Cry Hawk Cry

Cry Hawk Cry

Misentity 2022

Misentity Magazine© North Harford High School 2022

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The Misentity Staff would like to thank all the writers and artists who contributed to the magazine.

Sponsors: Mr. James, Mrs. Dallam, Mr. Blevins, Ms. Campbell Special thanks to all NHHS English teachers, art teachers, and a volunteer staff of students. Covers: Annika Peterson – Front, Kayla Smith – Back Managing Editors: Annika Peterson, Clare Cummings, Lauren Smith, Courtney Warns, and many creative writing collaborators.

Annika Peterson’22 Disclaimer: Some submissions contain content that readers might find offensive or disturbing. Use discretion. All content is fictional. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Misentity is published annually by North Harford High School. © All Rights revert to the author upon publication with the provision that Misentity received the initial publication credit.

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Lullaby Annika Peterson

Hiccupping sobs drench Rosy cheeks and tattered pillowcases Crying out to no one in particular Shuddering beneath ghost-thin sheets To him, the earthquake tossed his tiny world But all is quiet downstairs The pitter-patter of the somber storm Ushers the boy to sleep And stirs the miniature men Who trickle down to earth on raindrops Marching in through the windowsill Waltzing into open wounds Gifts of salt and honey Take a chisel to the soft pink fibers of his mind Making sense of the mess his parents made Buried in his puffy-eyed slumber His mind becomes a monster And the earth reaches out her tender hand Stroking the starry-eyed boy to sleep Whispering stories to keep the child in him awake Tempered and held close by sweet illusions Delirious with myths and magic He no longer knows what is real

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Devil’s Temptation Lauren Smith If only I had been the apple, I could’ve seen you for the snake you were

Hannah Williams ‘22

My Father, the Wallpaper Annika Peterson Renovation stifles the void left of his father’s home. The whole house is rotten, but damp walls make the old man’s job easy.

They whisper, “I’ve missed you”.

He scrapes away old scars and crayon scribbles tarnishing the once virgin plaster.

From dull, swirling patterns, his weary mind conjures ghosts.

The flaking wallpaper wrinkles before him, revealing dull, melancholic eyes.

Fragile paper lips plead to their son. “Please, bring life back to me!”

Oh, how familiar that voice was!

But a cold drop from the leaky ceiling draws him back to the living realm.

The lonely man shook his head.

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Chasing Memories He is lightning - raw, powerful, and unpredictable.

She is thunder - always one step behind but gaining chase with every breath.

As the gap closes between them, the skies grow dark in anticipation. She can feel the static in the air. He’s so close, she can almost taste him - a tang of copper on her tongue.

He tears himself away again and the chase begins anew. He lets her draw close, time and time again.

Teasing. A game of cat and mouse. Inevitably though, he’ll give in, let her fold into him in a way that makes him never want to let go. He both craves and dreads the deep thrum that reverberates through his chest when they touch. He never wants it to end.

But it has to.

He is lightning.

He is God. She is not worthy.

But she’ll never stop hoping that one day, she might be.

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Hannah Williams ‘22

When finally, she catches up, the heavens open, and the grounds shake at their meeting. The skies echo with the crash of their hips colliding, the wind roars with the sound of their labored breaths, and the clouds weep for her when it’s all over because they know he will only leave her again. It’s how it’s always been. How it would always be.

Imperialism Caroline McKnight

Today at school

The odor of stinking

I watched

Guilt

I listened

Fills the halls

As a girl got bullied

But we cannot fix it now

I did not say anything

She went “must”

Or reply to their remarks

It wasn’t our fault, they say

Since I wanted to be liked

Whatever makes you feel better They just seek approval

So she went home

And I was their puppet

And never came back The bystander is worse Now I live with such

Than the crime-doer

Tremendous

Because silence

Guilt

Is deafening

Unendurable agony

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Annika Peterson ‘22

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My head Spilt in Two I woke up and it was a nice day, the windows opened and the birds were singing, a cool breeze and even my mom playing the record player downstairs. Part of me wished it were raining and cold, dark and quiet.

I do not know why I am like this. I have something good, but always want something bad.

Maybe it is so that I have a reason for the way I am? But rainy, cold, dark days bring me peace; the sound of the rain hitting the windows and the sound of the thunder.

Why is it that something that a lot of people don’t like, I love?

I went downstairs and saw mom dancing in the kitchen with dad to the song “When the Stars Come Out” by Chris Stapelton and it makes my heart happy to see my parents so in love. Some of my friends don’t have that.

Nothing is wrong in my life. I have no reason to be the way I am. I don’t think I have a valid enough reason to go to therapy. But maybe I am too stubborn to see that. Sometimes it is clear that I need to go to a therapist, and I know I should, but I feel I shouldn’t have to. Nothing is wrong in my life.

Maybe I'm bipolar? No. No way I am. Maybe it's just that I'm indecisive? No. I can make my mind up about what I want. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I need therapy. But do I really?

I talked to mom about going to therapy but ended up yelling at her and I don’t know why I raised my voice. I couldn’t help it. I do that sometimes without meaning to. She cried and while she was crying, I told her I didn’t need her anymore. I felt like she was asking me too many questions and I got too overwhelmed and exploded.

I didn’t mean what I said to her. I love my mom. I do need her.

I also need therapy.

But what is my reason for going? I don’t need it if I can't even think of a good enough reason.

I am hurting my family.

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Her Danny Gallo Life has never made so much sense I’ve never breathed air this light My heart has never felt so full It is wrapped in a fuzzy blanket Wooled, knitted 100% cotton I always wanted the entire world Now I have it in my arms and I’m so scared to drop it I’ve always been clumsy.

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Waltz Bella Silvestri Oh, woeful sunset, Going away till dawn.

But it’s all okay, Since there is beauty in the night.

The lonesome sorrow Of the man on the moons waltz,

The glistening of the stars, The gentle blinking of their glow, A breeze moving their dance along through the clouds, The tiptoe of their steps across the cosmos, And through galaxies beyond your imagination

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Demented Servitude *

terrible conditions of this small room.

Loud footsteps took Davis’ breath away and he stopped moving. Lilly continued to tremble in fear on his lap.

