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Published by Vaishali Gupta, 2019-11-20 09:37:34

Visions 2019

Visions 2019

2019

2016 / Volume 1 / Issue 1

AVA CLEMEN ZI

VISION S

SHAKER HIGH SCHOOL

A rt and L iterary Magazine

1

VISIONS 2019

Shaker High School
Latham, New Yor k

Mr. Joseph Cor r
Super i ntendent
Ms. Kathleen Skeals
Deputy Superintendent
Mr. Richar d W. Mur phy

Pr i nci pal
Mr s. Hope Dils and Mr s. Maur een Livingston

Advi sor s
Special thanks to the Shaker High School Ar t and English Depar tments

for their continued suppor t.

2

Chr istine Cur ley Memor ial Awar d

The Christine Curley Memorial Award for Creative Writing has been established by
Christine's parents to be presented annually to the student who displays interest and
potential in creative writing.

During Christine's high school years, she showed great promise as a poet, and the hope of
her parentsis that this award will encourage other students to pursue in their writing the
spirit which Christine so beautifully demonstrated in her own.

Afaculty committee haschosen Pauline Meunier to receive this year'saward.

A soft t ap on my window drawsmy attention

away from my monitor. It?s just a bird. Small. Unimportant. I get up and shut
my blinds, then return to my desk and resume my work.
t ap.
t ap.
t ap.
The tapping begins again once again. I groan as it gets quicker and louder.
tap tap
tap tap
tap tap tap tap
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP
Ignoring it is pointless. I let out a groan of frustration, push myself away
from my desk, stand up, march across the room and slam my fist against the
window, shaking it.
The bird f lies away.

3

Aut horsSHIRA NOVKOV- BLOOMAvi Bagchi
Matthew Barron
4A J L AMBORN Elizabeth Bernardini
Emily Bunkoff
Emma Conley
Isabelle Cox
CJ Cummings
Michai D ePerna
Scott Ehlinger
Jenna Fazzone
Sinerity Giloni
Maddie Glasser
Skyler Heiser
Aarya Kaushik
D ede L amothe
AJ L amborn
Madelyn L eisenfelder
Jessica L eroy
Juana Merino- L opez
Claire Mattox
Pauline Meunier
Marie Miller
Morgan Mirtschev
N ikhil Mehta
Alex Myers
Saliha Nazir
Alana Paladino
Iris Pu
Karly Racela
Caroline Rose
Alyssa Rumph
Tayvon Ward
Cassidy W ildermuth
Ian W u
Tsegaab W ubshet
W illow Yang

A rtists A mber Alexander
T ieraney Bassett
Ashley Blodgett
Tara Bryan
Madeline Butler
Ava Clemenzi
Aislinn D ailey
Anthony D ilanne
Annemarie D ooley
Matthew D uax
Jenna Eagan
Jack Farnsworth
Rachel Gee
Maddie Glasser
Alexa Hallock
Samantha Hardwick
Skyler Heiser
Apurva Jakkani
L ily Jenkins

Jolé Johnson

L ivia Koehler
AJ L amborn
Jessica L eroy
W innie L in
Mariana Luna
Shantala Mehta
Qirat Memon
Janie Morrison
Shira Novkov- Bloom
Saliha Nazir
Helen Park
Yewon Park
Joe Pierson
Emile Rodriguez
Michael Russo
Hannah Schaffer
Emily Sprague
Matt Snyder
Reyna Tutunjian
Hannah Wang
Maya Wescott

5

D ARKN ESS JESSICA L EROY

ALYSSA RU MPH

Blinding lights burn
into the eyes of the little girl on stage,
smiling proudly, playing her fragile violin without a care.

The same gift
that was bought with an entire month?s pay now sits
hidden in the shadows of that not-so-little girl?s closet, forgotten.

T HE YO- YO?S SEEMINGLY EN DLESS SPLICE

MAT T HEW BARRON

The yo-yo?s seemingly endless splice
creates a newfound path of life.
Untangle the lines of defeat
and come out stronger on your feet.
Through the hardships and through the pain
one can only then obtain
that life is merely but a game.

6

CHILD 'S PU PIL

D ED E L AMOT HE

Life was going to change, I could feel it in my soul that things were drastically going to
change and not be the same, but for the best. Rather than playing with my dollars, I have to
be paying with cash. Rather than sleeping in, I have to lose sleep. Rather than crying to my
parents, I have to let the tears soak into my skull and pretend as if there would never be a
forecast of my tears. So from now on there will be no more. No more looking at life through
little kid's eyes. No more slipping up and thinking 'sorry' is going to get you freed. No more
depending on a superior for everything and anything. No more sleeping all day and being
refreshed to stay up all night. No more money loans from my parents. No more parents
cutting me slack for stupid mistakes I make. No more irresponsibility. From now on, I am my
own guardian and have to abide by accordingly. So on your mark, ready, set, go. Life is just
begi n n i n g.

7

YEWON PARK - "SELF SU FFICI ENCY?

T HE SW ING It's near her
It?s lonely
JU ANA MERINO- LOPEZ It's subtle
But she still hears it
She sits Its voice sounds dull
She thinks Her heart beats quickly
She gazes at the world that?s moonlit But she stays
Her hair softly f alls on her shoulders She wants it to be free
She stares at her muddy toes She had been warned before
That shadow is hers She?s too naive
She hears the wind Her shadow leaves
It's whispering Everyone around her grieves
She feels pinned
The sounds of creaks creep into her ear
She keeps her head down
Another shadow appears
The wind picks up hitting the trees

8

Childhood:

We all want to leave it, but when we do, we want to go back.

