Editors Note
Our staff met weekly as submissions trickled into our inbox throughout the fall. We soon noticed a pattern many pieces submitted to the lit mag contained themes of self-reflection and discovery, intertwined with breathtaking imagery of the natural world. The word “Metanoia” sprang to mind and was chosen as the theme because it emphasizes a personal process of change: we must become lost to find ourselves again.
High school is a process of self discovery: as freshmen, we begin to uncover our passions, and as sophomores, we finally adapt ourselves to the high school curriculum. As juniors, we become lost in an overwhelming surge as we undergo the college process, but as seniors, we reflect with pride on our accomplishments: who we grew to be throughout this four-year journey. We reflect on all we hold dear as time slips through our fingertips with alarming speed.
We sometimes have a hard time walking forward without looking back, similar to Lot’s wife in the biblical story. Against warnings of dire consequences, she succumbed to her longing, and looked back to the burning city of Sodom. For her disobedience, she was turned into a pillar of salt. This story inspired our magazine’s name, and it continues to hold relevance. Instead of suffering the same fate as Lot’s wife, we celebrate the act of looking behind us, we cultivate our creative works into Pillars of Salt.
Being able to curate and produce this issue for the Archer community at this pivotal time is so special. Thank you to our faculty adviser Ms. Keelty, our staff, and the incredible writers and artists who have granted us access to their creativity, giving us a window into their own exquisite contributions to the sublime. all their creativity and exquisitely sublime works.
Remember, whether we’re here to remind you or not, Submit to lit.
Lucine Stephan ’25, Natalie London ’26, Chiara Silveri ’27
Editorial Policy Mission Statement
Our staff welcomes any and all Archer students to submit their work. Staff may make as an extracurricular and as part of the creative writing class Works are solicited in a variety of ways, including pithy posters advertising our email address for submissions, teacher encouragement, and word of mouth. At meetings, works are presented anonymously and members anonymously vote yes, no, or maybe on each piece. Pieces that receive a greater number of ' yes ' votes than 'maybe' or ' no ' votes are awarded publication in the magazine with the understanding that editors exercise discretion regarding inclusion at the time of production. Visual work is voted on independently from literary work. There are no strict limits on the number of works that an individual can have in the magazine, nor are there limits to the number of works featured in the magazine.
Through Pillars of Salt, we hope to showcase the diverse pool of writers and artists we have at The Archer School for Girls. Because of this, we accept as many submissions as possible. Submissions are subject to feedback from a panel of editors, but changes are only made after consultation and with permission from the artist. We distribute copies freely to those who submitted and have it available in our Tia Palermo library.
More Information
The Archer School for Girls 11725 Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90049 archer.org (310)-873-7000
481 Students and 144 Faculty Published Dec 2024 litmag@archer.org
Fonts: Karma, Amsterdam One, Garet, Open Sans
Inspiration by Adella Travers ’27
Bliss by Tea Walker ’28
Forgotten Gods by Avery Panepinto ’27
The Sweetness of a Honeysuckle by Katie Ray McKillop ’27
This POEM is For My Ribs by Cezi Silverton ’25
The Stab that Shaped Him by Dara Alitoro ’28
Dreams Captured in a Star by Uma Nambiar, ’25
Happiness by Maya Cerbo ’28