Davis feared whatever it was that would walk through the door, but he didn’t know why.

“Why is the child not crying?” The person screams as they walk in the door.

The person was completely concealed in a black robe. Davis couldn’t see the person who was speaking, nor did he care. He only knew that he wanted to leave, but where was he? And where would he go?

“Answer me!” The person booms.

“I took care of her,” Davis whispered reluctantly.

“You imbecile! Why are you not like the rest? You should know your place here!”

Davis once again looked around the room at the people in the chairs, staring. They remain silent and still, almost dead. Their breathing is rhythmic and slow timed perfectly for minimal noise. “#2, please explain what this one has done wrong.” The person demands.

“We do not do anything unless we are told to do so, we like it here and we do not want to risk being kicked out,” the person who Davis assumed was #2 says, “You are supposed to let the chosen child cry, no one here has a name. Only a number.”

Davis remains silent in fear. He doesn’t remember receiving a

Kimberly Edgar

The child screams in the air of the crowded room as the man attempts to quiet it. Davis didn’t know how to take care of a child, nor did he know why the child was even here.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Davis whispered into the child’s ear.

But was it okay? Davis looked around at the other people in the room. Everyone was quiet and staring. Why was no one helping him take care of the child? Davis didn’t know.

The small room was humid and suffocating. Sweat covered Davis’ temple as he rocked the child on his knee. The child was a little girl, her screams pierced Davis’ ears. Why was she crying and why won’t she stop? She must have been at least six years old, she is capable of talking, isn’t she?

“What is your name?” Davis tries.

“Lilly,” she whispered in between cries.

“Why are you crying, Lilly?”

“The bad man took my mommy away!”

“Who is the bad man?”

“I don’t know.”

Davis sighs, Lilly stops her crying, but she continues shaking. Trembling in fear of the bad man, who was this bad man? The other people in the room continued to stare at Davis and Lilly. The people seemed mindless and empty, not showing much emotion towards the 11

number or why he was here. Davis shuts his eyes and tries to tell himself to wake up.

“You may sit #2. You imbecile with the child in your lap need to appreciate what you have. I think you need to see what happens next door,” The person informs Davis.

Davis writhes in his seat, trying to get the people’s hands off his face.

If only he could close his eyes. Why did these people just accept this servitude?

Thud.

Lilly’s head hit the floor.

The person moves forward and takes Lilly with such force that she erupts in tears again. More people come in with black robes and pry Davis’ eyes open. Making him watch Lilly kick and scream in the stranger’s hands.

Red. The stranger pulled the sharpest knife out of his robe and cut. Limb by limb. Shrieks and cries, blood, so much blood.

“Help me!”

“We cannot help you,” the room chants around Davis, “You are our sin and you will pay.”

Silvia Guevara-Martinez ‘22

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Bella Silvestri The warm smooth insides taste of crumbled silk Sweet, bitter tang like a bitten berry Teacup kissing saucer, chaste, the same ilk Creamy tea is rather plain with milk And she glances up still rather wary The warm smooth insides taste of crumbled silk He invites her gaze, but with clear guilt To him, she sparkles, a guiltless fairy

Teacup kissing saucer, chaste, the same ilk He leans, she parries, an unwoven quilt The scone a bridge, an offering, not scary The warm smooth insides taste of crumbled silk Fingers brush, a relationship is built One day they may, rather must, marry Teacup kissing saucer, chaste, the same ilk And with a shake, a jolt, a jilt The bursting red fruit of a bitter cherry The warm smooth insides taste of crumbled silk Teacup kissing saucer, chaste, the same ilk

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Pearls

What You Did To Me

Ava Pippitt

Ava Pippitt

They say, “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

But I prefer pearls and the simplicity of them.

They say, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

Which I believe, because of my love for thrifting.

They say, “The world’s your oyster.”

Which makes no sense But neither does my love for the small things oysters make

You call me your rose, But what you’re asking for isn’t delicate.

Karma is in your eyes, I know you feel the pain.

But it can’t be as much as I feel.

The silk of my dress sticks onto my skin.

Covering the shame, but when its revealed, your name will be as well.

Kayla Smith ‘22

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Terror “Last night I dreamt, I went to Manderley” Can't sleep without the images,

Madison Dietz ‘25

Haunting “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley.” I hope to one day go myself.

A place filled with beautiful people, stores filled with anything you can imagine and not a worry in the world. I have been there a few times this past week, says my son. Austin, 14, has been having a terrible time making friends in school, I have been worried about him. He escapes his reality and dreams of this so-called place Manderley. How do I make him enjoy real life?

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Motive Ava Griffith A place separated from society Where laws aren’t upheld And bad behavior is enforced.

A food chain Where the prey is used and trashed.

I chose to be a predator Just as another had, That’s how we met Although his hunting techniques are questionable.

He toys with his prey,

Makes them dance While I release them from this hell.

He seems much happier And tells me that life is meant to be enjoyed, That if I'm going to remain a predator I need to find enjoyment in hunting.

That’s what separates us, He torments for sport I torment from impulse That’s what makes us me

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Caught In The Sea Kylie Sauer She loves the sea, always diving deeper plunging through the waves, into the unknown and his love feels the same surrounding her And swimming through his ocean, she has grown.

Sometimes, his ocean is calm and serene she floats, gently over the humble waves in blissful sun, the water glistens green his gentle love gives her all that she craves.

But when it storms, his waves urge her to fight struggling to stay afloat, but she won’t quit nothing she wouldn’t do, to get through night the pain he causes, she’ll never admit she’s so busy fighting, caught in his storm she cannot see that on the beach, it’s calm.

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Foul Beast Something In the distance

hush hush

Stares at me with cold eyes

Anonymous Thank you,

I know what it wants, a dark desire

For getting my things, Foul beast

For me.

Next week it’s my turn,

To get your things, For you.

Yes, you can have Half my orange, No, you don’t

Have to ask.

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.

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Annika Peterson ‘22

Frozen raspberries Lio Tolliver

Cough drop Annika Peterson

it is Fatality, and it snaps its fingers, in time with your steps, or, is it the other way around? do you click your nails, on the tile, to the rush of your blood, and let the world trickle, down around you.

