Silent Voices 2021

silent voices a literary arts magazine

woodward academy volume XLI

: in medias res :

Daydream

With no definite beginning or ending, dreams start and end in medias res.

Whether in the middle of the night or during the day, your dreams can transport you to the highest clouds or deepest troughs. Consciously or subconsciously, you can explore your darkest fears and most extraordinary desires. Some nights, you may not want your mind’s creations to stop; other nights, you wrestle with yourself to stay awake, afraid of where your imagination will take you.

Written

Formed in your most vulnerable state, dreams have access to all of your memories, thoughts, motivations, and feelings, serving to help you process your emotions and solve your daily problems.

In your dreams, you can do anything, go anywhere, be whoever you want to be.

Yet, while dreams allow you to fulfill your wildest fantasies, dreams can also infringe the most terrifying happenings upon you. Where once you stood basking in the sun, you’re now forced to your knees in surrender to roaring lions.

Because dreams can feel powerfully real, often you find yourself in the middle of both reality and fantasy, never knowing truly what is real or not until you awake. When you do wake up, you try to make sense of your dreams as if they were trying to tell you something important. Evidently, though, no one’s dream is exactly the same as another’s. There are some universal themes of dreams, but the meaning, if you give them such power, behind each dream is solely unique to the dreamer. Your dreams are one of the few human experiences that is truly your own.

However, dreams are impermanent. No matter how much we may want a dream to continue, it will eventually disappear from our minds as quickly as it entered.

Perhaps this is the most painful part of dreaming: no dream lasts forever. Each one is replaced by a new one. With every blissful feeling that comes from a dream, there is the knowledge that it will fade away and darkness will ensue.

With this in mind, remember all the good and bad that your dreams bring, and when you find yourself unsure of what to do next, dream another dream.

Imagine, even for just one moment, and watch your whole world change.

Now, close your eyes and escape.

woodward academy

Clouds Beauty Revival Aro-Ace Dulcet Butterflies Almost was but not quite.

Dream Porch

10 11 12 14 17 18 22 24

Deaths Invitation Everything

25 26

Leo Jahn ‘22 Leo Jahn ‘22 Amari Price-Cotten ‘22 Kendal Newton ‘21 Ava Shutze ‘21 Sabrina Gray ‘21 Amari Price-Cotten ‘22 Vaishnavi Vuyyuru ‘21, Luke Kim ‘21, Sarah Carnes ‘21, Sachi Reddy ‘21 Will Buchanan ‘21 Brooke Yamada ‘22

Visuals no thoughts head empty Clouded Escape Haze My Friends Heaven on a Plate Butterfly Wings Happiness Is A Butterfly Om imagine this ft. Alan Watt Bear Gulch Dungeness Crab Prismatic Anticipation burn Rose Quartz Cuff

9 10 11 12 13 15 16 18 18 19 22 23 24 25 26

Keely Faulkner ‘22 Arya Vishwanath ‘21 Annabel Goncalves ‘22 Lydia Wheeler ‘23 Neha Koganti ‘23 Abbey Christensen ‘21 Jana Kabakibou ‘21 Mary Chandler James ‘22 Vaughn Ambruse ‘22 Dyllan Larmond ‘21 Vaishnavi Chennareddy ‘22 Ava Shutze ‘21 Lily Lin ‘23 Annabel Goncalves ‘22 Sanaa Malik ‘21

— The Editors 2

3

Out of the Ordinary

Written

Written The Caramel Fine Upside Down Turned Upright L’Empire à l’Intérieur True Art future

29 32 34 36 38

Ava Shutze ‘21 Ella Shutze ‘21 Alex Moss ‘21 Leo Jahn ‘22 Merritt Snider ‘21

Visuals Nude in Bloom The New Tide Om God is a Woman Choas and Order Almost Doesn’t Exist The Lesser of Two Evils Sorry

29 30 33 34 35 37 38 40

Nightmare

Dyllan Larmond ‘21 Isabella Orkin Emmanuel ‘22 Vaishnavi Chennareddy ‘22 Isabella Orkin Emmanuel ‘22 Isabella Orkin Emmanuel ‘22 Dyllan Larmond ‘21 Isabella Orkin Emmanuel ‘22 Zach Gardner ‘22

Cover Art & Section Divider Art by Lydia Wheeler ‘23

Stars on a Winter’s Night Drowning in the Blood Lone Dragon The View From the End of the World Self Portrait Our Lady White Flag Stage Fright Leaky Faucet Rain You

42 45 47 51 53 54 55 56 59 61 62

Will Buchanan ‘21 Ava Shutze ‘21 Riya Sachdeva ‘22 Will Buchanan ‘21 Merritt Snider ‘21 Ella Shutze ‘21 Ava Shutze ‘21 Isabella Pollydore ‘22 Merritt Snider ‘21 Leo Jahn ‘22 Isabella Boyd ‘22

43 44 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 54 55 57 58 58 60 61 62

Jordan Tovin ‘22 Ella Shutze ‘21 Delaney Hasen ‘21 Kendal Newton ‘21 Taryn Cline ‘21 Jordan Tovin ‘22 Dyllan Larmond ‘21 Kendal Newton ‘21 Mira Solomon ‘22 Dyllan Larmond ‘21 Lehka Koganti ‘21 Mira Solomon ‘22 Sophia Morettini ‘21 Jordan Tovin ‘22 Delaney Hasen ‘21 Mandy Pan ‘21 Keely Faulkner ‘22

Visuals Lake Powell Island Madhouse Like The Dead Sea Smaug’s Eye Metallic Earth Glen Canyon Familiar Company Winter In My Mind Burnin’ Down the House Trapped And a 5,6,7,8.

Caged Contemplation Is Anyone There?

Town Under the Rain My Grandma Bullies Me Through The Ouija Board

5

Lucid Written Tabula Rasa No Longer A Love Language // No Longer A Fairytale All Southbound Lanes Are Blocked The American Diner Sleepless Trio L’eau Bleu The Sea and the Snow Home Things That Break Ghost Spots Fruit Flies Master of Silence

65 68

Zach Gardner ‘22 Ella Shutze ‘21

69 71 72 74 76 77 81 82 86 88

Finley Thurman ‘21 Maya Packer ‘22 Erin Maas ‘21 Alina Noorani ‘21 Elizabeth Yu ‘22 Isabella Pollydore ‘22 Erin Maas ‘21 Ella Shutze ‘21 Isabella Boyd ‘22 Ella Shutze ‘21

Visuals Hidden Climate Strike A Majestic Night Where Blue Meets Blue Chillin’ Otter Anaganaga (Once Upon A Time) Nights On Broadway Pensive Wonder Night Rider dusty memory

67 69 70 75 77 80 79 82 85 87

Jana Kabakibou ‘21 Dyllan Larmond ‘21 Jordan Levit ‘22 Lara Patel ‘21 Lara Patel ‘21 Lehka Koganti ‘21 Arya Vishwanath ‘21 Neha Koganti ‘23 Jordan Levit ‘22 Mandy Pan ‘21

Daydream Escapism at its finest, daydreaming allows you to consciously imagine anything you wish. While daydreams are not confined to solely enchanting imagery, for most dreamers, daydreams often increase one’s mood. In daydreams, you explore your most inner desires and develop a world that is entirely your own to enjoy.

