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Heliconian Winter Issue: 2010-2011
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Heliconian, Winter 2010-2011

Mar 21, 2016

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Page 1: Heliconian, Winter 2010-2011

Heliconian Winter Issue:2010-2011

Page 2: Heliconian, Winter 2010-2011

HeliconianIssue 1, 2010-2011Beaver Country Day School

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Heliconian Staff

Editors-in-ChiefJoseph RandlesAmanda SakerAli Broadstone

StaffNajwa AswadCourtenay BartonEmmy KuperschmidEmily LevesqueNick LaycoxSam Gruber

Faculty Advisor Matthew Lippman

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Table of Contents: Writing

THE BLACKNESS OF MY blackness................................................................................................... Ikey Chafkin ‘12Rustic Hell............................................................................................................................................................................. Ramon Ramao ‘11The gorilla rule........................................................................................................................................................ Rachel Dolgov ‘11Fires....................................................................................................................................................................................................... Johnathan “Toast“ Phillips ‘12Untitled..................................................................................................................................................................................... Stephen Phillips ‘11Title.................................................................................................................................................................................................... Gen Minori ‘11The Blackness of my Blackness.................................................................................................. Nicholas Laycox ‘12Dear Cancer, I hate you........................................................................................................................... Irene McLaughin-Alves ‘17The painting..................................................................................................................................................................... Emily Levesque ‘12Orange Juice.................................................................................................................................................................... Nicole Penn ‘11Dickinson Imitation......................................................................................................................................... Zack Ploud ‘17Mazurka, Op. 17. NO. 4........................................................................................................................................ Najwa Aswad ‘12Untitled.................................................................................................................................................................................... Mia Rosenberg ‘13Airplane Food....................................................................................................................................................................... Ali Broadstone ‘11Water............................................................................................................................................................................................... Oliver Hunt ‘11Squishy.......................................................................................................................................................................................... Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11Here be monsters..................................................................................................................................................... Ali Broadstone ‘11high school...................................................................................................................................................................... Jacob Li Bassi ‘11Broken Crown............................................................................................................................................................... Rachel Dolgov ‘11Incomplete............................................................................................................................................................................. Marie-Annett Bernard ‘10War For Reference............................................................................................................................................... Gen Minori ‘11Coloring book.......................................................................................................................................................... Tea Kesting Handly ‘11

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Table of Contents: Art

Flags.................................................................................................................................................................................................... Melissa Catarra - FacultyWalking on water................................................................................................................................................ Jake LiBassi ‘11Sleeping cat......................................................................................................................................................................... Lili Greenstein ‘14 Half moth............................................................................................................................................................................... Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11Stephen King...................................................................................................................................................................... Emily Levesque ‘12Acorn............................................................................................................................................................................................. Lili Greenstein ‘14Untitled...................................................................................................................................................................................... John Kalnins ‘13Harbor......................................................................................................................................................................................... Abe Hyatt ‘13Eye........................................................................................................................................................................................................... Lili Greenstein ‘14collage........................................................................................................................................................................................ Peter Killelea ‘15Lake and sun.................................................................................................................................................................... Abe Hyatt ‘13Final wiz..................................................................................................................................................................................... Jake LiBassi ‘11boats.................................................................................................................................................................................................. Melissa Catarra - Facultydragon........................................................................................................................................................................................ Emily Levesque ‘12shoe..................................................................................................................................................................................................... Lucas Cassels ‘13Hot springs........................................................................................................................................................................... Abe Hyatt ‘13Violin................................................................................................................................................................................................. Stephanie Rhee ‘11

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Color Insertglobe Lili Greenstein ‘14silhouette Jake LiBassi ‘11lIONFISH Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11nemo Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11Morpho on chair Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11sunset Abe Hyatt ‘13Tomatoes Melissa Catarra - Faculty

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Front Cover Art Lili Greenstein‘14