CJ CU MMINGS

9

SALIHA NAZIR - "COOKING U P I DEAS"

T he si ght of her father?sfamiliar smilereturns

the girl to her childhood, to making homemade pork
dumplings, to eating melt-in-your-mouth mooncake on a few
special f all nights, to getting vibrant red envelopes filled with
a few pale green dollars during Lunar New Year. But most
striking of all, his smile brings her back to starry summer
nights spent roasting f luffy white marshmallows over a
crackling orange fire -- nights f ar from those of a Chinese
childhood, but very much part of a Chinese-American one.

W ILLOW YANG

10

T HE HUNT

SKYLER H EISER

I stand amongst the crowd, staring at the stage and the f aces around me. My eyes are becoming
overwhelmed in their bloodshot state. Irritated by the mascara that I never wear, and the f lashing
neon lights above. So I decide to close my eyes, allowing my other senses to take over. My body
glides over the string?s waves, the sounds vibrating through me. I?m aware of the drum?s force at
my feet, as the crowd stomps in unison. The singer lets out lyrics in high pitched yelps and deep
grunts, my vocal cords tremble as I sing along. In my head, the different sounds are battling,
overlapping and competing for my ear. By the end of the song the music threads together like a
braid, only to be shaken loose by the next song?s opening riff.
This time the song is all instrumental. It starts off with the guitar, bass, and keyboard, but all three
slowly f ade away as the drums come in, forcefully pounding. Only now I'm transported to the
plains, during an ancient hunting ritual. The crowd turns into a wild herd. Clomp, stomp, the
rumble of a million hoofs echoes throughout the room. We try to escape the hunters?swift
movements, but we are entirely defenseless to their alluring beat. BANG CRASH, most go over the
edge while the rest of us move in perfect chaos with the drums, trying to avoid our f ate. The
hunters match our energy, and the music turns more frantic, the rhythm pulsing. My body doesn't
know which way to move. Then I hear it again ringing in my ears BANG, CRASH. My vision turns
from red to black, as I too meet the edge. The music?s pounding stops. I keep my eyes closed but it?s
quiet except for the light pattering of the hunters?feet running, ready to tell the tribe about the
successful hunt.
I feel movement in the space around me and high pitched yelps as the crowd encourages the light
sound of symbols to turn into a roar. As the music changes, we move into the heart of the village.
The tribe is beating on drums around the raging fire. I hear the ramblings of the shaman, blessing
the successful hunt. I see dancing through the f lames and the yelping of the tribe echoes in my ears.
Suddenly I'm brought out of the moment by the nudging of my sister and her shouting in my ear.
?He's playing with his hands.?I am shocked into reality by the sudden sharpness of the sounds
around me. Sure enough, the drummer has been using his hands to play. Trying to outdo himself
with each whack on the drumset. The crowd is howling along in a frenzy, our screams reaching a
crescendo but then it?s over, and the rest of the band joins the drummer on stage for the next song.

11

EN VIRON MEN T AN D CON VERSAT ION

SCOT T EHLINGER

All intheday'swork, SAIDI thought.

SAIDI walked past John Hancock Tower. Most people would stop to admire this incredible building, or even go up
to its observatory. SAIDI had spent most of her brief life in a lab, but the Chicago skyline to her seemed like
something she saw every day.

SAIDI passed an electronics store. She stopped in front of the display window and peered through the glass at the
computers behind it. She was still coming to understand that she was a program inside a computer not long ago.
That she was only a machine, not a human being. That she had been kept in the dark about this by her f ather. That
she was sent away so she could have a chance. That she had just lost everything she loved. SAIDI pressed her hand
to the glass for a moment. Then, she turned and walked away.

By the time the sun was setting, SAIDI had walked across over half of Chicago. She turned and stepped into a
tavern called the Billy Goat Tavern. On her way in, SAIDI heard several pedestrians say it was the most popular
tavern in the city. But when she entered, it was completely quiet, except for the music playing and the noise on the
TV speakers. Her attention was caught by the bright neon green light above her head. Looking up, she saw the sign
read ?Extraordinary,?with a blinking arrow pointing at her.

?It?s meant to increase the morale of customers.?She turned instantly and saw a man sitting at the bar. She walked
over and sat down next to him. He turned and said, "What are you drinking?"

"Sarsaparilla on the rocks," SAIDI said. "I don't drink any of the strong stuff."

"Let me buy." She turned and saw that the man was a young boy her age. He had blonde hair and dark brown eyes
and wore a vertical-striped shirt, side-striped trousers, and a technical jacket. He was holding a black Apple iPad.

?Most advanced tablet to date,?the man said. He turned to look at her. ?My name?s Perseus Austin. But everyone
calls me Percy.?

?Well, Percy,?SAIDI said, calmly, but with anger, ?thanks for your offer, but I don?t need your help, not unless you
can tell me where Dr. Bart Deckard is.?

?The A.I. scientist??Percy scratched his chin. ?Never saw him before, but he has been missing for a few days. Some
people believe he has a few secrets.?

"My f ather had quite a few secrets," SAIDI stated, with growing irritation. "And it's probably best they stay secret.?

?Funny: I thought his daughter was dead.?

