Write in the Middle 2014

Write in the Middle

The Archer School for Girls Middle School Literary Magazine 2014

Write in the Middle Staff Student Coordinators: Iman Akram ’18 Catherine Oriel ’18 Anna Allgeyer ’18 Gabriela Lu ’18 Leslie Castaneda ’20 Molly Rose Freeman ’20 Lauren Evans-­‐Katz ’20

Faculty Advisors Amanda Freiler Wendy Thornton

Cover Photograph: Mia Parker ’20

There He Is There he is Rolling up the street On this grey-­‐eyed morning As the leaves titter with joy Because of the story the early bird told them.

And I watch the children pout out the endless water Into their fountain And I shiver at the dirty words the wind retells me That the mud told him And I wait for him On this grey-­‐eyed morning.

Gabriela Lu ’18 Middle School Poet Laureate

Silent Walk in the Woods Dew glistens on leaves Pearls of water Changing Transforming The plants.

A bluebird trills A short, sweet tune Melodic Piercing Then nothing Silence Northing but my footsteps On brown dirt Step Step

Anna Brodsky ’20 Middle School Poet Laureate Runner-­‐up

Trapped in Time Multiples of smiles rise upon faces from a fearing anxiety, I cry tears of dreams To water my desire.

We spin round and round Caught in the present, waiting for the future.

When my train comes to a halt-­‐-­‐ In the movement of time, I look up at the sky with my head thrown back.

The wind rushes past my ears.

A garden of longing rises through the thoughts trapped in time.

We slither to the beat of our voices.

We are caught Now and again, In the beat of our minds Just you wait for us.

Livia Blum ’19, Olivia Downes ’19, and Doris Sandberg ’19

Because We Read We want to attend Hogwarts, to fall in a rabbit hole, to have a boyfriend like Augustus Waters, to own a magic wardrobe, to be a demigod, to see what happens when a pigeon drives a bus, to have a superpower, to try dauntless cake, to have a house elf, And to have our own story end with a Happily Ever After.

Wilhemina Frierson ’20

Jocelyn Garcia-­‐Euyoque ’18

Maybe the Point of Life Maybe the point of life Is that there’s isn’t one at all, That the world is a canvas, And you create whatever you want.

But society is a coloring book.

You can still create whatever you want, But stay inside the lines.

If you step outside the boundaries, It doesn’t mean you’re creative, It just means you’re odd.

So which one will it be?

The coloring book or the canvas?

Catherine Oriel ’18

Fire Crackling sparks gently lick the trees, Flowing in like a Ylock of birds gliding through the sky.

The Yire starts to grow, Bigger and bigger it gets, Until it engulfs the forest with bright Ylames And dark smoke.

The raging Yire burns on.

It roars through the trees like a lion, Snatching anything it can Yind and tearing it down.

The Yire starts to advance Until nothing is left.

Sammy Raucher ’19

Stars Always there, Never not.

Watching over Until they fall Into InYinity’s never ending Path.

They are the light.

They are the life.

They are the center Of the universe: Stars.

Miela Efraim ’20

Universe I look up at the stars, And a question swirls in my head: How was the universe created?

The stars yell at me, “You are the key!”

Does this mean I must answer my own question?

How could I ever Yind the answer?

I feel the gravity pushing on my chest.

I feel so small compared to the universe.

I am just one girl on a little planet; How can I Yind the answer to the universe?

I ponder this question everyday.

One day I will succeed and Yind the answer to the universe.

Audrey Choate ’20

Excuses The devil’s got frostbite; The pig’s grown wings.

The cows are at the gate And the kingdom’s brought its things.

You said, “When hell’s froze n’over”; You said, “When cows come home”; You said, “When pigs Yly”; And you said, “When kingdom come.”

You said you’d pay me back When these events came to be; Well now, here they are, And you’re still in debt to me.

You’re in a might lot of trouble And you’d best admit it now; Relying on the weather And gravity And cows.

Carline Ediger ’19

What If? Leaves are green but the ground is brown.

Would the leaves still be green if the leaves were the ground?

Sharp pencils are pointy, dull pencils don’t write.

Do the dull pencils stay dull longer than the sharp pencils stay sharp?