Back Cover Art George Wright ‘14

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Editor’s Note

Another year, another issue. Here we are again! Winter’s begun and what better way to celebrate the season than an issue of the Heliconian? There is very little we need to tell you, because honestly, we don’t want to get in the way of reading this fantastic issue. But before you set off on a jour-ney of beautiful prose and brilliant art, we’re going to take a moment to thank people who helped this issue get from the computer in Mr. Lippman’s room to your hands. We’d like to thank the entire club for helping us go through each submission and their careful consid-eration. We’d also like to thank our club advisor, the fantastic Mr. Lippman, for cheering us on the whole way. Do you have a comforting beverage of your choice? Are you seated in a comfortable place? Good! Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy The Heliconian’s winter issue!

Joseph RandlesAli BroadstoneAmanda SakerEditors-in-Chief

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For Matthew Lippman Club Advisor

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Ikey Chafkin ‘12

The BLACKNESS OF MY BLACKNESS

The darkest of my darkness. Feeling the loneliness of lonely. Know-ing that nobody is there for you. I have felt the feeling of having no one there, cause they have died or been taken by handle that knows no bound. The points where I feel no escape where I see the liquid drugs that almost took my uncle’s life or the noose that took my cousin’s. Walking through the garage where you wish only bugs would go to die. You wish you could say what makes them turn from evil or you wish you had a cure to the disease. You wish you could tell someone there is light at the end of the tunnel and that happiness is not only for movies. Telling them this is not the way, having the tears run down your face because you wish you could say the right thing. Seeing the ones almost lost or seeing the ones lost makes you recede into the darkness. For me seeing those who are fortunate enough to live, brings me a ray of sun but seeing the face of a loved one lost bring about the blackness of my blackness.

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Melissa Catarra - Faculty

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Ramon Romao ‘11

RUSTIC HELL

I learned to love cat foodShortly after my Ninety secondreading of Lord of the Flies.I did not keep track days, or years, as I knew neitherday nor night.I knew only the smell of smoked cedar,The illuminated crevices between the boardsWith every awakening my meal would re-appear before meServed surreptitiously to me by Satan.

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Jake LiBassi ‘11

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Lili Greenstein ‘14

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Rachel Dolgov ‘11

THE GORILLA RULE

I fell in love with a gorilla.I did indeed.

Don’t judge me.I have my personal preferences.

Our first date was at a restaurant.He held my hand.

The hostess proclaimed that we could not enterBecause I was with a gorilla.

Who cares? I said.He wasn’t human.

That’s what I loved most about him.

The hostess showed me the plaque on the wallThat explained The Gorilla Rule.

He rolled his eyes, took my hand,And we went to the restaurant next door.

We were greeted and treated with care.

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Jonathan “Toast” Phillips ‘12

FIRES

Burning through the midnight lamp

Two fires intertwine

Past cold comfort, their hearts bound, clamped

Swaying without mercy, without mind

Stretching up and out, across and down

Licking at their thrones

Through the night, on without sound

Find illumination within the bones

How this reminds one now of what could have been

Given circumstances so strange

A moment in time, spliced with sin

Beyond the boundaries of this range

To witness such a sight, so bare

Expectations lost in the dust

These fires spin past the rational glare

Two human souls blinded by lust

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Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11

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Emily Levesque ‘12

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Stephen Phillips ‘11

UNTITLED

In a format that sounds like a campaigning adA man’s voice tries to reason outWhy he likes to dress as a NaziI like the feeling of the cloth on my skinAnd the arch support of the bootsWe dress as monsters and zombiesFictional villainsWhy not a real one?One with real emotional resonanceOn a side note, I also like to dress in women’s undergarmentsFor shameOur politics have deteriorated to calling each other Nazis and cross-dressersIn lieu of reasonable pointsAnd civil criticismThe most appropriate and most qualified candidate doesn’t winThe candidate who runs the best campaign winsWhoever bullshits liberals in MassachusettsConservatives in TexasAnd hicks in the southThe bestCracked and blemished promises are tallied upAnd 51% will elect a winnerWhile the other 49% whine about itFor four long years

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Gen Minori ‘11

TITLE

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines it as a state of happiness or a source of delight.