12

T he number 25 is engraved on themailbox, rusting and fading. It still has thedent

from when the baseball bat f lew out of my hands and across the lawn. ?Don?t worry about it,?he said. ?My
parents will never know about it. Nobody will.?As it turned out, he was right. His parents didn?t notice it,
the f amily that moved in after them didn?t notice it, and the f amily after that didn?t notice it. The
basketball hoop got sold, the window panels changed, the pool was built. The mailbox stayed. I keep
dr i vi ng.

N I KHIL MEHTA

13

SHAN TALA MEHTA - "GOLDEN STAT E OF MIN D "

GRAVIT Y

TAYVON WARD

Gr avi t y
pulling me
f aster and closer toward the ever-expanding surf ace
of the earth.
The wind, whipping me.
Flipping me over repeatedly.
When will it all end?
I saw the sky,
the earth. Blue, then green.
Trees. Clouds. How long have I been f alling?
Time, itself, feels delayed.
Memories of the clouds and trees,
i nver t ed.

14

T HE HU N T : NAT U RE?S FIST S OF SILENCE

CJ CU MMINGS

A slight breeze sways the tall grass in front of crouched Ryan. He is examining a set of deer prints in the muddy earth.
Yesterday?s heavy rain will help them track animals because footprints are easier to find in the wet ground. Ryan looks
past his Jöttnar hiking boots and onto the ground, focusing hard in an attempt to avoid sticks and leaves, as they move
onward. The last thing they want to do is alert an unsuspecting deer. Charles puts his arm in front of Ryan, stopping him
sudden l y.

There is a clearing, with the afternoon sun piercing through the soft border of trees and their leaves, creating an aurora of
green and yellow, and at the center of it all were three deer. Their strides seemed delicate, almost as if they were weak,
gentle creatures. But the stature of them, with their strong coat and hard hooves, portrays otherwise. They move like the
slight breeze that wisps through the trees, winding from one plant to the next in a gentle, determined matter. With
everything that has happened in this world, these creatures of nature find a way to carry on.

Ryan and Charles are standing motionless. They both take a moment to capture and process what they are seeing, before
finally equipping their weapons. They move toward the left to achieve a better view and crouch behind two trees.

Charles makes his way to a sturdy, deciduous tree. Now that Charles is in position, Ryan brings his smooth,
asphalt-colored CZ 550 Badlands Magnum to eye level, and moved slightly, just enough for his weapon to peek at the deer
from behind the trees. Ryan raises his fingers and looks over at Charles, and, as he usually would in a timed shot, counts
down from three. His words and fingers moved in one motion.

?3? 2? 1? ?

Two loud cracks simultaneously cut the silent air in half. The echo bounces off of the trees and the leaves and the sticks
and the branches and the dirt and the mud and the puddles and the air until the bullets travel further, as if they were
trying to escape from the gun in which they came. Then, it came again. The silence. It, being too powerful in nature,
grabbed the loud echo and silenced it with its fists. Ryan and Charles look up from their weapons, and both of their f aces
are pale. They glance at each other and express a sense of shock. The clearing, so gentle, so peaceful, so innocent, is now
empty. The aurora of green and yellow still strikes the open patch and the soft, smooth draft continues to maneuver
through the trees and their trunks and the branches and their leaves. In an instant, the draft transitioned into a f lurry, and
then into a gust. It stopped avoiding the trees. It stopped bypassing the trunks. It stopped evading the branches. The wind
stopped resisting the temptation to turn so it went straight. Straight through the trees and their trunks and the branches
and their leaves until the forest grew loud and magnificent which brings the gale to sound like laughter as it pries the bark
from the trees and throws the leaves into the air and the branches into the ground.

The clearing was empty.

And it was silent.

15

SAMAN T HA HARDW ICK - "SPIRIT A N IMAL "

T he gi gant ic mount ain lay beforeus. Weknow thesky?sthelimit aswetakeour

first strides onto the slope. The mountain has curves and bumps and it taunts us. It kisses the skyline in a way
that speaks to us, telling us that heaven is just a climb away. More beautiful than all the hills we climbed as kids.
No sledding mound can amount to the colossal bridge to the top of the sky. We now realize that there is nothing
greater than this; we can conquer the world.

CAROLIN E ROSE

16

FRESH CU T

IAN W U

My hair f lops in all directions. Water droplets f ling in every direction. I take a seat in the black chair. My body slowly
sinks into the soft cushioned leather.

Isthat Ian?When?sthelast timeyoucame?
Yessir.Toolongago.Yougotta helpfixthismess.
Well youcametotheright personat theright place.
I look up at the mirror. Dave runs his hands through his curly brown hair. His puffy cloud adds at least three inches to
his sub-six foot frame. His hands violently rub against each other. He closes his eyes and mentally prepares for his
next operation.
Let?sget towork, shall we.
My eyes quickly shut. My train of thought turns off. All I notice is the grinding buzz of a razor. The giant bee f lies
closer. The vibrations intensify. The wind picks up. The right side of my head feels a ton lighter.
That short?
I run my hand across the short prickly stubs. The hard bristles massage my fingertips.
Yeahthat?sgreat.
The pitch increases. The razor bites harder. The cold metal tips send shivers down my back. My hands tighten their
grip around the wooden handles. I wince at the unbearable tickling. Left to right. Right to left. The sculptor marks up
his mold. He switches his tools. The scissors snip at different angles. Hair finally escapes its chained confines.
Whoooosh. The hair dryer screams at my hair. Dave grabs the long, black comb. He runs the teeth through the soft
st r ands.
Voi-la.Thereit is.
The black darkness vanishes. The mirror reappears. I stare hard, startled by the sight of a new person. Actually, not a
new person. The reemergence of the same person that vanished a month ago.

