By Stephanie Sanborn '19
You can’t walk down the street without being judged.
Your eyeliner’s smudged?
They’ll laugh, and you’ll run.
A world so obsessed with being the best.
Why can’t you be you, without the stress.
The stress of meeting their standards.
The stress of seeing the banners.
The banners saying be a size one.
And so you go for an extra long run.
Everyone’s telling you to be a better you.
As if the current you shouldn’t stay true.
They say to fix your hair.
If you don’t, they will just stare.
Get good grades, or you’re stupid.
Make sure you’re not secluded.
Wear makeup, it will make you pretty.
But not too much, or you’ll look like Barbie.
Pushing the Limit
by Alvero Piergili '19
The sound coming out from the engine, a V 12 turbo powered engine, sounded all over my head, hitting 18000 revolutions per minute. Changing the gear from seven to eight, pressing the throttle and directing the steering wheel through the famous and dangerous curve called Eau Rouge, in Belgium, the famous circuit of Spa Franconchats.
There I was, living my dream, fighting wheel to wheel with my idol and the legend, Lewis Hamilton. He passed me on the last curve, entering to the last lap. I started following his slipstream, taking a wider racing line through the first curve, getting into the gas faster than him, because he took a defensive line.
By Julia Pisani '21
When I think of Nana, I think of
A wrinkly laugh,
And butterflies. Nana loved butterflies.
I think of the seashells and sand dollars
That lay scattered throughout her house,
Beautiful treasures that reminded her
Of the beach she’d always loved.
by Toby Johnson '19
A stag rests on the bosom of painted ladies, white and fair.
Red lips, charcoal teeth, heavy in spawn-- she is plentiful.
Rice ripples by invisible, watched idly by black eyes,
it is in passing it grows to feed the viewer and company.
Buzzing of glass wings vibration, creates the music of the stage she misses.
Could her heart run free she may let it, to dress in loose robes once more.
To lay bare in the lap of a mortal, exposed to steaming gazes.
Extending her mandible, a laugh peels her skin back, golden scutellum melds from marrow.
She glitters in the noon rays, wasting no time to enjoy beauty.
She ticks a twig antenna and flutters away.
by Zhimin Sun ‘19
The room was dark when Gabe woke up screaming from a nightmare. He was in an abandoned shipyard, and there was a dead man in front of him but he could not make out the face. He was sweating, and his heart was thumping hard. He felt like he was running a fever. He checked out his gun, and it was there just as he left it last night after coming home from the police station. In the midst of darkness, he got off the bed, and checked on his 15-year-old son Miguel in his room. Only the two of them lived together since Gabe’s wife died a few years ago. Miguel was sleeping on his stomach, and he seemed fine.
by Brittney Atwater '19
Four years it will be
And still no affections toward me
I would like to say I love you
But it's not us two
Over me you chose her
I guess to you I'm just a blur
When will you see
You're the only one for me
So as the years go by
All I can do is cry
My Mother Before
by Juliana Cardullo '19
“Happy Birthday To You!!!” They all sang as I blew out my candles for my 18th birthday, the day before I left for college. I told Dad I didn’t want a party, but he insisted and invited all my friends and family over to our little house and had a birthday/going-to-college party. That night after everyone had left I was finishing up my packing, looking and reminiscing on past memories. I was cleaning out my room putting things in the keep or to-go box. The “keep” box was overflowing compared to the “to-go” box. I looked at my closet and started to spread things out all over my room when I saw this familiar-yet-unfamiliar shoe box. I took the box and cleared a spot off my bed, and slowly I unfolded the top of the box and it was full of old pictures of my mother and I together. I was picking up the pictures one by one, looking and remembering. When I came across a single envelope that was at the bottom of the box, the letter was addressed to me and I knew it was from my mother because of the beautiful calligraphy-like handwriting she had.
A shiver went down my spine when I saw it and a lump formed in my throat.
by Junmo Ahn '19
I woke up from the white bed and sunlight was passing through the window. This is my first memory of my life now. I looked around the room and was able to figure out that I am in the hospital. Suddenly, the doctor came in and said, “Good morning Mr. Robert Edwards, I am Doctor Stephen Strange. Today is 2020 May 24th.” And he also mentioned that I had a car accident about two weeks ago on a rainy day. “I think I have a problem with my memory,” I told my doctor. “I still remember my childhood and place where I had an accident but no more than that.” “It’s just a temporary situation,” the doctor casually said. “Looking or staying in a familiar place will help me find a memory.”