a moment (Even just for a moment) No one can tell you what to do or think or say.

And then the wind blows, and your coat returns to its station over your arms, And you shiver because it’s what the cold tells you to do.

coziness

[digital photo by elizabeth foreman ’23]

Hush, the Wind calls, taunting and berating with her harsh tone of a bitter negative degree.

Silence.

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spring 2023

Spring is transitional.

The buds won’t blossom until May, the pools won’t open until June, And yet there is this stillness in the weather.

The breeze is just right. The sun isn’t harsh.

And even though it is the season of final exams and studying and Praying you get a good enough grade, It is also the season of in-between.

And when it comes time for celebration, you Welcome the festivities with open arms; And when the Wind blows against your neck, you shiver on your own accord.

Because the Wind acknowledges that a few weeks ago you cursed her coldness And in a few weeks time, you will Yearn for the coolness of her touch.

Your agreement does not go unseen, it does not go unheard.

Here, she amends.

We understand each other here.

I take back my previous statement that the only thing winter and summer have in common Is the nostalgia they make you feel for spring.

Their other similarity is this: During both of those seasons, the Wind is not your friend.

Yet during both of those seasons, the wind is all you have.

“matches” [poem by allie mohr ’23]

i lit the match and stared into the flame. it was beautiful and delicate and oh so tame. an innocent little light that burned and danced about. i whispered to that fire, careful not to put it out. i let my fingers twirl around and feel the heat of the blaze. so softly it moved and flickered, putting me in a daze. i became fond of this little light and i learned to love its glow, until it burned my heart, a pain i’d come to know. i soon felt so much anger and hate for that dreadful little kindle. i wanted nothing more for it to wither away and dwindle. i jerked the match around in alarm trying to put it out, but the more i wanted it gone, the more the pain continued to sprout. i threw the burning match to the ground and stomped it into ashes. and now i feel a shudder every time its flicker flashes. once a simple little match, untouched without a flame, became the agony of my life and for my pain i tend to blame. so up my walls go to shield me from the burns, and here i wait in hope for the day that the innocent flame returns.

to accept what you don’t know [digital photo by elizabeth buescher ’25]

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“never the same again” [poem by aubrey thompson ’25]

It’s crazy how everything changes so fast I used to love seeing the notification on my phone But now I just watch your instagram feedYou took down the pictures of me And see you go on about your life from a distance With all smiles and laughs.

It’s so crazy how fast it all changes, From spending hours [poem by caitlyn dunham ’24] Talking about secrets Sharing stories i am sorry for the things i did.

Sending videos, the words i said, Talking about boys the pain i inflicted, To seeing that blue arrow the overthinking i caused from saying the wrong words.

The timer. always the wrong words.

Not hanging out i am sorry for the things i did.

Knowing we will never be the same again but i am forever indebted to the things i didn’t.

No more late night car rides everything i failed to do.

Blaring music into the early hours of the morning, the words caught in my throat Being able to tell you all my feelings creating a bottleneck of emotions.

Because you know I couldn’t tell anyone else. and thoughts Seeing you with people who make you happier. and words Watching you drift out of my lifeand acts But there’s nothing I can do and decisions You are gone. and possibilities And suddenly we are strangers again and this But this time, we have history. and that and more and less and everything. [clay by sophia tripp ’23]

“things i didn’t.”

jaded

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spring 2023

rosaline

[drawing by sophia bostrom ’26]

“someone there” [poem by sarah mohammed ’25]

“I can’t do it” There is no You the “Light to the dark” When everything is crashing down And when I don’t know if I can find my way out There is always someone there They always know what to do/say When life feels impossible and I can’t count on anyone.

There is someone there Someone worth counting on Even when I don’t see it there is When I don’t believe I can be counted on There is someone there Someone who cares There is someone there “When I can’t do it” burn

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“shower thoughts”

[poem by brynn ullerich ‘23]

spring 2023

touch up

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[graphite pencil by grace comstock ‘24]

i fall to the floor of my shower. goosebumps cover my body as the water pours around me. the strange pattern of the tile floor cuts into my knees and i can’t get up. my legs are numb from carrying the weight of holding my feelings in, unable to know if anyone will understand. my hands are holding my head in the disappointment i feel to even look up. i let myself and those who counted on me down. i feel shame and regret. shame over what i did do and regret of what i didn’t do. but here i am again, on the floor of my shower as the water covers my tears, washing my feelings down the drain.

painted dribble [watercolor by yena kelly ‘25]

“ships can’t sail in bottles”

[poem by kate hoppe ’23]

Ships can’t sail in bottles Although they really try But the waves don’t thrash or throttle Like they do under the sky

