SMS Literary Magazine 2011

INSIGHTS

SMS Literary Magazine

2011

INSIGHTS Scarsdale Middle School Literary Magazine 2011

Rachel UnderweiserGrade 8

We hope you enjoy this compilation of literary and artistic works created by the students of Scarsdale Middle School!

Table of Contents

Literary Work Page Literary Work Page Artwork Page

Kendall Bensche 14Emily Berk 30Emily Bernstein 29Josie Blatt 4Sarah Bowen 32Hugh Buchbinder 25Maria Ceske 17Tomer Cherki 6Amanda Clark 40Jacob Coburn 25Justin Cooper 28Maia DeForge 42Amena Elley 5Rebecca Epemolu 34Michael Fialkow 15Jordan Frankenthaler 23Katie Frohman 37Cindy Gao 12Ashley Granieri 14Adaire Green 22Chester Green 8Jonathan Greenberg 30Abby Haber 15Sarah Halperin 23Maddie Hart 20Jonas Hermann 12Emily Jusuf 15John Kaspers 29Henry Kline 22, 27Gabrielle Kupiec 22Michael Lazar 31Nick Leone 5Genna Levy 18Noah Li 13Carla Lionti 16Taylor Lonner 23Maria Marginean 9Leah McKenna 29Jillian Mehlman 17Livvy Meyers 41Zara Mian 38Pedro Miranda 41Mishtii Murari 18Jonathan Natarajan 30Megha Nayar 8Marco Paternoster 42Andrew Pollack 26Rebecca Rosenbaum 34

3

Amanda Berk 12Josie Berl 33Alexa Binday 15, 19Emily Brew 9Andrew Choi 40Nadja Dwyer 44Catherine Fitzgerald 19Jane Glaser 16Jonah Gray 16Jonathan Gruen 18Justin Hamra 20Aram Hovakimian 34Zach Kapner 32Caroline Kutzin 8Quin Landsberg 25Celine Laruelle 4Tyler Mandel 29Ellie Month 44Milena Nutrobkina 13Clare O’Hara 7Rocco Palermo 42Joshua Radin 20Nicole Root 13Carolina Schott 17, 37Becky Schwartz 5Talia Schulman 23Rachel Schwartz coverEliot Sernau 27Nicole Solomon 5Yuki Sugihara 21Bradley Tatz 28Kerri Taxter 14Adrienne Travis 44Rachel Underweiser 2Evan Weil 4Zoe Zelkowitz 36Zach Zlatin 40

Josh Ross 33Malorie Ruggeri 24Maia Scacchi 25Catherine Scarcella 35Rachel Scharf 9Carol Schott 19Blake Siegel 13Kaitlyn Son 10Sam Squadron 28Nakul Srinivas 14Chloe Stoddard 32Evan Suzman 22Bebe Thompson 37Annling Wang 17Madeline Ware 24Daniel Wasserman 19Sarah Weintraub 39Rebecca Weiss 16Ben Winters 16Alexis Zachem 42

What’s Your Music?

When you think of musicYou may think of songs

You may think of instrumentsYou may think of gongs

That is one kind of musicBut the music I am thinking of

Is much more broad

My music is laughing with friendsPlaying the piano

Running ‘round bendsThese are what I like to do

What about you?

When I think of musicI think of hobbiesI think of interests

I think of things thatPut my worries asideThings to do where

I find peace

Your music could beScoring a goalPlaying a gameDigging a hole

What are the thingsThat fill your soul?

Just ask yourselfWhenever you’re sad“What’s my music?”

“What makes me glad?”Josie Blatt

Grade 6

Celine LaruelleGrade 8

Snow occurs when rain would freeze,Now making many cold and sneeze.Or letting children run and have fun,

Will they have hot chocolate when they are done?Falling from clouds after the climb,All of them have unique designs.

Landing in piles that leave in spring,Leaving for summer, then they’ll do their thing.

