“The Long Sun” by Mark Dempsey ‘16
Stuck in space like suspended amber,
we stare upwards at it, our torch in the night.
It sits in dispassion, content to scald.
Flax-colored over blue, pearly-lustrous through the clouds,
and bloody before setting,
awesome, in the original meaning of the word.
“An Ode to Summer Bugs” by Maggie DeNoon ‘16
As you lay by the pool,
you’ll notice the Monarchs flitting towards the lavender bush.
The gnats swarm over an opened soda can that
drips with fat beads of condensation.
An ant carries a crumb of bread away from last night’s picnic.
And you sit back and watch the world move slowly around you.
But as I lay by the pool, I think about how
Bees.
I get the bumbles and the honeys,
they serve a purpose.
Yellow jackets need to leave.
And wasps?
No.
Wasps are horrendous.
And yes, I know that wasps aren’t technically bees, but it is the
Principle of the Matter. Wasps exist to mess with you,
to fly around and spread fear and pain.
So I sit back and, with narrowed eyes, watch the wasp move through the world.
“A Deli Romance” by Nick Wecal ‘17
Among rolls of fresh bread,
chilled baloney and cheese,
(sweet smells of summer work)
my back against fridge’s stainless steel
she kissed me.
A jar of Hellman’s mayo,
shattered on the floor.
the crash ringing in my ears
over and over
forever.
The coldness of the metal like ice against my back
and the rising scent of spilt mayonnaise.
Customers rang the bell
on the counter outside
and wondered
about the poor service.
Ding.
“Ode to Humidity” by Betsy Zaubler ‘17
How did I get so lucky to have my own personal beehive?
It’s not that I don’t like you,
but could you please stay straight? Just for a minute?
I wash you, condition you, treat you better than my best friend
and this is how you repay me?
Sometimes I wish I could just chop you right off,
but sadly, that would cause me more suffering than you.
I’d like to think we could call a truce
But for every good day, there are two more bad ones.
I’ve tried headbands, hats, ponytails, braids,
none of which you like very much
I’m so close to giving up on you
but when winter comes around,
I’d give anything to get out of the cold
and take you back.
“Dog Days” by Eva Lebovitz ‘18
Summer is all tangled up and sticky this year,
warm and hearty and laying wreaths of overhumid light around our necks.
I think we look beautiful even when the sun
is so heavy we can’t breathe:
Right now, you’re breathless and the music is blaring.
And I’m newly sixteen and my pockets are overfull.
All afternoon, I’ve been collecting rays of light
spilling onto hardwood floors and the sound of chatter
pushing up through the walls.
It will never be like this again, and you will never smile the same way.
Your lips curl in on themselves like shuddering paper.
I want to breathe in the base parts of this place–
the rays of ultraviolet and the formaldehyde and the wet paint
moments away from drying–
and I want to keep them somewhere unbreakable;
somewhere in the space before the summer sun sets,
and the song becomes a reminder,
and you, a memory.
“Tiān Dēng” by Samantha Kany ‘18
We are on the way to the festival when you ask me how I’ve been
And I think stressed
But say fine and wring my hands
So you look at me but don’t ask again
It is late and I think of the work that still needs to be done before the day is over
And I remember that my brother needs a ride home at eleven
But I’m not even supposed to be driving that late
So you tell me not to worry and not to screw up
Come on, you say, just one lantern, it’s good luck
And I could really use some luck right now
But it’s cold out here
So you give me your sweater and pull me toward the flames
You get me a lantern bigger and heavier than I expected
And I have a stick with fire on the end, there’s no way this floats, I say
But soon the diaphanousness is filled with timid smoke and curling whispers
So I stare until my eyes well and I submit
You count to three real slowly
And I hear you
But I can’t listen
So I hold tight and leave your proem hanging
You put your hand on mine, One, to pry desperate fingers from fading heat
And two you mouth as I turn to grasping digits, which fall helplessly
But I am not helpless three, you say
So the lantern rips from my grip and floats into the night.
We watch the speckled sky until all we see is black.
“Ode to Summer” by Abbey Zhu ‘18
Three cheers to summer heat crushing your body in a blanket of sweat,
cooled only by artificial conditioning attacking uncovered skin.
This metallic machine is your only source of escape,
because god forbid someone see you outside
in just a sports bra and shorts.
Three cheers to white sand beaches
pricking your feet with grains of fury–
home of the half-naked people fermenting in the sun,
demanding their skin turn a “healthy” bronze.
Long live Instagram posts of picturesque views
of the convoluted ocean slathered in filters.
Summer–
it’s just an extension of your own scathing glare.
“Popsicle sticks and Propaganda” by Katy Kim ‘18
Lick the dust from that old swizzle stick— the whisper whizzle of summer’s lick
through all those heady days our loose lips never did leak
(either bitter lemon pop or cherry kick you would always pick)
And all these secrets boxed in this cardboard fleet, to have and to hold
what we can never keep— Memories for sale: those homemade summer popsicles
“The Playground” by Alena Zhang ‘18
The tree drips
orange wax
round balls of citrus perfume
onto a chalky canvas
already stained with
smears of earth’s green.