Moment of Bliss by Natsnet Habtu ’25
[glass] by Cezi Silverton ’25
Moth Bitten Wings by Shayaan Gandhi ’25
10 things I miss about you by Sadie White ’28
Both Sides Now by Chiara Silveri ’27
Rocks and Butter by Stella Leland ’26
Beach Day by Hayden Seid ’25
Obsolescence by Lucine Stephan ’25
The Moment the Music Stopped by Daisy Barber ’25
Do Not Read the News by Vivianne Arnold ’26
The Blue by Vivianne Arnold ’26
Big Girl Now by Rosie ’25
The Harvest by Natalie London ’26
Prose
Summer by Uma Nambiar ’25
Eventually Evergreen by Clara Lieberstein ’28
Silent Songs by Lucine Stephan ’25
The Journey That Has No End by Lucine Stephan ’25
Ribbon Scene by Lucy Kaplan ’26
My Wonderings by Hayden Seid ’25
Visual Art
Idyll by Evan Weingarten ’26
Candlelit Nights by Avery Panepinto ’26
Horizon by Lily Grouf ’25
Reminiscence by Abby Borstein ’25
Santorini by Maddie Beaubaire ’25
Billows by Lily Grouf ’25
One Boat Ride by Evan Weingarten ’26
Acropolis of Athens by Abby Borstein ’25
Field of Dreams by Maddie Beaubaire ’25
Reflections by Katie Ray McKillop ’27
A Path to the Road Unknown by Shanthi Seth ’27
Spotlight by Evan Weingarten ’26
Perspective On The Hill by Evan Weingarten ’26
A Field of Pumpkins by Lily Grouf ’25
Simple Walk in Italy by Evan Weingarten ’26
Laugh out Loud by Maddie Beaubaire ’25
Rainbow by Lily Grouf ’25
Sunrise, Sunset by Maddie Beaubaire ’25
Lost & Found by Maddie Beaubaire ’25
New Falls Beginning by Shanthi Seth ’27
Morning Moon byAvery Panepinto ’27
Framing Beautifully by Nicole Svendsen ’27
Sunset in Ammoudi by Abby Borstein ’25
Never Running Out of Time by Abigail Weiner ’27
We Will Dance Again by Daisy Barber ’25
Childhood on the Beach by Abby Borstein ’25
A Man’s Silhouette by Shanthi Seth ’27
Coral Reef by Sophia Bromwich ’25
Supernova by Maddie Beaubaire ’25
Adding Color To the Cold by Abigail Weiner ’27
Staff
Editor-in-Chief
Lucine Stephan
Co-Editors-in-Chief (Production)
Maddie Beaubaire
Shayaan Gandhi
Jr Editors-in-Chief
Natalie London
Chiara Silveri
Creative Writing
Editors
Hayden Seid
Daisy Barber
Editorial Board
Vivianne Arnold
Abby Borstein
Kennedy Chow
Natsnet Habtu
Maya Hernández
Clara Lieberstein
Katherine McKillop
Echo Meadows
Addie Myers
Sara Mzoughi
Uma Nambiar
Natalie London
Avery Panepinto
Emerson Rapp
Lena Sakhnini
Pasha Selig
Shanthi Seth
Cezanne Silverton
Nicole Svendsen
Mia Vosicher
Melinda Wang
Beatrice Washburn
Abigail Weiner
Evan Weingarten
Sadie White
Grace Whitney
Emma Winkler
Faculty Adviser
Kathleen Keelty
(Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 1
Candlelit Nights
Avery Panepinto ’28
Summer
Uma Nambiar ’25
When the white lilies blossom, the fuschia roses open their innocent eyes, and the yellow daisies dance with the wind’s hollow whisperings, I know Summer has come. Summer. Her beautiful sound, the motherly lilt on her soft tongue, the breath of fresh air she breathes into the darkest crevices. Summer. Her flowery tones and effervescent aromas, tendrils of the sun’s rays entranced by her angelic aura. When she comes, the world changes. It goes from gray to blue. The wet sadness of the sky - replaced with a crisp longing, a wanting for
Horizon Lily Grouf ’25 (Digital Photography)
something that was right around the corner. The fruits grow. The acidic brightness of lemons, their dust sneakily chasing each other through the air as soon as the knife slices through the fruit. I can smell the citrus, feel the juice running down my palm. Strawberries, red as vibrant as a drop of blood on the purest snow. The plumpest one sits in a cerulean glass bowl, waiting for someone to discover its ripe, rich sweetness. The smell of agave fills the empty space, the bees making their honey, the gardens turning soft with a splatter of dewdrops. Summer, summer, summer. She is majestic.