Matthew RosenbloomGrade 6

Evan WeilGrade 6

4

Nicole SolomonGrade 6

Becky SchwartzGrade 8

5

On the Other Side

I stand tallOn the ground

Although I’m diminutiveI affect the Earth in the most important way

When winter strolls inI’m covered in snow

But when summer struts inI become dried and yellow

Because of the lack of water to quenchmy never ending thirst

I get trampled on by the many busy peopleSometimes big and tall

Or fat and smallWho walk on me every day

And I am ripped form my root when childrenget bored sitting on me

As they listen to their gym coach explainthe rules of the games they already

know how to play

Although what they do makes me blueI am forever a day greener on

the other side

Amena ElleyGrade 8

Sunny Day

Sunlight crashing onto earth like a luminous rayUnderground creatures come up from their holes to feel the warmthNow children and adults play in parks and poolsNight is now out of reach and daylight is taking overYoung children and adults play, enjoying this wonderful dayDaylight slowly dissolves into thin airAs the moon comes out, slowly, parks and pools emptyYawning and tired, everybody shuts his or her eyes and goes to sleep

Nick LeoneGrade 6

WORK URL 6

To His Despair

Duncan woke up with great despair. In fear of the destiny that awaited him today, he glimpsed at the clock remembering that he was too tired yesterday to set the alarm after working on his homework for hours. “I can’t be late for my class with Mrs. Peach. She hates me enough already, and if I don’t hand in my homework, I’m finished,” Duncan thought to himself.

He hastily put on his uniform and quickly grabbed his book bag, speeding for the tube station to get to school. When he arrived, out of breath and with no time to spare, he boarded his train. To his despair, he then realized that he had forgotten his homework on his desk at home. Remembering that Mrs. Peach’s class was in period two, he began to think, “First period is not so important, I can miss it. But I can’t come to Mrs. Peach’s class without my homework. She hates me enough already, and if I don’t hand in my work, I’m finished.”

Faster than he had ever gone before, Duncan disembarked his train, ran home, grabbed his homework, and raced back to the station. To his despair, his usual train to school had been delayed for an hour, and knowing that he had to find another route, he came up with a simple enough alternate plan. He rushed to the Number 13 bus near his house, reached Finchley Road station with a connecting tube line to Great Portland Street station, and then proceeded to the first train to Warren Street station where his school was located.

To his despair, he noticed that the only free seat on the train was next to a dangerous-looking character who was wearing a low, black hood. Duncan thought to himself, “If I’m going to make it to class, I will need to rest my feet because if I don’t, I’ll be too tired to hand in my homework, and since Mrs. Peach hates me already, I’ll be finished.” Duncan decided to sit down and check his homework for mistakes and to do so, he took the work out and placed his bag on the floor next to the stranger’s bag, which looked identical.

To his despair, Duncan realized that he had abruptly arrived at his station. He shoved the work into the bag, and without thinking or looking, he grabbed the bag next to him and ran out of the train doors. Just as the doors were closing, the dangerous-looking character sitting next to Duncan got out of the train, too, and started yelling at him. “Give me that bag. It’s mine, you damn kid,” snarled the stranger.

To his despair, Duncan was now being chased by the character, but just as he was about to be caught, the police apprehended the man at the exit of the station. Duncan thought to himself, “How lucky that stranger was stopped. He looked dangerous, and if he would have taken this bag, I would not be able to hand in my homework, and since Mrs. Peach hates me already, I’d be finished.”

(continued)

WORK URL 7

Clare O’HaraGrade 6

Abigail StoneGrade 8

As Duncan raced to get to school, he came across a giant puddle, and to his despair, a car came by and splashed mud from the puddle all over Duncan’s new uniform. He thought to himself, “Although Mrs. Peach appreciates a clean uniform, I can’t go back to change because she hates me already, and if I don’t hand in my homework, I’m finished.”

And so, he carried on to school with a successful arrival at Mrs. Peach’s classroom on the top floor. He sat in his desk and with a thumping heart, Duncan watched her slowly approach him to collect his homework. The time it took her to walk over to his desk seemed to last a century, when to his despair, he suddenly realized he had taken the wrong bag. The stranger was not lying about this bag being his, and in all likelihood his homework was still on the train in his real bag.

And to his bashing, thrashing, flabbergasting, doleful, woeful, and morosely awful despair, inside the stranger’s identical bag lay a new red Gucci purse, soaked in mud, that Mrs. Peach had loved and reported stolen by a hooded kid at nighttime two days ago. Duncan glimpsed up, and there stood Mrs. Peach, staring into his open bag. There was no sign of surprise in her eyes, just a cold, sharp glare. In a deep, dry voice, she said, “It was you!” and to his despair, he knew he was finished.

Tomer CherkiGrade 8

WORK URL 8

The End

Life goes on,Again and again.But when we die,Well, that’s the end.

Happiness and love,And sorrows all blend.The heart feels so many emotions,But when it stops beating, well, that’s the end.

Or is it the beginning?A new life to attend?But when old age greets us again,Well, that’s the end.

Or is it a never-ending cycle?Lives being recycled, over and over again?What if that ever stops?Well, then we know for sure, that’s the end.