The swings fly high, high, higher until
blue denim and his friend red shirt
land with a four-foot thump that
fractures the finger-painted grass,
bursts the fruit canvas, and
sparks rainbow earthquakes
like fireworks that sizzle in the summer sun.
“Summer Poem” by Maddie Christmann ’18
Summer’s end slowly creeps onto them.
It starts by snaking around their bare feet
as they pad softly against the grass,
sliding in between their toes,
making them twist and trip and for
grass stains to splatter across their shorts.
It curls around their bellies,
making them clutch their cotton shirts
as their faces twist in agony,
and they regret littering their kitchen
with crinkled candy wrappers.
It seeps into their brain
and snickers as the wind whips
around their vision and cracks
the cocoon of summer.
“The Truth About Summer” by Maddy Mudrick ‘18
Although we love that there’s no school,
We love summer for more reasons than that.
We love that we have an endless amount of days,
The gentle kiss of the baking sun,
The sound of the ice cream truck rolling down our streets,
The fresh fruits that are finally in season,
The sweeping of the tide between our sand-filled toes,
The perfect glass of homemade lemonade,
The magenta and orange of the sky as the sun,
drips down the horizon like the
ice cream drips from our chins.
And when the sun goes down our eyes are lit
By tiny lightning bugs in the palms of our hands
And the brilliant explosions of fireworks overhead.
As the night fades into morning,
And the dew droplets sparkle like jewels,
We listen to adults say, “Happy there’s no school?”
And we smile at them and nod our heads,
But we have so much more to be grateful for.
“90˚F: a haiku” by Francesca Badalamenti ‘18
To my dear classmates
as we near the end of the
school year: good riddance.
“The Heat of Construction” by Ben Leit ‘18
Boom
Boom crash
Boom boom, boom boom boom, crash
Say hey
Did you hear that?
The pittery-pit-pat bwaah-wah-wah sound?
Boom!
Boom boom boom boom crash!
There it is
again
Why it happens eludes me
A hammer?
A drill?
A tuna fish sandwich?
The latter falls from the sky by the beige window
and the ladder follows the fish
Boom!
Crash crash crash crash
I cannot concentrate
Hot outside and cold inside
This shirt sticks to me
The ground above me shakes
Equipment is shot towards carpet
My pencil cup falls and my picture frame shatters
Skittle-dip, skittle-dip, skree-boo
CRASHBOOM!
Blackout.
silence.
“Summer” by Sarah Chang ‘18
Languor and nakedness,
August sunlight on wrinkled sheets,
luscious strawberry juice
and cold lemons harmonize.
Summer is rose-colored skies
and bare feet and damp skin,
glory on the mind.
‘Summer Ode” by Megan McCullough ‘18
photo by Megan McCullough
Chilling water licks sandy feet,
erasing a trail of footprints
from the children that used to drink the saltiness of the sea,
that washed away the red and blue remains
of a Spiderman popsicle
trickling down their chins and fingertips.
Piercing sun glimmers on the cloudy water,
tranquil crashing waves.
Summer breeze combs the tangled hair,
a memory that longs to be rewound,
of the little girl adding another
shell to the collection in her arms,
leaving a forgotten trail behind,
entranced in oblivion,
the world beyond the beach
that allows the remembrance of only the good times,
the ones where everyone was a child,
when the sun never set.
“Spring Into Summer” by Benjamin Kany ‘18
photo by Ben Kany
At school, the bell rings and everyone exhales
Books close, binders shut, and backpacks zip.
At home, everything is still –
Quiet and without stress.
I exhale,
Then inhale the smell of the warm summer air,
Then exhale again.
It is 3:00 pm.
The day is only just beginning.
I take off my backpack, relieving my shoulders.
I inhale, taking the moment in.
Late nights, warm air, and echoing laughter.
Today, life gets better.
And I exhale.
“Ode to Summer” by Young Se Choi ‘18
Prepare your bathing suits,
Prepare your sunscreen,
Prepare for long, hot nights,
Prepare for days in the sun
Prepare for the road trips with music blasted all the way on,
Prepare for the pool-side hangouts,
And prepare for the school-free months
Prepare for this summer
“Breathe” by Jennifer Huo ‘18
Bohemian fabric flutters against her leg
as she stands at the edge of the
black-sand beach.
Her braided hair – each strand fastidiously
folded – ripples
down her back.
At the confrontation of land and water,
her toes dig into the dark sand
then come up for air,
water washing the remains of
broken shells off her pale, soft skin.
Wind, scented with salt and moss,
forces her away from the ocean,
but her toes push forward.
A step into the cloudy water
takes her away from the boy
who stopped calling back.
Another leads her away from the
croak of her mother’s
anger.
A third and her knees
submerge beneath the piercing
glacial water, toes unable to catch
the next breath of air.
Sanya Bery ’17
The end
was funny because you prayed, teeth
clenched together, eyes shut,
for it to come.
Your hands are darker now, but eyes light
and wide. Your smile: fuller, gaps gone,
teeth free- as if you have it all figured out.
You haven’t worried
about numbers in a while, said
you let the hands of
the clock move at their own pace.
The end came for this too,
but when it did, you approached
slowly, (the color washed off
your skin, like roaring waves) wondering
if your burnt fingers
were strong enough to push the hands
back.