Stolen Hearts
BY ANNIKA INAMPUDI ’21
Dearest Margaret,
When you read this, I will have transcended from this world onto the next. But I need to share my story with you, for you to share it with generations beyond your own. I wish to create a lasting impact on this world, to make small girls envious of our story, and to make little boys run away in disgust. It is my last wish. Please, go to my study and take the wooden box from the second shelf. Do not open it. Let me tell you our story first.
50 years ago, we were the best love story in the south of France: The elusive foreign girl and the local heartthrob. I was studying medicine in the local University, and his father owned a bakery on the pier. I remember our first ever meeting. I had gone to get a cake for my roommate’s birthday. I walked into the small beachside store, the faint jingle of the door indicating that someone had arrived. He was at the counter, idly pressing buttons on the old cash register. He noticed me and visibly brightened. When he looked up, the thing that most astounded me were his eyes. When you looked into them, the entire world seemed to stop and fall apart.
“Welcome to Avec d’Amour Pâtisserie, how may we help you?”
I forget what cake I chose, and even the name of my roommate whose birthday it was, but I still remember the exchange we had right after:
“Thank you for shopping-” he paused, posing a question.
I answered it. “Nina Voleur”
He smiled cautiously, traitorous dimples forming on his cheeks, before saying, “Is there a date that comes with this cake, Nina Voleur?”
I remember wanting to say no, because my mother had told me never to go out with strangers. But then I truly looked at him (truly looked) and said the fateful words that changed everything: “Yes, there is.”’
One thing led to another and it soon was a whirlwind romance. His name was Victor Rubare, and was everything I never had. I truly loved him. I was mesmerized by the miracle of him, from the curve of his lips to his startling blue eyes. I found myself spending more time at Avec D’Amour, each day growing longer as our love grew stronger.
There was a small thing that kept me up during the nights and occupied my mind during the days. I truly loved Victor– I loved the way he talked and walked and told me stories about the sea, although he’d never been there himself. It was fascinating, for I thought no one could ever love him as much as I. And then I realized that they could. Anyone could love him as much as I and maybe even more. Victor Rubare would never be mine until he couldn’t be anyone else’s. His face and soul and heart were displayed to the whole world, and anyone could take him away from me.
One day, whilst at Avec D’Amour, I watched an exchange between him and a customer. I saw his eyes linger on her even after she left the store. Perhaps it was a trick of mind, I had thought to myself. Has this happened before? Had I not noticed it? I needed to put an end to this.
I cornered him after work in the alleyway behind Avec L’Amour. No words, all silence. I watched him try to plead, try to tell me that it was okay. I don’t understand why. I assumed he wanted the same. He would finally be mine. Forever. I fingered the knife in my pocket. Sharp edges, stainless steel, a fierce beating in my heart. It seemed sinful to taint a knife so pure. Nevertheless, I started. Slowly I plunged the knife into his chest, three inches to the north of his heart, three inches to the south, three inches to the east, and three inches to the west. I watched the life drain from his eyes, the blue eyes I loved so very dearly. Carefully, precisely, I connected the dots that I made, peeling the skin away, I smiled, snapped the ribs, and took the heart out of his body, cut out the veins and arteries until all I had left was the heart, bright and red and beautiful– it was dead and alive at the same time, and I loved it. He had stolen my heart, and I had now stolen his. It is mine forever.
Now, my dearest Margaret, open the box.
Droplets
BY JULIA SCHWED ’21
Crisp
Drops
Bundles
Of golden
Beads, twinkling in the
Dark debris of the morning light
The Voodoo Man
BY SPENCER LOH ’21
A man,
Called himself the voodoo man
I found him,
In, an old aquarium
Sitting, on the porcelain floor
Which was Covered in dust
And he Whispered,
Hello
Moths and cobwebs
Filled the hall
The tanks had no fish
Hardened Sugar
BY TEAGAN HALES ’21
I can’t remember one last thing from my dream,
Though I would say it ended with a smile
That would be a lie, because it did seem
That even though happy, a.ll of the while
I was running, tripping, gasping for air
Losing all of my sleep, teeth, skin, pillows,
And the occasional – ratherly rare,
I would walk through billows, billows, billows
Of the wind, the air, clouds, cold, hard sugar
Through the neighborhood – and around the house
And through the yard of the old town slugger
All I wanted was to stay in the house
by the time that I wake up it’s as if
I had not just fallen off of the cliff
Hellenistic
BY ANNIKA INAMPUDI ’21
I was whole, once.