Both of these are true.

Yet it means so much more than just a simple definition can pro-vide

This state of happiness or source of delight means more birth-days, more reasons to celebrate

More good times to come, more parties to plan and friends to make

More love to give and also receive,

More poems to write and laughter to share

More smiles and more hugs

So you see, it can’t be defined

It has no definition

And the moral of the story is that life is what you make it

And the Merriam-Webster Dictionary tells lies.

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Lili Greenstein ‘14

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John Kalnins ‘13

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Nick Laycox ‘12

THE BLACKNESS OF MY BLACKNESS

The wholeness of my self for the sake of my sanity.Sometimes confusing me for who I might be,For who I could be, but who do I want to be.Does it matter where I am.

I am normal person in a lost world.Wondering toward my unknown future,I am that guy walking by you; the one you don’t glance atOr never realized you did.

That person who wants to make a silent difference,In a bold manner; but the one who doesn’t know what to do.I am that person within my self,The version of me you will never see.

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Irene McLaughlin-Alves ‘17

Dear Cancer, I hate You

Why? Why, I ask to the days ofSorrow that you’ve caused.How? How could you be somethingSo atrocious and despicable?You wonder the hallwaysOf every woman,And pick a couple that youCurse as if you were picking a flower,Carelessly with no emotion.One of them that you picked was a woman among me,My mother.She came home and spoke theHorrid words of you, breast cancer.A storm suddenly formed inside of me.It was ready to break through and floodEverything.You caused us pain, struggle, worry, andSorrow.I want.We want.But you definitely do not want.We want to visit,We want to help.We want one of the flowers,One that you have picked,One that belongs to us,To have her unpicked flowers,Us by her side.You!I despise, I loathe, I hate.But I had hoped, and worried, and thoughtThat you would be gone.To the days when my flower was picked

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And given…you,I cannot even look back on.You gave her part of yourself.Maybe, hopefully sometime you’llBe nothing.You will be flattened, destroyed, extinct.

Maybe. Just maybe.I hope. Just hope.Although you might have leftMy mother’s body,You have not left my mind.You will be permanently glued there.You won’t be ableTo escape.I have not forgiven,I have not let you go,Nor will I ever.

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Emily Levesque ‘12

THE PAINTINGA river of blue flows across the canvas, light blue, dark blue, purple coming together in waves and lines. The colors flow together, harmo-nizing like a true ocean of lights and darks and in-betweens. In the center of the river is a scattering of orange and green mismatched squares, like somebody ripped apart an orange and a lime and threw it hard against the board. And containing this scattered, mismatched ocean is a square, constrictive canvas.

The painting thrills me, but also frustrates me beyond belief. I want the beauty of the shapes and colors to spill out from the borders that limit it so severely. I want the paints to explode from the canvas in a shock of color, freeing itself from the solid square handcuffs it has been trapped in for so long. I want the colors to immerse me in a hur-ricane of blues, purples, oranges and limes, so I can swim in the ocean without fear. So I can get high without getting high. So I can feel free and comfortable and OK for the first time in a long time.

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Lili Greenstein ‘14

Jake LiBassi ‘11

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Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11

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Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11

Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11

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Abe Hyatt ‘13

Melissa Catarra - Faculty

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Abe Hyatt ‘13

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Lili Greenstein ‘14

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Nicole Penn ‘11

Orange JuiceHe was nice, don’t get me wrongI almost felt as if we were meant to beBut there was just something missingSomething that didn’t settleLike the feeling of orange juice and Chinese foodAjadaHe was a sweet guybut pieces of him always seemed to be sour

Like little kids playing on a play groundRunning freelyI sip my morning OJHoping for a fresh startAfter the toothpaste and then a sip of orange juiceThe worst sensation everHe was the worst sensation ever