Megha NayarGrade 8

Love feels likeyou can always relyon someone.

It tastes likesomething freshout of a five-star kitchen.

It sounds like the church bells ringing.

It smells likeperfume,sweet like watermelonand cherries.

Love is life.Chester Green

Grade 6

Caroline KutzinGrade 7

WORK URL 9

Dawn

At dawnThe robinGlidesThe pigeonSoarsThe air isSweetThe mist isWarm

The water isCalmThe sun isBoldIts streaks areNobleWhile its reflection isGolden

The water is pureA gentle turquoiseAnd the sun is scarlet-stainedThe sky brightensFrom ebony to sapphireThen the earth turns lightEmerald and teal

Life is shortSo consume wiselyMuch alike is the sunBut yet againDawn comes once more,Just tomorrow

Maria MargineanGrade 6

First Light

Crack! Creek! Click!The crackling critter is on its way

Cheep! Chitter! Chirp!Carefully, cautiously, he starts to come forth

Pop! Pip! Peep!Now he’s partially peeking out

Split! Snap! Splinter!He sheds his slippery shells and saunters up sillily

Tweet! Trill! Twitter!The itty-bitty, tiny, tawny bird takes his very first tread

Rachel ScharfGrade 8

Emily BrewGrade 6

WORK URL 10

Rachel WolfeGrade 7

Remember Me

My name is Scott Harley. I am 23 years old. This is as much as I know about myself since I woke up this morning on the side of the road, in a ditch. I hold the little white card in my hand, clutching it tightly to my chest, reading it over and over again as if it would somehow tell me more. “Scott Harley,” I whisper to myself. “Scott.” I stand there for a minute or two, and then stuff the card into my pocket. I take one last glance at the sight of the red, mangled and beat up truck smashed into the tree and head off. To where? Who knows? I have nowhere to go. Nothing that is mine. I have no identity, no face, and no memory.

There’s a town nearby; it’s a small one with tiny compact houses and stores. I pick a coffee shop that is nearby and head on in although I have no money. The coffee shop is bustling with people clamoring about. Waiters are weaving in and out of throngs of people, trying to get to the tables they are serving, holding the platters high above their heads. Customers sit at booths and holler for their orders. It is easy to blend in here, so I stay. For what? I don’t know, but I take a seat and hunker down.

Suddenly my head starts throbbing and in my mind I’m being transported through time to a place I don’t know, a place I’m familiar with, but I can’t remember. It’s a park of some sort. There I am sitting on a blanket with a girl I think I know. She’s talking frantically and wringing her hands at the same time, but I’m not listening because I’m furious for some reason. I’m so enraged that I can’t say anything at all. I’m trying to suppress my anger, bottle it up deep inside my chest. She’s crying and blubbering things and tugging on my arm. My eyes bore into hers just once, only once. Her eyes are a murky, unforgettable blue. They are endless pits of tears, welling up and spilling out and streaming down her cheeks. Then I break our gazes and I stand up. But she follows. She keeps tugging on my arm and through slippery tears, cries out to me, my name. The last and only words I utter are, “Goodbye, Emma Enderson.” Then I black out and all I can hear is a faint sound. Snap. Snap. Snap...the sound of a heart breaking.

And the flashback is gone. As soon as I regain my vision I freak out. What the hell just happened? What was that? When was that? My brain is overloaded with questions and so few answers that I need to cool off so I push myself off the table that I’d collapsed on, and scan the room. No one saw me. I pull my hood over my face and slither out of the coffee shop. The cold air slaps me in the face as I step outside. There are questions swarming inside my head. Who was that girl to me? How did I know her? What happened? Do I still know her? What was that sound? Through my confusion I know what I must do. I have to find this girl. She has to tell me who I am and what I was.

I trudge through the streets, pondering on this idea, walking in slow circles, keeping my head low, and letting my shaggy unkempt hair fall over my face. Soon enough I find myself entering the public library. It’s warmer in here and easier to think. I search for a spot to be alone, somewhere not crowded with people. Seeing that the first floor was too busy with whiny toddlers and their overwhelmed mothers, I bound up the narrow steps, leading to the second floor.