Running in lavender fields, dancing through rainbow clouds and stardust, tea with parasols and cherry roses, reminiscing in your golden youth, hearing the sound of unjudged laughs and unfaltered freedoms, holding the hand of someone who you may never have nor may never see again.

Hope, love, joy, and peace — all at the hands of your imagination.

Your daydreams are sweet and gentle, crafted out of the lightest memories or fantasies. In your purest contentment, you feel safe and welcomed. You can be whoever you want to be; you can be with the people you love, and your world can be beautiful.

Digital Art : no thoughts head empty : Keely Faulkner ‘22 9

Clouds

Each time I see a different world Sometimes of bliss, Sometimes of pain, Constantly out of my reach A billion turn their head and look A million continue to stare, Amazed at what they must see, Constantly reaching me

: Leo Jahn ‘22 :

Beauty “Why does beauty die?”

I ask the void.

What did it do, But exist?

Beauty gives all, good and bad, meaning in life.

But, it dies.

Painting : Clouded Escape : Arya Vishwanath ‘21

Why must beauty, Maker of balance, Balance out?

And die.

“Is death beauty?”

I ask the void, And it replies: “Taking from this world, Both good and bad, Is your beauty, in Death.”

Painting : Haze : Annabel Goncalves ‘22

I look up and see heaven Constantly swirling, Constantly changing, Constantly out of my reach

: Leo Jahn ‘22 :

11

Revival As the bunches of petals of the Dogwood float through the air in confident groups like a flock soaring through the skies on a brisk sunny day, Ecstatic to experience the opposite to the foreboding bleakness of your gray skies and biting cold, My mind blooms beautiful thoughts, Confident enough to drift in the wind, Inspiring others To not let that winter gloom keep your branches dry.

Even if the worst of your goodbye storms hit me in a fleeting moment of the deepest darkness, Screeching your nastiest farewell, My petals will bloom at dawn Filling my branches to the brim, Welcoming the warm embrace of my most loyal friend As if you never even visited me in my coldest, darkest hours.

: Amari Price-Cotten ‘22 :

Painting : My Friends : Lydia Wheeler ‘23 Next page — Drawing : Heaven On A Plate : Neha Koganti ‘23

Aro-Ace

That they find necessary for a fulfilling life. That what they understand,

It’s quite a strange feeling When you can understand

What comes so naturally to them, is something you just don’t understand.

Neither yourself nor your peers.

When they tell the few people who feel burdened by expectations

In a world full of expectations,

The same as you do that a relationship

It’s difficult to find your place

Will come when you meet the right person, you know it’s not your place

In an endless sea of unrelatable relationships.

To correct them, because you’re just like your peers; You’re familiar with what they’re feeling.

Watching your friends build relationships On some sort of sexual or romantic feeling

You understand that one day, some day, you’ll admit the feelings

That, in your mind, seems so out of place—

You’d said you had were merely a mask— that the peers

An affliction you simply cannot understand.

Whose expectations are relationships, for both you and them,

And your mother and father’s expectations

aren’t a part of your place.

For you to find happiness in the arms of one of your peers

: Kendal Newton ‘21 :

Is a burden you constantly carry. And when your peers Ask which person you’d like a relationship With, you smile and meet their expectations, Saying it’s the boy in your math class, whose feelings You hope match yours. And they understand, Because you’ve learned to lie, and you find your place In the comfort of that little fib, where your place Is something you must bear to be accepted among your peers.

And when your parents ask if you understand That you’ll want children one day, you joke, saying the right relationship Must come first, because that’s what you’ve been taught, and feeling Detached from that thought doesn’t matter.

Your expectations Of the future are wrong, so different from their expectations, But they can’t know that. At least, not yet. For now, you say your place Is among the “normal,” but it’s far from that. And you suppress the feeling, That urge to confess the truth, to sob, saying you’re not like your peers Because you don’t want any kind of relationship

Sculpture : Butterfly Wings : Abbey Christensen ‘21

15

Painting : Happiness Is A Butterfly : Jana Kabakibou ‘21

Dulcet Butterflies We paint the clouds pink and blue, as the cotton candy wafts through the garden.

He splashes thyme on the canvas.

Troughs of honeycomb and savour line the glossy halls where the ballet roves where the wings grow.

I smudge the sweet raspberries into the water color, as the water’s color reflects the cascading cashmere seas of blue.

The print of our lips rests in the pastel route.

We melt the flowers to liquid gold from the lilac in the trees from the honey and the bees.

Our fingertips blend the rough edges into bliss.

We paint in the garden, humming the lullaby.

The lullaby of the dulcet butterflies, the symphony of our patterned hearts, the passion from our blossoming eyes is all we give as we polish the kind.

We continue to paint the colors of the sky pink and blue, while the cotton candy hues dazzle with hints of me and you.

: Ava Shutze ‘21 :

17

Almost was but not quite.

Fleeting looks across concrete halls Eyes that meet but quickly fall As the invisible string tying us together Begins to unravel Memories dancing within my mind.

When I was with you, I was always blind.

Remembering you as you forget me.

And after all this time, I can only see you in my dreams.

Almost was but not quite.

I was oblivious to the way I shivered in your sight Under your eye, and under your thumb You clipped my wings and stunted who I would become.

The seeds of friendship sowed and nurtured But wilting fast as we braved a storm that we could not weather.

For a period of time, we were joined at the hip It’s clear now that one of us lost their grip.

Painting : Om : Mary Chandler James ‘22

For the pain of within sight But wasn’t quite right Leaves us exchanging niceties Forsaking the vulnerability we shared.

Almost was but not quite.

My love for you melts with the light, Until it’s nothing but a spark That flickers tentatively in the dark

: Sabrina Gray ‘21 :

Just within my fingertips, I slowly start to slip Down a path with no end Wondering about what could have been.

With agonizing restraint, you slowly retreat.

Erasing yourself from our once cheerful duo.

The initial stab fades to a dull ache...