And as they battened down the hatches And prepared to not capsize The window opened up its latches And took them by surprise

But the captain and her crew Send messages in smaller bottles still Jubilation rings a new When out to sea the bottles spill

As they were taken by the waves They stayed up right and proper They joyously exclaimed While sailing from the harbor

The finest ship in all the fleet Could see the ocean deep and blue From their stilted window seat Until the hurricane came through

And as they washed out to sea I was left to wonder and to ponder About their adventures sailing free In the grand wild blue yonder burn

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“cigarette” [poem by julia ramadan ’25]

To you, I was a cigarette one in a box of many you’d only use me when you were bored step on me when you were finished to you, I was nothing so just like a cigarette, I watched and laughed as you withered away Just for me.

chicago street view [digital photo by tyler raikar ’23]

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spring 2023

jellyfish

[digital photo by addison ostronic ’25]

“living on a daydream” [poem by lily biggs ’24]

I feel like I’m living on a daydream That one thought of tomorrow being better than it seems The having to get through it all until next week Parents may call it chronic, I don’t think my generation agrees Burnout can wait till the future lets me breathe I’ll settle for failing grades if it means one day I’ll succeed I know it’s unhealthy , but it’s an escape for me But I’m scared it’s just a daydream that will never be reality burn

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“a strange goodbye”

[poem by sofia torres-salvador ’24]

To leave you behind is strange Like the dissonance of two notes played slightly out of tune, Like sitting alone reflecting on a story of melancholy happiness, I will leave this place, this home.

Far less on my own account for if I could be young for 10 years more, I would Instead I have wasted years of my life waiting for this singular moment to arrive and now that it is here, I wish I had never spent my days contemplating the future at all.

It is quite strange to find yourself at the end of a journey.

At times I am heart broken then numb yet in others I am awaiting for the joy tomorrow will bring.

Not yet an adult but surely not a child.

I am left in an unknown place Floating…in the interim of past, present, and future.

the shoe

[painting by gabriella birkel ’25]

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spring 2023

JJ4L

[charcoal drawing by brynn ullerich ’23]

“i want i want i want” [poem by caitlyn dunham ‘24]

i want a simple life one filled with contagious laughter with songs being sung at the top of our lungs i want a life filled with summer rain storms going to dance in it without a care in the world i want to run around in the grass, barefoot with a lover at my side i want a life with annotated pages and old records one with tanned skin and freckled cheeks i want to climb trees scrape my knees one with dirt under my finger nails and flowers in my hair a simple life just you and me

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spring 2023

[digital art by grace comstock ’24]

i guess we’re growing up

“alone”

[watercolor and poem by amelia mlnarik ’26] Stuck with this Emotion Even when around friends During every occasion Unknown if when it ends Lost feeling like a mess Like dust almost Knowing I mean nothing more or less Even if I do my best This feeling lingers Like the smell of my perfume Or the sound of sneakers Not knowing what’s to blame For this feeling like I’m insane This feeling of being Alone.

[poem by aya khayati ‘23]

alone

“four walls”

The four walls of my room are the only place that feels like home, Where there is no chaos, only the music of my records.

My bed crowded with stuffed animals that embrace me, And all four walls covered with posters and my window sill with crystals.

My parents always ask me to come down but with excuse after excuse, I stay under my covers, Because the only place I feel safe is where I lay under the stars and moons that have covered my ceiling since I was born.

Where my dreams and doubts run through my mind, and I can simply be me, free to breathe.

The same room I played with dolls after daycare is where I will wake up for my last day of senior year.

The walls that went from bland beige to bright pink and purple, to a now pale grey.

The place where more memories reside than any other place I can find.

In months, these four walls will be replaced and replaced, resulting in a never-ending cycle and the only remaining memories will be held in pictures of the only place I feel at home. burn

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coral reef [watercolor by eden smith ’24]

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spring 2023

“he loves you” [poem by hayden blaney ’26]

There are times When words can’t express What you want to say When the hurt burns so bad Throw yourself into the cold But it doesn’t cool the sting I can’t say that I know what it’s gonna be like And I can’t say if you’ll lie awake all night And I can’t assume

But what I think he’d say to you Is live life to it’s fullest Laugh until you can’t no more Love with all your heart and Don’t waste time keeping score Sing even when your voice breaks Dance until your legs give out And remember that he loves you Of that have no doubt

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“the gilded age”

[mixed medium by hannah nutsch ’25]

flourishing & thriving

[poem by chizzy okolo ’24]

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spring 2023

Glistening you stand covered in gold regal and grand never borrowed or old.