(continued)

WORK URL 11

As I reach the top of the stairs, everything goes black and I get this high-pitched ringing in my ears. I feel my body stumbling backwards, and my arms, which are flailing. Screams echo off the walls of my mind, piercing my brain. I try to block out the sound by crumpling to the floor in a heap, holding my ears and squeezing my eyes shut. However, the screams continue. It doesn’t cease until I see us. It’s Emma and me. We’re laughing, hand in hand, swinging our arms and walking down the street. And there! We pass the coffee shop, the same coffee shop! However, we don’t acknowledge it; we are lost in our own little world. I’m not even mad this time, I’m elated, and so is she. I’m sure this was a while before the last memory, maybe a year, because our faces look younger and cheerier and her hair isn’t as long.

We keep on walking, down the street, we make a left, and then we keep on going for about two blocks, and we arrive at her house. It’s a small house on a hill with a big window in the front, next to the porch. I am guessing it’s about late afternoon. We talk for a while, and then kiss good-bye before I head off. I go back the same way that I came, take my red pickup truck and drive away with a glowing smile plastered on my face.

Once. Twice. Three times, the same thing happens over and over again. I watch, as I get older, as she gets older, as we start to fight more, as she cries more, as I leave with grimmer expressions. Snap. Snap...the sound of her door latch closing. When I regain consciousness, I calmly get up, walk down the stairs in a robotic fashion, exit the library calmly and I run. I run for her house, left, straight, down the street. The pounding of my shoes against the pavement matches my heartbeat. Everything around me is blurred. All I can see is colors in shapes.

Then I’m here, in the neighborhood I think is hers. I’m running around aimlessly but at the same time, hopefully, searching for her house. I can’t find it. Then I spot an old man crouched down in his front lawn, working in his garden.

“Excuse me, mister?” I call out to him, and jog over.

He turns around to face me. He’s a withered old man with oversized glasses perched on the bridge of his nose that he pushes up. His white and grey hair is tucked back under a cap.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” He squints at me as I approach him. “You look familiar to me? Do I know you? My memory hasn’t been as good as it has always been lately. Sorry.”

“Um - I don’t think so,” I stutter. “Can you help me find Emma Enderson’s house?” I plead.

“Emma! Emma?” He retorts. “Why would you need to find her house?” He pauses to wipe his forehead. “She’s been dead over a month now, killed by her own boyfriend they say.” His face scrunches up as he looks at me from head to toe. His face falls. “His name was Scott Harley....Now what did you say your name was, son?”

Snap.

The sound of her death.Kaitlyn Son

Grade 8

WORK URL 12

The Doings of a Cat

He steps lightlyLeaves barely crinkling

His tail low

Bright eyes watchAs a squirrel nibbles a nut

As a bird gossips to her friends.

They don’t knowWhat will happen

He watches, then slips awayLike a shadow

Letting them go...This time

Cindy GaoGrade 6

Barber Fish

OhPlease

Wait your turnFor the barber fish

From shimmering shoresThe barber fish gladly thinsTrimming lines of dorsal fins

Sand dollars are his treasured feehis fame it spreads across the seaEach puffer fish he darts to shineThe prickly stickers upon its spineA rinse and shave to start the dayA school of minnows swim awayEvery fish that leaves his place

Has a contented look on its faceThe barber fish has lots of needsBefore he rests in deep seaweeds

In nightly dreams far beneath the bayThe barber fish still clips and snips away

Jonas HermannGrade 6

Amanda BerkGrade 7

WORK URL 13

The Man in the Woods

There’s a man named Mr. McMorristHe walks into a great forestHe hears a loud howlBumps into an owlAnd is toppled by a chickadee chorus

He then walks into a lakeAnd what a strong blow he takesHe walks into a bearGetting fish in his hairAnd gives such a loud cry thatThe whole lake shakes

Blake SiegelGrade 6

Nicole RootGrade 8

Milena NutrobkinaGrade 6

Whoosh

I am old with standingThrough thunderstorms and rainThrough hailThrough droughtGetting wetGetting hitThirsting for waterBut still standingAnd still living

Reaching outWIth thin, fragile fingersTo water undergroundWhispering to People and animals passing byYet ignored, theyCan’t understand Me

Who will?Who will sit with me?Through the booming thunderThe crackling lightningThe pounding hailThe dry droughtWho will understand the loneliness I feelRing, after Ring, after Ring? Noah Li Grade 8

WORK URL 14

Thunder Storm Language

The wind swiftsFlashes that gleam your eyesRain that pounds the shining seaSeeing memories in the flashesListening to the sound of clashesWatching the sky meet the seaThey touch together for a secondHolding handsAs the night goes on

Ashley Granieri Grade 6

I Walked Up the Mountain

I walked up the mountain and saw what I could seeA long countryside with a town beneath me