Small dogs don’t alarm, big dogs leave you terror-­‐struck.

Would we be afraid of little dogs if they had the bark of a big one?

Dream, Fantasize, and Wonder Walk on leaves, leave your pencil dull, and imagine the loudest bark on the

littlest dog Think of a world much different from ours.

Abbie Sagadencky ’20

Marlene Vollbrechthausen ’18

Unquenchable Depth To Light The unquenchable depth of terror and monstrosity lies beneath me.

The unquenchable sorrow of death do us part is what the near disaster shall

be.

Tamed will be the words of eternal guilt that melt thy mind, you will see All that is left of integrity will be shredded into tears of regret.

To those who have forgotten the thirst of forgiven Ylesh, The monstrous reality of destiny, fate and of rest.

But the sky is like an open book.

How the failure and pain relies on the apology and thought As the light has forgotten to shine bright.

Call on those who disappear in despair without quite the insight, FulYill the gates that have opened for me to realize All that you are too ashamed to say or do.

The bond of blood is true.

Don’t let them sink into darkness and undo the knot tied to your point of view.

The unquenchable depth of terror and monstrosity lies beneath me.

The unquenchable sorrow of death do us part is what the near disaster shall

be.

Timeless, tattered truth tied to you Beyond the unquenchable depth into the light of path.

Skylar Graham ’20

Unique Mysterious, yet beautiful.

So quiet, yet so loud.

She grows and spreads her wings And shows the world who she really is: A unique and magical creature Who believes in what is right.

But all comes to an end When she wakes up to the real world Of horror.

But her imagination will always remain with her And keep her believing.

Isabella Raspi ’20

Ignorant Universal in every way, Yet no painting or drawing the same.

Creating something new, As each brush hits the canvas.

Creating a piece of art.

Never the same, The meaning always changing, With notes always matching.

Songs sounding different each time, Someone listening to a piece of art.

A movie is a distraction, As is a book or nature.

But all art is.

Whether it is visual, Auditory or physical.

Art is art, Yet people never notice it.

No one sees the sun setting, Or hears the perfect song, They ignore their favorite book.

And now there isn’t art.

There is just ignorance.

Zoe Brin ’20

The Ballerina Nimble On her feet.

Light On her toes.

Swirls of grace Echo from her Ylair, As her bold breathtaking beauty Paints a picture Across the stage.

Then she leaps.

Miela Efraim ’20

I Can’t Write a Poem My teacher said to write a poem: A poem about love and glee.

Cheesy grins and obnoxious laughs, Well that seemed pretty easy.

A brainiac I am.

A smug old teacher’s pet indeed.

Perfect A’s in every class and even full credit for P.E! Yet when I sat down to write a poem I struggled at my mighty worst I mean I couldn’t write a poem, or even a plain old verse!

I wanted to Yigure out what to rhyme with Sam, But all I could think about was my poetry exam!

But then it hit me like one of those Ylying bricks-­‐-­‐ I wrote a really good poem, and I actually did it mighty quick!

Allie Hechmer ’19

As I Sit Here One Dreary Night As I sit here one dreary night, I try to memorize a poem.

I do not have the memory to recite verbatim, So I try to remember parts of it.

The words are like birds They Ylutter out of my mind faster than I can catch them.

My mind is an open cage, and the words are desperate to get out.

Celeste Penney ’20

Fly The lights come In an organized chaos.

Flapping wings that sit, Waiting, Floating, through the night sky.

Athena’s wisdom, shining in its soft down.

Those piercing yellow eyes Holding depth and sorrow, unheard whispers.

The owl turns its beak, and Ylies away.

Aviva Intveld ’19

A Quest for Unity He is my sun And I am his moon Within reach But just out of sight We Yloat Like lost angels We Yloat Throughout A steaming pond Of anguish Of lost dreams Of pain And we are the beacons Forever chasing one another Like yin and yang Our love is young But our fervor is eternal Like star-­‐crossed lovers Clashing with time Our only barrier The chains of the past The rhythms of the future The patterns of today We are cursed Given jobs of glory But hearts of lead We are forbidden to love But our thirst for passion Starves us Starves us into desperation And complete and utter despair

We will never love another We are lost innocent angels Swimming through a blackened pond Tainted with blood Blood from lovers’ cries From the mouths of those Who refuse To glance away From the blinding light Of their lover’s sultry Ylames

Julia Hallin-­‐Russo ’18

Mia Parker ’18

InNinite Love This is Yirst love: The time to remake.