Yet, the wound in my back stirs with mention of you, a mistake.

Music : imagine this : Vaughn Ambruse ‘22

19

Previous page — Photography : Bear Gulch : Dyllan Larmond ‘21

Painting : Dungeness Crab : Vaishnavi Chennareddy ‘22

Dream I cannot sleep because I’m afraid to dream Afraid to make things out to be more than they seem Afraid to experience my subconscious at its most extreme Because I’ll look into your eyes and see that familiar gleam That fills me with so much emotion, I just have to scream I can feel it in my stomach, about to rip me at the seam I know my heart’s wish, and it’s a common theme That you are all my heart wishes to see when I go to sleep, and I dream

: Amari Price-Cotten ‘22 : Photography : Prismatic : Ava Shutze ‘21 23

Drawing : Anticipation : Lily Lin ‘23

Death’s Invitation

porch an escape from our typical world we ventured into another

Would you dance with me?

Waltz with a skeleton?

I am wearing that old dark suit Or a long lacy dress, with white pearls.

As we dance among the mushrooms and lichen, In a cold new moon, I pull you close, And I smell like ash and dirt.

My hands are cold, But yours are colder.

The life leaves your cheeks, But a smile crosses your lips.

What of the others Who have danced with me before?

From dust they came, darling.

And to dust, they return.

: Will Buchanan ‘21 :

such danger and adventure but a system that supports each other flora and fauna and humans alike we prosper we tumble we fall and we fight some dauntless and others full of fright we all gather under the taint of the night a pair of friends holding hands in times of peak isolation a picture perfect moment lost in a trance a split second of peace and consolation feeling alone with people all around listening for a breeze, a comforting sound but when in doubt i turn due north a feeling that only lasts on this porch.

: Vaishnavi Vuyyuru ‘21, Luke Kim ‘21, Sarah Carnes ‘21, Sachi Reddy ‘21 :

Painting : burn : Annabel Goncalves ‘22 25

Everything “Is this what love is like?”

I shrugged and watched his expression morph into confusion.

He opened his mouth to speak then shut it as if he were looking for the perfect words — as if such things could even exist. “Well, then how do I describe this feeling?”

“I don’t think you do,” I started.

“What do you mean?”

I smiled softly. “I think feelings like these are not meant to be spoken. I think they are meant to be felt with the heart. I think that if you try to put them into words, it will diminish its meaning.”

He pondered my words. “So then how do you tell someone you love them?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I guess you just … don’t.”

He blinked then looked at me, “How?” I grinned. “It’s like … trying to take a picture of a sunset. It’ll turn out distorted and blurry and you’ll realize that some things are not meant to be captured, only seen and felt for a moment in time.”

Then he smiled, and I rested my head on his shoulder as we watched the sun set, saying nothing and understanding everything.

: Brooke Yamada ‘22 :

Previous page — Jewelry : Rose Quartz Cuff : Sanaa Malik ‘21

The Caramel Fine

Out of the Ordinary Unexplained phenomena of the mind, out of the ordinary dreams involve bizarre and unusual narratives. In waking hours, you reflect upon the strangeness and remain confused, but in the midst of the dream itself, even the most peculiar scenarios make perfect sense. Events that are normally questioned go unquestioned, and situations that would normally lead you into an endless maze seem to fit perfectly into a single, intricate puzzle of creation.

The caramel is fine,

Creamy custard, salted from the mountain,

Spun by the delicate hands of the spinner,

Warmed with the breath of the sun and the symphony of the dragon fly’s wings,

Soaked in the honey that waterfalls down from the syrup clouds.

Lush. Golden. Rich in melt and savour.

The fine is not caramel,

Gooey taffy, iced from the salt rocks,

Twisted by the knife’s whirl,

Hardened with the snow’s exhaust and the clash of the bee’s sting,

Dipped in the nectar that drains away from the murky storms.

Bitter. Burnt. Rich in malice and sorrow.

: Ava Shutze ‘21 :

Unexpected, unique, creative, wild chaos and confusion — all alive in your mind.

Your out of the ordinary dreams are thrilling, extraordinary, jostled functions of unforeseen and unexplained happenings. In your most peculiar curiosities, you feel stable amongst the unstable surroundings. Flashes of vibrancy and loud whispers of different images form a single kaleidoscope where you understand everything, yet, recognize nothing.

Painting : Nude in Bloom : Dyllan Larmond ‘21

Elephants with butterfly wings as ears, fish falling from the sky, fighting off zombies with knitting needles and rubix cubes, a ground hog’s day dance party with the Queen and frogs, swimming on the moon, breathing underwater.

29

Painting : The New Tide : Isabella Orkin-Emmanuel ‘22

Upside Down Turned Upright In my world the battleships sail on land.

Buildings in the water, Sometimes I have a hard time walking in a place full of swimmers.

Floating in strawberry fields, I spend most of my time reading through the lenses of kaleidoscopes.

Many days, snowflakes fall in the middle of summer as I chew on burnt popsicles.

Nevertheless, the winter’s ice always tastes better in outer space.

In his world, the battleships are made out of cardboard.

Buildings on the concrete, Sometimes he gets lost in the tones of grey.

Drowning in quicksand, He spends most of his time seeing through the eyes of a dim light.

Many mornings, though, cherry blossoms bloom in the early spring as he eats frozen popsicles.

Nonetheless, the spring’s breeze always feels better underneath the burning sun.

Heaven’s high waters drowned his mundane world, so he took refuge in mine.

No matter how distorted or different my world was from his own, he could not turn back.

And so he found a way to live amongst the tomato kings and jobless swordfish; Found a way to love the chaos and backwards way of living of which his own world shielded him from.

To experience this other realm of existence was not easy, but he could no longer return to his normal world, not after he saw the colours of mine.

: Ella Shutze ‘21 :

Ink/Water-based Marker Drawing : Om : Vaishnavi Chennareddy ‘22 33

“An Inland Empire” Delicate is existence.

You can be all alone And leave with an absence.

Never lose nor forget Your corporeal form!

You exist in a world

When time pauses— The entire world rests In the self that imposes.

That encompasses all people, Far beyond the mind that fights Your existence, very feeble.

Purpose consumes you entirely, You try to make sense of it all, But it buries you callously.

Delicate is existence.

But, you’re never alone.

Never let it take absence.

Yet, it’s very possible To rescue yourself from this mind That proves to be so terrible.

-The Emperor

Painting : God Is A Woman : Isabella Orkin Emmanuel ‘22

L’existence, c’est délicat.

On peut rester tout seul Et oublier son reliquat.

N’abandonnez jamais Votre chair et votre corps!

