Category: 2025 Ignite Publication

Ace MacLean-Cury ‘27

Crisp

A crisp sweet apple or smell of cinnamon;

An autumn tone woven into the air.

A smell as somber as it is not.

Often spring-smelled, but now not.

A mark of new and end alike,

Beginning and end of life as we know—

As one brings about greens and sweets, the other brings dark and rot.

The end of sun and the start of moon—

The marker of times.

A crisp that accompanies a crunch—

A Crunch…

The crunch of a chip or of a fresh bone,

The sallow color of sickness;

The crunch of Crackers and the warmth of soup;

An uneven feeling of dread and bliss;

A miss of warmth, but promises of cold.

To sow the ground for new growth, but baring the ground for the old—

A Crunch of leaves as orange as a dye,

Running through forests as bare as they are full.

Leaves falling like trees in the night.

A crunch of time where people try to get the most,

But everyone leaves with the least.

The joy of Jumping into leaves;

The sadness of bareness;

The autumn crunches and crispies,

Forever to be one with each other.

Ace MacLean-Cury ‘27

The smell of a Turkey

The sound of laughter

A gathering of your family in one place for a celebration

Being a kid

Playing with cousins

A time much sweeter than now

A dim thought

Angry Faces

What happens at this celebration now

A reason to fight

A Day of arguing

A once sweet memory turned into one not of glee

A fading dream

Never to return

Like the laughter that was once heard

Politics and Greed

Money and Views

A web of selfishness woven in desire

Anger and Crying

Over so quick

What was once a kind time turned out not to be

To next year, they say

Addy Masterson ‘28

I sat down at that table and heard the words I now dread

“We have something to tell you.”

She’s fine, they said it will be okay

They said

But how will it be okay when I have to watch the person I love the most hurt that much

I will watch as her hair falls to the ground I will watch how she says she’s okay

But how will it be okay when I have to question every day is this is the last day I will see her or just another school day

How is Mom?

Is the new question I ask every time I need to fill the air

She’s tired

She’s tired

She’s tired Well I’m tired

I’m tired of living a life constantly questioning

Questioning if she’s really as strong as they say she is

But here we are almost to the finish line and she’s the strongest person I know

My whole life is now tied up with a shining crossed pink ribbon

The first half of my life was tied with a ribbon

Sending hearts in the mail to my uncle

And now it’s in my mailbox

The ribbon danced across my family tree

But I’m almost free

Free of the pain and worry

Free of the “It will be okay”

Free from the meals that show up every Tuesday and Thursday at six

But I will never be free

Free from the constant reminder that she had to go through that

How will I ever be free

When the ribbon is constantly shining and staring right in my face

Addy Masterson ‘28

Scattered

Broken

All the pieces of the puzzle

Piecing me together

Bit by bit

Who am I

Where am I

What am I

All the missing pieces

Form as one

Every piece a different shape

Color

Feeling

All of the pieces and yet I don’t feel whole

Rearranging

Pieces scattered

Lost

Hopeless

But yet people find them

Put me back together

Piecing me together

I am whole

Like a finished puzzle

Scattered pieces now as one

I have been constructed

Now I construct

Those whose pieces are scattered

Those who took apart my puzzle

I help make whole

Scattered Pieces

Now as one