Cold cherry cough drop Chemical and clean Gliding along my tired tongue Clicking cool past cracked teeth You’d soothe throats if only you were real At least you’re sweet enough to steal The petty pocketknives rending my throat Clawing like starved dogs I crunch and swallow A pill of bitter rain Cloying cherry spit Seeps into my hollow chest I pluck another

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Anatomy Annika Peterson Pale red juice spilled across the counter as Miss Nelly’s knife sunk down, crunching down on tendon and bone. A cold bell tone – supper was ready. The other children hurried around the table, arranging sets of silverware across identical placemats. I wasn’t hungry. I seemed to be the only one who noticed the growing number of empty seats. A “very nice family” had stolen them all away. It couldn’t be true – why would they leave me here to rot? The smell of burnt meat and singed skin licked my nose, peeling me from my thoughts. “Eat up, dear. Health is important to couples looking to adopt, you know. Healthy anatomy.” I pushed my plate further away. I knew only that anatomy made people kill their children.

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A. Keenan ‘23 22

The Boy is Found Courtney Warns The ghosts of strangler trees slip their sheaths around the bodies of others and swallow them.

Forming an empty cast around their decomposed hosts To them, humans are nothing but sculptures of immobile meat For the rest of our lives The poor stick boy hangs He loses himself in the logic of his will He stands lost in the universe’s weeds and has made himself invisible A plan that will take a thousand years to realize, Humans will goose-step around one-thousand-word memories And tell tales of seas, planets with many suns while philosophy engulfs the tiny maggots The almond table decays enough to clack the steel balls While the redwood suffers more mishaps than the pendulum toy To swim in promises The white monkey hangs on crimson bark To solve scarcity at last and cure hunger at the heart’s core Humming his son’s favorite song, he’ll raise decaying corpses and eat the soul of the young.

Then the fate of the human race lies in the hands of the well-adjusted, social ones and the masters of emotion.

Pulling the boy back to the mystery 23

Woman of Many Names Alyssa Dunn It was supposed to be an easy job. But now they were speeding down the highway.

Their names are Cornell and Kowai, and this is their story.

It all started on a cold Monday in December of 1991. The pair was given an assignment in Esso, Russia. They were supposed to gather intel on a supposed rival of Cornell’s family. It seemed like an easy job at the time, but as the moment drew closer, Cornell began to second guess her abilities. This frustrated Kowai. He knew that she was an amazing person and hated that she was thinking so low of herself.

“I’m just saying, if you keep bringing yourself down like this, we’ll never accomplish the mission” Kowai brought up, rubbing his temple in frustration. Little did he know, he just instigated an argument between the two. “Well, I’m sorry that I can’t be little Ms. Perfect” Cornell snapped back, crossing her arms over her chest. This pushed Kowai over the edge.

“No one is asking you to be perfect, Cornell” he said, locking his pink eyes on her own purple ones. Cornell scoffed at his comment, leaving the dark and musty mission briefing room.

The two of them didn’t argue very often, but when they did it was always over something stupid. Like when they were younger, Cornell would always steal Kowai’s food.

Cornell would deny that she snagged his snacks and then they would argue until one of their parents intervened. That was when they were younger though. They were supposed to grow more mature as they grew up, but it seemed that they stayed the same.

The time for the mission arrived before they knew it, and Kowai was still upset about the argument they had earlier in the day. Cornell knew she had to push aside whatever she was feeling about the argument, for the sake of keeping her cover. Although, for Kowai, it wasn’t that easy.

As Cornell entered the bar where their mission was going to take place, she was greeted with the strong smell of alcohol and body odor. It made her nose scrunch up in disgust.

“God, it smells awful in here” Cornell finally spoke up, turning to Kowai. Kowai just nodded, not really wanting to talk to her. She could tell something was up, for sure. “Are you ok?” She followed up, whispering to her companion. Once again, he just nodded. “Fine, then Mr. Pouty Pants” she grumbled, rolling her lavender eyes.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air” was all Kowai said before exiting the bar. He planned on waiting on the corner just in case Cornell needed him. As soon as Kowai rounded the corner, Cornell was approached by two men in deep blue suits. They approached her from behind, each putting a hand on each of her tan shoulders. She could smell their expensive cologne. Well, it was hard not to, it seemed like they put 20 layers of that stuff on them. It almost made her cough; it was so strong.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” she squeaked, her head turning to face one of the men.

Her mint green hair brushed against the other man’s face when she turned. He quickly swatted the hair out of the way, which caused Cornell to look at him instead. “Yes, you actually can” the man on her left grumbled lowly, squeezing her shoulder. Cornell winced, stomping on the man’s foot. “Ow, you witch!” the man shouted, getting the attention of the 24

man on her right. That caused the man on her right to force her arm behind her back. She was in trouble. Where was Kowai when she really needed him?

The men started to lead her towards one of the back rooms of the dimly lit bar, keeping a tight grip on her shoulders and arms. And that’s when she heard it, the sound of the bar door opening. She smirked, hearing Kowai’s rapid footsteps approaching. That was her cue to use the training that she had been learning since a young age. She quickly twisted the man’s arm that was holding her arms together, landing a quick blow to his stomach. It was enough to knock him to the ground. Next up was Kowai. He smiled kindly to the man holding onto Cornell’s shoulder before punching him straight in the face. It was enough for the man to stumble backward and let go of Cornell.

“Sorry about ditching you, I got a little over-emotional” Kowai apologized, wiping his bloody hand on his suit. He would wash his clothes later, of course. Cornell shook off the feeling of the men’s hands on her shoulders before responding to her friend.

“It’s no biggie, it happens to the best of us” Cornell smiled, cracking her knuckles in anticipation. The pair smiled at each other before facing back-to-back. They hoped these guys would just give and they could leave unharmed, but sometimes that wasn’t the case. “Do you remember when the biggest problem we had was if we were allowed to hang out with each other or not?” Cornell asked, quietly laughing to herself. “Yeah, yeah I do” Kowai laughed along with Cornell.