Vous existez au monde

Le temps pause.

Et le monde tout entier reste Dans le soi-même qui s’impose.

À l’extérieur de L’esprit qui casse L‘existence fragile.

Les objectifs le consument, On essaie de toujours raisonner, Mais les objectifs l’inhument.

L’existence, c’est délicat.

Mais, on ne reste jamais tout seul Et, n’oubliez pas le reliquat.

Néanmoins c’est possible De s’échapper d’esprit Qui peut être nuisible.

- L’Empereur

: Alex Moss ‘21 :

Painting : Chaos and Order : Isabella Orkin Emmanuel ‘22

“L’Empire à l’Intérieur”

: Alex Moss ‘21 :

True Art Had you ever seen the imprints of leaves on a sidewalk?

A collage of art, Completely random, completely worthless but there nonetheless?

As the leaf falls and tumbles, Reaching the ground, Only to journey elsewhere, Leaving a moment of time frozen in our ever changing world?

Stepped on, dirtied, trampled, But each smudge adding to its meaning Constantly growing, constantly evolving A true perpetual art?

Me neither.

: Leo Jahn ‘22 :

Wearable Sculpture : Almost Doesn’t Exist : Dyllan Larmond ‘21

Next page — Painting : The Lesser of Two Evils : Isabella Orkin Emmanuel ‘22

37

future i choke on the marrow given up by the bone i step on the eggshell my tongue dripping gold the path toward is misty forgotten and overgrown i dare to take a step towards the unknown my legs are on fire life rages out ahead i stand on the roof looking out at the dead this land is a graveyard all in my head my world in a snow globe shaken again

: Merritt Snider ‘21 :

Previous page — Photography : Sorry : Zach Gardner ‘22

Nightmare Terrifying realisms and trembling horrors, nightmares seep into your gravest fears. Nightmares feel strikingly real and disrupt your sleep, leaving you gasping for air. In nightmares, you see figures and feel emotions you never thought were humanly possible.

Sinking amongst pounding thunder and blazing lightning, burning fire that breaches the waves and forests, trapped in an inescapable circle of tread and burn, paralyzed, voiceless screams for help go unheard, vultures feasting on your liver, trudging blindly across a deadly journey; your heart is now open to bleed out.

Gore, violence, fear, trauma of damaged wounds and suffering injuries — all crawling through your mind’s eye.

Your nightmares are a collision of every trickle of stress, drop of torment, and fragment of trepidation all bottled up into one harrowing, distressing scenario. You are powerless and vulnerable. You cannot hide, run, scream, or ever be free; you can only be.

41

Stars on a Winter’s Night As I lay back beneath the barren tree, The cold air sends icy needles through my veins.

I feel the frost building on my limbs, frozen with exhaustion.

But I look up and I’ve never seen a sky so clear, And the only thing to obscure my vision Is my own last clouded breath.

Seeing the very Heavens rotate in three directions around me Moves my mind to memories forgotten and discarded.

Only three nights ago, I was in the company of my friends.

We made merry, and cried, “We are invincible!”

To the cold open air around us.

Now, though, I glimpse Into the luminous void of eternity.

Within the glittering edge of things, I find God’s brilliant and burning eyes Weighing my deeds upon an auroral libra, And now I know of Death’s calling repose.

But, oh! brilliant bands of vibrant hues stretch across the sky And the stars shimmer and settle softly Like snow on the clothes of a dying soldier.

The Moon grins and Mars stands on the west, Surveying the carnage and viscera of the battle fought, From which I lay to rest.

: Will Buchanan ‘21 :

2nd Place Cleo Hudson Poetry Contest

Previous page — Photography : Lake Powell Island : Jordan Tovin ‘22

Drowning in the Blood We landed in the red sea.

You told me that you would stay.

That you would save me from the rain.

Now, I tread in the depths from the remains.

My nose bleeding to mix with the blood below me, Running to blend with the salted wounds.

Faint to blue.

Faint to grey.

I try to keep my head above the crashing waves, Adrift in the silent storm of the doomsday bells.

The flood arrives, Staining the water till the ruins overflow With the regrets that swallow the sparrows And the sacreds that bruise the currents with lust.

The The You You

raft burned as I clung for rest. thunder came down as I gasped for breath. left me to sink alone in the storm. remembered what I said.

“Paint me red; I’m sick of drowning.”

And so you did.

: Ava Shutze ‘21 :

Photography : Madhouse : Ella Shutze ‘21 45

Drawing : Smaug’s Eye : Kendal Newton ‘21

Lone Dragon I took a journey ‘cross the seas To the highest mountains beyond.

The world is full of life and wonder, But I just don’t belong.

I can’t breath fire while swimming through water.

And I can’t sing my song in space.

I’m just a dragon amongst these creatures, Powerful, but out of place.

My opal scales and golden eyes Make me a hunted beast, And my magic healing powers Make me a human feast.

Photography : Like The Dead Sea : Delaney Hasen ‘21

Despite all these hard times, My travel doesn’t end.

It doesn’t matter how much I suffer.

I want to find a friend.

47

To the mountain, I trek at night.

Under the cover of mist, I finally reach the top Where I’m greeted with a hiss.

This beast of great legend Looks exactly the same as me But insisted that we’re different And dove into the sea.

It swam far away With its head held up high.

And that’s when I realized I never asked why.

Why do I look for friends If they don’t want my love?

I’ll sit alone on the mountain, Content with the stars above.

: Riya Sachdeva ‘22 :

Sculpture : Metalic Earth : Taryn Cline ‘21

Photography : Glen Canyon : Jordan Tovin ‘22 49

The View from the End of the World It is an opera, the apocalypse.

Four riders dance and sing, As the world serves as a stage for the last act.

We, the damned, act as the orchestra.

Our shouts and screams serve As trumpets and violins.

But worst of the end is the silence after.

After the sky cracks and the ground opens To spew fire and brimstone that grasps your boots, Nothing that remains bothers to make merry.

Everyone has gone to break bread with Death, And left the crumbling world to its ashes.

Collage and Ink Drawing : Familiar Company : Dyllan Larmond ‘21

Drawing : Winter : Kendal Newton ‘21

: Will Buchanan ‘21 :

51

Self Portrait I am too much myself. an endlessly exhausting expanse. head distant in the sky, my little plastic face long since scrubbed expressionless with rubbing alcohol. there is far too much me. the “I” that I am is endless and boundless yet temporary and ephemeral and the only eyes that I have ever dared to see with will one day bloom and rot in the dirt like all the I’s to come before them. and yet still I will be too much. beyond then, the tree that cracked itself like an egg willingly in my back yard and destroyed my mother’s hammock, is a land that i have seen every day and could never even begin to recognize. and only in my mental pictures does that sprawling expanse of peopled forever seem inviting and endlessly alone. but from this great distance, I cannot escape myself. the “I” that I am is constructed by, fabricated even, molded in front of my own eyes, by this ten-pound lump of wet gray meat, who has never seen a star. and still in this infinite instant, I am too much myself.

