Kyle Hays ’24
Is seen at day’s end
The cold darkness surrounds us
It feels warm for once
Unique
Kyle Hays ’24
There is no one person who is the same as another
Our hair doesn’t all flip in the wind
Our eyes don’t all see the same pink cherry blossoms floating in the breeze
We can try to be like others all we want
But we can never be others
We can want to be an astronaut floating in space
Or a baker who gets to smell the delights of their sweet treats
We can want to be anything
But we cannot be more than ourselves
That is what makes us human
That is what makes us who we are
The internet…
Dominic Giuzio ‘24
A nebula of information
A great cohesion of
1’s
And
0’s.
Everything that you are
Is translated into code,
Diluted into binary
And shipped off
To the top buyer.
Nothing is safe
Nothing is protected.
As you interact with the internet
The internet interacts with you
And you are taken away
Gradually
In
Bits.
The Whir
Griffin Lines ‘24
With time here in the home I’ve lived in and loved for eighteen years soon coming to an end, it is the unseen, unnoticed, and mundane aspects of my life that I’ve come to appreciate more and more.
It is my mattress and duvet cover that call my name every night and make it so difficult to leave them in the morning. Their warm, encompassing, and comfortable embrace that I have fallen so in love with.
It is the rhythmic hum of the fan on a bedside table that rarely gets a break. Staying on from the moment I go to bed, to the moment I wake up, to the time my bed once again calls my name at night. My dad often asks why it needs to stay on all day. I don’t have a good answer for him; it just does. I’ve fallen in love with its subtle whir I can always rely on being in the background.
It is the mini green and orange rubber spatulas that are the first ones picked when I’m helping my mom in the kitchen. Not the metal ones, not the square black ones, the mini orange and green ones. They have seen so many meals made, and dishes cooked, and when dinner time rolls around once again, I don’t even think twice about which ones to grab.
It is my creaky basement stairs, as annoying as they can be. The stairs that make it so hard to be quiet at night when going from the middle floor to our basement. The loud wood, whining under the weight of our footsteps, that makes our basement the basement I’ve known and loved my whole life.
It is also the subtly off-toned patch of paint that slipped past us when painting my new room in the basement, the one that I look at every night while lying in bed. And the view from our old room upstairs over the lake, Bellevue, and the I-90 bridge. And the rocking bench on our front porch that has been there as long as I have lived.
While likely noticed and appreciated by very few, including me for the vast majority of my life, they make up the home I know and have loved so much for eighteen years.
Upside Down
Andrew Morrell ’24
The clacking of my blinds
As a gentle breeze blows
Through the open window
Carrying the smell of a fresh downpour
A gentle pine scent
And the soft chirping of birds
As they begin their morning songs
Fluctuating with the blinds as they sway
Is the morning sun
Devouring my room
And then fading away
I see the sad sight of a clock
Forever stuck at 4:56
Yet at this moment that clock is correct
It’s always right at moments like these
The dull hum of a computer shutting down
The softness of pajama pants
As I sink into my mattress once again
And I am enveloped by the familiar sensation
Of a mountain of blankets on my chest
They carry me to places I’ve never been
Places I’ll never return to
It’s been a late night
Peace
Ardaja Callandret ’24
Sometimes, you sweat so much that your face gets hot, and you feel like you’re in a sauna. Sometimes, your lung capacity shortens, and you feel like you are close to death.
The sound of screaming and the smacking of a chest cover rings in your ear, and you are overwhelmed, but focused.
The vibrations in the room and flashing colors remind you of a rainbow, and at the end of the match, there is only gold, silver, or bronze.
You often push yourself past your limits so you can become dominant over any opponent. Why do we do such things for self-defense? Is there a reason why kicking someone else feels good?
Maybe life is overwhelming and has got me by the throat and I’m losing the battle but winning the fight. Maybe violence is the dark tunnel I try and justify as grey.
