Goulash Spring 2020 edition

Goulash

Spring 2020 25th Anniversary Issue

Contents Front Cover Kayla Salerno

Front Cover

Her Old Home Amber Constante

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Artwork Mary Welenc

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My Name Xareni Palacios

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Artwork 6 Nina Polivka The Third Floor Bedroom Lizzy Pilarz

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Artwork 9 Maya Reina Poem 10 Katherine Donofrio Artwork 11 Martin Peña Diadems Only Fit Damsels Mary Welenc

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Artwork 13 Amber Constante Poem 14 Josh Fowler, Gabby Urso, and Amanda DeCesare Glow 15 Anna Sako Poem 16 Jocelyn Diaz Photograph 17 Max Kubelka Dreams of Wander Gerald Roberson

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Photograph 19 Isabel Gable –Knock knock Jocelyn Diaz

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Artwork 21 Jocelyn Diaz One last time Olivia Pasinski

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Artwork 23 Javaughn Jossell

Where Were You? Mateo Martin and Jerry Ball

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Artwork 25 Martin Peña Mr. Linden’s Library (#8) Jocelyn Diaz

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Photograph 27 Dasha Fagan Goodbye Now Addrian West

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Artwork 29 Maya Reina The cover of the first issue of Goulash 30 Jennifer Danko, Cara DiNatale, Maura Healy, Dan Lee, Nicole Russo, and Laura Stauffer Restless Nights Martin Peña & Julian Salgado

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Artwork 33 Nina Polivka The Stage Anna Sako

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Photograph 35 Marieclaire Popernik It Was a Dark and Stormy Night Isabel Gable

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Artwork 37 Amber Constante Artwork 38 Mary Welenc A Year Anna Sako

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Artwork Connor Zech

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Artwork Lisa Haffner

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A Strange Day In July Mia Skaliotis

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Artwork 42 Maura Dransoff Clean 43 Anna Sako

Photograph 44 Isabel Gable Poem 45 Diego Guerrero An Escape from Reality Aria Suh

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Artwork 48 Adalia Suh Artwork 49 Jenna Bishop Poem 50 Mia Skaliotis Artwork 51 John Francis Zech Artwork 52 Mary Welenc Collaborative Poem Mary Byrne, Amber Constante, Miles Hayford, Carla Murillo, Greta Nelson, Alex Reina, Maya Reina, Aria Suh, and Mary Welenc

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Artwork 54 Aaryana Zapata Rilke 55 J. Paliatka Photograph 56 Max Kubelka Poem 57 Maya Reina Photograph Dasha Fagan

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Where Have All The People Gone?

Riley Falvey

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Photograph 61 Dasha Fagan Poem 62 Amber Constante Ace of â™ s 63 Mary Welenc Artwork Aaryana Zapata

Back Cover

Goulash is produced

by Writers’ Society, which includes: Lorin Bucur Mary Byrne Lisani Calderon Amber Constante Jocelyn Diaz Katherine Donofrio Isabel Gable Miles Hayford Jazmin Hernandez Paula Martinez Cat Moster Carla Murillo Greta Nelson Alex Reina Maya Reina Mia Skaliotis Aria Suh Mary Welenc Andy Yan

Goulash Editorial Policy Goulash welcomes submissions of written and visual expression from students, faculty, and alumni of Nazareth Academy. The editorial staff is committed to accepting a wide range of submissions for every issue.

However, work cannot be published that disrespects or disparages another person’s race, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or ability.

Works that do not meet Nazareth’s appropriateness standards also cannot be published. At times, works may be edited for length or grammar with the knowledge of the writer or artist.

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Greetings fellow artists, Today Goulash has the honor of celebrating 25 years: 25 years of voices to be heard, 25 years of stories to be told.

For a quarter of a century Goulash has had the privilege of displaying young talent to a wider audience. In this time of celebration, Goulash not only acknowledges our past work, but highlights what we do today.

And with every new beginning comes a bittersweet end, But as the leaves drop each fall, we can count on new buds in the spring, So thank you to everyone who made this publication possible.

And good luck to the future Goulash staff, because you have 25 more years of greatness to achieve.

Alex Reina, Editor

Dear Reader, In January, when we began planning this issue of Goulash, celebrating the 25th anniversary of its inception, life as we knew it looked very different than it does now. We selected the theme of “time” for an anniversary writing and art contest, and even what we intended by that topic has changed as the world has changed, and we’ve moved into a period of home isolation and e-learning due to Covid-19. Time has slowed down considerably, and maybe more than ever, we look back with a fondness for the past as we struggle to navigate the difficult times we find ourselves in. We celebrate the past editors of Goulash who created this vehicle for expression and the writers and artists who filled its pages with beauty.