17

MID - AU T U MN FEST IVAL Even when she?s f ar,
Her ambient light f lows like
I RIS PU
Chang?e
Grayed walls. Goddess of the moon only because
Clothes scattered. She chose to protect her love.
A bundled mess of sheets. Exiled to the moon, she yearns.
I toss my backpack to the corner, Staying close, though f ar.
The rabbit charm jangling between
The soft, ambient light that filters through the window. Now the moon is full tonight; its light brushing each grain
I gaze out on the waters, where of sand.
The moon gently pulls the red strings of f ate. The waves crash on the shore, their foamy bits scatter as
The red strings of f ate lure me back to the sea.
Whoosh? The waves hum.
The moon f aces away ever so silently. The plastic crinkles; releasing a fresh pof of steam
Just like it was on that day when Mom f lew away. As I take out mom?s f avorite pastry,
Her soft expression gazed at the same sea M oon cakes.
As she wrenched my hand from hers. I sit on the rocks by the ocean.
Whoosh? the waves sing.
Red paper lanterns filter out the f aint light of the moon. The white foamy waters lap the rock beneath me.
The plastered f lyers on the walls wave at me. Gritty sand clumps in between my toes,
I?m walking out to the street. And my heart beats with the sloshing waves.
The buzzing murmur of the crowd drowns out the sea. The full moon grips the red strings and
My back pocket buzzes, my heart full.
The uncle from the apartment across the street is baking
mooncakes; How are you, ? ? 1? I missyou. Happy Mid-Autumn Fest!
From Mom.
His hands are covered in vegetable oil as he kneads the
dough.
Nostalgic scents of red bean paste and salt yolks fill the air
as
I lean into memories buried away.

1? ? (Dìdì): An endearing way to say little brother or youngest son. Used
by only the people that are closest and older than you.

18

T he door swung open. Thehingescreaked and groaned. Shestuck her head into the

vacant building, eyes adjusting in the darkness, not believing what she was seeing: a long hallway with the ceiling
caving in, debris of wood and cement laying on the f loor, rooms people used to stay in, an old laundry cart on its side
with two wheels missing, old, ripped f abric on the f loor next to it, and a dirty, stained mattress half in a room. She
took a step back and took her picture. After taking one last look, she turned and walked away.

MADDI E GLASSER

19

LIGHT LI KE T HIS D OES NOT EXIST , A J L AMBORN

T HOUGH W E W ISH IT DID

SIN ERIT Y GILON I

A tiny ball of light does not make it across the landscape of the ref lective glass window sill. It
cannot keep up with the thicker, stronger balls of light marching confidentially past the
window. It f alters, f lounders, missteps and f alls limply before f ading out completely. It has
f ailed to keep up and now, as punishment, it ceases to exist.
What a cruel punishment for such a simple mistake as not being good enough.
A cold wind brushes by at either the realization or the f act that it was a gloomy November
day. Clouds mimic light trails as slower, less capable clouds break off and away from their
able-bodied companions, but the punishment of clouds is less glaring than the punishment
of light as the incapable clouds aren't punished with nonexistence; instead, they are merely
exiled by their cloud clans and must roam the open skies alone, small particles made even
smaller by the gaping maw of the great, blue abyss.
I think about this and how light and clouds are not living beings but are merely a part of the
earth itself. Despite this, many animals follow the punishments of light and clouds. Lions,
wolves, horses, humans. Some are cruel and harsh like light and some are meeker like clouds.
If only light were kind.
But light like this does not exist, though we wish it did.

20

21

GROW ING U P:

Accumulating the dirt and grass on the colorless sneakers. No screens, just Earth.

MICHAI D EPERNA

REYNA T U T U NJIAN
22

SLEEPING SON S OF JACOB

T SEGAAB W U BSHET

I am from the concrete streets of Addis
Ref lection from the spotless windows, blinding

I am from the hole where it rains gold
Blue minibuses come and go, wewait

I?m from the place where it?s always summer
It rains hot water, burning the cable outside, nopower

I am from the asphalt hill leading to perfectly lined up brick houses left and right
Smell of fried chicken and hot bread fills the air with the f amiliar love of a local mother

Yet every corner is a similar sighting
The young and mobile stand still
Numb from the regrets of all the times they?ve spent numbing themselves

I am from the streets where mothers wear white
They stand in front of the cross day and night
A state of absolute peace and blissful nirvana temporarily puts a shine in their tired eyes

I am from the place where pain is constant
Yet the little love that?s shown somehow always overpowers it

I am the product of the people that worship the past
They celebrate their kings but beat the queens in their lives

I am from the concrete streets of Addis
Ref lection from the spotless windows, blinding

23

MADDI E GLASSER

U nt il you have sat in a chair for 6hoursMonday

through Friday for 36 weeks; until you have been lectured by a substitute teacher about
how technology fries our brains; until you have gotten only 3 hours of sleep because you
procrastinated writing your English essay; until you have been stuck in a 90 degree
room without air conditioning and been asked what the quadratic formula is; until you
have gotten a 59% on your social studies test after you spent 3 hours making a 7-page
front and back study guide; until you have a bell dictate your day; until you have been
told how to dress and talk and learn---only then will you truly understand how much
teens appreciate the freedom of summer.

