North Shore Narratives: Spring of 2024 Issue
A note from the editor, compiler, contributor, and faculty advisor: These beautiful pieces, brought to you by your wonderfully thoughtful and creative peers, contain content that might be triggering. Such content includes thoughts on wondering, belonging, exploring, healing, existence, pain, death, substance use, war, suicide, redemption, and finally, growth. No road worth traveling is smooth; it is often fraught and terrifying, but in the end, one can grow or at the very least, know that they have been.
Enjoy the journey!
-Mrs. Kubik
Creation by Ilana Greenberg
In the beginning, there was nothing. A white sludge of chaos, uniform and void, glowed with a bright emptiness that spoke volumes. It existed as a monument to non-existence, waiting for a spark of creation to destroy the nothingness with bursts of being.
And from the dust of that white, empty page arose a thought, and life was breathed into it until it was free to move about as it pleased. The being lay on the corner of the page, a naked beast curled up to protect its developing ideas. It didn’t start with much; just a ration of words to chew on for a while. Curiously, the young thought experimented–pulling the words this way and that, trying one combination after the other, toying with its meat from every angle. It maneuvered and mulled-over and held onto the lifeless words as though they would one day run away, as though they embodied a priceless potential known only to those lucky enough to hold the words in their clutches. And the thought shone brighter, pulsing with an energy yet unharnessed, an energy still budding and building and waiting - waiting to be released to fill the vacuum with endless creations. Until the words exploded, showering the page.
And there was light.
Writing spread unto the heavens and the Earth. Ideas in their pure, raw form touched the sky, and pierced the boundaries of thought. Insights transcended physical being, soaring to heights that only the soul could reach. Letters poured endlessly, and filled seas with flowing metaphors and meandering imagery. They stretched towards the pink horizon between the conscious and the subconscious, where an ocean of thoughts and feelings - so deep that the content of its depths was unknown - met a sky that illuminated every thought with a clarity of intent and purpose. The letters had a flowing spirit of their own, unrestrained by the limits of reality.
From the sustenance of water and letters grew the bare branches of an outline and green leaves of words, speckled with structure. Vines of phrases strung into sentences, and sentences coiled themselves into paragraphs around a solid foundational bark, and paragraphs became forests of thoughts that spanned pages as far as the eye could see. Rolling rivers of revelations floated through forests of fervor that shook with the weight of ideas still unheard by the world. From beneath the ever-growing sparks of creation that illuminated the sky, the little words developed into creatures of the Earth.
In the white valleys of the page, these gentle beasts became faster and faster, fiercer and fiercer, uncontrollable monsters. They harnessed everything around them, seizing control of their bodies as vessels to transport words that violently spurred from their mouths. They constructed and experimented and created, taking words in their hands and fashioning perfect imperfections out of the letters that came torn from the ground. The beasts were feisty and knew no boundaries, unafraid to express ideas in their raw form. They were ferociously majestic creatures. They were beautiful. From my desk up above, I saw my final work praise me. I had manufactured ideas with my bare hands, molding and shaping them in my image. The act was barbaric and pristine: every tear and wring, every harsh erasure and scritch of the pencil, aided in the crafting of life. Life that pulsed from between the lines, materialized with just ink and paper.
And at this final hour, I rested, and I saw that it was good.
And it was evening, and it was morning, on the dawn of my journey as a writer.
Meta Poem
by Susan Newborn
A poem builds up inside for months And then demands its birth.
A messy round of counting down The syllables and worse
The metric tangles taunting me
To move another step.
I twist and moan and shift the tone— From solace to regret.
Colliding images like stars Explode and fall to ground.
I fear the mess but more or less I marvel at my sound.
Exhausted by delivering
A piece of my insides, A touch of rhyme, a splash of time The impetus subsides.
How Did I Get Here? by
Anonymous
So long ago I left home. No place to go, No place to stay. Why did I go?
Do I care to know?
Should I care to show Emotions that have plagued me?