“Life was so simple-“Cornell started, pausing to kick one of the men in the stomach when Annika Peterson ‘22 he ran at her. “-back then” she finished, a deep breath escaping her lips. Kowai nodded, copying her movement on the other male.

It didn’t take long for the opposition to surrender, aware that they weren’t as skilled as Kowai and Cornell. The enemies were tied to separate bar chairs and left, both Cornell and Kowai checking the knots to make sure they couldn’t escape without outside help.22’Once they Annika Peterson opened the door to the outside of the bar, they were met with the icy Russian wind. It blew their hair, causing a chill to run down both of their spines.

“Have I told you how much I hate cold weather,” Cornell spoke up, teeth chattering as she spoke.

“Many times,” Kowai chuckled, opening the passenger door for his friend. Once they were both seated, Kowai started the car, blasting the heat to get them warmer. Cornell took one last look at the bar before giving the signal to Kowai to start their escape. The blonde turned up the radio to the max before speeding off towards the highway. Their favorite song was playing.

“With the lights out, it’s less dangerous.”

“Here we are now, entertain us.”

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My Dear My fragile fawn, bask in the forest clear Lovely sun soaks skin and warms midday air Wooded whispers stroke soft necks dumb with fear Sore eyes shudder as they return their stare, You’ve darted off in bramble thick and cruel Ancient branches are ignorant to gore Slicing weary arms reaching for the fool Wet bones mince madly on the forest floor Cut and cradled, bitter is the unknown Snuffed is your light from my pitiful eye Haunted having left you ghost, all alone Who to despise, the dreadful wood or I? So tiresome, wondering him stranded there My poor little deer; fate is never fair

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Police Brutality Colin Smith ‘22 Here, standing, the white man with his gun.

With the crowd,

Hollowness.

I watched him.

The people expected it.

He has got to appear resolute,

The crowd would laugh with one long struggle

and his face grows to fit it.

The white man turns tyrant.

Alive, Somehow it always seems worse.

Aimless police officer.

A white man mustn’t be frightened.

Dead, He did not collapse.

But he must charge if you go too close.

There were endless discussions.

Act quickly, posing figure and conventionalized dummy.

For he stood weakly upright,

He wears a mask,

soon to collapse.

in every crisis.

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Emily Vaughn ‘24

A Worthy Opponent Robert Fenner At the door, a guard stands still Beat-red hands and flaming hair A long, lean face set by a pair of glasses All he does is stare, all he does is stare Christopher looked at the guard His hands grew clammy, He’s guarding the way!

Thoughts elude him, like trying to catch water, but then!

A bird comes from into view, and flies away.

But the guard still stares, The guard still stares!

An experiment, putting his life on the line Heart jumping out of his chest, a loud drum pounding throughout his body He tiptoes out, and stands in front of the guard But he still stares, oh but he still stares!

A rock, yes a rock! Pick it up and throw the rock.

Throw it far, throw it oh so very far.

The ginger turns, the ginger walks!

Slip into the tower, make your mark!

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Mother Nature’s Gifts Bella Silvestri Succulent Mother nature's pure angelic petals,

Bella Silvestri

Of watercolor strokes dipped in her glorious honey-sweet paint,

The sweet smooth succulents' skin

Her nectar so opaque,

So small it could fit on a pin

Shimmery shades of green and lilac,

It resides in a pot And its pattern a blot

And all the buds,

Its shapes so cute

So velvety soft

And has plenty of roots

Her colors spreading far all over,

The color is mint

Leaves with fuzz and cacti pricks,

Such a wonderful tint

Her wondrous creations wrapped in ribbon with a bow, Unique like each person, The beauty of individuality

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Silvia Guevara-Martinez ‘22

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Magnetic Mirrors Jaz Owens

Looking down upon myself When I’m now somebody else Somebody Withdrawn from the verve A final glance Satisfies my trance Before The station master rings the bell I often understate The magnetism of mirrors Speculating Who it is that I see The sound of mirthless water Runs laughing through her fingers And I almost wish to meet her

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Silvia Guevara-Martinez 22’

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A Mess of Tangled Code Maddie Rhodes The boy loses himself in the logic of his will He’s busy making worlds It’s perfect absurd up to something The vision is religious and dark green These obsolete miracles cannot be thrown away Every program tunnels into a possibility They beckon bizarre dreamlike contorted His mind a mess of tangled code He came down out of a tree He takes stock of his ruined life The only thing to do is branch and grow He will keep searching and spreading Finding a possible means to escape On the internet, no one knows you’re a freak His games spawn imitations The more he gives away The more he has His fans will howl His vision fades into its platonic shadow around the decaying redwood He’ll get to the place he had just seen He needs to think He was the only one who hadn’t had enough He holds still in the empty place The plan now uses him, it was never his It will take him a thousand years to realize The boy continues to lose himself in the logic of his will

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Jaz Owens

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The Hitchhiker Annika Peterson

Afterimages float away in sketches, virgin renderings abandoned by the hitchhiker His hovering thumb the meek performance of a man praying to carry on sleepwalking in peace. Wallowing in the dormancy he welcomes as his birthright So hollow of a birthright, monotony manifests in his sketches Succumbing to its perpetual dormancy suffocates the untouched hitchhiker Each passing car sleepwalking lazily past his performance A holy performance dissolves the scaffolds of birthright An angel dips below to steer the sleepwalking.

As she breathes life through his sketches, he falls into the backseat, a hitchhiker submitting to the spell of dormancy The rhythm of the road lulls in dormancy, holding time still the hour of the performance as the crowd sedates the hitchhiker 35

Such passionless crimes are his birthright But light takes his hand, and she sketches noble gods to clutch while sleepwalking But the gods know he is sleepwalking, blundering towards perpetual dormancy Yet somewhere in her voices she sketches, signing away her body to the performance.

It was her birthright. whispers the hitchhiker Alone in a driverless vehicle, the hitchhiker assumes the wheel, sleepwalking nimbly enough to escape his birthright.

She still sings in soliloquys, and dormancy shudders and opens the curtains to a performance dedicated to an empty theatre. Onstage, he sketches.

Oblivion is birthright to the hitchhiker, toiling with sketches bred to rot alongside sleepwalking humans. Dormancy, how splendid and alive a performance.