I long to look out across the sea of oblivion and see the faces of the past, forever born again into white-hot suns. but even in the stillness of the forever, I am too much myself.

Drawing : In My Mind : Mira Solomon ‘22

: Merritt Snider ‘21 : 53

our lady

White Flag

Gouache and Ink Drawing : Burnin’ Down The House : Dyllan Larmond ‘21

as the walls fall, we stand under the heaps of smoke and ruins. never imagining that one day you would perish i n front of our frightened eyes. where does one go to pray when the house of god falls so destructively?

We used to wave white flags in surrender As a ceasefire for the ones that remained Now men use white flags as shields in battle As weapons which protect them from the violence ////////// Six windows They shoot through the glass Shattering the blue and the black The lilac trickles down The orange bruises the ground The yellow too breaks into shards

the solemn choir sings in the distance, their voices filled with disbelief.

Only the white flag’s pane remain intact Although he was the one firing back /////////

people wailing in the cobblestoned streets. lovers frozen in time as they watch from the top of a building a few miles away.

We drape ourselves in solidarity As they drape themselves in privilege

a bell rings a familiar lullaby in the distance, its wavelengths bouncing off the grieving balconies of the city.

a day when even the gargoyles cry. a day when even the birds stop flying. we now stand on top of the crumbled, stained cathedral whose broken presence keeps us from falling too. and our souls continue to bleed unimaginable sorrow.

: Ella Shutze ‘21 :

Painting : Trapped : Lekha Koganti ‘21

rose windows that we once bowed down to now glisten beneath our torn soles. helpless as endless years of history and strength burn, we gather on the serene river. holding hands with strangers. sharing tears with strangers. what is one supposed to do when the holy water isn’t strong enough?

: Ava Shutze ‘21 :

55

Stage Fright How can I do this now?

I’m being ripped apart at the seams Happiness left me With incredible dreams.

All the practice I’ve done All the lines I’ve rehearsed Don’t seem to matter When I’m under this curse.

My costume is ready.

I glide across the floor.

But the fabric is heavy, And I’m forgetting the score.

My blood runs cold.

I choke on the words.

But the show must go on, Even if the performance hurts.

My voice floats above the music.

The show must go on.

Despite the wails from a piano And a miserable song.

: Isabella Pollydore ‘22 :

Painting : And a 5,6,7,8... : Mira Solomon ‘22

57

leaky faucet dirty piles of clothes on bedroom floors, tender fingers picked clean cuticles red and raw. how many times can i take off this mask? how many times can i pull the plug, only to light up green again?

Sculpture : Caged : Sophia Morrettini ‘21

a thousand faces on an empty stage gaze at the muted figures. their eyes fixed on a single pool sloshing from side to side with thick black tar, one glass case, fetid and oozing — filled to the brim in unkempt potential. and i’m swallowing tears to keep the tides away — drowning to remain upright — standing, a reason today — fighting — to find a reason to stay. how long is this sentence? i look on with dismay. there’s no finish line, no big parade, just day in and day out — eyes raw and pained.

: Merritt Snider ‘21 :

Photography : Contemplation : Jordan Tovin ‘22

59

Next page — Photography : Town Under the Rain : Mandy Pan ‘21

Rain It’s raining today, And my soul sheds a tear Beautiful days, Dead by outlook and drear It thunders today, And my soul sheds a tear, Darkness plagues a land once free And reminds me of my worst fears:

To be here, Alone, Submerged in nothing, but not condoned No one to save me from my endless known The abyss.

It calls to me, And I walk towards it, Away from a land of sorrowful showAnd as I sink into nothing, And darkness constricts everything I hold dear, I shed a tear, For now I see how bright the world could have been And so I fear.

Photography : Is Anyone There? : Delaney Hasen ‘21

: Leo Jahn ‘22 :

61

You My heart, in the palm of your hands, Bled, From your idle insults in the heat of the moment better left unspoken.

Your sour words spread like sickness, Acidulous, devastating, blackening the veins of my heart.

Your spite, your venom, Your unforgiving stare constricted my lungs.

Like recalcitrant weeds stifling my growth, Only when I withered did you let me sink to the dirt like dead leaves from a tree.

How did it get to the point that I looked in the mirror and didn’t see me?

Digital : My Grandma Bullies Me Through The Ouija Board : Keely Faulkner ‘22

: Isabella Boyd ‘22 :

Tabula Rasa

Lucid With the ability of control, lucid dreams occur when you become aware that you are dreaming and can even alter your dreams yourself while you sleep. Although you may be blurring the lines between fantasy and reality in the process, lucid dreams often serve as a treatment for nightmares. In lucid dreams, you have the power to choose where your dreams go.

“The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.”

- Vladimir Nabokov To look upon a barren page, A fresh beginning, to start anew, Is to turn and face a faceless mirror Staring back at you.

A blank slate, emptiness, Purity from edge to margin.

Waiting for the seed of thought To plant the words, to grow the garden.

Catching yourself while falling, turning on the lamp within the dark, steering the ship to the safe shores, mending the broken patches and seams, remembering your past and the people within it, holding on to all that is real and your attempts to make it all real.

To stand upon an empty stage, hoping For a call to action, to motion, Is to await the breath of life.

What words shall be spoken?

Self-realization, awareness, direction, management of the unconscious wake — all by your own design.

The four walls begin to close, Left and right, verso, recto.

The curtain flies, a leaf in the wind, Reaching for the light, leaving but a shadow.

Your lucid dreams are powerful, vivid, and all within your own limits.

Within your own willingness, you can choose to pick yourself up off the battlefield. Although the story may not start off as your own, you can make an effort to write the ending; you can save yourself by making your own path. If the surrounding world does not go how you want it to, at least your dreams should happen the way you want them to happen. You grab ahold of yourself and take charge of your life.

To think is to feel the radiance Of the sun, to feel the heat Of a spotlight upon your face, Mouth opening to speak.

Heat rises to meet the pulmonic wind, Stirring the clouds of breath and thought.

Your voice is but an echo, and each facade A reflection of that which remains unwrought.

To effectuate, to transgress the bulwark Of uncertainty, is to face The silence, the stillness, the mirror Of empty walls, of empty space.