Every single shard of me was put back together to make a victory, crushing adversaries like
grapes into wine into drunkards.
I was a God.
I was holy, once.
I was a myth, whispered to suction cup ears and kaleidoscopic eyes, disbelief suspending.
People used to rather die than forget who I was.
And they did.
A lone bird walks in a forest
For what is flying when you’ve already conquered the skies?
Wolves pine for a little variety
For what is a God of the skies on the ground?
Hellenistic.
Ichor dripping from its chest, two puncture wounds.
One for me and one for my empire.
I sojourn in oblivion,
blind and broken and defeated.
Perhaps Gods were made for the sacrilegious.
Perception Of Time
BY KIARA QUIGLEY ’21
Time slowly unraveling
Piece by piece
Day after day
Cascading into an endless lake
Abundant with unfulfilled intentions
While the beautiful butterfly sits idly by
Tale of a Frightened Christian
BY ANONYMOUS
Last night, I had a dream.
I was leaning over and looking up in disgust
At a man dressed in complete white.
The back of my head — wet
Like the palm of a hand after clutching a bat.
My forehead — cold as a bed
Immediately after you climb in.
The man looking down at me
Sprinkled bleach on me with an aspergillum,
For I had sinned and I had done wrong.
The smell of frangipani filled the room
And consumed me in the process.
Crushed by the view the crowd had of me,
I slowly drifted away and disappeared.
The Rising Moon
BY ANONYMOUS
The other day I would meander into a green meadow with
Purple and yellow wildflowers
The tall grass, as prickly as it was, created the lasting
Beauty and the memory that sticks with me.
I would walk forward looking at the shining forest to my left and
The pristine and bright lake to my right.
I would look to the the lake with crumpling ripples
That I could not quite explain
At the time. And I touched it with all of the passionate curiosity
That filled my brain that was already
Filled with emotions the other day
I vaguely recall moving forward, downward
To find a place I lost sight of from above
Into a garden with a beautiful brick pathway.
Oh and there were magnificent and there were curly
Willow trees that moved with the wind
And I was mesmerized by more than the scene, but by what was reflected
On the pond: an altered moon in the distance
The black and shimmering pond actually reflected
More than its own light
But the light of the moon
And there, on the moon,
Did it reflect my sun
Plastic
BY ANJALI RAJKUMAR ’21
The doll laid peacefully
And I questioned
What a life
It must be
To be plastic
I too laid down
Slipped into the darkness
Plunged into
A fictive cosmos
My eyes shot open
And the world seemed
Magnified
A giant clawed my waist
Hoisted me
To a point where
The objects below
Were microscopic
Pulling my hair this way and that
The child looked down on me
And almost like the devil
Sneered
I tried to scream
In unimaginable pain
But my mouth remained
Trapped in
That sickly smile
When my memory
Began to thaw
Reality, like a
Boomerang
Turned
And all at once,
Cracked
My illusion into infinite
Shards of voodoo
Once again
My eyes shot open
Except this time
The undeniable truth was
I could not live
The life of a doll
And the doll laid
Peacefully once again
Its porcelain face
Still
Its smile
Permanent
Atlas
BY HANIYA CHEEMA ’21
“When there was war, he chose the wrong side,”
the gods proclaim, while
basking in the comfort of Olympus
on their celestial bronze thrones,
Sucking nectar from shot glasses- “Atlas was evil.”
“We all know that.”
All the while,
In a land far,
far,
away,
The weight of the world has been dumped
upon a
once felon’s
shoulders. He has been here
for forever, it seems,
and even after the crime has been forgotten
and history all erased,
He is still there,
And there he will always remain.