Pillars of Salt - 2
Reminiscence
Abby Borstein ’25 (Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 3
Eventually Evergreen
Clara Lieberstein ’28
Life isn’t fair. The roses don’t all bloom for the ones who will stop and smell them. The second you get sprinkled in fairy dust, your skin goes up in hives. The flames don’t consume their opposite; they gravitate towards their kindreds.
Some might say we are the flames. Some might say we are stupid.
Life isn’t fair is what some shout at you. Basking in their bitterness, they criminalize you for envisioning a perfect world so hard that you manifest it. You do what some people cannot.
Life isn’t fair then, I guess.
Blind eyes are made up for with relentless finger pointing, jabbing every which way in the dark, meaninglessly satisfying. A knot in our stomach is tied at birth. It tightens with the passage of time, and bursts of fire and flame explode from the friction between the ropes. Some have always insisted that the ropes are part of a greater pulley system, operated by some higher power.
Pillars of Salt - 4
Surveying evergreen fields from the wooden rocking chair on their creaky porch, it is the higher power that they thank, not the blue blanket they were wrapped in right out of the womb. Even they know, though, that life isn't fair.
Some might say it’s our own fault. Some might not speak at all. Some cannot.
I have four of what he has none of. They sit untouched in my bedroom. If they had 4 and a bedroom too, they wouldn’t touch them either.
Life isn’t fair. My fingers won’t type what you’re hoping to read. Your eyes won’t rest on my perfectly, narcissistically orchestrated metaphors, but instead they will glaze right over to the next page.
Still, life is beautiful. Because I wrote the words in the first place. Because the roses still grow up out of the ground.
Because the chair on the porch swings, and swings, and swings.
Inspiration
Adella Travers ’27
flowing white fabric billows around her wispy form as she leads me through the ruins of a great city, always disappearing into alleyways and hidden crevices, begging me to catch her.
I chase mirages that fizzle at my fingertips, shadows darting into corridors, hazy flickers of clarity, gone upon coming into focus, beauty that vanishes as soon as it is inspected.
she leads me to sleepless nights of pacing, compiling the clues, searching for the answers in her eyes, bright orbs of infinite wisdom concealed by a knowing smile, always near, rarely in sight, always out of reach.
she follows when I try to forget her, but flees when I attempt to approach. she haunts me perpetually, a figment of a fantasy, dressed in the robes of a ghost.
Pillars of Salt - 5 Santorini
Maddie Beaubaire ’25 (Digital Photography)
The silent waters running through the filed daisies in my head all I can feel is the settled bliss of a leaf landing in a river.
My woes gently drift away in a cloud of utter acceptance of my fate I feel my hands first, a tingle goes down them as I lay them flat My arms going limp they come into contact with the green blades of grass standing tall. My eyes give nourishment back to the earth as it once nourished me. A soft smile paints my face as a glow of light is placed above my head.
Soon my wings will grow and take me Take me away to heights unknown throw me into the clouds and catch me as if I weigh nothing to control my every move. This seems terrifying to those who hear the concept but not to me to me it feels like the world has been lifted off my shoulders and given to me as a reward for my Bliss.