Often it feels like a dream, something you think is real, but isn’t. It shocks you by surprise, even when you have prepared.
It gives you a new perspective on life.
Maybe the adrenaline of kicking and punching allows you to be at peace.
Maybe it’s my peace that is misunderstood.
The Center of a Tootsie Pop
Kiera Munko ’24
A few of my friends and I were out playing at recess one day in elementary school. As usual, we were playing a game we had come up with. We were always coming up with different games to play, but often we would play pretend. We would come up with a plot, and then we would each create a character for ourselves. Although the games we came up with had varying plots, there was one part of them that was constant: the age of our characters. Every time we made new characters, they would be teenagers.
***
As a kid, Tootsie Pops were one of my favorite things. My grandma came over every Friday, and she would always bring me and my brother Tootsie Pops. Not only were they delicious, but I always found the commercial for them very entertaining. It was an old commercial from 1982 that lasted 30 seconds, and it was a classic. I would always see it when I was watching TV. The commercial starts with a boy holding a Tootsie Pop and walking up to a turtle. He asks the turtle, “Mr. Turtle, how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?”
The turtle responds, “I never made it without biting…ask Mr. Owl.”
***
I didn’t dislike being a kid. I never thought of it in a negative light. I just found the thought of being a teenager exciting. They had phones, they could drive, and they seemed so mature. It wasn’t just the thought of being a teenager though. I just thought it could be cool to be older in general. I would see the eighth graders at my school and be in awe, thinking how I couldn’t wait to be their age.
***
The boy then walks over to the owl and asks the same question, “Mr. Owl, how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?”
The owl takes the Tootsie Pop from the boy, quickly unwrapping it and saying, “Let’s find out.”
He then starts licking the Tootsie Pop, counting “One, two, three,” and then he bites the Tootsie Pop. The owl hands the Tootsie Pop stick back to the boy, giving him his final answer of three licks.
***
Outside of school, everyone around me was older: my brother, my cousins, and of course all the adults in my family. I was the youngest in my family. As the classic youngest sibling, I would copy almost everything my brother did. My cousins and brother were all around the same age, but I was a few years behind. I wanted to skip past the years, to get to the “good part,” the part that many people I knew were at.
***
After this there is a visual of six Tootsie Pops being unwrapped, then being narrowed down to the center, and finally reaching the center through a bite. During this, the narrator comes in, saying “How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? The world may never know.”
***
As a kid, I was always eager to grow up. I wanted the years to go by faster so that I could get to the “good part.” Now that I’m at the “good part,” I wish that I had savored the years as a kid.
***
The boy never really found out how many licks it took to get to the center of the Tootsie Pop, and neither did the viewer. Everyone who tried ended up biting it to get to the center. Everyone was just eager to get to the center, ignoring the rest of the Tootsie Pop.
Camping/Matches
Alexander Wathen ‘24
Camping
A warm fire crackles.
Its glow warding off the cold,
Darkness beyond it
Matches
A warm fire crackles:
Glowing embers of a home;
Ash where it once stood.
Birds Sing, A Rooster Crows
Sofia Griffin ‘24
I.
She opens the shutters
And lets the light flow.
II.
Water drips onto tiled floor;
The sun dries my curls.
Engraved with a name
Franny Broderson ‘24
Is a baby’s fresh footprint on permanent paper
Untouched by the world and full of possibility.
Eyes dart from place to place blissfully.
No rush, no hurry, and not a single worry.
Babbles of nonsense have others fawning while
Silk fists constantly reach for the unreachable.
Moments flourishing as time is just beginning.
Names in an ink-splotched yearbook
Filled with undefined youths
Wondering what they should be.
Internal clocks tick, tick, tick
While they reach out for answers.
Don’t worry, there’s still time.
A rusty office name plate.
Behind, a suit and tie.
Behind that, a weary soul
Reaching for a break.
One day at a time.
Papery fingers
Are still.
Time’s up.
Waiting: a stone
Engraved with a name.