After traveling long, Always the same steps, Always the same song, I came to a place that is different from most Where being worst is the best, And the guest treats the host.
How did I come there?
I can’t really say. It’s not exactly a story One begins and ends in a day.
The strange place I came to?
You have inquired.
Oh, right, I was getting to that. You see, I am quite tired.
I asked the people I saw, “Hello, could you tell me
The name of this place?”
“Home,” they said, then ran from my face. Home. Strange. That’s where I’m from.
But it seems to be also The place to which I’ve come.
The Depths by
Anonymous
Sometimes I feel I'm drowning in the depths. Bottom of the sea no one there to help no one there for me. I'm so sick of pretending my broken bones are mending. Because they never will, even if I take a pill. After a problem is solved, another comes worse. I wonder if everyone has the same curse.
In my head by Anonymous
In my head i am perfect
In my head i am smart
In my head i am kind
In my head i am important
In my head i am wise beyond my years
In my head i am unique
In my head i am likable
In my head i am funny
In my head i am put together
In my head i am confident
In my head i am beautiful
In my head i am forgiving
In my head i am the victim
In my head I lie
The Problem by Anonymous
I'm the problem nobody can solve. How can everyone just evolve? While I stay frozen in time. Even my tears taste like lime. I ruin every good connection. Thinking it will give protection. For so long I’ve blamed it on them. That they are the ones who loosen the hem. Once I dig a little deeper. My thoughts begin to feel steeper. Everyone else is the problem; don’t they have to be? But of course, I lie knowing the problem is me I create the fights because I can. I create the problems that I am.
Lost Boy by Aviv Plaut
Sitting in the woods feeling alone
Lost and afraid
No place to call home
The darkness swirls around me creating faces
The sounds of the night turn into taunts
Reaching into the blackness to find myself
To the surface comes a thought
A boy is sitting by my window
He points to the northern star
He tells me of a place
Where all the little lost boys
And all the little lost girls go
They feel at home he says
No one to make fun of them
No one to make them feel afraid
We make a home
He sprinkles dust on himself and flies
Follow me, he calls
Pointing to that northern star
Wait I yell I can’t fly
I’m not as free as you
But he was gone
Now sitting looking up at the sky
I see that star
Shining so bright making me wonder of a place
Where I may not be So chained
So tethered so alone
Stars
by Elisheva Lemonik
Katherine is being stared at. They are subtle enough, but not quite so that she can’t tell. She takes a sip from her red solo cup- it’s just water, but she hadn’t wanted to draw attention to herself. Yet she’d still managed. Not for her choice of drink, but for something she hadn’t anticipated She was smiling Katherine Langhart was smiling
She didn’t remember the last time she’d done that, and clearly, nobody else did either. Her smile wasn’t that of a shy girl hiding her laughter from the class; it wasn’t a smirk that hid pain. It was bright, the sun waking up from the darkness It was a smile that spoke of her pain, yes, but it meant she was getting through it. Was no longer trapped by it.
Her therapist had said it was okay to not be able to smile for a while, but it wasn’t okay to never do it again. Her smile grew with thoughts of how she’d tell her therapist this She’d tell her parents, too Her brother. Her sister. She knew they’d be proud. They’d be delighted to know she’d been glowing again.
It had been hard. She’d blocked everyone out, refused to leave her bed Stopped answering the phone Stopped reading, stopped eating, stopped caring because how could it possibly matter? Then, she cried. Over and over again, she’d cried over everything. And then- nothing. A blank slate, a whiteboard waiting for an equation. She’d spent days staring at the sun- watching it rise and fall, ignoring love from her family. Her Aunt Cherry first suggested the therapist. Nobody had opposed. Katherine hadn’t put up a fight.
Dr. Mindy Harris began the first session with Katherine on a Monday She saw her again on Wednesday Stayed on the phone Thursday morning as Katherine struggled to get out of bed, pain radiating through her.
“What does Aunt Cheryl have planned for the day?”
“Cherry ”
“Sorry?”