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Sydney Culberson Maurer 24’

Fair, Not Fair Clare Cummings

The rain wrought the justice deserving of the fields.

Not fair, not fair this drought.

And the farmer sank to his knees And the mother cried like her babe And the boys in the mud shrieked with their clothes turned dirty and their grins turned wide, wide, wide.

And in their sorrow, the skies weep, weep, weep.

Not fair, not fair these fields drinking up this grief.

The mother, and her broken crown.

The boys, and these tattered clothes.

On his back now, the farmer shakes pulling fistfuls of weeds up in his anguish.

And they have been waiting for a grief like this But the babe, now lost to the storm— Not fair, not fair Not fair.

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Untitled Sydney Phipps

The Empire is dying with tortured gasps it has turned tyrant – its people hollow But I followed the beast – I pulled the trigger – I had done the right thing, I followed them every bang – every shot, every jolt of agony – I was in the right – legally

The people were excited watching like I was a conjurer, soon to impress – Like the theatre curtains were about to go up, I was a puppet to the crowd

But beyond the people – was a hollowness – a futility For I was a dummy, a mask A figure that shall spend his life without freedom

I fire aimlessly for the government – for the people But I felt agony, for: Every shot, and every tortured breath The endless blood, the slow rattling gasps

In the end the freedom I grasped Was what I killed

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Festival Anonymous

In the forest, after midnight, leave little fishes at the shrine They’ll smell it once you leave, lick clean the bones and leave the spine Forest cats eat berries, lavender, cinquefoil, foxglove, thyme Whiskers tap on ribbons– tied to silver bells, they chime Little paws they now entwine, little prints lead little crimes Bathe in moonlight, roll in pine Bind your herbs and spice in twine They thump their steps, paws sound in time Cats dance in rings, in circles, lines They do trapeze on forest vines, They walk the tightrope, oh so high, Only just a whisker wide.

Cats sing poetry in voices wry, Recite old songs, loud and shy.

Cry out all, “Morning is nigh!”

Hide the kittens, sun will shine.

Sweep pots and pans and trash inside, The world awakes, dew runs dry, Retreat underground, drink salmon wine, Wait again for the darkness that comes past nine.

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Milk Anonymous

The milk stands alone It's pretty much empty He flips it and leaves

Expiration Date Emily White I turned 18 today, and woke up feeling different I’m an adult now, and realized the persistent Pounding of expectation That remains-an everlasting obligation To pay for my expired childhood From which I am now separated

40

From Private to Public Courtney Warns Vesuvius thunders a mighty roar cast out by the dwindling rock Igneous mating calls blow silent as melancholy whispers ask for a friend The adolescent mountain began cheerful but developed a teenage-rage building fury from the earth’s core A quiet life lived by people now disrupt in the overhead morning A magenta sky raises upon clouds and tastes a heavy dew The mountain smells the pungent scent of their naïve little hearts beating with rhythm Ticking through his immortal summit As the story of a grandfather clock travels among a kitten’s dream The tiny creature’s slumber interrupted by the smell of smoke Steam sizzling from the listeners of the mountain And the mountain hears red Amusement of the townspeople creates a hill-like sanction That whistles through the memory of the mountain The cheerful glory reflects into mockery of the unjust Until the last leaf is plucked from the imminent lava tree Leaving a scarlet fruit to siren the city A tide of silence repeals the town’s laughter The baritone clamor echoes through the stained-glass window of the roman slaves’ cobblestone chamber beneath the villa White heat blindly embraces the city in a great tumult beckoning for peace The mountain spews last night’s meal tearing the earth wide, again.

The footless mutts sink into a hedge of rubber quicksand the first hanging chamber tumbles in all its legacy of adultery as the mountain – provoked -- boils beyond the hairs of the fine blade grass 41

preserving the townspeople and their pretty little shelters burying them in a noxious blanket blackening with age.

The polytheistic worship house burns solid beneath the sky nighttime tucks the sleepy skeletons in for their eternal rest as the barred owl mutters a bedtime tale wrapping the dust in a folded pall dying with words And the kitten is now allowed to laze her purr Her heart slows to the beat of the minute hand and she must rest now.

The mountain cools in the glamor of his fulsome travesty of terror And snickers at the echo of nothingness The world remains scorching, but the mountain is romanticizing this feeling in colorful unity His art displayed for the ego to admire and touch And so, he captivates this adulation of his self-proclaimed quiet.

Time must be shared among the contrast of dark and light So, the paint strokes glide into morning and a new day brings a breeze of fresh air the color gray, but the mountain pays no mind His ears do what the eyes haven’t witnessed for generations And the mountain hears blue.

No laughter, no mockery, no one.

The mountain sits in his little dirt rocking chair that rests above Earth’s distraught hell His bosom feels a faint reflection of the events once past A mirror of warmth the mountain now embraces as he utters a single tune.

Now I’ve been smiling lately, Thinkin’ about the good things to come And I believe it could be, Something good has begun 42

The grass stands tall now with its chest puffed the mountain waves a rhapsodic smile folding the essence of the wind Once more, another magenta sky encounters a gray breeze muttering intoxicating miracles of swirling ground.

Days go by…

Another. And another. And another This day a minuscule seed slips through the claws of a flying dragon and the suffocating bedrock clip its wings leaving a flightless puddle of feathery pity The seed clicks down the mountainside and is absorbed by a crack in the molding of his heart A shake of heavy worry ripples through the mountain’s soil as the gradual growth of a young hyacinth gleams violet in the noon light For a short time, it darkens with purple dusk, fading with indigo edges, before finally willingly wilting.

Gray and lifeless The mountain’s peace wanes in a quiet storm of shame while the valley encompasses his single self And amidst all of nature’s noise, he stands alone for what, he realizes, will be thousands…and thousands, and thousands of years So, he is left to quiver the rest of his tired little tune.

I’m on the edge of darkness There ride the Peace Train Oh, Peace Train take this country Come take me home again And Pompeii rests in a time capsule of Vesuvius’ rue.

