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The Physis is The Pine School's literary magazine produced by students and featuring student writing, artwork & photos. It is published once a year.

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Published by Jorge Salas, 2018-12-20 14:57:52

The Physis 2016

The Physis is The Pine School's literary magazine produced by students and featuring student writing, artwork & photos. It is published once a year.

Physis
2016



P EDITORS COVER PHOTO
H Katherine McGovern Philippa Parnevik,11th
Y Samantha Els
S Erin Spellman ARTISTS
I Ali McClimond Sterling Pearson
S Nicole Cappellino Julia Glasco
Maryn Washer Morgan Ferrera
2016 Annelise Romero Philippa Parnevik
Emma Berkenblit Emily Smith
Lillie Miller Ryan Chimelis
Bella Fucigna Olivia Brogdon
Olivia Wilson Julie Afshar

WRITERS
Claire Barber
Madeline McClvoy
Anna Perelli-Minetti
Claire Pittman
Brody Starr
Sophia Siegel
Emma Berkenblit
Jack Squier
Micheal Weidner
Katherine McGovern
Maryn Washer

the age of beauty... I see beauty, yes I do
or is it the beauty In everything I see, I see beauty, how
of age? about you?
Nature is beauty, beauty is in our nature
KATHERINE MCGOVERN, 12TH It is a choice we each make, as to what
Beauty always surrounds us, it is both fits into its nomenclature
tried and true We each get to sing our own song of
Beauty inevitably changes, from boy to beauty, so make yours good
girl, from me to you Make it as smart as your granddad and
From the cheeks of Hollywood starlets as vivacious as your childhood
to the newborn’s smile Sing it loud, every day, for as long as
And the morning dew dripping to the you can
beat of the songbird choir Sing it for yourself and for the all the
I see beauty, yes I do wills of man
In everything I see, I see beauty, how Sing that you see beauty, oh yes you
about you? do
Beauty manifests itself into new life, In everything you see, see beauty,
into youth please could you?
But beauty morphs into age, it is grace- “When the dog bites, when the bee
fully renewed stings
As locks of gold turn to priceless silver When you’re feeling sad
gray Just simply remember your favorite
Beauty multiples in wisdom, nothing is things
taken away And then you won’t feel so bad.”

Sing beauty, see beauty, hear beauty Listen to a few words from the girl who
too years ago you bore
From lullabies, to stories, to goodnights For I feel I haven’t told you so much I
that end in I love you should have said
Ninety-seven days and counting, as I I never even thanked you for those
now sit in my room stories you once read
My mind taken over by elation, fear, The beauty I see and the person I am
and admittedly gloom They are products of your very hands
On my bookshelf I see those old As a girl I knew beauty in every realm of
childhood tales my world
From a time when scraped knees were You gave me eighteen years that have
the only things worthy of my wails gone by in a whirl

I don’t know what day you stopped I see beauty, yes I do
reading them to me In everything I see, I see beauty, and
It was probably when I claimed that I that’s because of you
wanted to be “free”
I wanted to be an adult and in many
ways I still do
But I never meant for that to mean a
parting from you

Just please wait, before you leave me
with these strangers and close that
door

PHILIPPA PARNEVIK, 11TH

vines from the same seed

ANNA PERELLI-MINETTI, 12TH
Those spirits break through that hard shell
Two vines emerge, tangled at the roots
Under the dirt, an uncontrollable pairing
Born from adolescence and exploration
Growing and fighting together
The stems stretch past its reach
Determined to break the barrier of dirt
The unforgiving story of growth
Welcomed by crisp, blue air
Followed by the ferocious downpour
Heavy water droplets crash
The youth forced to cower
A puddle of hopelessness
As the sunlight breaks through the clouds
Those two vines, now exposed
A patch of soil, a separation
Forced to grow apart
Never to cross paths again
Destined to bloom alone

OLIVIA BROGDON, 12TH

winter’s melody

SOPHIA SIEGLE, 10TH
Sanity hung around her eyes
in dark and stormy bags
for everything she touched seemed to turn to stone.
Her emotions got lost in translation and icicles spilled
out of her mouth instead of
“I love you’s”.
Snowflakes drooped from
her fingers as if
they were protruding from her very bones, and all she felt was wind.
The hole where her heart once resided froze over
and she could feel her lips crack.
For she was lonely and cold
as even the most precious raindrop froze
when it neared her.

thankful

MADELINE MCELROY, 3RD
I’m thankful for my beautiful family that provided me with
food, drinks, toys, and wonders. I’m thankful for books, paper,
and pencils!
I’m thankful that my cat, Snape had lived a long life with us
and my dog, Atticus is still alive.
I’m thankful that I have Minecraft to entertain myself. I’m
thankful for school and education.