The 13th Amendment states,
“Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist.”
The most brutal loophole in human – or godly – history.
Bleach
BY ALEXANDRA SPECK ’21
The bleach stung and burned her scalp.
She reminded herself, It’s worth it, and emptied her pockets of ten dollar bills.
She walked into school the next day and flaunted it.
Whispers and double-takes followed her down the hall.
When asked why she did it, she answered, “For myself.”
Her assured voice nearly made it sound truthful.
At the beach, she tried to show it off again,
And painted on a cereal-box smile.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the seawater,
Ripples distorting her face so that she was not quite sure if it was her.
The others saw her grimace of disgust
And asked if she was alright.
At first, she stuttered an answer,
But turned and trudged away when she remembered that she did not have one.
She entered a convenience store on the walk home,
And paid for the box on the shelf with a five dollar bill.
The next day, she stared at herself
In the mirror covered with chocolate-covered splatter.
It was not quite the same mousy brown it used to be,
But the girl in the mirror smiled anyway.
Bui Doi
BY HENRY CHANDONNET ’21
bụi đời (the dust of life) – Children born to a Vietnamese mother and an American father who were left in Vietnam after the Vietnam war.
And as the last helicopter goes off,
And as the blades of defeat whip through the air,
I lay on the ground pondering.
The children around me part ways,
Each searching for their own answers,
Their own reasoning as to why.
Why their fathers would leave them,
Why they would be left to settle
Like dust
On the ground of sorrow.
And as the years pass by,
And as I lose hope,
I lie on a piece of wilting cardboard,
Letting the wind pass through my head.
When my mother died I didn’t cry,
For I have never known her.
All I have known are the streets
And how little faith does in this world.
Isadora Duncan
BY MONICA ZHANG ’21
Long scarves flow in wind,
Driving home for the weekend,
All is calm and still.
The radio blasts,
Friends all around sing along,
Then her scarf tightens.
The wheels keep spinning,
The scarf tightens more and more.
Friends try to save her.
She is choking now,
She is heavily wheezing,
Until she can’t breathe.
The news reporters
Dance around the scene with their
Cameras ready.
The headline announced,
“Dancer is killed, exclusive!”
Spreads through the city.
Until no one thinks
Of “Isadora Duncan”
But recalls her death.
Be With The Stars
BY ERIC WENG ’21
Are you an athlete, actor, or adventurer?
Do you play soccer or basketball
Perform in plays or star in shows
Climb mountains or trek caves?
Do you ever feel the adrenaline
Rushing through your veins?
Perhaps you feel the sweat
Running down your neck
And back and chest and arms.
If you wish to be better it’s never too late
If you want to change then you must know
Time is precious and limited
Each moment is a life in itself
You cannot rely on Luck’s hand
Things only happen if you believe
Do not allow others to sway you
Like wind does onto the reeds.
If you are truly pure as silk
Then debauchery you will avoid
And gluttony you will ignore
Seeking instead charity and courtesy
I’m telling you it’s all true
Believe me, you’ll be happy later.
Mercury is in Retrograde (False Notions)
BY ANNIKA INAMPUDI ’21
my Mother once told me that there was nothing
more beautiful than a girl who found her place.
Petticoats & Petty People
Cigarettes & False Threats
Gossips & Sealed Lips
(as if)
heard Mercury was in retrograde
maybe that will explain
all the mistakes i’ve made
last solar eclipse was one hundred years ago
(nowhere to hide now)
Pretty Faces & Pipe Dreams
Aristocrats & Chitchat
Rich & Conspicuous
(morally ambiguous)
(such a fool, such a fool)
who am i to convince a Prince
that i was meant for Him?
(moons bring in tides, not men)
Princes & Princesses
Rulers & Subjects
Kings & Queens
(not You or me)
In floats a little pretty girl
dresses in comets (no petticoats)
Jealousy is for the ugly, Mother says.
the Castle is captivated.
One size does not fit all.