“Aunt Cherry. Nobody calls her Cheryl.”
“Nobody?”
“Not even Grandma or Grandpa My-” Her breath caught in her chest and pain slammed through her, tossing her up and through the windy cyclones of memories she’d shoved in dark alleys.
“Katherine. I’m not there with you. Can you tell me five things you see?” It was hard to breathe, her words coming out in choked gasps.
“Plant Curtain. Laptop Painting. Hairbrush.”
“Four things you feel.” “Blanket. Sheets.
Fan. Pillow.”
“Three things you smell.”
“I- I don’t smell anything ”
“Nothing?”
She inhaled sharply through her nose, trying to get a scent of anything
“Cherry. She- She’s making cookies.”
“Good job. I’d love some cookies right now. Is Cherry a good cook?”
“You bake cookies.” She wasn’t quite sure why she’d pointed this out- she just had to.
“Apologies. Is she a good baker?”
“She’s alright.”
“I kind of want some cookies. The other day I was over at a friend’s house, and she made the most delicious skillet cookie. Chocolate was all melty and soft. You should go and ask your aunt if she can make one. ”
“Alright ” She hauled herself out of bed without even realizing what she’d done. She instantly craved the warmth and the cover the blanket provided
“Wrap it around yourself ”
“What?”
“The blanket.”
That was the day Katherine learned Dr. Mindy was a mind-reader. Katherine, it turned out, loved therapy. She got to talk, say things about her family without that feeling of heavy guilt hanging over her head.
“Kat! Wanna play?” Iris called to her from the sliding glass door. Kat grinned and set her cup down, sliding off the marble countertop. This was her sister’s favorite game. It was time she played again. She’d tell her sister later about how she finally worked up the courage to play it with someone else. She nodded and walked to her friend, who nearly cried from happiness. Iris hid it well, but Kat saw the elation light up her friend’s eyes, followed by an extra sheen of sparkle She knew very well what hidden tears looked like
“C’mon, Kat! I love this game!” Sarah was terrible at the game, but Kat never minded playing with her sister. They’d get out those cards and head to the pool, chlorine wafting up their noses as they set up. Once the orders were set, it was game on. And Kat was careful- making sure her sister got a chance to win, and not feel like Kat had been letting her. It was only fair.
“Kat’s on our team!”
She marveled at how nice it felt to be wanted.
“No way, you have Michael!”
Her sister always begged for a moment of her time, tugging her arm in a desperate attempt. “I just want to play!” Kat would usually give in, though it got difficult with her workloads increasing with her age. Time was funny like that. You spent all this time preparing for adulthood, for “The real world,” and yet here was the joy. These were the good times, and you spent it all preparing for the days you’d merely reminisce. It seemed so very backwards to her that this was what society had chosen A constant push-pull by time itself.
“You’ve got Liam!”
“You have Sasha!”
“Fine, fine, finefinefinefine. Rock paper scissors.”
“Deal ”
“Rock! Paper! Scissors! Aaaannnddd shoot!” One side erupted in cheers, the other groans. The cacophony filled her ears, sort of like family barbeques used to.
“This is definitely the best burger I’ve had in weeks-”
“Didja hear about the UFO’s they spotted-”
“Say Kat, you into college yet?’
“Jason, when’ll you be giving us some grandbabies?”
“They say it’s from Mars!”
“I’m a freshman in high school-”
“When we ’ re ready for kids, that’s when-”
“G-d I’m exhausted- I've had such a busy week ”
“Try having five children, then tell me you ’ re exhausted ”
“Try looking after two kids and keeping straight A’s in high school, I’d like to see yo”
“You don’t have any kids.Who’s kids are you looking after?”
“Does she have kids?” “Your kids!”
“Is Jen pregnant?” “Your siblings?!”
“She’s fifteen, she better not be!” “Well you don’t!”
“Hey Kat- “How dare you? Jim!”
“Why are they so mad?” “What?”