Enclave Lily Grouf ’25 (Digital Photography)
Bliss
Tea Walker ’28
Pillars of Salt - 6
One Boat Ride
Evan Weingarten ’26 (Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 7
Acropolis of Athens
Abby Borstein ’25
(Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 8
Forgotten Gods
Avery Panepinto ’27
The gods no one cares to worship
Who drown in the waters of forgotten souls
The gods who rule the very darkness we have grown to fear
She seeks refuge in the shadows that plague the darkest corners of the night
The shadows that suffocate all light that dares to shatter the stillness
The fingers that reach out in the most silent of silences and grab you, choking you
Who laughs at your fear of the looming monsters shrouded in darkness cast by light
Pity the goddess who lurks in the ocean’s depths
Who rocks ships and tosses heroes over the railing
The goddess who wears the churning black and purple clouds like a mask to hide
The true beauty and horrors of the sea
Fear the Night and her children
She is the darkness you lose all meaning to
She is the shroud that covers your body, that swallows you whole
She is the voice that echoes through the blackness that surrounds you leaving you with no hope of escape
They cry out in anguish as they fade into nothingness
The nothingness from which they were born, shaped from oblivion
They vanish the moment the prayers die on your lips
Their souls so broken they can no longer reform
The forgotten gods and goddesses are soon erased from history
As if they never existed in the first place
Their names lose all meaning, their memories lost to Time
Pillars of Salt - 9
The Sweetness of a Honeysuckle
Katie Ray McKillop ’27
I want to feel the grass grow between my toes I want tall reeds to hug me so I never go Sweet, soft melodies, the peonies whisper in my ear They tell me “please do stay; you’ll forever belong here”
I want to emerge from my cocoon, crawling to the grass Out of metamorphosis, a butterfly, wings of glass
Like a kiss from aphrodite, I feel forever yearning For the slow afternoons, the heat always burning
I want to sink into the earth and hear its heart beating
Soon I’ll be gone, my memory will keep on repeating A handprint in the mud where a new sprout will grow
My breath beating on a dandelion, soon seeds will blow
Field of Dreams
Maddie Beaubaire ’25
(Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 10
Silent Songs
Lucine Stephan ’25
When I was ten years old, my parents decided that I should play an instrument.
“It's good for brain development,” they said. I was impartial to the matter.
During the first lesson, the teacher told me to play pieces that depicted the mood of certain paintings. Around the alcove where the piano rested, there were a few seascapes — all painted with some romantic eye. The brushstrokes thin yet bold, vivid colors that swept and danced and murmured as if they were alive.
So there I was, sitting at my grandparent’s old piano, my legs too short to touch the downy rug underneath. I marveled at the strings within the piano’s body, that thrummed like the purr of some great beast, and the dissonant sound of keys as they were pressed by my inexperienced fingers. Each sudden ring echoed across the great space, flooding the senses. I was a deity, young and unpracticed. I was a soaring master of sound. I was the glossy sheen of the piano's coat. I was each note, each hammer as it befell upon the threads. I was brief.
Pillars of Salt - 11
This POEM Is For My Ribs
Cezi Silverton ’25
Treacle rolls down my wrist and runs It gathers at my wrists, held still And pools in the bones at the bottom.
Droplets pleat onto my boney knees, Little flutters like those from a birdy’s bones Or, jacket hunks of rock.
I have become thick like velvet, Crushed under some gelatinous, mature viscosity
I’m still delicate inside Or study like a canvas smock. Have I become rough, draped over wooden slats and beams and metal poles,
A starchy doll made from papier-mâché
My skin folds heavy now, hanging like fat, glistening globules in the sun Am I vague and lumped and droopy?
I hum and sing to try and hold my own Dripping in gold and dotted with pearls
Oh how I miss how it felt, to be a little girl, I miss the way, I rue the day
Still my hair lies heavy on these small shoulders.
Still I crack my knuckles and bite my lip.
Reflections
Katie Ray McKillop ’27 (Acrylic)
Pillars of Salt - 12
Path to the Road Unknown
A
Shanthi Seth ’27
(Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 13
The Stab That Shaped Him
Dara Alitoro
’28
You are the stab, Just like glass— You tear every mellow song.
You create the mirror monster he sees, Horns glistening in the cracks and sides, Claws scratching, Echoing through walls.
This anger you’ve planted, Unleashing as he combusts— Flames scorching your screams.
A curse that spits fast and sharp, Straight down his throat—
Pillars of Salt - 14
Evan Weingarten ’26
Digital Photography
You are the stab, Wine that pours from up high, Acid that tries to wash him away.
His ghost fading— Faded from every angle, As it turns into his reality.
His rage pouring out like water, Eyes leaking, hands clenched, toes curling.
He’s only human— A figure changing in the night, Silently shifting, Pain seeping through The mask he wears for others.
You are the stab, Bringing his pain to the surface, Unveiling what he can no longer hide.