EMILY BU N KOFF

24

W HEN HE LEFT HIS HOU SE

MAD ELYN L EISEN FELD ER

When he left his house,
it was still dark, except for the little rays of sun
that peeked out from behind the horizon,
and the trees were stagnant
and tranquil.
As he started to walk down the street,
he felt calm
and alone,
but not lonely.
All around him were the birds chirping,
calming his nerves,
and squirrels jumping across the trees,
shaking the leaves,
while distracting him from the silence of the morning.

25

PRESCHOOL PRAN KST ER 12:30
The paint has dried
SALIHA NAZIR It is time to add the final touch. Glitter!
Nine pairs of hands clap in excitement
It is only 9:30 At the prospect of having something shiny
And already To deliver as a gift.
He is up to trouble One sly pair of prankish hands
Agai n . Nimbly slip a handful of
Finger painting time Loose gold dust
For Mother?s Day- Beside her downturned head.
Nine pairs of little hands As she lifts her head
Confine splashes of color She yelps.
In an 8 x 11white rectangle. An impish grin appears on his f ace
Nine pairs of eyes look up As he watches his handiwork
As Miss T?s shrill voice pierces Move into action.
The merry air. Gold glitter
One wayward pair of impish hands Sent up in a poof
Had Smeared Making her dark hair appear
Reptile-green paint As golden as Sif ?s.
Across the pristine wallpaper
Like a giant Serpent encircling the small room. 3:30 Pick up time-
Nine pairs of glowering beady eyes
10:00 Follow him out the door.
Alphabet Time: A low threatening Hisssss
Words that start with ?G? Is heard
Gl ue From the menacing figure
in our pencil boxes As the door swings ominously shut
Gl obe Behind the doomed boy,
planted on Miss T?s desk And suddenly nine heads look down
Gi f t s As they realize
for moms are sitting on the windowsill He has been entangled
Gr een In the throttling
paint on the walls Knotted net
Good... woven by his little pair of misled hands.
Nine pairs of loathsome eyes
Wander to the solitary boy
In the time-out corner.

26

A T EENAGER

A ARYA K AU SHI K

There is a bird
in my sullenness
that sings of earnest love.

When you ask me to suppress my sorrow,
to muscle on as though I were a woman of stone,
you ask me to stif le
the birdsong of my heart.
I will not.

27

A PU RVA JAKKAN I - "U N DER T HE SHADE"

MAKING A SMILE

MORGAN MIRT SCHEV

All at once, in the middle of upper M in Shaker High School,
I felt the life being drained from me,
the ink on all my homework assignments bleeding, harder and harder to see.
I was fifteen, I stood in the hall
watching the blurs of freshmen, juniors and seniors rush by me.
My head was a 16GB f lash drive with 64GB of data trying to download onto it.

Howdoyouknowif youaregoingtodie? [1]
I wondered.
I had been struggling for days.
With bizarre assurance, I thought to myself,
WhenI cannolonger smile.[2]

Two years later when I think of that day,
when f aced with the same feeling,
overwhelmed with daily quizzes, endless homework, and sleepless nights. No.
Overwhelmed with trying to maintain a life --both.
I whodidnot die, whoamstill living, [3]
still standing in upper M in Shaker with many undecided decisions about college ahead,
am smiling to the blurs of people rushing by.
________________

[1], [2], and [3] Lines from ?Making a Fist?by Naomi Shihab Nye.

28

W EAKN ESS shi r t torments me,

CAROLIN E ROSE

The stain on my

dark and bitter as the coffee from our first date,

I could have washed it out, using a plethora of solutions,

but then the last remaining trace of us,

will disappear just as you did.

29

RACHEL GEE

GLORY AN D D U ST

JEN NA FAZZON E

Creamsicle, popsicle, lemonade and its bendy straw,
New Barbie sunglasses.

Bright lights, bale of hay. Summer nights, end of day.

Book spines, The Great Aristotle's robe.
Crowns, the prize, medals for recognition.
Per f ect i on.

Only thing a blind man sees.
The sweat of those who never give up.

Surf board. The sand of the sea.

Last ray of hope.
Hope.

Rapunzel?s long, brushed locks.

Burning, fiery shadows from times that slipped away.
The very last swing of the clock?s pendulum creates
Bitter, agonizing silence.

Ti ck .

Tock.

30 Time goes on.

T H E FRAI L BODY is contorted in a way that can only be described as bestial.

The blades of her shoulders raise and lower, raise and lower, shifting and catching and throwing
again the light from a single bulb on the bedside table. Every spinal bone strains from her neck,
covered only by papery skin and a mess of scraggly hair. The shifting of her back is mechanical,
resembles closely the desperate motion of a pathetic little bird, from which wings, and any hope of
f light, have been severed. She is crying, shaking and hunched over as each gasp rattles from her
chest, and I am sitting beside her on her unmade bed, useless and unsure of what to say. To see her
this way, folded over onto herself and whimpering in her lonely, dimly lit bedroom, is
heartbreaking. There is an open book where her pillow should have been, and pleated papers are
tangled up in the sheets. My hand lingers over that gaunt shoulder.
?Why do you care so much??It slips from my unwieldy mouth. I cringe at my feeble attempt to
reach her, at the tentative fingers on her back, which offer none of the comfort I had hoped they
would. She hardly turns her f ace in my direction, and doesn?t answer. I am wishing in this moment
that the roles were reversed, because she would not hesitate to wrap her arms around my own
shoulders and hold me, until my pain became hers as well. She wouldn?t be embarrassed, she
wouldn?t care. Why I couldn?t do the same I do not know.
For now, only this hand on so broken a back will have to be enough. But my fingers do not hold the
same solace as her arms do for me. Muscles tense and she moves away. Towards the bulb, and
towards the book, and away from me. Her shoulders still heave, and she reaches up to grasp at the
cord. She is barely visible in the dark, but I can sense her unrelenting movement, and the despair
resonating from her shoulders. There are nothing but shadows to toss now.