Since Goulash was first created in 1995 though, many things have also remained the same. Nazareth is still home to a thriving community of artists and writers. Goulash still serves as a non-judgemental celebration of creative expression. We continue to carve out a space for students to find and share their voices. In uncertain times, we turn to art and writing to help us understand the world we live in. This issue of Goulash endeavors to do just that.

It continues to be an absolute privilege to work with everyone who shares their talents with this publication: from the editors and proofreaders who shape the issues, to the writers and artists who create the work, to faculty and staff and administrators who support the arts and see a value in what we do. This issue, and every one before it, is truly a “goulash,” or as the editors of the first issue described it--a spicy stew of creativity.

J. Paliatka, Goulash moderator 2

25th Anniversary Writing Contest Winner

Her Old Home The floorboards don’t creak the same way.

Not the way they did for her small feet.

It’s a different person standing there.

Mentally different, Biologically the same.

It takes 10 years for the house to forget.

It takes her an eternity to remember.

She knows not of what lies ahead, And she remembers little of her past before.

Who is she?

Who was she?

These questions remain unanswered.

All she knows is that the house she once loved, No longer loves her.

Amber Constante

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25th Anniversary Art Contest Winner

Artwork

Mary Welenc

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My Name My Name is six stocky letters. forming a sound, Supernatural to most.

A sound I associate with home.

A sound surrendering solace — from the depths of my psyche.

It seems to me that the way my name is spoken outside of my front steps, has built a sterner self than intended.

In english, the style of speech It comes swaddled in, simulates as if the speaker struggles for air.

That is possibly why, even I, squirm at the sound.

In English, I am Strong Self-Sufficient Solitary.

So the surprise is struck upon many, when the subject stumbles upon the perception that in Spanish, I am substantially more Settled Sweet Centered.

Swapping the sound for Anglican mouths sows a surface level desire for similarity.

It sounds out the inquiry whether my name shapes me, or I shape my name.

Xareni Palacios

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Artwork

Nina Polivka 6

The Third Floor Bedroom (Inspired by the drawings of Harris Burdick) It all began when someone left the window open.

The window to the third floor bedroom, my family claims.

The one with the broken latch, the realtor explained.

The room with that atrocious wallpaper my Aunt Lucy squawked.

I don’t think any of them really knew, though.

They only knew how it started.

That someone had forgotten Grandma’s one rule, one of the babies, perhaps, who hadn’t heard it enough, And decided to leave the window to the third floor bedroom wide open.

But they didn’t know what I knew.

That I opened the window, and I left it open.

But I hadn’t forgotten, how could I ever.

Mother told me everyday, My aunts would pinch me red, Nana whispered it to me while she crocheted.

“Stay away from the window.”

And for a very long time, I did.

I ignored the dirt streaked glass pane, In its paint chipped frame, I avoided the whole bedroom when I could.

Just standing in that room I could feel it.

The urge that window gave me was almost inhuman.

I could practically feel the scrape of the wood sill against my fingers.

It wanted to be opened.

I knew that much.

After a while I decided to stop resisting.

It would be easier to cave and ease my urge.

So while everyone was distracted, I went up to the third floor bedroom, straight to the window.

Grandma’s voice echoed in my ears, And I hesitated, but not for more than a minute.

I turned to the sill, and gripped it harshly.

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And I threw it open.

The already broken latch gave way with ease, And in rushed the free air from outside.

The sweet breeze rushed in, and I realized how stiff the air in the bedroom had been.

The curtains danced with a new grace they’d never known before.

The whole room felt alive with warm air and true sunlight.

For a moment all was clear and new.

And then something moved.

It was small, a flutter, so close to silent I thought it was my heartbeat but it wasn’t, because it happened again, but louder.

A ruffle of feathers made me turn with a strong breeze, and I realized, for the first time, the wallpaper was shifting all around me.

The painted birds seemed lifted by the wind, and they became real, growing feathers and earning voices.

It wasn’t long before the whole room was a mess of beautiful birds, And all I could do was cry out and celebrate their freedom, as if it were my own.

Lizzy Pilarz

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Artwork

Maya Reina

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25th Anniversary Writing Contest Honorable Mention Poem

a newborn cradled in mama’s spindly fingers crawling talking walking shes off at the doors of the local grade school, crayons in hands the grin as her tassel is turned, the cry for the goodbyes then there she goes, opening the highschool doors the clock is ticking, time is running the letter arrives, she is thrilled after all, that college is quite skilled there she sits in the dorm, gazing at the skies she meets that boy, now there’s nothing but joy she throws the cap high then down on one knee, she sobs, nodding yes, full of glee the house has been sold she holds her newborn son she looks in his eyes and sees a clock fly by and she wonders-why the time had to say goodbye Katherine Donofrio

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25th Anniversary Art Contest Honorable Mention

Artwork

Martin PeĂąa 11

Diadems Only Fit Damsels Do you ever stop to wonder, Why the commoner wants fame And the princess wants freedom?