Pillars of Salt - 15
Dreams Captured in a Star
Uma Nambiar ’25
Sometimes, when I look up in the sky, I see them
Shooting stars racing across the dark night
Playing like schoolchildren
And I think
That these very stars
Are the birthplace of dreams
they are a safe place to harbor
Our hopes
Our deepest wishes
Our intimate secrets
A place where no one else
Is coming to pry
Trying to open our identities
Like an oyster
With an iridescent pearl hidden inside I think that these stars
Possess the power to heal
To spark feelings of promise
To magnify what we think
Can only be a fantasy
And I think
That somewhere across the world
And I imagine
The child closing her eyes
Tiny eyelashes fluttering shut
Wishing for a better future
A happier way of being,
A promising career,
Prosperity and joy
Surrounding every aspect of her world
Dreaming for a life worth living
And I think
That these shooting stars
Have the capacity
In America, Asia, or maybe even Europe
A small child is sitting in her bed
Standing in a creaky doorway
Or maybe just stargazing
And her eyes come across this very same shooting star
Traveling through the atmosphere
Collecting all the hopes and dreams of the
Leaving a path of white hot fulfillment
Like an incognito Santa
Pillars of Salt - 16
I can hear the music of walking down Main Street USA during the fireworks
My popcorn bucket, almost empty from the day
My shoulders sore from carrying my backpack all day I don’t wanna leave though I know that the day is
The place where people can relive their childhood memories will open back up tomorrow with other people my age feeling the same way and taking their
Perspective On The Hill
Evan Weingarten ’26 (Charcoal)
The Journey That Has No End
Lucine Stephan
’25
I consider it strange why there are rows and rows of just apple trees, or just oranges, or lemons, or grape vines that stretch on for miles with no foreseeable end.
If I had an orchard, I would spill the seeds into a clear bowl, my fists full of knobbly shapes. I would sprinkle them into the dirt, not hastily cleave through with the spade of a shovel, where the roots of weeds get overturned and left to rot.
I would leave them close to the top, so, when the rain comes in its downpour, the seeds can sprout and there’ll be a mixture of bright carmines and lush velvety green and grainy amber where you can't tell the difference where one shoot starts and ends until the trunks are interwoven in some sort of unorganized iteration of “peace” and “hope”, until the fragile greenlings bend erratically and shrivel, until blossom’s petals plucked one by one unveiling the charred branches and roots, dehydrated and mutilated in one big lump.
umpkins
Grouf ’25 ography)
Pillars of Salt - 18
Moment of Bliss
Natsnet Habtu ’25
Swinging on a bench
Looking great beyond the trees
Swaying ever so slightly against
The slow winds brushing towards me lightly on my face
Sitting on a porch
Watching my dog’s fur sway
Left right little by little
Sun setting
Light yellow the sky fills
Pink, orange,
Breath slow and steady
Hearing the creaks from my chair
Eyes tear up looking at the sun
Hands releasing from the handles
Feet lie still
Body hunched
Head laid back to feel my neck snapping back
As I go back and forth
This is it
Simple Walk in Italy
Evan Weingarten ’26 (Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 19
[glass]
Cezi Silverton
’25
I want to be pure, I want to be smooth like milk and cold like mirrors polished.
To shine like silver and bounce like iridescent, Incandescent, translucent bubbles of Soap
I want to be silken and to be clean
To be rubbed raw of all my imperfections, made robust and solid in all of myself,
Lying under the dark, waxy obscurity I have been tarred and feathered with Boiled darker, deep I am dipped cracked in different layers
I can sense myself beneath them
She is young and she is still shiny.
Cut like crystal, soft like spider webs Hung with dew and dried by sunlight
She is still brilliant and beaming and capable of good things
Under all the rest of me
I want to be loved and loving, to be trusted and trusting, to be beautiful and silken
Laugh Out Loud
Maddie Beaubaire ’25
Mixed Media Collage
Pillars of Salt - 20
Kind to everyone I meet I want to be open, Bright, like a lampshade and Pink at sunset.