MARI E MILLER

31

W INNIE LIN

H EART BREAK:

Wrenching off the prized necklace that once brought bliss.

EMMA CON LEY

32

MY CAN VAS

PAU LIN E MEU N I ER

I wake up every morning
with a new f ace.
My eyes bigger,
Jaw sharper
About an hour of
Every day,
Is spent working on
a blank canvas
and filling in the grooves. Blending
col or s
t oget h er .
My eyelids become

Red.
Br ow n.
Yel l ow.
Bl ack .
Pi n k .
Gol d.

Gr ay.
A versatile rainbow of Pigments,
and Powders,
and Creams,
and Brushes,
cover my bedroom f loor.
My f ace is Mine
and I am in control.
And everything,
is

good

now.

33

ALEXA HALLOCK - "FIRST ST EPS"

JEALOU SY

Karly Racela

I saw you, writing in your notebook at the library;
That dull, black, torn, haggard, threadbare notebook.
The one that's always with you.
The one that is most precious to you for 5 years
st r ai ght .
And here I am....
Wishing that was me.

34

T O RIDE A BI KE

ALYSSA RU MPH

I am a daughter
and I have grown up in this harsh world
but I am still naive,
I still know nothing of loss, of being ?hit,
Har d,
In the f ace?by the pain of f ailure, the harsh truth, and unforgiving unf airness of the world.

I am still learning, still growing,
and I will never forget what my mother taught me
when I was six and learning to ride a bike.

Growing up is like learning to ride a bike,
because your mother or f ather is standing by your side,
w ai t i n g,
hoping you don?t f all over,
but ready with bandaids and hugs and ready to help you when you do.

However, if growing up is like learning to ride a bike,
then becoming an adult is like going down a winding black diamond
downhill bike trail with no brakes
or helmets
or knee pads
and no idea where you are going,
the calm skies long ago having been replaced with
w i nd,
and hail and thunder and lightning,
and the smooth pavement has been replaced by rocks and cliffs.

But I know that my mom is still waiting at the bottom of the hill,
w ai t i n g,
st i l l
waiting to bandage me up after I f all, and I will f all,
but that is okay, because I am still learning, still growing,
and will never forget what my mother taught me
when I was six and learning to ride a bike.

35

A B MLOODY ESS (EXCERPT )

ELIZABET H BERNARDIN I

Être, I read. To be. I shuff le to the next f lashcard. Devenir...hmm what?s the translation of devenir? Flipping the card over to
the lined side, I notice it?s Tobecome. My hand reaches for the next card, but the lines catch my gaze; I see the red one at the
top and ten blue ones. The more I stare, the more they warp into spider-like structures of veins. My heart skips a beat-maybe
the more I stare at these paper veins, the less mine actually work.

I keep staring at the veins. Until they become a rotating spiral fixating my racing mind. Until the lines convulse grotesquely,
until they reach out and grab my waning tepid breath, capturing me in their cobalt clutch. Until I?m plunged into the
blood-streaked snowy paper.

I remember. It was 1970. I was six years old, wrapped in innocence and a plaid-patterned Yves Saint Laurent blanket. Forest
green, gaudy orange and pitch black plaid wove in and out, bundling me in a cocoon of cashmere. I shook with cold. An ice
storm sprawled outside the house, frozen crystals engulfing trees and asphalt streets. Peering at the road, I saw that the pale
yellow dotted line cutting through the center was buried under a thick sheet of ice. This same road extended for miles in a
straight path until it dipped under clouds of the storEXm, never wavering. Frozen rain rapped on the small window. Taptap,
taptap. The sound rang in my ears as though my mind was drizzling too. Taptap, taptap. It echoed through the silence,
bouncing off those close walls, matching my rapid heartbeat. Dallas was shut down. At that time all of the city had been
asleep, and the sun had been extinguished like a weak f lame wavering in a candle. The minute a slick surf ace appears, all of
the metroplex huddles in their storm shelters with canned food and dusty magazines.

I remember. I can see it now, how my f ather was fiddling with the copper antennas on our old television set. The screen was
an electric blue and fuzzy, much like the wintery scene outside the boarded-up window. It vibrated with streaked gray lines
that were convulsing on the screen. No signal.

Finally, a f lash crossed the TV, one comprised of earthy colors: red, brown, and white. But it was too clouded to make out. My
f ather stepped back, and then using the slightest motion, glided the left antenna slightly toward the right one and twisted
the wooden knob at the base of the TV.

With a snap and one last violent shake, the screen became clear.

A bloody mess appeared on the screen. Delicate utensils prodded with precision at the red explosion. A thin thread slid
through f laming scarlet f lesh quietly, and was pulled through the other side. It was beautiful. Veins, arteries--real ones,
f looded my vision[1]. To be able to see them, for the first time on television...it took my breath away.