Glory and awe are what you inspire your stature your calls, ideas of fire Where did you get it?

All of your gold Ten hundred pounds worth at least one hundredfold.

Was it from the people who worship your shine?

Or maybe the poor who beg for a dime?

Inside yourself you’re rotting away falling to the ground all trash and decay for who took the time to cover your cracks?

Who was there for you?

And who had your back?

A magnificent thing covered in gold, glistening you stand, dirty and cold.

horangyi

[scratch board by yena kelly ’25]

burn

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ruck ‘23]

y sara steinb

[charcoal pe ncil sketch b

clamped

the last day [photo by elin siedlik ‘23]

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spring 2023

“my dear sweet friend” [poem by layla wilke-conant ‘25]

My Dear Sweet Friend, My love for you is like the waves of the ocean, sometimes I will pull away because of my feelings inside, but I will always come back with relentless compassion.

My Dear Sweet Friend, Your secret whispers are like echoes in a cavern, they reach every corner of my brain, but never escape out my mouth for others to hear.

y ma

[pho to b

mo

ddia

rnin

g ti

grof f ‘23

]

me

My Dear Sweet Friend, I will always be here like the sky, though I may turn dark and stormy with rain, though you may turn your head from my downpour, if you ever need to bask in my sunlight again, I will be here, My Dear Sweet Friend

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“poetry the world is bigtitle in quotes” and ours but time moves too fast for us to explore it. [poem by first last’##]

Poem in Avenir Light size 12

“poetry title in quotes” [poem by first last’##]

Poem in Avenir Light size 12

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spring2023 2023 spring

so all we can do is ponder the thought of it. art/photo title

[collage by greta justice ‘25] [medium by first last’##]

“the sense of a memory”

[poem by laura torres-salvador ‘24]

Stop.

Look around.

Step back, now forward again.

I lost it.

Maybe it’s my imagination.

There it is again.

Who has it? Where is it?

Is it the clothes on the Walmart rack next to me?

Or the lady who just walked by?

That smell, I know that smell.

They say that smell is the sense that is most connected to memories and emotions.

I wouldn’t be surprised.

That instance when you smell something familiar Like your favorite food or your dad’s cologne.

Or maybe something not as delightful like that nasty cardboard smell from that one board game box, or the bitter smell of the wooden doors at your grade school, or that one hallway at Lifetime Fitness that smells like the combination of bad coffee, sweat, and rubber.

lipgloss

[acrylic painting by claire fitzpatrick ‘24]

Maybe only I can recognize these smells, or maybe only I know that they exist. But just for a split second, they transport you back, give you a clear image in your mind, Unlock a memory that you hadn’t been able to find.

Maybe.

Think hard.

Try to remember it.

And in an instance, it’s gone again.

But I know that smell, one that both my sister and I can recognize, One that takes us back 8 years and brings back that certain feeling.

The one where we both stop in the middle of a Walmart, Turn to each other and say the same thing: “It smells like grandma’s perfume.”

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hole in the rock [digital photo by elizabeth piernicky ‘24]

interrupted [multimedia by ceci urbanski ‘23]

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spring 2023

“the school’s portal” [poem by mary beatty ‘26]

I was built in 1890 Originally in Portal Moved because of flooding Then there was a small quarrel An infuriated teacher Made a small mistake Beheaded all her students And threw them in a lake Filled with much remorse She locked herself inside Took a hatchet to her head And thus she slowly died I was unused in 1913 94 and 95 Then purchased for a dollar To keep my legacy alive Moved once again And for the final time

To my current home In Papillion where I reside Now I am the host Of a new society One that likes to boast Of my ambiguity Here I have sat For nearly 30 years Used as a tool To teach others of my tears So for those who doubt My reliability or truth I have witnessed it all Through my long extensive youth Though I may no longer be young One thing remains the same For 130 years I’ve clung Through Nebraska’s wind and rain

night drive

[watercolor by adrienne ernst ‘26]

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in one ear, out the other [art by hannah taylor ‘26]

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spring 2023

rose blue willow [embroidery by charli brusnahan ’23]

I let others determine my worth and not because I don’t know it but because I don’t understand it.

I strive to be good for others. to show my best version. to uphold my reputation. to be protected. standing behind some front used to distract others from what’s really beautiful. who I am. my thoughts. my feelings. my love. vulnerability.

But why be vulnerable? the risk of letting someone in. the risk of changing your reputation. the risk of destroying your true worth.

So I let others decide if i’m good enough. hiding who I am. how I think. how I feel. how I love. because i’m so afraid of understanding that my worth cannot be changed by anyone but me.