Alongside the town was a little riverA river of life that started it all

This town of povertyThis town of strife

This town of peacefulnessThis town of life

The boys run as fast as ramsTheir faces innocent, like that of little lambs

In the sea praying are the sagesWIth their meditating visages

The bees are hummingThe birds are singingThe rain is drumming

The bell is ringing

The butterflies are kissing the flowersThe merchant sits on his bullock cart

The farmer milks his faithful brown cowHe may be poor but has a big heart

The lonely rock sits by the riverThe river that sings like a zither

I walked up the mountain and saw what I could seeA long countryside with a town beneath me

Nakul SrinivasGrade 6

Sunset

Bright colorsPouring themselvesOver the western skyDancing their sunset danceBefore swallowed by the nightSinking lower and lowerTime is almost upBut the colors dance onUsing every secondInching lowerAlmost goneDancing onThe colors have disappearedAll is silentAll is darkOh so dark

Night has taken controlUntil tomorrowWhen the colorsWill dance again

Kendall BenscheGrade 6

Kerri Taxter

Grade 7

WORK URL 15

Island of Wonders

SurroundedTrappedMore questions than answersNever enough timeenough to learnto beUnable to do anythingbut stareaskwonderrethinkThe answer is a grain of saltin the pounding oceancirclingright therebut unable to reach for itSomething newsomething elseto find outOut potential is not predeterminedIt’s determined by what we do.

Emily JusufGrade 7

A swiftly tilting planetCorrupted by years ofOf Civil unrestMalicious ViolenceChildren beaten downTwistedWrithingIn unimaginable painAnd Struggle

Poverty StrickenEvery nightA child goes to bedwithanEmpty Empty Stomach

RefugeesWith the hopesofa new lifeBut with the miseryTo never turn backTo watch what you loveIn a pile of rubbleSmoking in ashesCries of helpErupting from theFlames

Only when ThoseImpoverishedHomelessDiseasedTorturedHungryHopefulandViolent

Will walk the ways of EarthAs one

That will be when our earth is notthat swiftly tilting planetBut oneAt Peace Abby Haber

Grade 7

A good poem doesn’t always have to rhyme,But I find it nice, so I rhyme in mineA good poem doesn’t always have to be written in a certain wayBut if you wish to do it one way, you may.In a good poem you don’t always have to spell things riteSome poems have a meaning that is heavySome poems’ topic is lightIn some poems the words have a great flow, in some they cavortA good poem doesn’t have to be long, if you want, yours can be shortYou can make your poem boring to read, or you can make it funYou can end your poem whenever you wantThis one’s about done

Michael FialkowGrade 7

Alexa BindayGrade 7

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Snowflake

Slowly drifting through the air

Never wasting time

Over by the nice cool frost

Winter cuddles close and soft

Falling on my window

Landing on my tongue

Angels sparkling on my eyelids

Keeping in the beauty

Elegant innocenceRebecca Weiss

Grade 6

Ode to Snow

For the spoon under my pillowSnow will cover the willowFor the pajamas inside out

There will be no doubtThat snow will cover the ground

And the school board will be foundCalling our homes telling us the best

For tomorrow will be better than the rest!

Ben WintersGrade 8

Preparation for a Snow Day

One pinch of excitement.One teaspoon for luck.One tablespoon of fingers crossing.One cup of praying.One pint of inside-out pajamas.One quart of anxious waiting.One hundred million gallons of snow!

Carla LiontiGrade 8Jane Glaser

Grade 6

Jonah GrayGrade 6

WORK URL 17

Sunset

I watch in awe asBeautiful colors Stretch across the sky,Purple,Red,Orange,And yellow,An unforgettable illustrationThat man could never create.One of nature’sGreatest works.Slowly,The colors fade away,Blink,And it’s gone.Pure blacknessIs taking over the sky.Night has come.

Annling WangGrade 6 The Spider Web

Delicate spindlesGlistening in the sunA gracious featA prize well won

An invisible trapDo not fly thereIf you don’tYour life you spare

A web of lifeOf ideas so brightA beautiful masterpieceSparkling in the light

A web of deathA coffin of silkYour blood will beThe spider’s milk

A web of loveA web of hateDepending on whichSide you take

Marie CeskeGrade 7

Dusk

As the sliver of moon cuts through theechoing darkness, the water cascades across the plateau,teardrops etched against the sky,shining webs of water trickling through crevices,feeding the earth.

The sea, crashing upon the slick sand,foam bubbles, waves hurtle fish,fighting the current, with their thin ocher bodies,flashing sunlight,vanilla twilight ignites the light in the sky,the balmy breeze whistles throughthe branches of trees,emerald leaves touching the firmament,foliage twists through the air, falling firmly on the loam.Day has begun.