I always want to wake up to my orange juiceThe morning glory of a nice glassWashing down your gooey blueberry muffinFeeling refreshed after each sipContradicting the harsh acidity in my stomach

My dad tells me to stop drinking so much OJI refrain from his adviceI disregard the canker sore that appears on my inner cheekFrom the mass amounts of acid that I have encountered

He was like a canker soreYou just wanted it to go awayEverything is great, until you realize he is causing you painYou want him outThe canker needs to leaveI wish putting orajel got rid of boys as easily as it does canker sores

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Peter Killelea ‘15

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Dickinson Imitation

The phone rang when I diedSomebody trying to reach meMake not that mistake again as I wentLooking through half-closed eyes

Get no response--no reposeLive the last of life isMake no mistake--I do not look back

Merchant callingPeddling his waresGet none--have noneTried in vain

Through closed eyes seeingThe world dimNot where--whenLast of lies

Zack Ploude ‘17

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Najwa Aswad ‘12

Mazurka Op. 17 No. 4

Songs, melodies, and tunes are usually misbegotten things, motifs swiftly yet expressively drawn by a composer or pianist on the canvas that is silence. Silence is also an underrated concept. Silence is the one part of every piece that solidifies it, provides it with a foundation unlike a non-silent moment could. A moment of silence is what begins Cho-pin’s Mazurka in A minor, opus number seventeen, number four. Spring-ing from it is the very first leitmotif, announcing the song’s presence, the “once upon a time” that signifies the start of a story. It’s a beautiful three-note melodic line; B, C, D, B, C, D, B, C, C. Three like the number of beats per measure, the amount of notes in a triad, the bones in a hu-man elbow, the atomic number of lithium. It’s perfect. Music is supposed to be about how life feels. How does this piece feel, or rather, what aspect of life does it invoke? For me, it invokes some-thing turbulent (as if life isn’t full of turbulence), like a love affair that went awry. The piece in the beginning, with its minor and diminished chords in succession, conjures the image of a maudlin young woman ruminating over how her now former lover broke her a multitude of promises, or the moment she met him when everything was better. Halfway through the piece, the minor tonality suddenly transforms into major. One wonders what this could signify, if it signifies anything at all. Is everything suddenly better now? And if so, then why does the short, staccato, chromatic line that leads into the main theme sound like fall-ing down stairs? Music is how life feels. It’s just like the end of this piece by Chopin, which fades out on the same motif in which it opened with. Over the summer, in theory class at Ithaca College, our teacher asked us a more-or-less thought-provoking question in regards to the Mazurka’s final line: does the piece stop, or does it end? Was it like a love affair, he went on to say, where though it may stop, does not truly end? Do you not still ruminate on the series of events that lead to your first touch, even

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after you decide not to see each other again? The seemingly miniscule moments of intimacy that you thought only you had monopolized still linger. From the most subdued act of brushing away a whisp of hair from her face, you had discovered the secret to happiness and more. Her love for you was a new note to begin your life on, a place for you upon the canvas of silence and quiet.

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Mia Rosenberg ‘13

Untitled

An introduction is a story within itself,So I set off on my journey... etc.An introduction can tell us what is to come, foreshadowing.Predictions of what is true or false.In reality though, an introduction is a sham, like the most delicious food that is just outside of arms reach.Like a bone chilling winter day, so close to the fire and the desire to jump into it screams, but the fear of being charred screams louder.An introduction is really just a tease,Or like a sample at a supermarket.A small taste of the future.Setting you up for disappointment, or maybe reinforcement.Depends on your outlook.Bye, bye to all of the noise.Anyhow, introducing is beyond difficult.How can you begin to explain what you thought while inspired?While you as a struggling artist tried to find sanctuary among this madness.Going into the woods, solemn, desolate, and desperate, makes the trance thicker.You can lose all the noise and relentless beratings of the outside world.And like fire and ice, the woods, this holy of holies, and the outside world could not be more different.But when you look at the world through a microscope,Everything is more or less the same.Apart from of course, oh, say everything?