“Aunt Carol and Uncle Jim aren’t “Listen to her!” really like mom and dad ” “Jen Quit your whining ”
“Why not?” “Quit drinking!”
“Damn.”
“Hashebeendrinking?”
“He’shadabottleinhishandsallday-” “Jennifer!” “IforgothernamewasJennifer.” “Mom.”
“Doesshehavea “Don’ttalktoyourfatherlikethat!” middlename?”
“Ithinkit’sMaisie.” “Carol-” “Doesn’tthatmeancorn?” “What?”
“Maybe.Iwouldn’t “Wouldyougoinside?” Besurprised”
“Shouldwecallhercornnexttimeweseeher?’ “Ifthereisanexttime.”
“Oh,nowyou’retakingherside?!”“I’mnottakingsides!”
“Carol,bereasonable-”“Reasonable?”
“Calmdown,it’s-” “Don’tbuttinCheryl-” “Isthatwherewe’regoing?”“Girls!” “Ma!”“Youalwaysdothis!”“Dowhat?Exist?”
“Younevertakemyside-” “Ialwaystakeyourside!”
“Ma,doyouseethis?” “Settledown,wouldyou?” “Iseeit.” “Jenisright!” “Jenagain?”
“She’sourdaughter!”“Iamwellawareofthat!” “Youdon’tseemtobe!”“Tony,stayoutofthis!” “What’sgoingon?”
“AuntBombblewup.”
“Damn.”
“Charlieowesmefivebucks”
“-Leahthis,Leahthat-” “-wellmaybeyoushouldtryit-”
“-bragaboutmychildren-”
“-it’snatural,likeyou’reessentialoilsyou’realways-” “-patronizeme,I’lldowhatI-” “-stepin,Arlene?”
“-Notgettingitinvolvedinthi-”“-republicanbastard-”
“-politicsoutofthis,alri-” “-votedforthatgeezer-”
“-justbetterthantheotherguy-” “-childrenaren’t-”
“-notdoinganythi-” “-doanythingeither!”
“-knee,Arlene?” “-disrespectful-” “-hurtingher-”
“-owndaughter?”“-shoot-”“-whatnow-”“-isn’tgoinginsan-” “-notinsane,mentallyil-”“-amething-”“-otevenclose,myG-d-” “-fall?”
“-who?Wha-”“Ohmy-”
“-akemedoanything-”“-chy,youknowthat?I-”“Wha-” “Thatlooksbad.”
“IsthatMayah?”
“Ahcrap.”
“Thisisthethirdyearinarowthishasendedinatripto thehospital.”
“Istillloveseeingeveryone.”
“Really?”
“Well Mostpeople ”
“-bulance,shehitherhea-” “-nightmare,myG-d-”
“-inda,letushelpher-”
“-mybabyyo- “-she’sadoctor,forgoodnesssa-”
“-call911yet?I-”
“I’llcalltheambulance ”
“Goodcall.”
“You’rehilarious.”
“Ipridemyselfonit Where’dyoursiblingsgo?”
“Dunno Somewhereoverthere ”
“‘Kay.Justcall.”
Hermindwanderedbackoverthememories,thegoodones, overlappingonthebigscreeninhermindandeyes,pushingher towardsthatjoy,thegoodtimes Sure,they’dallbeenfighting,but itwasgood.Theylovedeachotherattheendoftheday,buttheir headsgotinthewayofit,wavescrashingagainsteachotherinconstant motion,untilsomeonelandedthemselvesinthehospital,andeveryone realizedagainhowlittleitmattered They’dhugandapologize,andKat knewthatthey’dgorightbacktoitthenexttime,andsheknewthat everyoneelseknewit,too.Therewasjustnoreasontodwell. Noiseswerefilteringbackaroundasshereturnedtothepresent. Itremindedherofwhenshe’dfirsthadherhearingaidsturnedonafter theaccident
“Alright!Kat,you’reupfirst!”
“Go!Go!Go!Go!Go!Go!”