Jillian MehlmanGrade 6

Carol SchottGrade 7

WORK URL 18

Garden of Sunflowers

As I danced through the garden I hear a whisperMaybe it was a young lady or even a mister

I looked up, down, and all aroundAnd then I saw a young little sunflower with a huge sound

It stopped whispering and smiled at meSo did all the rest

I spent the day with the sunflowers and it was the bestAs I told them I had to leave

They stretched out their sleevesAnd begged me to stay

I told them that it was enough for one dayThey should get some rest

And be prepared for the bestA week that they will never forget

As I wake up the next morningI see the sun

I looks just like a sunflowerAnd the sun disappeared as quickly as it came

I have wondered ever since that dayIf the sun came out just to remind me to go

and visit the sunflowersSo off I went to see my flowery friends

And now this poem will come to an end

Genna LevyGrade 7

Nature’s Flashlight

The luminous shadow,The bright, shiny glow,The crimson colored trees,Sway in the dark.As the moonlit skyDarkens once more,The full moon’s raysFollow the nightLike a star enlargedTo fill up the sky.It soars above us,Near the twinkling stars.A circular figureEmerges from the clouds,A reflection of gold,Revealed to our faces.Behold,The moon.

Mishtii MurariGrade 6

Jonathan GruenGrade 7

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America’s Beautiful

The wind is high today.I see death in the window.I’m glad.

I don’t like being so far up.I like night,when he takes me down,puts me in my box.

Except up here,I have the view,and with fifty shining eyesI have a lot to see.

But for now,I’m stuck.Been stuck,since he raised me this morningat the dawn’s early light.

I feel limp and deflated.I blow and tumble,rise and fall with the wind.Fly backwards with the impactof bombs bursting in air.

I sense him below me,feel a tug.I become half mast.

Daniel WassermanGrade 8

Catherine FitzgeraldGrade 8

To travel is to see the beauty of the world.To explore.No matter day or night,You’ll always find what you’re looking for.When traveling, memories are made,And moments that will be remembered.Traveling is available at any time of year,Hot or cold from January to December.Europe, the Americas, Africa, Australia, and Asia,All around the globe something new is to come.Either to see castles, natural beauty, or try new food.Be ready to learn.Every place in the world has something special,Whether it is clothes, monuments, forests, or food.It’s part of what makes the world unique and good.Some people travel just to relax,Others may travel to see adventure,And some for relief from stress.Culture and traditionsCustoms and festivals.All parts of traveling,To see the beauty of the world.

Carol SchottGrade 7

Alexa BindayGrade 7

WORK URL 20

Look, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe me about this story. I mean, if I were a “regular,” I wouldn’t believe me, either. I have this....ability to turn into and talk to animals. No, I was not born with this ability...my dad dropped me when I was a baby, and instead of something being taken away from my brain, something was brought out. Doctors say it’s a lost human ability. My name is Cami Ross. I come from a small but wealthy town...but I can’t tell you the town’s name. I also come from a BIG family. I have two parents, four sisters, and three brothers! We also have a few pets: two dogs, Cupcake and Creature; three cats, Razzy, Berry, and Snowy; three birds, Dot, Spot, and Shot, and one iguana named Homer. Now that you know my messed-up family, let’s get to the REAL story. So, it kind of started a few months ago when I got called into the principal’s office. I call him Phil. “Cami,” he started,”I need to talk to you about something very important.” I leaned back into the chair, knowing where this was going. “What do you need?” “The school fair is coming up and we need lots of people to come. We want you to be our main attraction!” he said with pride, like it was the greatest idea in the world. “Fine, what do you want me to be? And, what’s in it for me?” I asked him. He sighed and said, “You get to be any animal you want, and we will have a big pen for you, and any pets of yours can stay with you. We will ask you to stay overnight, because the fair lasts two days.” I thought about this. “I will get back to you tomorrow,” and then I left. Later that day, I went to the zoo. My best friend lives there. He’s a tiger named Potenza, which means “power” in Italian. I turned into a bird, flew into the exhibit, went behind a rock, and turned into a tiger. I looked around for Potenza. “Over here!” he called and I trotted over. “Hey,” I said. “How ya been?” he asked. “OK, I guess. Phil wants me to be the main attraction at our school fair. What do you think?” “Will you be a tiger?” I giggled. “If you want me to.” “Then you should do it!” he said excitedly. My cell buzzed. It was my crazy mom. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow, Potenza!” I went behind the same rock, turned into a robin, and flew off.