We fantasize the world of glory and gain Only to see the glass tower is a prison on its best day.

Not all queens are meant to rule.

Not all kings are meant to continue the throne.

Not all princes are meant to die in battle.

And not all princesses are meant to be royal.

What do you do when you’re cuckoo-er than a clock?

Even on my best days, I’m out of my mind.

Maybe that’s what makes us human. Insanity.

How do you fit convention, When convention screams at you to kneel, And you stick out your tongue?

I make a mockery of self and identity.

The princesses who refused the crown.

The princess who saved the knight.

The princess who slayed the beast, Only to become one herself.

We become “monsters” to flee, To hide behind our wings, When the world is scarier than fantasy.

Some of us aren’t meant to be Who we are born into.

Some princesses never become queen, But I never wanted to anyways.

We take up a sword and wage our wars On a battlefield already lost and torn.

Sometimes you have to suffer Through a little bit of hell To see the value of heaven.

Mary Welenc

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Artwork

Amber Constante 13

Untitled poem

(Poem inspired by The Kite Runner) Today was the worst day ever, Life has lost all light.

I chase a kite Down the alleys I run, But for what?

A friend or a foe, That, I do not know.

Life has lost all light.

Through the crowds I run, Blinded by the kite.

I go farther for him.

Life has lost all light.

Here the darkness comes, He asks me for the kite, But I put up a fight.

My little beacon of light, But there is no fight.

No one to turn to, Nowhere to go.

I feel him against me, My body is numb.

But for him, A thousand times over Life has lost all light.

Josh Fowler, Gabby Urso, and Amanda DeCesare

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Glow Anna Sako

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Poem

Lies dance across my lips They slide off my tongue like oil And dip into the deepest part of my soul My lies don’t leave a residue Of something sour and bitter in my mouth Like something isn’t supposed to be there.

My lies are sweet and simple.

Like a chocolate fondue. with the perfect amount of bitterness.

Just enough for no questions, Just enough to be the perfect dessert.

My lies don’t shine through like sparkling crystals that fracture light and rainbows.

My lies are darker than the night sky, And deeper than the ocean blue.

Filled with shipwrecks and waves that travel, become tsunamis, and destroy anything that thrives with happiness.

My lies wouldn’t slip through Like the cracks like a leaky faucet.

They were like a thick wall Indestructible and impossible to shatter.

Lies spill out of my mouth Like water from a rusty can With holes and tears and crevices With every word wrong, too sweet then too bitter.

You weren’t supposed to know But you found out anyway.

You looked right through me As if I were a pane of glass.

Jocelyn Diaz 16

Photograph

Max Kubelka

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Dreams of Wander Walking in to sit down at one of my favorite cafĂŠs has always been a routine for me. Ordering the same good thing every day, a croissant and a vanilla latte. Life in France has always been pretty much a big routine for me. I wake up, brush my teeth, go to the cafĂŠ, then work on my laptop.

But today, I notice it is very sunny. The birds are chirping much more beautifully and exotic. The people sitting around me whose words once seemed foreign, today seem more familiar. So, I decide to put up my laptop and go for a walk. I end up on the train that was supposed to take me to the palace of Versailles, but when I got off at the designated stop I am instead in one of the hottest deserts. I am immediately assaulted by the immense heat that the radiating sun is emitting. I walk and walk for what seems like an eternity. I am surrounded by the sight of a vast amount of sand, and the deafening sound of nothingness. I continue walking until I feel something different about my surroundings. The heat around me has now become more humid and wet. I now notice a lot more green than in the hot wasteland I was in mere moments ago. I see birds, birds of all shades and colors all flying and singing their beautiful cheerful songs. I also noticed the vines moving above me, but to my surprise these vines had eyes and patterns. It is not vines that I see; instead they are snakes slithering through the trees. This sight definitely makes me want to leave.

Before my eyes I see a small raft in a greenish blue river. A beautiful sight to me. I sail in this raft until I notice that the air around me has become more cold. I can now see white all around me. The reflection from the sun has seemed to make the white brighter, almost blinding. I then see small black and white flightless birds in almost a caravan state. The birds were all jumping off a small cliff in the icy cold water. The birds are all clamoring to get the small fish surfacing out of the water. The fish swimming happily, unbeknownst to them are about to get devoured by these big birds. When one larger looking grey fish jumped out of the water, one bird took that opportunity to obtain that fish. Something red started to fill the spot where this happened. I then noticed that it started to get dark, so dark that my body immediately started to feel the effects and responded with lethargy.