Katlovedthesegames,shereallydid.Thesmallmomentsthat remindedherthattherewasgoodamongstallthatdarkness Herparents wouldbeelatedlater.DrMindywouldtellherthateveryonewasproud ofher.AuntCherrywoulddothatlittleheadshakethatsaidshe’dknownthe therapywasagoodideaandmakeaskilletcookieandtelleveryonehow she’dbeenright.AuntCarolwouldrollhereyesbutsmile,andJenwould slidehermotherafivedollarbillunderthetable,thinkingnobodynoticed Katshoutedandranandrackeduppointsasfastasshecould,theteam cheeringheron,untilshemusthavemessedup,becausesomeoneslammed intoher,shovingherinthepool.Shesquawkedasshefell.Thegame continuedwellintothenight,drinkspassedaround,colorsandcheersgrowing steadilyoutofhercomfortzone.Shewrappedatowelaroundherself,scooting uptositontheedgeofthebrickwallthatoverlookedthelittlevalley.The chlorineinthepoolmixedwiththescentsofmulticoloredtulipsandpollenof thegrassinfrontofher,anoddlycalmingduo.Themoonlightreflectedoffthe small,windingstream,starsdottingtheblacksky Kathadcomefar
“Hey.” Iris hopped onto the wall next to her, their legs dangling down. They were criss-crossing vines, the two of them. They were swishing and swooshing through the waves of life, helping each other up from the bottom of the ocean. Winds that joined together to knock down walls, to shatter crystal barriers, laughing as the shards flew around them. They shone brightly together.
“Hey.” Her closest friend leaned over to rest her head on Katherine’s shoulder at her voice. Memories were still splashing inside her brain, but she wasn’t in pain. Iris’s presence helped as she stared up at the brilliant constellations of the night sky.
She was a bit like the night sky, if she thought about it. Heavy darkness with rolling clouds, sometimes blocking the light. But when she was cloud-free, when she was truly, really, free, for even just a tiny moment, she shone And that’s what she lived for- the tiniest of moments that made it worth it She lived for the little pricks of light that poked through, and when they formed together, you saw it How even the most broken shards could create something beautiful.
“Thank you.”
Iris rubbed her hand up and down Kat’s arm. She would hurt again, she knew. But for now, she didn’t have to. And it was okay.
“I’m meeting Cherry’s boyfriend tonight. They’re coming to pick me up.” Katherine still refused to get in a car, and Cherry didn’t want to walk alone.
“You don’t have to trust him.”
“Cherry does.”
“Cherry wasn’t in the car.”
Cherry had told Katherine this herself. That the distrust was alright. It didn’t really matter how many times everyone told her it was okay. It didn’t feel okay. Wasn’t it odd, the way a feeling could contradict its own? Humanity was riddled with contradictions, she supposed. She thought of the driver of that other car. He’d been drunk- an adult, drinking and driving. Really, how was he any different from half the people at this party? Partying a little too hard, making terrible decisions, regretting them And he was better, smarter, because he’d been on the planet longer? No Yet another oddity ‘Respect your elders ’ Kat had given up on that after the accident. She respected those who deserved respect. She was a decent person to everyone regardless.
That didn’t mean she trusted everyone. She’d lost that ability, to trust first and doubt second. Every adult could turn out to be just another drunk driver, and she’d grown wary. Not on purpose- it had just happened one day, an alarm bell in the back of her mind.
“Kat. It’s okay.”
It’s okay. It was. She could be happy for Cherry. And she was. When the pair of them arrived, and Cherry introduced Katherine to Lucas and Katherine smiled, and Lucas evolved from boyfriend to fiancé that night, she was happy It would take her time to fully trust To fully adjust to him. But it would be okay.
It’s okay.
It was the next morning, and the wind was dancing in her hair, rubbing her cheeks pink. Her boots left a trail of crushed grass, but it would stand up again She took a breath of the crisp air and sat down in the grass, rubbing her hands together.