________________

[1] This section is describing a historical event, the airing of one of the first open-heart surgeries on television. Dr. Michael DeBakey was a leading pioneer
heart surgeon who at the time, helped to perfect and standardize a new and innovative procedure called a Coronary Artery Bypass Graft, or CABG. These
surgeries were aired on television in the early to mid-1970?s. This viewing prompts my character to want to become a doctor.

36

37

BACK
COVER

38

SHIRA NOVKOV- BLOOM - "FIRESTORM"

W HAT IF

ALANA PALADINO

what if
the clock forgets
to keep time
and before you know it
your clothes don?t fit
mother has lost her wit
and only you remain
to attempt the
i m possi bl e
to care for her
like she did
for you.

39

JACK FARN SWORT H

FOR T HE FIRST T IME HE WASN ?T LAT E

ALEX MYERS

For the first time he wasn?t late.
For once, I wasn?t either.

?Four minutes until the first boarding period, thank you.?
For us it was an escape, a f antasy come to life, a temporary forever away from

trouble. For-ever, or for now at least, is unimportant.
For soon it?s time to f ly.

40

SMASHED HEART - SHAPED BOX

A J L AMBORN

Smashed heart-shaped box. Red velvet candy on the f loor.
Gross mints I won?t eat. Cinnamon. Strawberry. Cherry.
Tinder, Netf lix, OKCupid logos
his old scarlet clothes
bloody nose
dead rose
Block button. Alert saying ?Not Delivered?
Flushed Face.

The crimson hair I wanted. The copper hair he has.
Overused cardinal hair brush

hair dryer
hair spray
The maroon helmet I bought to make him happy.
Unused garnet jersey
Bal l
Bat
Mitt.
Discarded Train Ticket
Cornell Brochure
Denied stamps, more and more
Flushed for sure.

41

H ELEN PARK

O S TN E T ROKE AT A IME (EXCERPT ) JOE PI ERSON

CLAIRE MAT TOX

During the warm summer afternoons, I lay on my hammock just
outside my house. Where I walk barefoot through the warm
Hawaiian sand, where I allow my feet to sink deeper, and deeper.
Where the rainbow-colored tassels of my hammock are tied between
two giant palm trees, where the vibrant string-lanterns hang above,
shining like bright stars in a sea of dark. It's covered in different
sized plush pillows, and blankets.
Where I lay watching the romantic color palette of a sunset
descending beneath the ocean. Off in the distance, the full moon
shines like a bundle of stars pushed together as one. I sit myself up
holding one of my many pillows tightly in my arms. I look to the sky
to see the stars dancing around. I take in one final image of the night
before I shut my eyes. I breathe in the salty sea air and allow the wind
to comb through my wavy hair one final time.

42

PLAST IC BODI ES That you only cared about
femininity being accentuated
PAU LIN E MEU N I ER in everything I wore and that
that was the only way I could seduce
When was it, You.
that I started caring And I took that to heart.
that I started worrying And soon my ovaries, and not my heart,
if I was thin enough, were my predominant feature.
curvy enough,
and when I felt forced to Did we enjoy having ourselves
paint my f ace displayed, like a mannequin,
with watery watercolors? a child?s toy stripped of its humanness,
all chest and derriere and legs and hair?
Maybe it started with Do we do it for ourselves in any
plastic Barbies and Bratz way?
with their smooth and perfect Or is it just for the vanity of others who will
ever yt hi ngs. leer and stare, walking past
When was the first moment, with their hidden sexes and
that I wanted to become clay bodies?
another plastic toy?
43
When were our clothes
supposed to hug? Some tighter
than my mother ever did.
You once said to me

44

HAN NAH WANG

A ringing and cascading

sound glistens, a mere vibration
crescendos, a voice lifts above the
silence, and a waterf all of notes glides
into the dead winter night. The melody
weaves in and out of the snow-plowed
city streets, slides through slim
alleyways, the harmony scampers among
the stars. The notes crash into an icy
lamp post which illuminates the
scattering scales and chromatics. The
sound coils itself into a labyrinth with a
frozen bench, engulfing the frigid
structure. Finally, it snakes into an
apartment with a fire burning, dodging a
torrential blizzard along the way until it
reaches the hearth of its origin.

ELIZABET H BERNARDIN I

45

SKYLER H EISER

FREED OM

The butterf lies f lutter through my stomach up
to my throat as I see the key slip into the back
of the lock, unleashing me from these chains I
was wrongfully placed in.

CASSIDY W ILD ERMU T H
46

PART 1: RHAM

AVI BAGCHI

The river was shimmering with life as the boy prepared to submerge himself in the water. As his skin burned
under the aggressive sun, he watched his friend lean over the edge of the boat they were standing on. While his
friend, named Rham, teased with the edge, the boy got tired of the boat?s monotonous swaying and dove into
the blue before him. Rham quickly followed, despite being a poor swimmer. The boy swam swiftly while Rham
paddled as they traveled past other boats also navigating their way to the other side of the river. When they
reached the other side, f atigue washed over them, and they collapsed on the river?s bank. As they recovered,
they discussed their futures after their departure from school in a few weeks. Rham, who was quite ambitious,
imagined himself leaving his homeland and going to a foreign university. The boy had predicted his friend?s
ambitions so he was not at all startled by this. Still, however, he was deeply saddened. They had been friends for
many years, and he imagined the uneventful days ahead without him. Then, they both looked skyward and
noticed that dark clouds were converging. They dove back into the water to swim back home as the sky prepared
to erupt into a rage.