A time to renew, To give and to take.

He is Yirst love: The dance of his laugh, The center of the universe, My better half.

We have a deep love.

So perfect and pure, For years we did pass it, Could not see it before.

This love is for always, Of that I am certain.

InYinite love ‘Till we fall past the curtain.

Our hearts beat together: The key to the lock.

But now there’s this text saying, “We have to talk...”

Gwendolyn Strasberg ’19

Backstage What happens backstage, behind the play of life?

Who writes the scripts?

Who makes the scenery?

Who designs the costumes, and what do the actors and actresses look like

when they take them off?

How do they decide who is in the spotlight?

Who is the director?

Where do the characters go when their scene is over?

Do they even know what is before them or after?

And, ever important…

Will the curtain someday fall?

And will there be a curtain call?

And will the audience cheer?

Will roses be thrown?

Or is there even an audience at all?

Caroline Ediger ’19

Daddy They said hold up your head, But it’s OK to let them see you cry.

I would, but I didn’t even know this guy.

They said I should be proud, Of all the things he did.

But I don’t know what he was like So I can’t imagine who he is.

They said deaths could be tough, Especially on little kids, And that my friends would care, And I should let them in.

Let them into my mind, Where my thinks roam wild.

But not into my heart, Where my daddy truly lies.

Vivian Shay ’20

Me Me. What will I be?

Will I roam the streets?

Will I own them?

Will I be able to phone them?

Will I heed kind and thoughtful words?

Will I destroy or create?

Will I be taken by some unknown fate?

Will I start a clean slate, Or am I real?

What is the deal?

Molly Rose Freeman ’20

The Freedom of Flight I open the window to Twilight, coast breeze.

I feel the wind not piercing, But absorbing into my skin.

The frigid Yire that absorbs my arm And slowly me.

My heart Ylutters.

It is breaking free of that cage, That prison that consist of my life.

It Ylies and I Yly with it We soar, Up and up.

The wind tickles my neck, My hair dances through the stars.

The frigid Yire burning within me, Bringing me away to a haven of freedom.

Is it so cowardly to Yind freedom in Ylight?

Is it so cowardly to fear the known more than the unknown?

I close the window as civilization appears, Though my heart settles Back into the prison of me.

I can still feel the frigid Yire of the freedom of Ylight within me.

Isabel McKinlay ’20

As Quiet as the Night Sky As quiet as the night sky, the rain crept down the window sill.

The stars glistened, but not enough to see them through the foggy air.

I feel like if I touch that frosty window sill, I too will freeze.

Not even a bird surfs the darkness, Not an umbrella to be seen.

But my mind focuses only on the tapping rain, Bringing sadness over me.

Lauren Evans-­‐Katz ’20

I May Be Little I may be little, But I am bigger inside.

Come in, you will see.

Elizabeth Gaghan ’20

Iman Akram ’20

Skin is Like Clothing Look at you; You are covered in that dark brown skin.

Because you have a skin tone that is beautiful, And it’s just the right shade that suits you.

You wear Ylashing colors, To keep you looking stylish in the hot sun.

You wear dusky colors, To keep you looking Yine even in the chilly weather.

Look at you; You are covered in that dark brown skin.

Reid Cobb-­‐Phillips ’19

Dream Sunlight reaching through the branches, Spilling onto sandy beaches.

Bringing life and burning shadows, Reaching for the silent meadows.

Stronger than a thousand armies Marching through like ships on seas.

Silence that says so much more.

Silent lapping on silent shores.

Quiet that turns the world around, Shaking all the underground.

As silent as it is loud, Moving like a dark, cold cloud.

Through the black there is a light, Tearing through the moonless night.

To defeat the dark is victory For it brings such misery.

Once again the land is clear.

Once again there’s sound to hear.

The light will now shine forever.

The dark is now gone forever.

Lola Wolf ’19

Nightmares A sun lights up my window, A dream, just a dream.