43

44

Sydney Culberson-Maurer 24’

Tide of Lies Veil of Tears

Koal Hohman

Damian Thomas I cry as my mind thrashes Caught in the tide of these lies And fake truths, Soul breaking falsehoods, Never to find The reason why Society is cruel to those Who have an open mind Their mask with a smile, Baiting them in, then stabbing with knives made of lies And then we die And our remains They buy Falling for greed And so I cry

A veil of tears shields my face And I sink into my own sorrow The voices tell me— “go” Whispers of an empty tomorrow I am led into blank space My mind going in every way I shatter in my own sadness I fear for the next day I’m afraid I might go away

45

My Pet Fox Kimberly Edgar “Your eyes are like periwinkle; did you know that?” I ask the fox.

The fox only stares in response. I know this fox, arctic. Pure white and frosty fur fluffs around its eyes and face. How odd to be found here, stark against the darkish green forest floor.

“Why are you here?”

Sounds of the birds fill my ears, the fox stays quiet. I breathe in the damp moss smell. I wait.

A few beats and then – Movement.

The white fox’s ears twitch and it comes closer slowly.

My knees hurt from my kneeling position. Dirt and grass making the brand new jeans mommy got me dirty. It stops.

The fox smiles.

“Why am I here?

Why are you here?”

The fox says.

“Very funny little fox, don’t trick me!”

I cry, “I’m pretty smart for a 13 year old.”

“You are either smart or dumb for fighting reality, I’m not the one tricking you.”

“I am NOT reckless!”

I pout and start to cry. I just want to touch the pretty fox. It doesn’t belong here but it’s pretty and cute and it looks soft! I cry harder. The

fox takes a step back and shakes its head in disgust. I sniffle and try to stop.

“P-please?” I cry again.

“For the love of squirrels and birds, fine!” the fox sighs.

It accepts and I touch the fur of the white fox.

Soft like silk, dense. It makes me happy; I scratch the fox around its ears and under its Adelyn Keenan 23’ chin.

I smile.

The fox smiles too.

The fox swishes his tail.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Silence.

I reach my hand out and the fox considers my hand.

“Please?” I beg.

“Why should I listen to a reckless child?”

“Sarah? Get off the floor and help mommy!”

Oh. Right.

I stop petting my cat and the dream falls away. The forest is my pink bedroom, and the grass is my carpet under my knees. Mr. Whiskers stares at me, with his white fur and his blue eyes. I stand up and wipe the fake dirt from my jeans and I ask the fox to follow me.

It does.

“I’m not a fox,” it says.

“I know, let’s just pretend for a while,” I whisper.

46

Angelic Annihilation Marissa Struhar A wicked grin stretches across his face Knowing that he sacrificed everyone to get his place I thought that I knew him These devilish acts only appear as a sin Followers who once trusted him to sing their sorrowful hymns His once precious thoughts erase Crying out to win the race His mind wanders, and he falls off the brim A wicked grin stretches across his face I scream out his name, I begin to chase The one who I thought none could replace Peering over at the destruction, he begins to skim He sees me approach, my face dim At first glance, his appearance is full of grace A wicked grin stretches across his face

47

In Response to the Orwell Legally, I had done the right thing.

A mad elephant has to be killed, Like a mad dog, Like a mad Indian.

The by-products of imperialism, I hated more bitterly than I can make clear.

The wretched prisoners, The scarred buttocks of the natives who had flogged By the white man’s dominion in the East.

The white man wears a maks, And his face grows to fit the devilish expression When I pulled the trigger, a mysterious change Had come over the elephant I dare say he seemed for a moment to rise, Eyes wide Teeth bared Reaching skyward in agony.

One could have imagined him, Thousands of years old, A buddist priest, Crucified and helpless against it.

With a crash that seemed to shake the ground, The elephant would never rise again.

I often wondered If in some world remote from me, the elephant had Neither stirred nor fell, a world where not Even a white man could damage him.

48

Marissa Struhar

49

She knows it is stupid But she is Judas.

So to hell with their promise.

She wants him to know

Garden of Eden Lauren Smith Young love, always so full of promise Passion turning even the smartest stupid And that stupidity turns passion to possession.

A forbidden truth and yet she knows.

So, her loyalty fades And she is Judas

She cannot keep up with the guilt – she knows Lust fades And she makes her own promise.

To keep her husband’s unwavering love in her possession, She must give up on Judas And pray her husband is stupid

But the thing about Judas, Is that he too showed promise.

The love for his master not quick to fade But greed made him stupid.

Her husband demands nothing, she knows, But her conviction is an unholy possession

Her ignorance made her stupid But now every part of her knows, She is no longer Judas.

Resentment fades And peace is in possession.

A renewed promise.

It was her presence however, that was his most prized possession.

God knew, and still, he stayed with Judas.

Her husband knows He’ll always be by her side – a promise.

She thinks him stupid And he watches her fade

An unlikely end for Judas, so outlandish it seems stupid He has kept his promise, and it is their daughter she now knows All doubt fades with the garden of Eden finally in their possession.

Much like her patience fades.

Sin takes her as his possession

50 Silvia Guevara-Martinez ‘22

Sunshine The sun is a scarf with fuzzy warmth, Which glistens on the opal in the crisp fall air His eyes, like a stormy cloud, and hers a crunchy leaf.

Their laughter dancing through the sky Rough and smooth contrast Fingers laced together The smiles shared and moments treasured Memories made and simple times A date in October, to be remembered forever.

Sanaa Johnson ‘23

51

Crunch Koal Hohman Crunch.

The chip crunched in his mouth as he purposely taunts me in class, smirking confident.

Believing I can’t retaliate, just as I hadn’t before.

Crunch.

The miserable sound repeats every day in my head, thrashing in my head, a horrible echo.

It fuels the hatred a little less this time.

Crunch.

He sneered as he holds the two pieces of my glasses in his hands like a prize, the shards hit the ground, but I don’t let my tears fall with them.

Crunch.

I watch him ball up a piece of paper in his hands as he exits the school doors. He walks down the same steps he always does, and this time, I follow, hiding my excitement.

Crunch.

He carelessly steps on the trash, not caring that it was in his way as he entered alley. I make my move, grabbing his arm while he’s still naïve to what’s happening. I smile. Now it’s my turn.