I then make a pallet on my little raft where I would sleep for the night. A cozy night of wonderful lucid dreams awaited me. When I woke, I was not in the bustling city of Paris, the hot sands of the desert, the damp wet rainforest, or the chilling tundra. Instead I am at home in my regular room, in my regular bed realizing I was dreaming of a life I have not had.

What I did have, could only be diagnosed as a lust for wander.

Gerald Roberson 18

Luna

Isabel Gable

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–Knock knock No one suspected the reports. No one suspected the little girl down the street to be the first one. No one suspected the disease was airborne.

No one suspected the chaos to ensue the weeks after.

I was sitting in the dark living room when I heard the first reports. The reporter on the scene looked unbothered, like it was some stupid child’s prank. He didn’t know how wrong he was.

Days later, the young girl’s face hardened, and like what seems like out of a storybook, her face turned into a rabbit mask. Then today, at Deer Creek Elementary, she went berserk and bit a nearby teacher. Several staff members had to hold down the child as paramedics arrived. Others in the Creekside residence reported strange activities of the small girl days before, claiming she’d knock on their door five times, then hear violent banging on the door the following night, yet finding no one outside. We are still unsure if these events are connected-” I pressed the off button and watched the snarky reporter disappear into the black of the television screen. All if it sounded so ridiculous.

And only added to the reasons I hated this neighborhood.

“Maybe some people just need to learn how to raise their kids properly.”

Maybe, just maybe, it was much more than that...

Jocelyn Diaz

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Artwork

Jocelyn Diaz 21

25th Anniversary Writing Contest Honorable Mention

One last time your coach says those words at every practice Usually, you just roll your eyes But today, the gravity of those words sinks in.

One last pregame jam session, one last fast braid.

One last warmup chant, one last halftime.

Someday, you will say your prayers with your team, hug your girls tight, strip your flag, find your dot and take the field.

Someday, the crowd will fall silent, and the band will cease to play.

The lights on the field will go out.

The seniors will hand in their uniforms, pass on legacies and new directors, drum majors and captains will fill old shoes. and time will go on.

Friendships and memories will fade, and life will change.

So this time, listen. Don’t huff. Give it your all.

Be glad that it’s not really “one last time” someday it actually will be.

Olivia Pasinski

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Artwork

Javaughn Jossell 23

Where Were You? (Inspired by The Kite Runner) Where were you when my home was destroyed?

I have been here since the fall, I was here to witness it all, The battered buildings lay in shambles, I listen as a homeless man rambles.

Where were you when my home was destroyed?

From the Soviet Union to the Taliban, Power switches from hand to hand, But we at the bottom remain here, All our families living in fear.

Where were you when our home was destroyed?

Guns, fire, landmines, explosions, All the citizens going through the motions, A new visitor in need of assistance, His admirable trait is his persistence.

Where were you when my home was destroyed?

I lived through the fire and the flame, But all I heard in his voice was shame, He has been shielded from this war, As if God himself had shut the door.

Where were you when my home was destroyed?

His mission was noble, his goal was clear, Becoming a witness as we drew near, The child was saved, but at great cost, Just as I’d believed all was lost.

He was in America as his home was destroyed, But all the while, it was still his home.

Mateo Martin and Jerry Ball

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Artwork

Martin PeĂąa

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Mr. Linden’s Library (#8) (Inspired by the drawings of Harris Burdick) He had warned her about the book.

Now it was too late.

Her fairy tale sprung to life Like the vines around her house.

At first there were small thorns, circling every page Thorns sharper with every chapter out of her mouth.

Then, Prick.

Her pale rosy hand struggled for the light, Like there were weights on her arms At first pulling down her legs Thorns like ropes around her body Her eyes fluttered shut, like a sleeping princess, Her room shrouded in a darkness as deep as her sleep, And vines slithered out Like snakes ready to bite their next victim.

My sleeping princess circled in a cocoon of danger.

Tired of the lackluster mundane Pleading for pixies in her rose-covered palms and Sweet fairies by her side.

Her bedroom filled with forbidden flowers Her garden overflowing with beautiful fears And like the story goes, she’s Left alone for one thousand years Someone had told her not to take it.

Someone had told her not to read it.

Someone hadn’t tried enough Someone had to pay There lies the Princess of thorns.

Faerie Queen.