I’m yanked back to reality, Nothing as it seems.

I walk around, in a daze The wind blows at my hair.

A cloud of gloom follows me; I try avoiding stares.

I linger in the evening, My feet weighed down with dread.

I stumble down the hallway, Reluctant to go to bed.

The darkness will always Yind me, No matter what I do.

There’s no escape from darkness, The nightmares are becoming true.

Is this reality? Am I asleep?

I wonder to myself.

“Your help is all I need,” I say To the picture on the shelf.

The nightmares haunt me once again, I stumble to the Yloor.

My eyes are red, my cheeks are wet, I stagger to the door.

Then the sun wakes me, With a reassuring wink.

I stand a little taller; The nightmares start to sink.

The sun lights up my window, A dream, just a dream.

I’m yanked back to reality, A dream, just a dream.

Anika Shorr ’18

My Regrets For Laziness Regarding the Destruction of My Boat The boat was a cool place, Comfortable and cozy indeed.

And I see now that I should have cared more.

Because when that dreaded storm hit, The water washed it all away: My memories, my fun, my boat!

What can I do though? Nothing.

The past is in the past.

But at that very moment it was the present!

And that’s what takes me back.

What could I have done then?

How could I have saved it?

I didn’t!

But now I regret it.

I was there, and I knew about the storm.

But it’s my laziness that is my tragic Ylaw.

And tragic Ylaws can lead to disaster, like mine.

Creon had too much pride; Medea wanted revenge.

But I was just lazy!

Lazy me, Not caring about how my actions might affect anything else, Including boats.

So I give you this: Don’t be lazy.

You’ll never realize how much you care about something until it is gone.

Vivian Shay ’20

Creative Title 26 letters Millions of words Still sitting here, Nothing in your head.

This will work.

But it does not.

You press a mighty rectangle.

It loses to the delete button.

Looking left, Looking right.

The things around you might help you write.

Then you look back at the keys.

Your Yingers lie there with ease.

You bite your nails.

This is getting tough.

Then Yinally you get that Ylickering light.

You type away, Your head full of joy.

Then you realize: Oh, this is not right!

Victoria Pinkett ’20

Foul Fowl When people compare birds to humans, there is nothing possibly alike which

can be foreseen.

But the vagrants are pigeons.

Urbanity that disgusts.

“Help the homeless,” she says from her Yilthful uncanny facasde.

Quaking legs empty of endurance.

“Help the homeless!” she cries while staggering Toward the folks who have enough.

Like a ravenous canine in need of sustenance.

An unrelenting soul with tattered wings that have lost the dignity to Yly. “Help the homeless,” she mutters with no scruples.

Given the title “Rats of the Sky” for their unmanageable appearance.

“Help the homeless.” No one feels. No one gives.

Except for disgust and nasty remarks.

They both yearn for attention.

And human company.

And not a single tear is shed When they pass.

But how do such beings That have hearts Which beat and break like you and me Deserve this?

Caroline Thompson ’18

Mother’s Tree For those overlooked I have great sympathy; To be a thing of beauty And yet ne’er truly seen.

I think that many might not take The tick of time to look At this tree stump I see here Hid not in any nook Or cranny.

Indeed, ‘tis in plain sight; Its gnarled and mossy strings of self Give off a magic faerie light.

The Mother’s dearest dim domain Ought to be on mountain’s highest; But like the Mother herself, In an unexpected place it liest.

Caroline Ediger ’19

62 Miles, Where Space Begins I decided I needed to get away.

Somewhere out of this world.

Somewhere extraordinary.

Out of everyone’s comfort zone.

And so I went about 62 miles away from home.

I saw species that were thought to be nonexistent, Shaped in ways that no one could’ve ever thought up.

Plants with essentials different from humankind, And necessities that weren’t really necessary down here.

I experienced life from the eyes of other life forms, And accidentally got in between some intense extraterrestrial Yights.

But in the midst of all my explorations, I heard a call.

A call for something no one 62 miles up know about.

Reluctantly, I pulled the cardboard box off my head, And got out of my rocket ship bed.

I turned on my light, My glow-­‐in-­‐the-­‐dark stars went white, And then headed down for dinner.

Iman Akram ’18