65

As two walls converge to a corner, Pen and voice, the quill of breath, Meet at the threshold of conception.

A genesis of life, rebuke of death.

To feel the pulse of creation Is to let the pen drink ambrosia from the well.

Water overflows the font, birthing New font through which the words may spell.

Ebony blood rushes through the flesh Of bone-hued pulp. Copse to wood, freshly hewed, Then to vellum, to subcutaneous Consummation of needle and skin to be tattooed.

To look upon the blackened canvas Is a rebellion against the coroner.

The bleeding stops and leaves a soul No longer confined by wall or corner.

The ink has dried, but death has ceased.

Life, however long, is all that may persever.

For nothing can erase that Which will live forever.

: Zach Gardner ‘22 :

3rd Place Cleo Hudson Poetry Contest

Painting : Hidden : Jana Kabakibou ‘21

No Longer A Love Language // No Longer A Fairytale

Photography : Climate Strike : Dyllan Larmond ‘21

with our young laughter, we towed our scratched vespas back to Palazzo Naiadi, together. torno subito–be back soon–the sign read. remembering the time that was no longer in front of us … how long were we to die until we lived? boh, who knows how many times Pinocchio was read aloud that night. blistering its sunken pages with nothing to say about the truth and yet everything to worship about the lies. this time together was mozzafiato, nothing less than breathtaking. yet this story was also dolorosa, nothing more than painful. non t’allargare, gone too far; maybe that one sunday we were too greedy for trouble, chewing stale basil behind the gelato store. cheating on the old wood vendor, we made fools of ourselves in front of the ancient fountain. that night there was a water pool from my eyes, acqua in bocca. maybe and if only, magari, ‘smiling was the tears of the soul’— the Blue Fairy whispered. whatever way, we couldn’t keep our hearts quiet.

All Southbound Lanes Are Blocked All southbound lanes are blocked It’s something you hear sometimes All southbound lanes are blocked An accident

we were just getting into the summer. the orchestra of Crickets had just begun their symphony. and now, we were trying to turn these suffocating fairytales into a new pair of lungs. you kept repeating to me: non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco. not everything would turn out as we had planned. macché, of course it wouldn’t, though. but i kept believing that i now hated you because i once loved you.

: Ella Shutze ‘21 :

Or something Normally, you hear it and you don’t think twice At least, that’s how it is for me

But sometimes it affects you directly All southbound lanes being blocked Sometimes it affects you directly It’s your commute to work and your going to be late

69

You’re stuck at school waiting for someone to get you You wait

But I guess that’s not really “directly” Indirect as it is It’s not really “direct,” is it?

I guess the only way to be directly affected Would be if you were part of the block Wouldn’t it?

: Finley Thurman ‘21 :

The American Diner The swinging door rings the bell; Burgers and pies are the smell.

Jukebox plays the newest pop; Milkshakes seem to never stop.

Saddle shoes squeak the tile; Cherry red lips hide a smile.

The sweet cola is ice cold; Their hair glows like shiny gold.

But unrest sits at the counter.

Unrest sits, waiting to be heard.

Our eyes face the front, Focusing on the flipping burgers To distract us from the yelling-The incessant, insolent cries.

But yelling slurs will not break us.

Do your worst; let us eat cake.

We’re waiting for the system to crumble and break.

Darling mothers and blushing babies ignore us, Shielding their eyes and ears from our plight.

Our fight for our rights, our lives, our families, our pride.

It’s too “radical” for them; we need to be more “adaptable” to them.

America America America America

wasn’t made for us. is at a crossroads. literally paid for us. will reap what it sowed.

: Maya Packer ‘22 :

Photography : A Majestic Night : Jordan Levit ‘22 71

Sleepless Trio Preface I heard it said That if you want to live forever, (I don’t know why anyone would) You should fall in love with a poet.

Because only those Who can twist words Into feelings deep within our hearts Can make you immortal; For their words thrive Longer than the dust beneath your feet And the mountains that grace the sky.

I don’t know if you want to be immortal, (I never would) But here I am anyway,

I’ll show you the constellations And you’ll make up new ones Just to hear me laugh.

Won’t you join me where we can love Without a care And where we can live Like nobody else exists Until the sun rises?

And when the sun peeks over the horizon Casting all-too-bright rays Over our sleepless faces We will sneak back to our beds And sleep until noon.

Writing your soul into simple verses.

Immortalized

Sleepless

And there you are,

Meet me at dusk

Saved in writing for future generations.

When you can still see the rosy hues

(Can you forgive me?)

Of the setting sun over the highway

You’re scratches on paper

And the street lights already glow

But only to the naked eye

Like eyes in the dark.

Because children And children’s children will read our souls.

Meet me where we can dance

(I couldn’t resist telling)

In the dark without being seen

It will be up to them

And where you won’t care

To decide our fate

About the coffee stain

And to let us live on in their hearts

On your passenger seat.

As a poem they read About someone who might have fallen in love.

Meet me under the moon And we’ll lay in the damp grass.

: Erin Maas ‘21 : 73

Water Blue There!

The calm storm that carried you Laid you right there!

Floating atop the water blue That flushed the streets Filled the houses Drowned the lights And carried you safely

Amongst it all

L’eau bleue Là!

L’orage calme qu’il vous porte Il vous pose là-bas!

Flotter en haut de l’eau bleue Qu’elle s’empourpre les rues Qu’elle remplisse les maisons Qu’elle noie les lumières Et qu’elle vous pose bien

Photography : Where Blue Meets Blue : Lara Patel ‘21

Au milieu de tout

: Alina Noorani ‘21 : 75

The Sea and the Snow On a cliff overlooking the sea, Sits a house aglow, dusted with snow.

From inside a toddler presses his Forehead against a frosted window.

Hearing his sister’s call, he hurries To the tree in his little onesie.

He searches for gifts with his name, Overwhelmed with curiosity.

After presents and breakfast, they Bundle up to see the flurries Of white melt on the molten sea As the snow melts into slurry.

On a cliff overlooking the sea, Sits a house harassed by winter wind.

Empty and desolate without lights, Alone, tortured by the gale’s screeching din.

Beneath a dark gray overcast sky, Waves pummel the cliffs relentlessly.

Weeds infest the neglected garden, As all rust and dust rampage carefree.

Photography : Chillin’ Otter : Lara Patel ‘21

Home Today I’m moving I don’t want to leave I’ll linger in the hallways as long as I can

On a cliff overlooking the sea, Shines a house refurbished recently.

With doors wide open, it welcomes guests, Friends and family and all the rest.

Everyone gathers by the fireplace At last to relax and retire.