Jocelyn Diaz 26

Photograph

Dasha Fagan 27

Goodbye Now I hate you.

Those words are something I thought I’d never say.

Well, before now.

I know it seems so sudden.

Like one minute we’re best friends, And the next I wish I never met you.

The reason is you’re a plague And It seems like you can’t wait to infect me.

You leave scars on me.

You can’t see them, I can’t see them, But I sure can feel them.

You act like you’re a nice person, Like you’re a saint.

In reality you’re Satan.

You play twisted tricks On everyone who cares about you.

You hurt everyone around you One way or another.

You won’t learn your lesson Until you’re forgotten.

When someone does forget about you You break down Into an ocean of tears.

You drown them.

Make them beg and scream Until they remember your poisoned name.

I’m done, I’ve drowned one too many times.

I’m going to swim Until I get to safety.

I’m going to swim Until I get away from you.

I’m okay without you And I finally know this.

Goodbye now.

Addrian West 28

Artwork

Maya Reina 29

The cover of the first issue of Goulash, by Jennifer Danko, Cara DiNatale, Mau

ura Healy, Dan Lee, Nicole Russo, and Laura Stauffer

Restless Nights (Inspired by The Kite Runner) The void of the night consumes my room.

I lay my head in an attempt for relief.

But the trauma that has once drawn blood upon my hands as a child never misses a visit I deserve this.

Do I deserve this?

My eyes adjust to the blank space and I follow the pale blue light that trails into my window.

This same light is supposed to put me at ease, yet it causes the most tension.

Is my victim following the same trail of light?

I’m sorry.

I confess but he cannot hear my plea for mercy.

The man I betrayed who was once my second half has been lost in the other end of the trail of pail blue light.

How could I have done this?

Tears flow from my eyes like a river in the winter.

My muscles clench and harden like rocks Will he ever acknowledge the hollowness in his chest like I have for all these years?

Before my questions are ever answered, the pale blue trail fades into gold I force myself out of my bed The warm light heats my body but never comforts me I still feel cold I still feel restless Martin PeĂąa & Julian Salgado

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Artwork

Nina Polivka 33

The Stage My love we are famous Only in each other’s eyes Do you recall the night that stars hung above us like stage lights?

An audience of two gleamed with joy At the sight of two kids Falling two hearts Racing two lips Touching How very typical of us That this moment in our forever Was like a movie that only we shall know the ending to Anna Sako

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Photograph

Marieclaire Popernik 35

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night It was a dark and stormy night: the rain outside sounded like glass breaking and the trees were rattling against the house so hard it felt like the house was being shaken back to life. The year was 2010. I was playing dolls with my friend Erin inside our house. My mom had to leave to pick up my grandma who was waiting in the storm for her. The storm grew so strong Erin and I were forced to stay inside and no one could leave. My mom called us frantically and said she was stuck on the side of the road and she ran out of gas. Erin and I were terrified to be by ourselves against this great, vicious storm. The power went out and we were left in complete silence, and then the TV mysteriously turned on and the screeching sound of the tornado warning pierced our ears. We fled to the basement and waited down there for hours in the cold, dark basement. We assumed the tornado was over because the power had gone back on.

We sprinted up the stairs trying to leave our fears behind; we slammed open the door and realized the tornado was directly above our house. It was too late for us.

Isabel Gable

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Artwork

Amber Constante

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Artwork

Mary Welenc

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A Year Year: the period required for one revolution of the earth around the sun I find it ironic how you were once an unfamiliar face That I could’ve passed you on the street And simply smiled That I wouldn’t have even said “Hello” I find it ironic how your name once meant nothing It was just one of thousands I had heard Little did I know That name soon became everything to me I find it ironic how I never searched for you You just were there simply waiting I know for a fact That that was planned by the stars I find it ironic how I don’t think of it as a year It’s as if there is no limit on our time That maybe Just maybe A year cannot compare to our forever Anna Sako

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Artwork

Connor Zech

Artwork

Lisa Haffner 40

A Strange Day In July He threw with all his might, But the third stone came skipping back Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing Back over the ripples Why wouldn’t it skip away?

It sat in the water.

Staring up at him Daring, daring, daring him.

He tried again But it came back It bounced back Back over the water Stopped at his feet and Stared, stared, stared Back at him once again It didn’t look strange It seemed so normal Smooth, smooth and Shiny But it just wouldn’t skip away Why? Why? Why wouldn’t it go away?