(if only, if only)
Flurries Of Snow
BY EMILY TANG ’21
So once again, the magpie stands alone
perched on the ladder, watchful and weary
of the bleak dreary skies of unforgiving smoke.
The footprints leading up to the ladder stop
Only to start again, pacing up and down the boulevard
Shielded by the trees which are
Now covered with snow and frost
And there is more
Pacing back to the battlefields of stone and stopping-
Someone has climbed over the brick wall and
Entered the house upon which
The smoke is coming through
The magpie watches, perhaps even hears the dreadful
cry that emerges from the house
Covered once again by snow and
Lost to all but the magpie
Who notices nothing but the continuous hum of the forest
As the trees sway against the wind.
Tamed Wild
BY ANDREW ZABELO ’21
The church bell rings eight
As the sun sets, it gives way
To an array of glistening stars
The once bustling streets are now empty
And the town rests in silence
Across the river
Beyond the scope of human influence
A vast wilderness surrounds the town
Isolating and engulfing it from every corner
They say that man has tamed the forest
But in reality, the town is at the mercy of the
Harsh and brutal environment
The railroad is the town’s only connection
To the outside world
Winding up and down treacherous terrain
And cutting through mountains
Little do the people know that this too will be taken back by nature
I Am Only A Piano
BY MOLLY CANTILLON ’21
A woman bends over me,
Her fingers – curled and dainty – glide over my keys.
The delicious music rushes through her body
Giving me and her chills.
I try to create a soft sound but not sloppy.
Like Bessie, bop, Bach
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Her touch smells like daffodils.
The deafening yellow isn’t what you might think,
Daffodils are magical, creating the best tone.
I wished she came often so I could listen, and learn with her,
But I am solely a dusty old piano.
Untitled
BY JUSTIN GAWRON ’21
I am a vigilante,
A hero of the streets
for I do not kill the
innocents.
They do not deserve it.
I save my skill for the bad,
the worst of the worst.
Only the others who have tortured and killed before
will ever know the feeling of my blade
Piercing their skin, tearing through fat and muscle beneath.
Only if you have done wrong
and slipped through the cracks
Of the flawed justice system, is when
you would see me coming.
Now I am a devil,
A demon, conjured from the depths of hell
Wreaking havoc in this city.
Killing those who seem innocent,
Leaving only destruction and despair in my path,
Along with smoke that drifts away
From my flaming horns.
They say I kill for my own purpose.
Maybe they are right.
Maybe these deaths aren’t deserved.
And for this I look down at my bloody claws
And wonder,
Was it worth it?
The Fisherman
BY DANIEL CHAN ’21
The aspergillum sprinkled the bleach
Over the battened wheelhouse.
The bleach consumed the dark and lifeless beings.
It disgusted the the captain.
The mission completed,
they sailed to shore,
through the ripples.
How To Make A Wish
BY MADELINE WOLF ’21
Make a wish.
No, not here.
Do it outside, where I can hear you
I am תקווה (Tikvah), Hope, the woman who guards your hopes and dreams.
I keep your dearest memories safe until you need them most
But tell me now, for I may be close by.
Climb onto your roof! Quickly!
Find a star.
Now make a wish and close your eyes
Think really hard, and when you are done,
Come back inside and have some hot chocolate.
The kind that warms your tongue and makes you feel good.
For there is not much left for you to do.
Now go to sleep
And dream of your wish.
Believe that I will come
And I will.
I will send a star through your bedroom window
Maybe soon
Whenever you feel as though you need me
But, just keep believing in me
And I will come
I will send you a star.
All you have to do now is wait with your hands up to catch it.
Decolorized
BY SILVY ZHOU ’21
Dull, dull, dull.
As if a baby boy breathed a bitterful breath on the kaleidoscope, smeared with sweet fingertips-full of filth.
A pitiful pilot whose engine eased onto autopilot, calm, careless and content, loosing control.
As if a greedy girl filled a canvas-full of gloom, the sky was sullen and greyed even the greenest grass.
Dull, dull, dull.