“vulnerably me” [poem by lilly mcandrews ‘24]

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playin’ the hues 28

[digital art by ceci urbanski ‘23]

spring 2023

listen to him despise your presence [photo by elizabeth buescher ‘25

I write to you on Groundhog Day Still hoping for less construction Less concrete floors and concrete walls And an end to this destruction

For so long you have been hibernating But now you’re stirring in your den And though I shall see you soon enough Your shadow still determines when

And as I think of all this urban sprawl And all I wish I could undo I still cling to hope and happiness And choose to think of you

And be it spring or six more weeks of winter Until we meet again Take care, my dearest woodchuck This is an ode to you, my friend

How in your little slice of paradise You reside beneath the ground And wait out the harshest of the storms In the oasis you have found

“long live the woodchuck”

[poem by kate hoppe ‘23]

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“star crossed lovers” [poem by chizzy okolo ‘24]

did romeo actually love juliet? or was he just a boy that got bored of the first maiden who needed a new toy did he really see her hair flowing in the wind? or get mesmerized by her eyes blue seas he could get lost in did they even know love? were they taught it from a young age? their family situation didn’t sound the best all hurt and filled with betray how long does it take to love? to fall so deeply in so far in fact that you’d do anything for them kill, die, lie on their behalf, run away on a whim why would they do that? she knew him for a week it’s not plausible for them to love their minds were too weak if romeo loved juliet if shakespeare rings true when we talked it would’ve counted for something, he would’ve loved me too

sun soaked [watercolor by abigail mcguire ‘25]

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spring 2023

“dusk with a side of rain” [poem by bailey shea ‘25]

A dream vacation A fantasized getaway For some It’s to an island Or a beach With beautiful crystal blue waters And white soft sand Others might want the mountains For the clean crisp air The snow always covering the ground They want to getaway Far away Far enough that they Temporarily forget What their home’s like I like my home It’s my favorite place to be There’s so many things to do Places to see and be Although that doesn’t mean I don’t dream about My favorite time and place to Feed my mind and soul With a healthy balanced meal of A break It starts with a temporary Cut off from stressors An appetizer This showcases the beautiful china this food will be served on Some that only make this far more delicious and appealing

Then the main course A breath of fresh air One tainted with the smell of a coming rain My hand on the bark of a tree Rough yet healing My mind assessing how well I’d be able to climb it What a way to be a very nostalgic kind of active My bare feet feeling the crunch of leaves and twigs Giving into my urges to run and climb, laughing and happy Being the child I wish I could be just one more time Yet no meal is complete without a wonderful dessert The rain comes Making me run faster So I can find newly formed puddles to splash To get sopping wet Feel the rain run down my hands, legs, face, hair, neck It’s now dusk with a side of rain Quickly approaching twilight Where I can look up Find patterns of stars and invisible lines Knowing each has a story behind it This meal would feed my mind and soul To its fullest extent But I know At the end of the day It’ll always be a craving Never satisfied And each time I get close as hIw I’ll wake up s i w y arl so de I t s ore t he f n i ver Ne

distant hills [digital photo by margaret morris ‘23] burn

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“ariadne”

[poem by katherine dietz ’26]

Ariadne I wish I could say “I’m sorry” but their blood isn’t on my hands, it’s on yours Maybe I’m guilty of one thing helping you at all I wove you my string, lent you my knife I did it all for you I trusted you Loved you yet you left me here to die you seem to forget it was you who left not me call me a witch a traitor the like but he is much better to me than you ever were it doesn’t matter, because you get to be a hero every child wishing to be you

red ruby jewels [acrylic painting by audrey arthur ‘23]

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spring 2023

title way i see you art/photothe

[medium by first last’##]

[mixed media by karis simon ’25]

“the fall to the impact”

[poem by layla wilke-conant ’25] You fell.

Some may even say you fell hard.

But I plummeted.

When you tripped, I went off a cliff.

And I knew I was falling.

But I didn’t care.

I left my hair down, knowing it would get tangled.

Kept my eyes open, knowing they would water.

Listened, knowing the sound would hurt my ears.

My hair was left a mess.

My eyes streamed with tears.

My ears rang.

And yet the view, the music, the whispers, the feelings of you they were beautiful, even on my way down.

I guess the hardest part was you caught yourself. [poem by first last’##] You stopped yourself and stood back up.

And I do not know what is worse: Poem in Avenir Lighthair sizeis 12 The fact that your intact, your eyes are dry, your ears were left untouched Or the fact that you never seemed to hear the sounds or see the beauty in me, that I saw in you.

Maybe it’s because you fell but you never had to hit the ground.

You never got to see the beauty of the impact.

“poetry title in quotes”

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Spring 2023

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