No matter how hard he threw it It always came back It came back to the same exact spot It came to stare To taunt To dare him to throw it again But It would never leave him No matter how hard he tried Somethings never leave For him it was the stone It was always destined to come back And be thrown again Mia Skaliotis 41

Artwork

Maura Dransoff

42

Clean He was the blank sheet That I wrote my poems on Countless words of love and passion I poured my heart onto these pages Only to see I had written in white Anna Sako

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Photograph

Isabel Gable 44

Poem

(Poem inspired by Landscape with Ascanius Shooting the Stag of Sylvia) The clouds were hugging the touch of the Sun as the trees danced in shadows The moss gripped the rocks as they saw me gallop across the way The crisp, cool wind embracing me in open arms The water struck hard by an unforeseen force, wallowed deeper in the ground The mountains jeered at me, for they were mere spectators of the chaos How I yearned to be by the remote castle on the hill The rocks, a promise of safety were brought low and driven into the mud Even the cold stones seemed bent on preventing passage The clouds embracing the light as I ran in the cover of darkness The eerie dreariness of it all made all the more terrifying Thump, thump, thump, thump The drum inside my chest sang its song as fear gripped me My legs danced through its steady rhythm My legs moved as if they were machines, I ran for my freedom They closed in with their beasts and weapons; I could sense death was near Their howels were deafening and my ears whimpered at their terrible resonance My tears imitating my sweat, coated my skin as it trickled down my face There were others not too far, could they see my suffering?

Could they not hear the frantic chaos of it at?

The chase continued as they wielded weapons of war, weapons of death My breath faltered and fatigue began to set in Hope began to burn like embers in a warm flame “Would my life end here”, I began to ponder?

My legs functioned so long as I willed to live I managed to stop and look back……..

Diego Guerrero

45

An Escape from Reality There once was a girl named Jessica. Her family has gone through some troubles. When she was very young, her father died and it left her mother very upset. He was walking one day from the jewelry store, but a bunch of guys came out and tried to rob him. They got into a big fight and then one guy pulled out a gun and shot Jessica’s father. The criminals were caught by police and sent to jail. The police said that Jessica’s father didn’t survive. This led her mom to be very protective of her daughter.

Her mother has been trying her best to provide for her daughter. One day Jessica’s mother got a new boyfriend. After a few months of dating they decided to get married. Jessica didn’t really think much of her mom’s new boyfriend. Jessica and her mom ended up moving into a new house, which was Jessica’s new stepfather’s house. He had a daughter around the same age as Jessica named Amy. They never really talked much with one another.

Jessica felt like no one truly understood her. She was a nervous person with a hard time trusting people around her. Sometimes she wished she could just escape into another world. She would like to be someone different like someone with supernatural abilities who can use them to fix everything in her life. Her mom had been telling her crime stories for as long as she could remember. She was so afraid of Jessica getting herself into trouble and possibly killed. She understood she was just dying to protect her, but she felt it had gone too far. One day she decided to go outside in her new yard when suddenly a bright light appeared out of nowhere. Jessica was getting nervous. She didn’t know what was happening. Then Jessica fell through a hole that appeared randomly under her. Luckily, she fell on top of a large pillow that was there for some reason. A strange woman appeared in front of Jessica. She said her name was Andrea and told Jessica to follow her. They walked into a room with two soft chairs. Jessica sat down and Andrea explained what happened to her. She revealed that she is a mystical person who wants to help her. Andrea said that Jessica fell into a magical portal that she created to get in contact with her. Jessica felt this was all very weird and crazy. Andrea was a strange person. However, she had a nice personality and seemed like a good woman to talk with. In a way, she was kind of like a fairy godmother to Jessica, like in fairy tales. It was still pretty strange to Jessica that this random woman with powers wanted to help her. She didn’t understand what made her so special to Andrea. They began talking about Jessica’s issues with herself and her family. Jessica explained how her mother is so controlling over her life and how it makes her mad. Andrea asked what made her this way. Jessica explained that ever since her father died, her mother has been over protective of Jessica and 46

restricts places she can go to. Andrea understood why Jessica was the way she was. Andrea then got a large box and opened it. Inside contained many magical artifacts. Andrea pulled out a bag. Jessica was curious as to what it was for. Andrea told her that the bag contained magical snow globes. They were meant for Jessica whenever she feels frustrated and angry. Jessica asked what they did. Andrea told her that they transport her into other worlds and that she will be very safe when entering. Jessica thought that this would be a good way to have some adventures without her mother interfering.