The Great Wave – Behind The Canvas
BY AYUSH GHOSE ’21
I’m the ocean
But think alone
I go anywhere
And take what I want
I’m mighty
Standing up to Fuji
I crash on the shore
Endlessly
I am the waves
I’m in the back
But all know me
I symbolize courage
And I stand strong
I’ve stood here for years
And I will always stand tall
I am Mount Fuji
Even though I’m small
I’m important
I fish for Japan
And I battle the
Waves and mountains
To feed the country
Despite my size,
I have a large role too
I am the fishermen
To Catch A Star
BY NIKITA NARAYANAN ’21
When the dark blanket weaves its way across
And scurries far away the sneaking sun
I look upon and wonder what the cost
If I were to try to merely outrun…
I jump and leap throughout the misty clouds
In attempt to just reach the last sliver
But the night had won- arrogant and proud
Until I glared, for one was unfamiliar…
The thing flickered; so wistfully bounded
So fiercely it shone I could not help but
reach out. Tingling were my hands so crowded
With buzzing dots of light, once lit now shut…
Morning haze hovers itself up from sleep
But to catch a star means to go skin-deep.
Luna
BY ABDUL SABOOR-SYED ’21
I am no physicist
But that’s so impossible
I’m in space
So that makes it implausible
That cow can’t jump so high
I don’t know how
and I don’t care why
Say just for fun he breaks reality
He can’t go back down
Because there’s no gravity.
But this is for children
And we’d have a fatality
And that would do nothing
But lead to calamity
Water Lilies and the Japanese Bridge
BY TIFFANY AGKPO ’21
1. Fall, My Darling, Because You Were Never Loved
What if the bridge fell upon it today?
The pond would ripple, splash and be disturbed.
After long hours frozen it rots; you decay
I speak of you: standing lonely, perturbed
You are unsmiling, you are the abused,
Praised for being a still, metal object.
Without purpose your world’s unused,
The beauty is below, you protect
Not project your inheritance because
The water lilies stole the show you’re forced
To stay forever new without a fuss
Please break one day for you were not endorsed
They see you still strong and sharp as a knife
But see no life in the abusive still life
2. Like it Was
DO as the impressionistic father of
The descending bridge has told you
He was there for a reason. His father says:
“Everyone discusses my art and pretends
To understand, as if it were
Necessary to understand
When it is simply necessary to love”
Break away from what you are told to do
Break away from the undying strength
Break away from what the analyzing, the
Analyzing you assumed you
Thought you were to do
This was never a sonnet.
But maybe It can be learned to love
Like it was?
Roses
BY MICHELLE WONG ’21
Let the little seed sprout between the walls
Let it rise above the day and conquer the ground with its vibrant red petals.
Let the exquisite flower create hatred and jealousy from its hue of blood
From the beauty that lays within rose.
But let this rose show
The true meaning of one’s being
As this little flower evolves
Let it award individuals a fragrance of deep affection and exhilaration
A young girl pulls out the rose from between the cracks of the concrete
And examines at all the details and ridges of the stunningly bold petals
With gazing eyes that shimmer under the sun
But the dark emerald green thorns don’t hurt the girl —
She ignores the whispers and murmurs saying how weak and imperfect she is
And she throws away those thoughts
Because beauty should never hurt.
She smiles back and laughs at her extravagant finding
As she happily skips on down the sunny town with her family.
And I watch the life of this young girl as she grows into a strong and beautiful woman.
The Black Wheelbarrow
after William Carlos Williams
BY ABDUL SABOOR-SYED ’21
so little depends
upon
a black wheel
barrow
glazed with acid
water
beside the burning
chickens
Lost Boys
BY HENRY CHANDONNET ’21
They call me a “lost boy”
But I am far from lost.
The other boys flock to Peter
As if he were a knight in shining armor,
As if he could save them from this cruel world,
A world where hook-hand pirates cannot prosper,
Yet green-hatted boys can.
A world where the good will always win.
But what really is the good?
Is it an exuberant ageless boy?