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Abe Hyatt ‘13

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Ali Broadstone ‘11

Airplane food

I sunk into the blue, cushy seat, trying to scrape my nailsAgainst the sponge cushion that was warned could be a flotation devicePushing my palms into the fabricMy rigid back shoving into the person behind meLeaning so far that it was practically a bedAnd their hands were the strings, prodding and pokingThe sky outside was so bleak and distraughtThe wind was belching, moaningHugging the metallic bird close as if it were it were younger than the universeitselfAnd it shook us, up and down, like searching us for loose changePeering as silver pieces fluttered through its formless fingersIt dared to take a bite, the loud roar of its throat resoundingAs white, bright drool struck without warningUpon what kept us in flight, leaving nothing but a searingScarAll I could inhale was the sky’s famineIgneous and smoldering through steel, assured to keep usFrom getting from point A to point BIn less time than anticipated“Ladies and Gentleman”, said the sky“Please remain calm, we will be landing in Philadelphia”Through the tremors, no one screamsIf I opened my mouthAll I would swallow was despair

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Jake LiBassi ‘11

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Oliver Hunt ‘11

WATER

The faucet spits out waterThat may or may not have E-Coli.But I’m thirsty after a long day in the summer sunAnd E-Coli is not real to me in my house with a front porch andA brick walkway, where water freezes and mailmen slip and com-plainIn winter.Water is water is goldTo the people who walk miles to the river with buckets and ragsFiltering water out of dirt, to find something drinkable-A miracle to survive. Water is everywhere when you have itNowhere, when you don’t.When E-Coli came, my grandmother looked at her hands wonder-ingWhose fingers she had stolenThe water looked like water and she questionedWhy her old friend, Tom Markey, who had died 36 years ago, had to go homeWhen she awoke from a nap in a chair in a room that she slept in.Every time she walked into the room, she askedWho had rearranged the furniture? But the response was a hug, a box of medicineAnd a glass of water.The constant fight to make water better by making it “Smart” or “Vitamin”Is a futile struggle that comes to trickery and green paper that peopleEndlessly crunch in and out of their pockets for more and more water.The water in the ocean is sharp in the Fall.My glass at the dinner table between my grandmother and mesweats on the flowers on the tablecloth.

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She looks at me with a smile and says, “It’s SO good to see you!”,To her, I might be her grandson, her uncle, her third cousin, or a firemanBut she is happy to see me, so I smile backWater will always be water to grandma, who sees all her old friends when she napsAnd is always happy to see me

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Melissa Catarra - Faculty

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Tea Kesting-Handly ‘11

sQUISHY

I like the word squishy. Swimming through the seaSo blue, warm, and pristineViewing all the majestically colored fishSwimming around your toesReds, blues, yellows, and everything in betweenSuddenly, you feel itThe sharp pain shooting up your armSo intense it puts your body in shockYou turn, and only see a thinFlorescent, yet almost invisibleTentacle.You wonder, as the pain spreads to your torso,Then arms, why you didn’t see this smallBut powerful creature floating in the distanceThe searing pain slowly spreads down yourBack. Paralyzing you. You struggleTo stay afloat. You turnWith what little energy you have and stareAt your assailant. As youSink deeper, and deeperYour eyes go dark,You realize, that you still have feelingIn your pointer finger on your left handYou reach out, and poke your assailantMurmuring squishy as youLoose consciousness of the worldAnd are consumed by the sea.