Andrea gave her one to test out and if she likes it, she’ll give her more in the future. The snow globe given to her was a world with many hills and fancy houses everywhere. Andrea gave Jessica a bell. If someone rang the bell, Andrea would be alerted and come to anyone who rang it. Andrea opened up a portal and sent Jessica back home. Jessica’s mom just opened the door to the yard and said that lunch was ready. Jessica couldn’t wait to try out her snow globe. After she ate, she went upstairs to her room which was across from her stepsister Amy’s room. She locked the door and was ready for some adventures. However, there was one problem, she didn’t know how she would get into a snow globe world. Then she found a description written under the snow globe that said, “Shake me and be amazed.” Jessica shook the snow globe and then before her eyes, she was transported into a cool looking world. There were several buildings everywhere that were all well decorated with different types of materials. One building was covered in different types of diamonds with beautiful colors everywhere. Jessica decided to take a look inside. It had a large room with a glow in the dark pool. She decided to take a dive into the pool. It felt really nice and relaxing being in the water. She came out of the water and found a giant hand dryer.

As soon as she stepped under it, it blew warm air onto her body and dried her up quickly. Jessica thought that was cool. Then she stepped out of that building and decided to see more places in this world. She found a giant jumping castle which was like the ones you would see at birthday parties for children. Jessica took off her shoes and went inside the castle. It was fun inside. There were three floors with different slides. The first floor had a slide 15 feet tall and at the bottom was a bunch of pillows. The slide on the second floor was 23 feet high and was very curly. Jessica tried that slide and while she rode it she went through tunnels of glowing lights and unique designs. She really enjoyed that slide. Jessica wanted to return back to her world. She went out of the giant castle and stumbled upon a sign with a handprint on it. Then she saw a sentence written in small letters on the sign.

It said put your right hand on the sign if you want to return to your world.

Jessica did just that and she was transported back to her world. She put the snow globe onto her desk and went downstairs to find her family watching 47

television. On the tv was news about the coronavirus becoming a pandemic and how people are going to be quarantined. Jessica was worried about her family. Her mother came up to her and said that it will be a difficult time for everyone. She also wanted to talk to Jessica about her over protective actions in the past. Her mother told her that she understood that she is getting older and needs to become more independent. Jessica responded to her by saying that she understands why she’s acted the way she has in the past. Her mother smiled and was pleased. She said to her that because many people will be quarantined she needs help with some things to do.

The first was to think of food they need and to make masks in case the stores don’t have any available. Jessica felt that reality was just getting worse, but she knew that she had someone and something to go to for adventures.

She knew what she’d be doing while quarantined.

Aria Suh

Artwork

Adalia Suh 48

Artwork

Jenna Bishop

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Poem

Here I sit on a street corner It’s snowing and I sit shivering I have a blanket and coat My only belongings I never thought it would be this way I guess No one does No thinks they will be homeless Especially after they served their country I thought I would have a home A job A family I would have the American Dream I loved my country I still do I fought for it Protected it It’s my home I thought there would be something At the end I thought after 30 years of service I would have peace A quiet life Instead I have nightmares Every night I remember my time I wake up terrified Sweating from the terror And yet shivering from the cold I never thought That my country was like this Veterans ending up homeless I never thought that I would happen And yet I still love my country 50

I love knowing that innocent children are safe Because of me and my comrades People can rest easy because of me It’s a lovely feeling I just never dreamed of this That this was the life of a veteran It hurts a bit Forgive me but do you have a spare coat I’m very cold Mia Skaliotis

Artwork

John Francis Zech

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Artwork

Mary Welenc

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Collaborative Poem He handed me a magical creature that bit my finger as soon as it was placed in my hand. I was scared of its power. I didn’t know what to do.

I did have a sword, but how to wield it?

I wasn’t sure what to do, and I had to do something.

I looked at the amulet strung across my neck, I asked myself: “What would Lady Berenice do?”

The pendant began to glow.

A power deep within surged. At last, I knew.

I didn’t need any of it.

The necklace was my prison, not my power.

I tugged and tugged at the locket, but no matter how hard I pulled it wouldn’t come off.

It was stuck on my neck for all eternity.

Darkness seemed to inch closer until I closed my eyes and the world sighed heavily.

Mary Byrne, Amber Constante, Miles Hayford, Carla Murillo, Greta Nelson, Alex Reina, Maya Reina, Aria Suh, and Mary Welenc

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Artwork

Aaryana Zapata

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Rilke After a torrid torrent of letters with his welcomed one-letters full of irrepressible looseness, pure agony and gripping breathlessness that left them both shaking and inconvenienced and curiously enjoined-they met.

Why were they now shy, stale, less deft with each other, focused on the needlessly ordinary, and curiously lonesome?

Oh love, go away, so I can again recline in the drowsy tenderness of your words.