While winters can be desolate, the cold can guide all sorts of warm, wonderous people safe inside.

On a cliff there’s a house, the sea, and the snow, A winter home where people can come and go.

: Elizabeth Yu ‘22 :

And smile and wave at the fairies that still drift there As if it’s just another day.

How do I begin to say goodbye to the existence of bliss When I cannot welcome the existence of caution, of secrets, of complicated relationships And move to a world where I have no time for imagination?

But I’ll smile and wave As if it’s just another day Before they drag me from this special place that I’ve held in my heart For the longest time This place that has illuminated my reality Is no longer mine.

77

They’ll dress me in new clothes

And telling me that it’s going to be okay

that don’t quite fit right

I miss the days when my home was a palace

And shoes that feel a size too big.

where things were simple

They’ll give me a new face

And healing came easy.

Before they take me to the place That’s so different from the place I once knew.

Now I live in a place that’s cold and empty I keep getting lost in hollow hallways that seem to have no end.

With no instructions All I can do is to keep walking And hope I find an exit.

But One day, One day I’ll make this house my own I’ll put pictures on the walls and carpets in the halls That makes it feel like home.

: Isabella Pollydore ‘22 :

But people won’t stop judging Every turn I take So I’ll stuff my head full of thoughts That in the end won’t matter To keep myself from thinking About everything I’ve lost.

And I know there’s a hand that’s guiding me, Leading me in the right direction But right now I can’t see it in all this mess of darkness.

But I know it’s there.

I’m just so tired, And I miss my old home, I miss the days When my world was small When trust came easy When words jumped from my lips without hesitation When my biggest challenge was learning how to tie my shoes When my tiny hands could only begin to grasp the feeling of impending grief When the pain was only physical And the healing came easy.

I long for the large hand that slips into my tiny one

Painting : Anaganaga (Once Upon A Time) : Lehka Koganti ‘21

Grasping each finger like it will never let go

79

Things That Break A vase full of flowers and a clock to keep the hours, the guitar strings and the melodies to which you cling.

I noticed the spine of your book and the pencil you mistook for mine when you borrowed it. my heart, from the sorrow of leaving a friend and the stories that come to an end.

Your mother’s favorite plate, the calendar where you marked the date that you would meet, smiling in a Starbucks seat. the clasp of a necklace that you pulled on with reckless abandon when he left you alone in the dark too heartbroken to speak over the endless creak of the age-old chairs hidden under countless layers of dust.

: Erin Maas ‘21 : Previous page — Painting : Nights On Broadway : Arya Vishwanath ‘21

81

Soon, Wendy and Taka began talking more. However, unlike John,

Taka had a hard time opening up. For a while, Taka and Wendy stayed in that

Drawing : Pensive Wonder : Neha Koganti ‘23

in-between-state of friends slowly getting to know each other. Then, Taka and Wendy graduated and inevitably fell apart when Taka moved to California.

Taka felt stuck. He didn’t know what to do now that distance separated them.

Now that they didn’t coexist in the same sphere of people, the same neighborhood of a city, there was no reason to keep up with one another.

green eyes and long, blonde hair. On a whim, the two spent all night talking beneath the stars.nuck Wendy never saw Julie again, though, but she was thankful for the single night their souls touched.

After finishing college and moving to California to start her new job,

Wendy became friends with Harry who had big glasses and curly, brown hair.

Harry was much more quiet and reserved than John, Taka, and Julie, but Wendy didn’t mind. She thought Harry to be an old soul that shared her love for adventure. A year after they began dating, Harry got down on one knee

Ghost Spots

In her second to last year of college, Wendy met Julie at a bar. Julie had

When Wendy first met John, they were both fourteen. Holding hands

and asked Wendy to marry him on their trip to Europe.

Wendy would later stand in the shower that night, bursting with joy

but also sadness. Wendy had never felt so loved in her life, but she couldn’t

felt like something bigger than marriage, but they didn’t yet understand what

help but think of Julie’s funny jokes, or how safe she felt with John. But,

it meant to be a human. However, John fell out of love on a random Tuesday,

most of all, as Wendy stood in the shower, hot pellets of water hitting her

left Wendy on a random Wednesday and didn’t turn back.

back like bullets of regrets, she thought of Taka. Wendy loved Harry, but she knew there were other people in life one could love—one could still love.

Her senior year of high school, Wendy had math class with Taka.

That night, she crawled into bed next to Harry, hair still wet from the show-

Wendy hated math but soon fell in love with the way Taka painted the

er. She curled up next to him and closed her eyes—dreaming of a future with

numbers vibrant shades of yellow and green. Wendy had known Taka for

the man who loved her and only her. But Wendy failed to think of Harry’s life

three years before, but the two never talked much—perhaps a quick game of

before her, for Harry too had experienced love and heartbreak before he met

cards after school, or sharing a seat at the lunch table, but nothing more than

Wendy.

an “i’m hanging with you because we share friends, not because you are my friend.” But Wendy always thought Taka to be special. When Wendy and John

That night, Harry thought about Lily and the way she hated scrambled

were inseparable, she gushed to John about how Taka was unlike the others.

eggs but loved the omelets he made. When Harry was meant to be fast asleep

When Wendy was hurting after John tore her heart out, Taka was the only one

next to his new fiancée, his cracked heart wouldn’t let him forget the waves of

who asked how she was, better yet he was the only one who listened.

tears from the morning he woke to the news of Lily cheating on him.

83

Ten years later, at age thirty-five, Wendy and Harry signed the divorce

papers. Wendy moved out of their house in California.

Months later, Taka noticed Wendy eating at the same cafe down the

street from his own house in California. Taka walked up to her, and the two shared a heartwarming glance filled with silence.

“You look nice,” Taka told her, unsure what to say, unsure if he should

hug her or not. She blushed, and Taka remembered how Wendy always hated compliments.

“Thanks. Uh, you too,” Wendy managed to spit out. Taka took a seat in

the empty booth in front of her. Wendy noticed the name on Taka’s drink.

“You still say your name is coffee?” Taka’s eyes widen at the mention

of the name, suddenly there’s flashbacks of the time the two were at coffee shop. He had made some joke about wondering what’d it be like if he said his name was coffee. And so he did it, and she smiled just like she did now.

After all those years, he still kept up their inside joke. After all those years, he still remembered—she still remembered. And so the now older Taka and Wendy finished their drinks together. However, they couldn’t mend the broken magnet, for Wendy had to leave the next day.

As Wendy pressed her face up against the airplane window on her way

back to the place where she grew up, she cried. She cried for all of the loves she lost and all of the people who walk around the earth with a piece of her heart in their pockets.