“Hey guys.” She closed her eyes a moment before returning them to the graves in front of her.
“I smiled last night.” She swore the wind blew gentler, warmer, maybe. A stray leaf fell to her shoulder. “It hurts. You not being there. But.. I think I can do it now ” Tears welled in her eyes A smile poked through “I played your game, Sarah. Even got pushed in.” Memories were cascading through her, a rushing waterfall. Instead of running, she opened her arms and let it rain down onto her.
“Aunt Carol’s doing better, Mom. I know you were always worried about her. She and Jen got matching purple streaks in their hair.”
“Leah’s at Harvard, Dad. She got in. Said you were her inspiration.” Tears slid down her cheeks, landing in the soft grass beneath her.
“Uncle Jim quit drinking. Uncle Tony and Keith stopped bringing up politics all the time. Aunt Cherry’s been trying to figure out Charlie’s brownie recipe. You really did take it to your grave.” A sob swept through her, but she kept going
“Jason and Kira had a baby. They named her after you two. Charlotte Sarah.” The thought of her baby cousin-once-removed filled her head. Little Charlotte had the most perfect smile and soft, golden hair. Kat loved her so much.
“I miss you. Everyday. But I’m working hard. I’m doing well in school again I- I’m going to be a nurse I think you’d be proud of me ” She turned her head up to the cloudy sky.
“I look for you in the stars.” Katherine stood up, brushing her knees off. She stared at the four gravestones, four gravestones that shouldn’t have been there for another forty, fifty, sixty years.
But they were. And she would live those years for them. Her family deserved it
“I love you.”
Topsy Turvy
by Ariel Nassimiha
Isn't it sad to think about the things that make us happy?
Isn't it easy to make things hard?
Isn't it crazy to think you're normal?
Isn't it dangerous to think you're safe?
Isn't it the truth that we all lie?
Isn't it aggravating to always be calm?
Isn’t it deafening to stand in silence?
Aren't we alone together?
Aren't we foolish for thinking we are wise?
Aren't we strong for showing weakness?
Aren't we obsessed with trying not to care?
Aren't we fighting for peace?
Human by Anonymous
I am human. I make mistakes, I say the wrong things. I get angry too easily. I don't let go of anger easily enough.
I am human. I fail tests, I sleep in. I hate my body. I don't work hard.
I am human. I get seasonal depression, I have anxiety, and I hate socializing.
I am human. I hate criticism, I seek validation, and I care what others think of me.
I am human, I can't do it all, or any.
But she is also human. She gets perfect grades on all her tests. She never gets angry, never holds a grudge. She is always on time.
She's human, and yet everyone loves her. She is confident in her skin, she's never nervous. She’s always improving.
She doesn't care what others think.
No, she is not human, she is perfect, or so I thought.
She is human, She walks around the city.
She is human. She goes to her apartment.
She is human. She runs to the rooftop.
She is human. She jumps.
the lake
by Talia Beck
i am standing in the shower when salt water floods my mouth and suddenly, i am eleven again, healthy and stupid and sun-tanned from a month of not wearing sunscreen because my mother isn’t there to tell me to.
it is shabbat afternoon, though the sun is nearly done with her path, and what we are doing is against all the rules but we are stripped down to our underwear in the lake and nobody is stopping us and the other girls and i take off, for a moment gliding easily through the horrifically green waters, the smooth movement of our arms and backs not unlike the horse that is kept in the stable near the woods at the edge of the girls’ campus and let out once a week to run.
then in the middle a halt, gasping for air, realizing that in the deep green underneath, there is not a single thing to support us. realizing that there is no lifeguard on shore.
we are all alone, all eleven, all sporting a sunburn, in our underwear in the middle of the lake, and nobody is stopping us. it was the last time i ever swam in a lake.
The Strong by
Kimberly Kubik
My father, when he was young, had polio. His pal down the street succumbed to the illness. He died at 9. My father lived, his only apparent scar a semi-shriveled left calf muscle.
