Three Threes Volume 1: Masks - Prologue
by Jacob Repucci '19
The Mask on Spatium’s belt was a key to mankind’s ascension to godhood, and she felt the weight of guarding it. That’s why when she realised something was hunting her, every muscle in her body tensed.
Sober by Maria Lucas '19
She gets on her tip toes to place the salad bowls in the uppermost kitchen cabinet, the
same cabinet that held her husband’s favorite scotch, Aberlour, a little over one year ago. She returns to the dishes, watching her husband lightly swirl and sip his bottle of cranberry juice before leaving for work, making her wonder if he wishes that alcohol was in it.
Snow Day by Junmo Ahn '19
“No School Monday, January 14, 2019,” the school sent out the email to every student ten days in row. The dorm students have already lost electricity for five days and the food supply was discontinued three days ago. Every dorm student was starving, and only a few of them had food in storage. The students with food did not share it with the other students. Instead, they started to rule the dorm.
by Alison Violette '20
My anxious feet leap onto the baby stones
The minute they find their way into the fissures on my feet I know I’m home
My life has been a whirlwind of change in plans and broken dreams
But with all my rips and tears, this place stitches up the seams
The water’s breath finds it’s way into my soul
And suddenly every tattered piece feels whole.
I’m suddenly friends with the grass, which is mostly destroyed from the bleeding sun But in this place, nothing needs to be perfectly done
My teeth are a smile as soon as I open the door
A gateway into a splintered shack of stains of sweat and swim The sun is all the porch knows
And it’s constant appearance definitely shows
The screech of the drawers and the shriek of the cabinets
We want to tend to them but it’s becoming hard to afford it
The dripping from the shower head is no match for the dripping from the swimsuits The steep stairs slumbering on a slump to where splashing is acute
As I shiver and wrap my towel around my body, I’m filled with joy
As I imagine the fire I will sit around and the s’mores I will destroy
Then the most comforting sound that I have to close my eyes when I listen to it
Calls to my body and drags me from wherever I am to share the stories it needs to admit The whistle like a note held by an angel, brings my family and I all to one place
So we can challenge our eyes to watch as it rushes off to another embrace
I climb to my bunk and my tired body sinks into the bed
As I hear the whistle blow into distance and echo in my head
by Stephanie Sanborn '20
She spins like a hurricane in the middle of summer.
The audience roared louder than thunder.
Once she took her final step,
She exits the stage, taking a breath.
Her mind has a million thoughts,
Racing around like a Nascar race.
Thinking about how her performance went.
Wondering if she did great.
Looking at the judges score,
Her excitement soars.
It soars higher than the clouds.
Not ever coming back down.
As she sees one 9 and three 10s,
She hopes she can do it again.
Dogs and Brownies Don't Mix by Elizabeth Toshach '19
The oven beeps and I start to bark. Tyler walks in and yells to his friends,
“Brownies are done!”
They are eager to eat the brownies, but burnt themselves in an attempt to grab them. They decided to wait and go play video games while they waited for the brownies to cool. That is when I saw my opportunity. I could not help myself; they just looked so tasty.
by Sara McInnis-Misenor ‘18
An adolescent girl covered in shadows,
Watching, waiting, observing,
Visions of lives unconnected to her own.
They go by,
Humming the tunes they're told are popular,
Dancing to the beats they're told are acceptable,
Living themselves as pawns to the meritocracy.
Chaining themselves to each other.
Forming a massive cult of ideas and ideals,
More and more are attracted.
Succumbing themselves to the vortex,
And falling into orthodoxy.
A young girl draped in darkness stands at its edge,
Observing the souls,
Now lost at last,
Watching the ones she once looked into.
She spreads her arms, and clears her mind,
Her beautiful, dark coverings turn to colorless drapes.
Escaping into the void, she cries out,
The world outside is empty now.
No one left to watch her leave,
No one left to mourn her absence.
Gram-Gram the Kitty - My Great Grandmother
by Basia Fisher ‘18
Gram-Gram the Kitty
Is a realistic looking
Stuffed brown cat
Which wears a blue bow
Kitty is named after Gram-Gram
Gram-Gram was my Great Grandmother
Gram-Gram the kitty
Lives on a shelf
Next to an African doll
Very few memories left
Of Gram-Gram are
My internal storage box
But I do recall looking
At the Kitty, sometimes
Playing with her
When I visited Gram-Gram
At the Wardwell in Saco
Kitty is just an artifact
Who watches me each day
As I write or make art
Without me knowing
Her owner rarely touches her
I never think about Kitty
That doesn’t mean I don’t
Care about Gram-Gram the Kitty
She has been in my ownership
For almost ten years
Real cats are senior citizens
When they’re aged ten
My Gram-Gram the Kitty
Doesn’t need nine lives
She will be stuck with me
Watching me be creative
Could Gram-Gram’s soul
Be within my Kitty?
Has Gram-Gram read
Those unfinished fanfics
The WIP short stories
Or my current novel?
Can Gram-Gram see
My homemade cards,
The paintings I’ve painted
Or my digital abstracts?
If Gram-Gram really had
Been living inside my Kitty
Since Two Thousand Eight
That would make Kitty
Much more than an artifact
Within Kitty, Gram-Gram
Secretly and silently had
Spied on her Great-Granddaughter
As she went through
Her “Great Depression”
During the SMS era
Gram-Gram watched me
Sail through teenagedhood
At Thornton Academy
She’ll experience my graduation
When June finally arrives
A few years later…
I can see Gram-Gram smile
When I publish my novel
Indeed, Kitty definitely
Isn’t only an immortal artifact
She’s a subconscious
Reminder that Gram-Gram’s
Soul still breathes within
Kitty as her abiotic shell
Sitting on my shelf
Peeping at me as I
Slowly type and type
My manuscript or
Peacefully draw and draw
Pieces of artwork
The Life of the Weather
by Zech Thauer ‘19
One swallow does not a spring make
How many swallows does it take
To turn the cold cruel claws of winter
To the soft and gentle hands of spring
The time has come for Father Winter to give up his rule
And give the throne to the fair Lady of memories made new
The feeling of frost under foot can't compare to the smell of grass covered by dew
Why winter feels so long and spring so short I haven't got a clue
In the time that Spring lives her beauty is unmatched
The smell of fresh blooms in trees and dew on the grass
It's the perfect climate for bundles of joy to be hatched
A father and mother smile as they watch their joyful lass
Slowly Father Winter has died away only to be revived one day
And Lady Spring passes away with great sadness giving way
To Lord Summer with a sun so bright and warm
It gives opportunity and enjoyment to great hordes
And as Summer's life comes to an end Mother Autumn's life begins
A time when her dresses are exquisite with yellows and reds
If beauty is a crime Mother Autumn is guilty of one of seven deadly sins
Strong and majestic like a horse with elegance that could never be bred
Young lads marvel at the fiery color of the trees
Lasses laugh and play in the piles of leaves
Mother Autumn smiles at the sight of children
And is delighted when they are enchanted by the call of a wren
by Janet Olsen ‘20
He will always be there.
Not for me
But in my life
He is an armless apparition
Who was never there to hug me.
He comes and goes
In and out of jail
In and out of my life
Like the ocean’s tide
Only the tide comes every day...
My father doesn’t.