Or is it a pirate who just wants life the way it used to be,
When he and the boy were friends?
It’s amazing what a slip of a knife can do.
One movement can turn good-doers into villains
And scoundrels into idols.
And me, just a young boy
Downing in his own ideas,
As if thoughts were sharks
Circling in a boundless lake.
But suddenly the sharks vanish
And it’s just me,
Laying in a field of colors.
Natures Browbeat
BY MICHAELA WANG ’21
Steel
Drops
Falling
Sledding seeds
Play brass instruments
Blown from the sycamore branches
Untitled
BY JACK RYAN ’21
10 years old, it’s spring
I come home from school
Get off the bus, walk up the hill
The green and orange light rays
From the leaves bounce onto me.
Walk into the house,
And the house had a dark feel to it
With small streaks of light
Entering through the windows.
My mom walks out of the bathroom
Something has gotten to her
I would have done anything
To prevent it from getting to her
And the rest of my family
She hugs me
Then explains to me
Grandma is gone
My 10 year old mind goes into overdrive
The nicest lady I have ever known
Has been struck off of this earth
By this figure who is all around us
Suddenly the sunny day
Where everything was perfect
Escaped from the grasp of my fingers
The sun seemed to be gone after that
Especially for my father
Who I heard cry
Over the telephone in my mom’s shaking hands.
Everyone always says
“She is in a better place now”
That really pisses me off when I hear that
It is as if they are saying
She wasn’t in a good place with my family
That she would rather spend her time
With a cruel, cold blooded animal
Than with us.
We loved her and she loved us.
Illusion
BY RUTHIE GU ’21
The curtains are pulled shut.
Then: a candle, some chocolate, a mirror, a moth, an iris.
The dainty wax of the candle,
poised precariously atop
the colorless porcelain plate.
Carefully packed chocolate sits
awaiting in the vintage box,
gone stale underneath the wrappings.
Dust on the vanity mirror
where lipstick tubes line up beneath,
and dark red stains mar the table.
A dead moth caught in the cobwebs
even the spiders abandoned,
an ornament forevermore.
Hunched over a waterless vase
is an ashen, wilted iris,
run out of purple tears to shed.
And at last, the canary—
it has long stopped singing,
suffocated by the shrouded truth of it all.
La Vie en Bleu
BY ANONYMOUS
1. An Ode
You help me understand the world
Except the world does not come and go
In 10 seconds
You are not dead but
Now your content is
2. An Apology
The beautiful template to
Majestically capture the images
That were never taken–
Appreciated
I’m sorry that u had to resort to
The fleeing moments
Because that was what you believed…
Was right
3. A Declaration
You are my home
You make me find people
That love
Things
I love
You strengthened my social life
My real social life
5. The Legend
Who are you?
All I know is that you are blue
And you are there
And i am here.
And i do not understand what you do
Because you do not reach me
Though,
You are right there
6. La Vie en Bleu
I can’t quite find the essence
About how La Vie en Bleu
Is so daunting and drawing
And attractive
So small on a
Bright screen.
I can now see
Your dandruff
Inhabiting your scalp in
your colorful hair.
And the sadness
When i found out that the girl
With an eidetic memory
Could not remember any of the
Illuminated faces
Among her
Sea
BY MOLLY CANTILLON ’21
I am the Sea. My tides rise and fall.
A man breathes in the salty breeze of me from a view on a tall rowing boat.
He is lost in my drifting tide, his boat cutting through my silky surface.
He asks me to guide him through the empty sky.
Now I am the boat, the ocean drifts me far away from where I know.
I can drown on the basic command of the sea.
Into the deep, secretive currents, the tides rise and rise.
Till I reach darkness, I am trapped, waiting for the ocean to drift me home.
Just A Migraine
BY ERIC WENG ’21
You wake up to a ringing
What it is, you do not know
You soon find out that it’s your ears
That voodoo magic you spoke against
Has boomeranged back to bite you now.
Your eyes, tricking you
It’s not just your ears that are faulty
Everything around you, you wonder:
Illusion or real?