To assuage his guilt, maybe, or to satiate his boredom, as he's claimed, my father joined the military at 18, just before the start of the Vietnam war. They forgave the shriveled leg.
The 82nd Airborne. The crème de la crème of the military, he'd said. He'd only tell me of all the fun and never spoke of the bad. He never told me why he came home and burned his uniform. He never told me much about anything.
But my father's accumulated scars shouted their way into our daily lives. They could be heard as he recovered from alcoholism, from being laid off with three small kids at home, from his victory over his war with cancer. And they can be heard still, loudly, though he's silent.
My father sits now, a small, stooped figure, nothing like the bear of a man I had grown up cowering under. His once booming voice, which jolted us to action more often than I can recall, is now muted by a tongue held captive by ALS.
What makes a Frida Kahlo and a Sylvia Plath?
A Mike the Durable versus Bruce Lee or a Robert Smalls versus a Selena Quintanillo-Perez? Which one is he? Who is he? This was always the question.
For years, I've asked my father to write down his stories.
“So that your grandchildren can know you for the hero you are.”
His response was always the same: “I am no hero.”
Riddled with survivor’s guilt many times over, I’d always assumed. Or maybe I was forcing him to be the hero I’d always needed.
Are the strong the survivors, the heroes, the brave made?
By society, filial pride, a string of genetic code? Or are they forged by the pen? Most stop at nothing to leave a legacy. Here I stand, begging my father to leave us with one. And he won’t. What made him strong, allowed him to survive? Was it just one scrappy fight onto the next? A persistent itch to ward off the boredom? Or was there more to it? After years of probing, my father revealed that near the end of his tour, his troop was nearly sacrificed. Like lambs to the slaughter, they were almost dropped over Laos on New Year’s Eve without intel or maps but the jump was abruptly called off.
It was famously reported in Time magazine, he boasted. Quietly. I now wonder, is that why he burned his uniform?
I’ll never know. I’ll never know who he is or what made him strong. He’s not responding to my text. And he can’t speak. Maybe today, his fingers are less nimble than yesterday. The embroidered journal I gave him nearly fifteen years ago is collecting dust on top of his bureau, the embossed pen yet unused. He can no longer reach it and all I know is that I’m losing time.
jacob’s angel
by Talia Beck
i did not wrestle with jacob’s angel, but i climbed mount masada with him.
his figure was fleeting in the dark on the mountain. a yiddish accent hung heavy around his words. he gave me water from his pack and told me about ghosts.
his blundstones were worn down at the edges, exposing pale leather underneath like soft flesh. he kept a sefer tehillim, bound in white and gold, in his canvas backpack. he never looked me right in the eyes.
jacob’s angel has dark eyes, dark hair, and the straightforwardness of a child. his hands are sure and gentle, his words soft and ever-flowing as torah itself. i knew angels sang, but every word from his mouth was like a melody, sweet and pure as a shabbos tune around a table. i clung to the sound for balance as we climbed.
we followed no path. he knew the way up, he said. dawn threatened at the horizon. the air was still, like a lung failing to find breath. i told him some words of torah. he didn’t tell me his name. i had never been so high. with every step, he kicked up the blood that had spent centuries resting in the mountain.
i did not wrestle with jacob’s angel, but i climbed mount masada with him. when i turned my head at dawn, he was gone again, the air hanging heavy in his wake. some things never change.
Untitled by
Aviv Plaut
A cold night in August
Long after the world is asleep
I am awake
In the middle of a clearing in the woods
looking up at the sky
I lie in a hoodie and shorts
Not nearly warm enough
For the cold biting my skin
But the stars are so clear
I don’t even care
They shine like bright diamonds
Illuminating the darkness
I reach up my palm
feeling insignificant
To the vast expanse of space
Wishing
I could just reach up
And collect each star
Press it close to my chest
And hold it
Its warmth spreading through me
I would watch over each one
Putting it in my pocket
And when I feel small
Have a reminder
That I succeeded
In reaching the stars