Perhaps John forgot about Wendy, perhaps he found someone else

to marry. Perhaps Taka was still alone. Perhaps Julie still didn’t believe in marriage or soulmates. And perhaps Harry wished he never signed those papers.

Or maybe he thought it was the best decision. Maybe he met up with Lily again, ran away together, eloped on the mountains in Canada. But Wendy would have to continue life on without these people, and somehow she’d eventually live

Photography : Night Rider : Jordan Levit ‘22

through the pain of her past.

: Ella Shutze ‘21 :

85

Fruit Flies Dad got angry when the money in the cookie jar disappeared.

They’re everywhere.

Rent was due in three days.

“I’ll be fine,” she says.

“Where’s the money?” he hollered.

“I’ll do it myself,” she says.

“I hate him. I want him gone,” Mom said.

“Why can’t you just help me?” she pleads.

He left.

You hold your breath and clean the kitchen for hours

The putrid, emanating stink of leftovers rotting away.

As though spotless countertops will change anything.

Leaning towers of tupperware, tilting more eastward with each setting sun.

You‘re proud of yourself.

She smiles,

The abrasive buzzing of one, five, thirty fruit flies.

But the fruit flies are still buzzing.

The silent soundtrack of deterioration.

: Isabella Boyd ‘22 : They’re everywhere.

You look away.

Her tears are the corrosive aftertaste of acid creeping up your throat.

Nostrils aflame, stomach churning, You swallow the vertigo down.

The screeching buzz intensifies.

Vacant halls, hollow hearts, discarded dreams, A swarming, black cacophony, Torture.

Smothering every whisper, every breath.

Photography : dusty memory : Mandy Pan ‘21 87

Master of Silence Marcel Marceau was a feigned artist, but behind the curtains, he was my hero.

A mime that could not shut up.

A brother of a cynical clown and an amateur painter.

A national treasure shown in a light of mimicry.

A lion tamer and subway musician who couldn’t depict where his body began and where the stage stopped.

He always seemed to be stuck on the invisible tightrope, hovering slightly above the crumbling earth.

He thought mirrors to be selfish, so he never looked into the deceptive glass.

Whatever spotlight that shone on him created an even darker shadow behind.

One ticket for the intimate spark of touch, another for the unseen dimension to existence.

The last time I saw him, I wanted to tell him all that he had done for me.

Without words, Marceau held my heart, immortalized my tears, and told my whole life story with one gesture.

Inevitably, tragedy hung so delicately in the hallways, the moment he expressed his last symphony of gestures.

As he lay there, trying to move, trying to tell me his thoughts the only way he knew how, he could only whisper his feelings through one simple flick of the wrist.

I took this motion as his way of saying that after all his time on the stage, he forgot to go live.

Eventually, though, his last breath was squeezed out in black and white feathers.

In every performance, silence filled the room with roars of agony.

He was pleading, bleeding, screaming, to be watched, listened to, and analyzed until the audience fell under a trance

That day, I too was paralyzed.

Unable to breathe, I was suffocating on invisible smoke, experiencing my own battle with expression.

of tranquility.

Only, the audience always left before the third act began.

I said goodbye the only way I knew how: touch by the grasp of a hand.

Underneath the mask, he was a trembling flower—gasping for oceans of water, yet only receiving one drop; he was a dusty tapestry—feeling like a torn soul.

Marcel Marceau was a legend, but behind the curtains, he was my friend.

Watching the feathers float to his striped pullover which now draped lifelessly on the chair,

: Ella Shutze ‘21 :

When he neared the end of his life, shattered jewels in his spine paralyzed him.

This death—more painful than the other; his body could no longer express.

This treacherous moment of uncertainty glistened in his eyes and called me home.

1st Place Cleo Hudson Poetry Contest 89

Head Editors Ella Shutze ‘21 Ava Shutze ‘21 Editorial Board Vaughn Ambrose ‘22 Carly Breland ‘21 Zach Gardner ‘22 Amari Price-Cotton ‘22 Jordan Tovin ‘22 Elizabeth Yu ‘21

About Silent Voices

Silent Voices is a year-long collection of art, both literary and visual. Silent Voices provides a space for free creative discussion and expression. We began with over 330 submissions and created a book with 88 pieces. Students across the Upper School submit throughout the year, and our editorial board blind critiques each piece and vouches for entry into the magazine. The title, “Silent Voices,” comes from Tennyson’s poem of the same name: When the dumb Hour, clothed in black Brings the Dreams about my bed, Call me not so often back, Silent Voices of the dead, Toward the lowland ways behind me, And the sunlight that is gone!

Call me rather, Silent Voices, Forward to the starry track Glimmering up the heist beyond me On, and always on!

SV Club Members Isabella Orkin-Emmanuel ‘22 Lehka Koganti ‘21 Neha Koganti ‘23 Thaomy Pham ‘22 Anna Schwartz ‘2 Brooke Yamada ‘22 Adviser Ms. Rebekah L. Goode

Awards JEA 2019 Diversity CSPA Gold Crown Finalist NCTE REALM Highest Award NSPA Best of Show 2nd Place Literary Magazine, Spring 2018 Printing Industries of America Premier Print Award Certificate of Merit 2019 Printing Industry of Georgia’s Best Category in Juvenile Books Design This year’s design focuses on the fluidity and presence of dreams in our lives. The organic shapes throughout the magazine parallel the organic origin and flow of dreams which change easily. The curved corners of textboxes contribute to the notion of dreams as ever changing and permeable in a state of flow throughout the dream state. The white outlined shapes act as small interjections to the flowing narrative of dreams just as the interruption of an alarm clark suddenly disrupts a dream. Different star shapes are attributed to each categories with the diamond stars reflecting daydreams, the misshapen stars for out of the ordinary, the sharp pointed stars in nightmares, and the more traditional ones for lucid. The colors for each category also bring out the characteristics associated with each type of dream. Light pinks for the love and sweetness found in daydreams, bright oranges for the vibrant unexpectancies of out of the ordinary dreams, dark blues for the haunting visions found in nightmares, and earthy greens for the authenticity and clarity in lucid dreams. The cloudlike backgrounds of the section dividers along with the stars and phases of the moon on the page numbers serve to reflect the celestial wonder of the imagination and the night sky associated with dreaming while sleeping.

Colophon Silent Voices was produced via Apple computers running Adobe Photoshop CC and Adobe Indesign CC. All body text for prose/poetry was Merriweather Light (10pt.), titles were Georgia Bold Italic (22pt) and names (12pt bold). Silent Voices was printed

by Bennett Graphics in Tucker, GA.

91