To pour myself like molten metal into every cause that manages a fibre slipping into the rich white core of me, teeming with juices, pieces of crust slaking off in chunks for a moment revealing me whole again who am I so resigned to my fears and my self hatreds, That I have become a different bird Entirely?
Black and thick and chipped and breaking, crumbling at her edges where is the clean Me, and Where is the snowfall side of my hipbone? angular and curved like a crescent Sharp on my flesh; from my Flesh, Redder
I have been bejeweled, have been muddied, and it is my fault alone I can't be clean again where is she?
Pillars of Salt - 21
Ribbon Scene
By Lucy Kaplan ’26
Context: Daisy and John have been married for several years, and are currently back in Daisy's hometown for her father's funeral. John was born Jewish and Daisy converted when they got married. The third character, Maya, has been staying with them for the past few months as she recovers from a brain injury. This scene takes place right outside the church shortly before the funeral starts.
JOHN: Do you want one?
DAISY: Hm?
JOHN: I brought pins. Do you want one?
DAISY: Where’d you get those?
JOHN: Amazon. You can get everything from there.
DAISY: That’s true. (beat) Why would I want one?
JOHN: I don’t know. It’s always the way I’ve expressed mourning, and I know you weren’t born Jewish, but…
DAISY: Can we quiet it down?
JOHN: Huh?
DAISY: Just… I don’t know. You don’t know my family, and they don’t really know you. We’re at a church, and you’ve got ribbons.
JOHN: And?
DAISY: I just…
JOHN: Keep dancing or they kill us, remember?
DAISY: Yes, I remember.
JOHN: I don’t want to be disrespectful of the church-
DAISY: You’re not being. It’s not- it’s not the church. It’s my family.
JOHN: Stepbrother?
DAISY: Yeah. I just…
JOHN: When I was little I used to doodle Jewish stars in my notebooks.
DAISY: Ok?
JOHN: My mom told me I shouldn’t do it, never explained why.
DAISY: Oh…?
JOHN: When we stop dancing, singing, praying, they win.
DAISY: I know.
JOHN: I’m grieving for you. And your father was a wonderful man.
DAISY: Yeah.
JOHN: I just want to-
DAISY: I know. I know…. I’m sorry, John.
JOHN: It’s ok, I’m not mad.
DAISY: You are a little bit.
Pillars of Salt - 22
JOHN: I was annoyed. I understand where you’re coming from, and I understand you’re upset. It’s ok, babe.
DAISY: You’re too good for me.
JOHN: No. C’mon.
Maya enters.
MAYA: Hi.
JOHN: Want a ribbon?
MAYA: Hm?
JOHN: In ancient Judaism, they used to rip clothing as a sign of mourning. Nowadays, we just use ribbons. Do you want one?
MAYA: Oh, ok. (She takes a pin and John or Daisy helps her pin it. After a long beat, Daisy takes one too, with a small smile to John. John either counts them off, and they rip their ribbons in unison)
MAYA: It sounds like a heart breaking. (sharp pause. She didn’t mean to say that out loud)
JOHN: Maybe that’s the point.
Rainbow Lily Grouf ’25 (Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 23
Moth Bitten Wings Shayaan Gandhi ’25
I saw you fall from too far to save you, from where you opened those moth-bitten wings, and said, Let me be Free.
You soared far but Moth bitten wings don’t catch wind, not here but I kept patching them with cloth carefully cut from my own moth-bitten wings
And when you fell, I could not save you that time, My love. For I was already dead.
Pillars of Salt - 24
Sunrise, Sunset Maddie Beaubaire ’25 (Digital Photography)
10 things I miss about you
Sadie White ’28
I miss the way your hair always looked perfect, even when you just woke up I miss the softness of your skin
I miss the way you fidgeted when you were nervous
I miss the freckle on your chin you always covered up with concealer, even when I told you not to
I miss how you threw your head back when you laughed
I miss how your eyes lit up when you saw me
I miss how your glasses always seemed to be crooked, even when you fixed them just seconds before
I miss the way you always applied aquaphor before bed, even when it was late at night
I miss the way you hugged me when I left I miss the me I was when I was with you
Pillars of Salt - 25
Lost & Found
Maddie Beaubaire ’25 (Charcoal)
New Falls Begining Shanthi Seth ’27 (Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 26
Morning Moon
Avery Panepinto ’27
(Digital Photography)
Both Sides Now
Chiara Silveri ’27
I live in a time, When everything is out of the blue, Texts from old friends are not worth responding to, and simply exhausting to read. When college is in the near future, but the process of it is not close enough to grapple with.