(continued)

Justin HamraGrade 6

Joshua RadinGrade 6

WORK URL 21

When I got home, it was a madhouse, as usual. My sisters, Lila and Elizabeth, were fighting over a stuffed bunny, Tia was listening to her CDs really loud, Mariah had her boyfriend over, and all the boys were practicing sports...in the living room. I looked at the paper on the fridge. Lila - ballet; ELizabeth - religion school; Tia - tutor; Drake and Kyle - basketball; Cupcake and Creature - groomer; Noah - soccer It was a list of where everybody had to go today. I called to Mariah. “What do you want?” she asked. “Where’s Mom?” I questioned. “She got called into work, short notice.” “What about the list?” “She said she called everyone and told them that they weren’t coming. Hey, can you get Lizzy and Lila to stop fighting?” she said as she walked into her room. That’s my sister - a super babysitter. I walked over to them; they were screaming at this point. I turned into a big, fat pig. Lila let go of the bunny and yelled, “Piggy back ride!” as she hopped on my back. I walked around the house until I got to her room. “I’ll be right back, and we can play box game!” I told her. She squealed with excitement. I turned into a lion and went into Tia’s room. “Turn it down, or I’ll bite!” I said. She knew I was serious. She plugged in earphones and turned the music down. I trotted downstairs to the living room. A soccer ball came flying towards me. I held out my claw and popped the ball. The boys stopped playing, looked at me, and ran outside. Later that night, Mom and Dad came home and made dinner. We all sat down in the dining room and started chatting amongst each other. It’s worse for me because I’ve got to listen to the animals talk, too. It’s like at the end of a meal with all of your relatives, and they are all talking at once!I decided to make the most of it.

Maddie HartGrade 7

Yuki SugiharaGrade 7

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Home

My home is not hereThere is another placeWhere there is not anything wrongSitting on the grassListening to the train go by fast

My home is not here but thereA place where I walk along the rocksSomewhere I can sit and think

My home will always beWhere I race to the finish lineI go tubing to the end of the lake

My home is a placeWhere a dog named OwenKnows who I am when he sees meA place to drink lemonade and relaxRide our bikes with no helmets or shoes

My home is with my familyAunts and unclesCousins and siblings

My home is a place to remember

Adaire GreenGrade 7

The Recipe of Life

Four cups of love,One teaspoon of hate,

Two tablespoons of talent,Half a cup of intelligence,

A cup of humor,Two teaspoons of jealousy,

A dash of fear,A pinch of clumsiness,

ANd a handful of truth and lies.Bake for approximately nine months,

Remember, results may vary.

Henry KlineGrade 8

Bliss

BLISSFULI’m blissfulNot bubbly like champagneNot hysterical like a clownNot goofy like a toddler who just got ice creamBut blissful to be smilingBlissful to go on a picnic no matter the weatherEven if I forgot the blanket

Gabrielle KupiecGrade 8

Box in the Attic

My wall is like a box in the atticWith memories of many lifetimesWith posters of rock and rollOf concert ticketsFrom heart and soul

From precious coins collected from precious yearsFrom old memories through joy and tearsLicense plates from near and farFrom the unknown backs of unknown cars

So when you look at my room’s wallLook past the mess of it at largeBecause it’s the little details that give sentimentAnd it tells you about me one hundred percent.

Evan SuzmanGrade 8

WORK URL 23

The Roots of My Life

I am from technology.From iPods and Droids.I am from the plain, simple house that smells of warm family.I am from the Sunflower.The majestic cherry tree whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my very own.

I am from pizza nights and beach days.From Mom and Dad.I’m from hospitality and compassion and from loving care.

I am from “No running away at the airport” and “You can’t always get what you want.”I am from Sabbath nights.From New York and GermanyAnd from chicken soup and meat sauce.From the wine cup that has been to every wedding and the architecture tools from the World Trade CenterThat I still remember in my heart.

Jordan FrankenthalerGrade 8

Some People Grow Weird

Everyone grows older,Sprouting up like trees.

The shoulders may get colder,But not cold enough to freeze.

Maturity comes with age,Or at least for those who want it.

Unique is not just for a sage,Those who stand out can spot it.

Personalities are endless,Wise at heart or young at soul.

Like a nest-less robin you are helpless,With which identity you are foretold.

Some people think you may leap out,But it is really what they feared,

Like me we’re bold and we jump out,Some people just grow weird.