Crunch.

Untitled Koal Hohman He walked through the brush, toward the injured game with a pocketknife. He ended its suffering. He begun skinning the creature, when he noticed at the edge of his vision, a wrapper, of a cherry cough drop. He stopped, sniffed it, “intruder,” and moved to hunt them. He was getting close when the drop of rain fell on his nose. “Trail go cold soon...”

But he saw. “Found them.” He dashed out, and his claw dug into their flesh, becoming red with blood. The others fired their weapons, but he grabbed them and crushed their skulls with ease. The hunt was over, as he pulled them away, red dragging behind them.

52

To ADHD – Levi

My coach

“Are you even listening?” say

My teachers My friends

my friends

My siblings

“Pay attention,” says my teacher

All say just focus but they don’t

“Stop doing that,” says my

understand I can't

coach

It feels like I'm a dog looking at a

That’s all I hear

squirrel

Something I can't control is

So, if you are reading this be

ruling my life

patient with others

I tell myself

Because they might struggle the

“Breathe, Levi”

way I do.

“Breathe” “Focus" People don’t understand the struggles People don’t understand I can't control it People don’t understand the hate I have for my brain I sleep in school because my brain is exhausted I can't stay focused on one thing for more than 5 minutes 53

Lily of the Valley

Spring Clare Cummings

Clare Cummings Spring is fresh grass clippings because the old neighbor with the wrinkled hands just mowed his lawn.

And beaded friendship bracelets Sun-bleached, faded, Spring is banana bread, right out the oven with extra chocolate chips because that is the secret to the secret recipe that Mom keeps above the kitchen sink.

It is picnics and sundresses and bouquets of white daisies.

Barefooted, standing on the edge, surrounded by wildflowers: This is Spring.

She is wasting all this breath on a trembling, timid voice After a time, he heard little And forgot How to speak She is a violent sea splashed golden Hopeless and dark The same as when she got up this morning Splendidly dressed and hastily dried eyes and so tired of swimming Who in the world am I? She begs And she begs The dark of the sea Is a quiet, certain thing And so, so tired of begging,

And Autumn is your favorite, with her crisp air and lopsided jack-olantern grin.

But you sit alone with your wildflowers and your fresh-cut grass and still-warm banana bread And you shield your eyes with one hand and you look out at a horizon made of blues and futures and questions.

For later.

For now, this is Spring.

She swims And she swims, and She is a dutiful sacrifice

And the birds are singing!

And your mother is calling!

And Autumn’s crisp grin is still far, far away: This is Spring.

54

Historic Recurrence Kimberly Edgar Many years slipped passed Yet my heart still beats Just as hard, just as fast History repeats Asking why breaks my mind Why don’t we accept each other and become one?

Fire meets water, we remain blind The battle we fight cannot be won You almost engulf me in your flame, burning me But then you’re gone like ashy wind Your heat still grows inside me The picture on your mind, I am pinned Our love freezes like a river Still, flowing underneath, it never stops It’s cold, sure, but please don’t quiver Do you want it to stop?

Change, predictable, and always moving, always happening Yet you and me stand motionless We are reaching for each other, crying Fear settles in our souls, our keeper, a shame, a mess

55

Isabella Singh ‘23

Devil on My Shoulder Sophia Shull Rest your head, weary traveler The night is still young The wind is howling The warmth, almost done Arise, weary traveler For you approach the sunrise March steadfast and strong As you walk beyond your demise Ride on, weary traveler Though there’s no horizon in sight To the end you are bound Through a moonless night Stay strong, weary traveler Through Hell you must roam Do not fear the fires below, You must make it home

Forgive me, weary traveler Do not look behind For this is the struggle Of mankind

Ghost States ‘22

56

Healing Ava Griffith

Love has never been a particularly strong word to me, Maybe it's because so many have used it To manipulate and exploit my vulnerabilities.

For three years When I was still in single digits.

For another year in middle school.

I never learned the importance of love Or the real meaning of it, So I spent my life avoiding it Like the very thought of it would cause Hell to grab me by the ankles And drag me right back to where I started.

Then you came into my life And let me realize the true meaning of it.

But the fear instilled in me can't be erased with these small acts, And even less with large ones.

You did nothing wrong, But I can't believe you're innocent.

Not when you use that four-letter word.

I don't have the answers, But if you'll be patient with me Maybe we'll figure it out together

57

Freight Train Emily White Stomachs swirl Hearts flutter All felt Was the tug on her By a cold kiss The drug of love Pulls her to miss The train

Silvia Martinez ‘22

58

Untitled Clare Cummings

The water weeps from down below

When silence falls, it follows you

You think you’d try and catch it

Down and down and down

The moon above begins to glow

The world is cast in light so blue

These blood-soaked hands are starlit

Now look, you’ve lost your crown

Clutch your chest and hold your breath

What could end before it starts?

What’s coming is what’s done

You realize you don’t know

Take a step and you could fall

The blood is from your torn-out heart

The risk is what is fun

You’ve never danced so low

The moon, she shines, as water laps

So, say goodbye to the river

It’s all just so predictable

The blood, the moon, your smile

You begin to fall between the gaps

Death has never been a giver

And yet, you are invincible

And life is but a trial

Beneath the bridge you close your eyes To let the light seep in No one now can hear your cries You played, but didn’t win

59

FEVER HOTEL JAZ OWENS The old woman who wears a bloody shawl To get to her you must crawl Through the depths of beauty and the steeps of hell Cracked black deviance makes up her shell She will observe you within your withdrawal “I will place you in a brawl” She will say in her chilled southern drawl And take you inside her fever hotel The old woman who wears a bloody shawl You will see her in a fiery squall Fabric spectral, an abandoned mall How old she is is hard to tell You cannot mistake her sulfuric smell that trails all through the hotel halls The old woman who wears a bloody shawl

60

Jasmine Owens

Untitled Koal Hohman

He ran into the void, as he had nowhere else to run. He heard the shouts behind him, his hunters, they chased him. They wouldn’t follow him all the way through, this was what they feared above all things after all. As he continued, he tripped and began to tumble, and never stopped. He just kept falling, and falling, until he was truly in the void. He felt it gaze into him, an endless stare. It was creepy, but he was relieved.