I live in what feels like the middle of my life, Nowhere, Nowhere filled with everything of importance, Nowhere of tests, workouts, and hatred. However, I am only sixteen.
My mind resides in a ghost town of Vermont, (Not that any other town would make the difference)
Far away from anything of immediate need, But I have band-aids to last for days, Vegetables galore, And enough medicine.
I’ll have you know my health is well attended to. And my state, not anything worth concerning. Either way, cumulus clouds will continue to trail by.
I know that the next years exist, I know they are filled with importance and significance, However, they feel so far away.
I am looking forward to saying, I have lived through a time, in which everything was out of the blue.
Pillars of Salt - 27
Rocks and Butter
Stella Leland ’26
I go to the ocean and Stare at the rocks
Being run over with water repeatedly. They have turned as smooth as a porpoise, As gray as a gray sky on a gray day.
I had ventured through the forest to get here, The trunks looking as though they were asparagus Burnt in the oven
From when I forgot I was making dinner; they’re drenched in too much butter.
I always thought there was no such thing as too much butter when I was a kid.
I I used to splash and dance in the rain outside,
Leaving my umbrella indoors. The golden shades of butter mixed up with sunlight would fall on my face And make me into some perfect puffed kernel.
I still dance in the rain, Everytime the sky offers to season us With salt and pepper and glistening fat I still run outdoors.
I bring an umbrella.
The butter dripping down my face has become too much.
I just want to be a kernel again, To spin around in a bowl and feel good And grounded And uncooked, Sitting upon the stovetop still waiting to pop.
Framing Beautifully
Nicole Svendsen ’27 (Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 28
From the comfort of the parking lot I see the sun glide effortlessly off her golden locks, silky with youth and untouched by heat and time
She runs toward the water with foolish bravery My heart goes with her every step she takes as if it’s attached by a long frail string
The eyes of the innocent are bright, but too small to see everything Beach Day Hayden Seid ’25
Good thing too, because she knows nothing of the ocean’s power
Aware only of popping bubbles as they appear in the foam, the gentle lull of a sea song
Though her fingers could shatter any minute and her heart could be stripped away and carried out to sea she runs into the sparkling wall of waves
Instead of stepping on shells I see her small form crunch underneath my feet
With little effort she can trace the call of birds nearby and the lapping of shallow waters
But for me the roar of the waves is matched by the blood rushing in my ears
Her hair will become brittle and her eyes dull but at least someday they will finally be open
Abby Borstein ’25 (Digital Photography)
Sunset in Ammoudi
Pillars of Salt - 29
We Will Dance Again
Daisy Barber ’25 (Digital Photography)
The Moment the Music Stopped
Daisy
Barber ’25
A tapestry of dreams
Beautifully designed, Threads unravel under the weight of time Colors bleed like memories lost in a shadow
Patterns distort A once vibrant dance now hollow
Fingers tremble
Tracing the echoes of what was, The fabric whispers secrets, fear makes them pause, Innocent souls, just seeking the light, Caught in a moment tragic, sky turned night, The world erupted, chaos and fear, In the midst of joy, the end was near. For music may stop, but hearts still yearn, To find the notes, and let them return.
31
Pillars of Salt -
Do Not Read the News
Vivianne Arnold ’26
Do not read the news if you would like to remain happy. Do not read the news if you would like to remain calm. Do not read the news before bed if you would like to sleep–but then maybe not in the morning, or afternoon, either. Do not read the news if you want to go to work, if you want to finish the eggs your mother made you Do not read the news before going to the optometrist, because you will not believe whatever they tell you. Do not read the news if you want to remain complicit. Do not read the news if you are unaware of your unfathomable loneliness, Here wanting and not wanting to understand. Do not read the news if you want to remain, forever, as you are.