J. Paliatka

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Photograph

Max Kubelka

56

Poem

(Poem inspired by Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks) Phillies’ light illuminates the secluded street outside It’s a safe haven from the ravenous outside world It’s the only place in the world where time freezes The bartender is described as a therapist He welcomes the wanderers He comforts the conflicted The barrels in the back are the gatekeepers of hope They release hope in the form of a liquid Which the therapist distributes to the lost and lonely Phillies is the only place in the world where time stops Phillies is the break from the soul crushing reality we all inhabit The woman adorned in red is contemplating leaving Running back to the past or staying and inevitability being dragged back to the relentless life she lives The man next to her is no man at all He is the nighthawk who prays on the weak He is the nowhere man now drinking so nonchalantly because he knows He is a killer A sinner A murderer A devil dressed as a saint The bartender suspects the nighthawk He notices the poison he inhales and exhales He notices the sloped beak the nighthawk hides The decision to run out the tall brown door and melt into the sidewalk of the outside world like a child’s chalk drawing being washed away by the rain crosses his mind He would desert the refuge many seek So he traps the nighthawk in the diner In Phillies diner In the only place in the world frozen in time In the nighthawk’s diner Maya Reina

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Photograph

Dasha Fagan

58

Where Have All The People Gone?

Is time immune to disease?

One day, we all carry on regularly, Polluting the planet with our words and our actions.

Then suddenly, Almost bible-like, The pollution parasites poke their way into the hearts of the people.

Disease falls, And the ground shakes.

Suddenly the weak become the dangerous, And the garbage men, nurses, and teachers become the heroes on the 5’oclock news.

All at once it is everywhere.

It is all-knowing, All-seeing, All-breathing, All-keeping, All-eating, All-spitting, All-breaking, And crippling.

Clocks not given enough time to keep up with it.

Grandparents stranded and alone, Unknown whether their loved ones are there?

Doctors forced into battle, forging on against the toxic sea.

The polluted people lose their polluted jobs, And scramble to compile resources they don’t need for a family they fear they won’t be able to feed.

Grocery stores are cold and empty, Overflowing with the people, But void of product.

One could say that Mother Earth had grown and made herself a beautiful young lady as of late, But the polluted people pile their ever-important lives on top of the help she so cries for in this lonely time.

All at once over-consumption battles the disease for attention.

Which can run faster? ...But it is everywhere.

And it is strong.

The leaders call for quarantine.

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And the polluted planet froze still.

Leaving children in cages in houses with the polluted people and their polluted hearts, Schools, the safe-havens, are no longer able to give the love and attention those few so rely on.

Everyone forced in tight quarters, But singularly alone.

It breaks the polluted people, Stomps on them, And continues barreling on.

Leaving them Nowhere to walk, To run, To live, Or to breath.

Where have all the people gone?

School, taken.

Food, lost.

Money, stolen.

Love, questioned.

So the polluted people cry out to the clock.

How did it take us so quickly, my dear?

Riley Falvey

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Photograph

Dasha Fagan

61

Poem

I’ve walked since I was 2 years old.

You were there when I fell You were there to pick me up And together we’d dance like stars in the night sky.

You told me about the ghosts You saw on your way home each day And how they had secrets to tell.

You taught me to be generous And to stand up Tall like you taught Grandma when she was little.

You said I had power In my little fist My little feet And my “big brain.”

You would say, “There are always ghosts, And sometimes they are family looking out for you, But sometimes they just want a friend.

You must be careful.”

Now you’re a ghost amongst the ones in my head, Telling me I can do it.

“Tu lo puedes hacer, Ambercita!”

“You can do it, Little Amber!”

Every time I walk.

Every time I fall.

Every time I fail.

Now you dance in the sky with God, As I dance down here by myself.

That power I once held, Gone with you.

Amber Constante

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Ace of ♠s Some Favor fortune.

Others attract fools.

Even more wish for fame.

But all she desired was freedom.

Ace in all she did… the lowest of the deck.

She felt the worst, so she tried to live the best.

They called her sharp… in mind, wit, and curiosity.

“But lose her trust and you’ll soon find she’s cut you.”

She’ d laugh, because that’s all she could do to forget.

Forget the pain that those without knives could incur.

They didn’t have ♠s but they buried her all the same.

Who among us knew that ♦s could become so dull?

Who knew that ♣s could become confrontational?

Who knew that ♥s could become so heedless?

All she knew was she fought for freedom.

Ace, 2, 3, 4, 5… …6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

Jack, Queen King… Ace! Ace Highest To lowest.

She’s two in one.

Be wary of the cards.

She’s a joker in disguise.

Her worst days were foolish, But she always found fortune.

Inevitably, her heart became free.

Mary Welenc

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Artwork

Aaryana Zapata