He had made it.

He sat down and laid back as he breathed calmly for the first time in a while. Another voice behind him spoke toward him.

“So why did you come here?”

It was a female voice.

“To escape. I was betrayed, and this was the only place I could be safe.”

He turned around and saw the female figure. She had a mask with several nails in it, and lines connecting them in wild shapes. Her short pink hair poked out of the sides of her mask.

“I never made any friends to be betrayed, but I came here to be free as well. Free from the restraints, free from the hate.”

“Accept the void...” He focused on the darkness around him.

“Are there others here?”

“A few. They too wished to be free. With the power of this place, can’t have too many of us here.”

“So the stories of one who enters the void having the power of a legion of men... it has some truth to it.”

“Only to defend it. And it seems that your pursuers are quite insistent on finding you.

One of light tries to break in as we speak. But the void won’t abandon you.”

He stood up and said, “What is there to be done?”

61

“Accept the void. Then we push them back,” the figure said pulling a knife out of seemingly nowhere. He focused on the darkness around him. How it flowed through him and made him whole. He saw a mask appear in front of him, as he reached out and put it to his face. It had a simple smile on it, with two basic eyes made of a single dot and circle. He felt the darkness weave around his hand, as he felt the glove, he was wearing change, a new eight on its fingers, blades.

“Let us protect our home,” she said as she turned around and walked.

He followed, and they were in the cave. He saw the muscular man approach in his yellow suit, a cheap mimic of how a superhero is seen.

“Your evil ends here Theo.”

“You still don’t see the truth, do you Eric. I simply wished for me and my family to be free. I helped you save yours, and you killed mine in turn, with the excuse that they wouldn’t be enslaved to your light. Theo would be boiling with rage now. But I’ve found a new home. A new place for freedom. And you won’t take it from me this time.”

“You heretic, you’ll die in pain and suffering darkspawn!” he flew off the ground and toward him. He ducked as Eric went over his head and turned as he raised his glove cut the back of his leg. As it drew blood, Eric looked back with fear.

“You actually harmed me... how...?”

“You fear being weak, being vulnerable. Being mortal,” he said as he raised his glove again. Eric stared in horror at the smile on the mask, before the other figure in the cave came out of the shadows and stabbed him in the back, ribs cracking as she took out and pierced his back again before she backed away, and he walked forward to the so-called hero, on his knees. This feeling... it was tart...once a friend... but now... now that didn’t stop him. He pulled back his arm and pierced through his chest, raising Eric up.

“May you realize your errors in the next life...” he pulled out the glove as Eric fell to the floor, blood pooling on the floor.

“Curse you... Theo...”

“I am no longer Theo. I am Vendrick.”

62

Winding Cara Davis

The mind always flowing, And the heart being a constant current, love that was once there, Where Disappearing helped Darkness that was occurring.

63

Ashley Simon ‘22

Grass Danny Gallo They always say The grass is greener On the other side.

But this side seems Pretty green to me Radiant, vibrant, As the sun hits the Ground I couldn’t possibly ask for anything else 64

Sestina Courtney Warns

who ponder man, like porcelain and cast a finite silhouette so, rich expression grows unkinked, art’s left for insect infancy among acrylic empires

A temple falls in infancy; fossils produce a silhouette, a pilot built of porcelain failing to lead his empires, attuning to non-virgin dance till death reigns over the unkinked

The widowed man stalls empires so, he breaks the animal’s dance because he born no infancy expression froze to porcelain and woke assassins pledge unkinked, mothers mold a sad silhouette.

A structured stature left unkinked “Obey lineage-infancy, a posh rhythm for man to dance”, father speaks, heaven’s silhouette voiced to preserve proud empires, births sterile boys of porcelain.

Man builds a wooden silhouette, to persuade no real empires Mercy’s maidenhood comes unkinked but no one will stop the true dance witnesses struck to porcelain; INNOCENCE LIVES IN INFANCY

Feral women pry porcelain so, virginity comes unkinked, she seduces lone empires and bears a blank mute infancy.

A ripe lonely man’s silhouette makes underground canvases dance

Art’s silhouettes flee infancy, carved empires in porcelain will never end this unkinked dance

Surrogates for drab seedlings dance 65

Courtney Jacobs ‘22

Night Kylie Sauer

The sun floats above The mountains in the distance.

Night is soon to come 66

To the Empire Clare Cummings These fools, these intolerable convicts, These innumerable cowed faces

let me rage against hideous laughter

– grey and yellow and pale pink –

so tiny

much too small

(much too small)

in an aimless, petty kind of way.

and, so slowly – that is how I die

And here, I am hollow.

And here, I breathe a great sigh.

These white teeth bared,

I am very glad,

grinning vaguely

as one who has done right for the first and only time

at my unendurable futility

often is.

And here, the lies well up like blood imposed in my heart and stuck in my throat.

A ticking clock stripped to its bones And a devilishly peaceful corpse.

Come near, come near and see that I am still grinning, and still packed with lies.

67

“STRONGER” Harrison Weber

They laugh at me and tell me I am weak Every time they do so I grow stronger As my strength grows, they stay weak And then, I will not laugh at them I will prove them wrong

Conversations Danny Gallo Words blurt out their mouths Their lips clap, teeth widen I can’t hear anything

68

Jenna Reed ‘23 69

The Tree Andrew Hartlove

In the meadows, there stands a lovely, twisted tree Through snow Through rain Through thunder and lightning Through war Through peace Through hell and high water She stands strong every day Despite the scars of her past

70

Seaside Park Ava Pippitt I say hi to the lifeguard I’ve seen my whole life.

My feet touch the hot sand and I drag the boogie board across the land.

I set down my towel and feel the sun, warming my skin.

I go down to the ocean, my feet are cold, but my heart is warm.

I dive into a wave, like a dolphin at sea.

I tumble and crash as the waves hit me, But I feel fine, because this is my favorite place to be.

The place I’ve spent my summers for my whole life.

71

72 Kayla Smith ‘22