Childhood on the Beach
Abby Borstein ’25
(Digital Photography)
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The Blue
Vivianne Arnold ’26
Here I am Disrupting the perfect silence with my call Scattering the blue
Our evening is a permanent state of transience
Where I hold you forever,
And you forgive me for leaving.
Blue sky & silver water, here we are
Scatter us into the warm air
And we’ll float, we’ll breathe, we’ll find one another
A Man’s Silhouette Shanthi Seth ’27 (Digital Photography)
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My wonderings
Hayden Seid ‘25
I wonder if there’s a correct way to wonder. I wonder if there’s a reason why wander and wonder look and sound so similar.
I wonder if wandering is your body’s way of physically wondering around the world.
I wonder if people are pretending to like coca cola or if maybe we just disagree
I wonder whether I’m supposed to be a better writer right now
I wonder if maybe I should be writing about something meaningful like trees or taxes or things like that
I wonder if my wonderings are even that much different than the people sitting next to me
I wonder if I have to keep starting every phrase with “I wonder.”
Maybe not?
I wonder if I’m typing too loud. I wonder if people think I’m doing that thing people do where they type too loud to prove they have meaningful stuff to say. wonder if people even notice people doing that. I wonder if I’ll feel different when I’m 45.
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II wonder how much I know I wonder how much more I could possibly know I wonder if Apple Music is worth it
I wonder why on earth I put periods at the end of some sentences but not the other ones
I wonder if the person who’s going to be reading my application and watching my auditions is nice
I wonder if they have a dog I wonder if perhaps we can connect on that I wonder if disappointment is going to crush me like a bug
I wonder if other people feel bad when they kill bugs
I wonder why I can’t do the things I know I’m supposed to
I wonder why simple things are so difficult when I know they shouldn’t be
I wonder why I can’t write a cool complex poem
I wonder why the only meaningful things I could think to write a poem about were trees and taxes
Sophia Bromwich 25 (Ceramic)
Supernova Maddie Beaubaire ’25 (Digital Photography)
Pillars of Salt - 38
Big Girl Now by
Rosie
I am so ready to go!
I am so ready to leave, and embrace this new place and be whole again and born anew and to rise from my ashes to call out to soar and gleam golden -as I have waited for so long to do, Spread my wings
But first, in my weak and weary state, as I lay here crooked-necked and brokenbeaked and duller still, I must be engulfed in flame.
Immolated
First, I must twitch and suffer as I flail, First I must squint my eyes and try not to feel the heat licking at me, lapping at me as I am made my ashes
To resist the urge to curl up and protect myself, the burn that stings so fierce l’ll begin to sense my present smallness much more keenly than my potential
First I must light aflame and try not to pitter out before it’s my time to rise again. I must be braver than I am capable, And still, I am not the one which chooses how I rise -
An unpleasant discovery we can only make while we are Burning.
The Harvest
Natalie London ‘26
if i must reap what i sow, i will sow my earth to pieces until my anger grows into an unbecoming tradition and my garden bears the brittle leaves of resentment.
i will sow until these filthy hands plunge greed into each nourishing vein, each hearty seedling, and i watch in passive horror.
i will sow until i tremble with fury and must mend my spoiled earth these betraying hands have marred;
reap until i feel the ache of my weary knuckles once again, and my rueful hands connect with my naive shadow in a seamless construction i cannot stomach to see.
i reap until i understand— i sow what i know, and if i must reap what i sow, when the ruins become all i reap, all i will know is how to ruin.
i will reap until my bloody hands, my youthful fingers, raze my radiant earth, and i walk through my garden of thorns barefoot, because i know what my hands are destined to sow.
Pillars of Salt - 40
Adding Color to the Cold Abigail Weiner ’27
(Digital Photography)
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