MORGAN FERRERA, 2ND

EMILY SMITH, 10TH

come in (excerpt)

EMMA BERKENBLIT, 11TH
It started to pour. Little drops turned into big drops and multiplied, suddenly
a drizzle was a deluge and her shirt was sticking to her. Water rolled over her
head until her hair felt heavy and full and the ends of it were sticking to her
shirt. Two mutts down the alley were scavenging in the restaurant garbage.
One of them caught something in her mouth and whipped her head from side
to side, growling. The other had gotten stuck inside the dumpster and was
struggling to get herself out. When they saw her coming they yelped a warn-
ing and tucked themselves into the shadows. Somewhere a cat was yowling to
be let in from the rain.
She was near her apartment now, and thoroughly soaked. Water sluiced off
her nose and stuck her eyelashes together. It ran in little rivulets down her jaw-
line to pour off at the point of her chin. The caterwauling was getting louder.
Pressed flush against the front of the apartment was a large orange tomcat,
fur plastered down from the torrent. The screeching was cracked and thin and
came through in the spaces between the drumming of the rain. It stopped
when she neared the stoop, but the cat did not shy away. She grabbed the
knob. The door was stiff; she yanked hard twice to open it. The cat streaked
in ahead of her and huddled against the couch. She looked at it, a fierce wild
thing that had pushed its way in, and tugged off her shoes. She closed the
door.

RYAN CHIMELIS, 11TH



a poem about indian food

MICHAEL WIEDNER, 10TH
In the heart of late-evenings, half past three,
a crippling ache torments me.
The pains caused by hunger and sleep deprivation
can only be cured by cuisine from a South Asian nation.
Stacks upon stacks of frozen delight
keep me warm and satisfied during the late night.
When I lack this culinary delicacy
my soul is bruised; a lamp shade is cast upon me,
but when I can finally satisfy my greed
a state of indivisible nirvana is achieved.
Life was made to admire this treat
that no other food in this world can beat.
But who’s to thank for this legendary snack
that makes the consumer never go back
to other inferior grub
that a Masala-less peasant would get at a pub?
This meal has an awesomely tasty power
that can be tapped into during the most dire hour.
With convenience as extraordinary as this,
Chicken Tikka Masala will undoubtedly bring bliss.
If you do not find my decree convincing,
simply taste a bite and you’ll be missing
this culinary treasure for the rest of your life,
haunted by desire and strife.
Once the world discovers this incredible foodstuff
humanity will understand that this is no bluff.

JULIA GLASCO, 5TH

velociraptor

BRODY STARR, 2ND
Velociraptor, velociraptor you were
furious.
Velociraptor, velociraptor you make me
curious.
Velociraptor, velociraptor, I’ll look for
your bones underground.
Velociraptor, velociraptor soon you’ll be
FOUND!

STERLING PEARSON, 5TH

after dark

JACK SQUIER, 7TH
The night crickets chirp
An owl hoots in the tree
Calling to the moon
The night is alive with noise
In the morning they’re all gone



day and night

CLAIRE PITTMAN, 10TH
I follow her during the day,
But leave her when the sun sets.
She knows me not by my name,
Though I have been with her forever.
I am almost her twin until the sun moves;
My form contorts, hardly recognizable, she only knows me in the day.
At first she was afraid of me but as time passed she learned to ignore me.
We grew together but also apart;
As we got bigger our time together go smaller.
At night, in the dark, I leave her side
I hide away until the sun will rise.
Neither of us is fond of the dark,
For it is where her demons hide but also where I go to die.