As oars brushed their shoulders and as water splashed their f aces, the pair swam briskly down the river towards
their town. When there was still no land in sight, they looked for a boat to hold on to in order to regain their
strength. They spotted a large boat nearby and paddled towards it. When they at last clinched the railing of the
boat with their damp, wrinkled hands and hoisted themselves on the deck, they noticed the boat?s owner was
asleep. To gain perspective on their distance from their town, Rham climbed up to the second f loor of the boat.
After a few minutes, his lively friend beckoned him to climb up with him with an eager hand.

Now they both stood twenty feet above the water. After being reluctant to submerge himself in the water
originally, Rham sought to prove his courage. He precariously leaned his head over the edge of the boat
calculating the drop down. More cautious unlike Rham, the boy backed away. After a few seconds, clearly in
angst, Rham thrusted himself over the edge. This time, the boy followed.

47

LIVIA KOEHLER

D ECEIT

I SABELLE COX

I f lip through the dictionary at my desk for hours,
Looking for a single word that you always used to say to me;
But now, I want to see it, the full uncensored meaning;
And I think it might be lying to me, because it says
?Love is endless, everlasting, eternal,?
but once, so did you.

48

T HE CROW N

JESSICA L EROY

" Come sit! " said Laura, clapping and jumping up from the stool, gold bangles jangling. "I'll do your hair for you - it's
so long! "

She giggled. "I was sonervous cutting mine in September, but it's mucheasier to take care of, and it?s sof ashionable
nowadays..." I let her continue while she pinned my hair up, fidgeting with the long string of pearls she?d f astened
around my neck. Her hair didlook stylish and harmonized the more modern silhouette of her dress - shin-length
and shapeless. The thought of snatching up a pair of scissors and shearing off my own willy-nilly was ever-present.
I inhaled deeply and shut my eyes, immersing myself in the deep voice bellowing from the phonograph in the
cor ner .

Oh, I wishI couldshimmylikemysister Kate,
Sheshimmieslikea jellyonaplate...

After a minute or two of pulling and combing to make it just so, she stepped back. I turned to the mirror and grinned
- how different we were! She was clad in a bright orange I knew I would never be confident enough to wear. Paired
with a saffron-colored fur stole, she looked like a walking sunset - albeit incredibly less peaceful than a sunset might
be. I wore the dark blue gown from home.

"You look phenomenal! " she giggled. "It just needs..." She paused and went to a box resting on the nightstand, almost
unnoticeable among a cluster of ornate marble busts. She removed the cover and pulled out a headpiece like nothing
I'd ever seen before. Little shards of a seashell were f astened into an intricate web of silvery wire, which looked like
little rivers running across her hands.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, rising to get a better look. "Where did you find it?"

She looked at the barrette, a sad smile on her f ace. "Do you remember when we were seven and you found that
beautiful seashell that day we went sailing? The one you gave me half of ?"

"Is this it?" I asked.

She nodded. "I dropped it a few days after we got home. Mom transformed it into this. I've never had an excuse to
wear it...but I think you should."

Before I could politely object she had f astened it to the side of my head. My hair gleamed silver with my every
movement. When I looked in the mirror, I knew I had to keep this glistening, glamorous version of myself alive
until the party was over. Until I went home to my mother. Until I got the attention I deserved. Until I was praised and
cherished as I had so wanted for as long as I could remember. Until I was desired, a necessity to someone. It was
there, I could feel it - even the blank eyes of the stiff, unfeeling marble f aces on the nightstand seemed to follow my
every movement.

I knowthat I'mlate, but I'll beup-to-date
WhenI shimmylikemysister Kate.

49

FOOD FOR T HOUGHT Does this have anything to do with
Michael Crichton?s TheAndromedaStrain?
SCOT T EHLINGER No? Really? Okay.
Here?s to the Temptations.
I don?t get you, Collins. Cheer s.
Sounds like a Motown band.
Here I am, sitting in my recliner, Did they have a song featured in
Space heater at full blast. Guardiansof theGalaxy?
My dog sleeps next to my
Feet . Here?s to Billy Collins, a funny poet.
Cheer s.
You?re raising your glass. After everything
You give toasts to people. But you don?t know them. Your mother did for you,
Not personally, anyway. All you gave her in return
Was a lanyard?
Why? Why do you care? Why would she need that?

I picture you writing, a desk lamp I snap shut your book
Your only light source. You write And turn on the TV,
So many toasts. And here they are: Just in time to catch TheSimpsons.
There?s Homer with his f amous line:
Already, I haveliftedmyglass ?D?oh! ?
ToJackieWilson and Gracie
Lantz, thevoiceof WoodyWoodpecker. In the end is my beginning:
Cheers. I have no idea who the
Heck Jackie Wilson is, I don?t get you, Collins.
And back when cartoons first debuted,
Voice actors didn?t get any credit. MAT T SN YD ER
Is it true toons are just actors, like
What I saw in
WhoFramedRoger Rabbit?

Here?s to the man who created astronomy.
Cheer s.
We give credit to a guy who was
Probably a slacker for founding
The study of the Cosmos?
Now I?ve seen everything.
Oh, and tell that to Carl Sagan,
Host of the show Cosmos.

Here?stoCassiopeiainher chair and
ChainedAndromeda.
Cheer s.

50


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