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Emily Levesque ‘12

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Ali Broadstone ‘11

Here be monstersLove, food for thoughtHate, a feast for the enviousIf souls exist they are abdomens, gluttons for sweetened delicaciesOur warm breath falls mute on ears that cannot listenCold cobalt and harsh hazel darken upon encounterInsides twist like labyrinths wrapped around one anotherNever ending and complexWho are we but our own enemiesLosing ourselves in delight, in sorrow, in rageIndulging in a sugary and bitter slice of life

It’s taking a bite out of someone elseWithout even daring to hold them close for comfortWe satisfy ourselves and ourselves onlyHolding hands with our shadows

Hissing false matters to our palmsTo deceive others one must deceive himselfAnd save yourself for last when you brandish the mind’s claws

Crimson cuts rake your insidesCan you feel it?We all cage itWe all try to tame itForever it shall be with youThis hunger for warmthThis thirst for attentionThis impulse for your own sakeTo live and to be the only one left standing

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Jacob Libassi ‘11

High School

When I walk down the hallways,I don’t see lockers, I see cubbiesI don’t see a Cafeteria, I see a Dining RoomBags on the floor leave little room for walking down a hall that was spat on by a rainbowI crave to attend the high schools seen in moviesCheerleaders, football team, thousands of kidsI want to get shoved into a lockerI want the hallways to be as plain as the can beI would trade the salad bar for a bell in every classroom that rings at the exact moment class is overBut just for a day

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Lucas Cassels ‘13

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Rachel Dolgov ‘11

Broken crown

My mouth waters to the sound of wavesCrashing down on the ground.My stomach growls to the image of foamWrestling to reach a child’s toe.

The child plays in the sand, sculpting.He is the king of his castle, the pilot ofHis aircraft, the mine of his hole, theStar of his stage, the captain of his sinker.

And he has sunk.To sea level.Breathing.Breathless.

A broken crown floats to the child’s boat.He grabs some glue.There’s not enough left.

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Abe Hyatt ‘13

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Stephanie Rhee ‘11

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Marie-Annett Barnard ‘10

incomplete

The light seeps through the blindsand slowly awakens me from a deep sleep.I want to go outbreath in the fresh airand take in the sunbut I am confined to these four walls,until I am done.Done seems ages away,for there is a never ending listprintingand my brain is out of paper.

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Gen Minori ‘11

Freedom

[BLUE]The Earth owes its color partly to the water andWe are alive partly due to each otherSo why are we fighting?In the end, our faces all turn the same color.

[BABIES]If we all believe in saving livesWhat point is made?It takes away the innocence of the innocentAnd introduces them to the realityThat only grown-ups are meant to see

[LIGHTNING]Another bomb strikes the landThat has a direct line of sightYet has a range of destructionThat seems to be everywhere

[RUN]You can try to escapeTry to flee the country, maybeYet you cannot hide

[MEDICINE]Those who fight can sometimes be healedThough only on the outsideSoldiers are left with memories, which haunt them constantlyEven with the advanced technologyThey will never be the same

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[OMINOUS]The presence of them is intimidatingLike dark rain cloudsThe thought of what is happening is unthinkableYet it’s so close to not worry about

[TYPING]It’s documented and published for the entire world to seeSo it will be avoided in the futureYet the image of the white dove is still yet to come

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Tea Kesting Handly ‘11

Coloring book

The blank pages lying before youStaring at them, opening the old,Dusty box of colored pencilsThat has been sitting on your nightstandSince the day you were bornYou take the first in handYou color the beginnings of dismayTurning all murky and darkA black shadow, taking over the pageThen, you grab realizationColoring a golden lining to your dismaySpreading, lightening your pageThen, you grab lustColoring a perfect fuchsia pentagonRuling out reasonThen, love comesWith deep red circlesLike cheeks in the depth of winterThen, envyA green sea sweeps around the loveNever ceasing, deepening as it goesThen trust arrivesA blue boat sails the deep envySplitting it apart like firewoodThen serenityBrown, relaxed, earthyBut suddenly, angerSprings from the calm likeFresh spring flowersAttacking the page with blotted orange

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But then, happinessSlowly begins to erase the angerYour page is fullYou place the pencils back in the caseThat will remain on your nightstandUntil the day you die

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