JULIE AFSHAR, 11TH

a women’s paranoia

MARYN WASHER, 11TH
It’s 10:45 p.m. on a Friday night. Rain is coming
down hard on the road and it’s getting increasingly
harder to see. The light dings red on my dashboard
telling me I only have 19 miles left of gas. A road
sign on the highway indicates that there is a gas
station at the next exit, exit 31. Five minutes pass
and I turn onto the ramp. The gas station is lit up on
the black road and I can only see one car fueling up.
I pull in, making sure to park next to the tank near-
est to the road. I step out of the car with my keys in
hand. I move toward the fuel tank and unlock the
cap. I turn to check my surroundings and look at
the other car. There is a man putting gas in his car
2 spaces over. He sees me looking and makes eye
contact with me. I quickly look away. The man was
wearing grey sweatpants with a white shirt and ath-
letic sandals. He has blonde hair and glasses. He
appears to be in his early thirties. I move to my car
to take out my wallet and as I walk I turn my pepper
spray into the unlock position. I know I’m being ir-
rational, but I can’t help the instant paranoia I feel
knowing I am alone with this man. I turn to run my
card through the slider and start fueling my car. I
look up and I check that the man is still in the same
place. I adjust myself so that I am facing him and
my back is to the road. The numbers tick on the gas
tank and it feels like it took five minutes just to get
to one gallon. The man has just removed the nozzle

from his fuel tank. He lifts his head and gives me a
smile. I force a smile back and look at how full the
tank is. When I look back up he is now sitting in his
car. Only three more gallons to go. He seems to be
messing with his phone. My body relaxes a little.
Only one more gallon. Another car pulls in. I look up
and a woman steps out. I see her kids in the back-
seat. I relax further. Good, there is someone else
here. The nozzle jerks to a stop. I yank it out of the
tank and put it back into the holster. I look up one
more time and make note of what the man’s car’s
headlights look like. I open my door and look into
my backseat before sitting down. I close the door
and lock it. I check my surroundings one last time
and pull out of the station. I check behind me for the
man’s car, but don’t see any headlights. My whole
body relaxes. I finally feel safe again. I drive towards
home and go over what just happened in my head.
I grow increasingly frustrated as I think about it.
Now that my head is clear and I am no longer see-
ing through a shade of paranoia, I now see the in-
nocence in the man’s actions. He didn’t try and talk
to me, he just smiled. Nothing about him screamed
dangerous yet my mind made him that way. I lock
my pepper spray and shove it back into the glove
compartment. I turn on the radio and try to forget
about my reaction. I check behind me once more
and tell myself it’s better to be paranoid then oblivi-
ous.

rreoscpkect for the I sat below, as the instructor scaled
the face,
CLAIRE BARBER, 10TH Wedging stirrup-like attachments into
I hoisted the pack over my shoulders, the
Rope, first aid kit, harness, helmet, Thousand year-old skin.
shoes, and a tin foil This rock withstood our pestering and
Wrapped burrito all ready and resting probing,
in their own Tolerant of the pain we inflicted on it,
Quiet cloth universe. Occasionally relinquishing its anger in
The pack was loosely clipped around forms of
my waist Fallen boulders, scratched knees and
And the straps pulled and rubbed hands.
against But its suffering was silent and let us
My shoulder blades. use it for our own gain.
The trail was long and winding, not Amidst this thought, my helmet was
flat either. soon on,
Water breaks were necessary not The double figure eight knot was tied
because our throats around my harness loop,
Screamed for air, but our backs felt I chalked my hands, and began.
sore and tired. My toes pressed against the ends of
The trees soon yielded to the grey, my shoes,
immense wall. Burning, and screaming for air as I
We walked closer; it seemed to carefully scaled
stretch for miles. The rock.
The surface looked far too flat.

I pushed up from minuscule bumps I had gone through the hike and
and imperfections, climb for this view;
Using all my strength to swing my leg Endless trees and hills rolled into
up to another equally the horizon.
Small hold. The ground, over one-hundred feet
Reaching into a vertical crag, wet, below, was hidden from my sight
mossy, residue covered my hand. By the curvatures and overhangs of
I had intruded into the home of a the glacier formed face.
daddy long leg spider, who crept I was alone, at peace, the pain and
Up my arm. struggle to reach the top was worth
I admired its curiosity, its ability to be it.
content with a dwelling I patted the rock and thanked it,
Far from extravagance; it was content I began to repel down (stopping to
because it had all it needed. see the spider of course).
I said goodbye to the spider, I was grateful for the rock,
Carefully picking it up by its leg and It had given me a challenge and
placing it back into the crag… now the rock had my deepest
It took a considerable amount of time respect.
to reach where my rope
Connected to the carabineer.
With arms aching and feet on fire, I
turned to face the view.


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