Your irises are dancing around
Your pupils getting large and small.
Your senses are getting dull
“Just lift this curse!” you scream out loud
But no one’s here you hear your pleas
Oh when will this headache thaw?
A Sunday On La Grande Jatte
BY CLAIRE OU ’21
The piece of art,
Composed of small dots,
Make a bigger painting.
And that painting,
Made a picture and a point.
Ladies politely sitting in the shade,
While holding their dainty umbrellas.
Looking longingly at the pond filled with boats
Waiting for something to happen and change
Their lives forever.
The men and children dazing off
Doing whatever they please to do.
While the women had to be cautious.
Thinking of their every move before it was done.
Because one mistake could haunt them
For the rest of their life.
One mistake could ruin
their respectable reputation.
How different the ladies have to think
From the men and the children.
Wishing for more, more than
What life has to offer them.
But only can they change their own future.
Because the future is female.
Aquarium
BY JAMES MCCULLOUGH ’21
Full of mystery
The fish swim around oblivious,
searching
People come, people stare,
At helpless fish,
Little do they know,
How far away they are from home.
The fish: always frightened,
Of what they
Do not know
The people don’t ever think about
The life inside this distressed basin,
And how dull the life is inside,
This mysterious place they call home.
People come and go,
Not realizing the cries for help,
The fish just sit there wondering their whole life,
Will those people ever hear,
Our cry for help?
The Twinkle In Her Eye
BY MADELINE WOLF ’21
There’s a little twinkle in her eye
The twinkle could become a spark
The spark could ignite into a flame
The flame could destroy her
Please, oh please tell me
How to remove the little twinkle from her eye
A Café Terrace at Night
BY JACK CLEEVE ’21
The stars above shine through the clouds,
as their light blisters it’s way down to Earth,
forcing all to admire them.
A lovely arrangement of colors
Worked on for hours by countless café decorators
Only to be noticed by the occasional glance
There are people here but they are predestined to the background
for only the bright and beautiful are to be noticed tonight.
And as I notice these ever so ordinary,
yet so incredible
bits of human capacity transpiring around me,
I remind myself to remind myself to take the occasional glance
at the world’s surrounding beauty
though I know I won’t,
nor will anyone else.
Twister iii
BY MADELINE WOLF ’21
The wind tangles my hair in a crazed knot
As the Sun gently caresses my face
And the sweet, sweet smell of the salty sea is
All I smell. All I see. All I know
The little yellow boat turns on its side
A loud scream leaves my throat
Forty arms wave around in the air like grass dancing in the sun
Forty hands, safely half-lowered to their owners’ laps, create the loudest sound I have heard in a long time
One more time! One more time!
The little yellow boat turns on it’s side
Forty arms wave in the air like kelp swaying in the depths of the great blue waters below
A short scream barely escapes my mouth
But that was all I could manage
Flame (The Beauty Of Academia)
BY ELAINE CHOY ’21
A child waddles across the playground
A porcelain doll in her
Grubby fingers
The iris flutters like a moth
caught in the light,
The boomerang comes to strike
thaws slowly
Then
all
at
once.
A woman smiles,
A book
held in her hand.
Magnum Opus
BY PRAVAN CHAKRAVARTHY ’21
Beside him, over him, around him, in him, the machine vibrated.
Blurred, unmoving faces towered over him.
But he ignored them, caring only for the deep euphoria within.
His once-genuine beard glistened with intangible sweat.
He saw polychromatic triangles, floating, dancing,
Infused with a sweet, familiar flavoring.
And then, as the science and the silence engulfed him,
His jubilant smile quickly vanished.
Stunned, the small, pristine team of individuals viewed
The colossal, sudden transformation of their magnum opus.
A flash of pure light emanated from the being
And then everything went away.
They staggered back, melting from the cold heat,
Not knowing what happened or what went wrong
Or if anything was wrong at all.
The being was out of sight, but they could feel its presence:
Feel it watch, casually and tangibly amused,
As they cowered and scattered from their creation,
Only now realizing what they had unleashed.