Taylor LonnerGrade 7

Smart

I’m smart.Not knowing all the knowledge in the world smart.Not the best at everything smart.Not smart like Albert Einstein and his theory of relativity.But smart with the decisions I make.Trying my best with whatever I do.Trying to leave an imprint on the world.

Sarah HalperinGrade 8

Talia SchulmanGrade 8

WORK URL 24

Waiting and Hoping

Left aloneWay deep down, tangled in the seamswaiting and hoping.

I hear my name being mentioned. They are looking at me.I have seen her first sleepover,Pressed against her soft polka dot pants and Fluffy the bear.I was there on her first day of school, stuck under pens, pencils, and papers without her knowing.But now all I see is pink glossy lip shine and very black Sephora mascara.

I have been to Disney World and backwaiting and hoping.Going unnoticed,waiting for the day until she finds me and brings me back hometo the box that’s turquoise-y blue with a white silky ribbon.

But for now,

I’m just a pair of Tiffany earringstangled in the seams.Just waiting and hoping.

The Lion, the Witch and My Wardrobe

Old, rustic and vintage, An antique design with an orange glow,Doors shining with deep curves,And grooves on polished wood,

Scratches scar the scruffs,Tinting a million specks of colors,Light glistening and reflecting.

A tassel tangles with a vanilla scent,Containing threads clenching,Onto a half-inserted key.

Around for eighty years,Listening and watching,Remembering a little girl,With pigtails posed on her father’s lap,Reading the story.

With hopes of a secret world unveiled,Maybe reaching in...Feeling warmth from the bundle of coats,And then...Feeling soft snowflakes,Falling onto her fingertips.

A shadow on her half-lit face,From a tattered glowing lamp post.

Madeline WareGrade 8

Malorie RuggeriGrade 8

WORK URL 25

Me

I am from the stovefrom the clock and the computerI am from the cozy and the loudFrom good tasting foodI am from the strawberriesThe maple treewhose long gone limbs I rememberas if they were my own.

I’m from Saratoga Springs and the Torahfrom Allison and KatelynI’m from cooking and yellingand from playing sports.

I’m from “Wuff” and “Don’t fight with Katelyn” and “Money doesn’t grow on trees”I’m from dogsI’m from New York City and Russialamb chops and apples“Digger come back”Pictures of my great grandmaon my wall.

Jacob CoburnGrade 8

EDGE advanced gel

DearZach, this

Is just to sayThat I put shaving

Cream on your toothbrush youMay say it wasn’t very nice,

But you have to admitYou deserved it!

Hugh BuchbinderGrade 8

Journey of a Backpack

I open my mouth,and swallow Spanish projects, science papers, pens, and scrappy pencils,Bright colors of orange, purple, blue, and red fill me upAnd keep me full.My gold hearts move about as my long arms are stretched and squeezed.UHHHHmy stomach groans as I’m pulled by a strong force.

My sewn stitches spread and strangle as I bump up and down, left to right, andBOOM,there I go,right into the wood grains of a familiar house.

I yawn from an exhausting day, emptying all the hard work,Sagging sadly, andZIPPPMy lips are sealed.

Maia ScacchiGrade 8

Quin LandsbergGrade 8

WORK URL 26

A Home Away From Home

My locker is like a home away from home.My home is somewhere that I go

No matter how I feel or what I am doing.My locker and home are similar in many ways.

Books, like the ones I have in my book shelf,that I never read, they are there for decoration.

Binders: English, Social Studies, Math and Science.

Folders: GALORE GALORE GALORE GALORE!Just like my room.

The new Snapple flavor, Trop*A*Rocka,Snacks that I save for a day when I am hungry,

Papers s c a t t e r e don the bottom of my locker,

Shelves to help me hold up my belongings.*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*

Just like my kitchen.

Jansport backpack,A navy blue Northface, like all the rest of my sweatshirts to keep me warm

Nike 6.0 as a back up for when my shoescan’t take it any more.

Just like the laundry room.

Erasers, to help me erase all of my bad writing,Rulers, to measure things, anything...

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9Just like my desk.

A green and black lock that keeps my home away from homesafe,

So I know that I can return and everything will be OK.Like my front door.

My locker is......a home away from home.Andrew Pollack

Grade 8

WORK URL 27

Ending Elementary

Finally I was in fifth grade, with all the exciting activities,The Health Education we took, we were all given deodorant,We put it on constantly,Throughout the day,Before gym and after play,Then someone ate it,Ate someone else’s deodorant,took a bite out of the bottle.Olympics was next, we used all our skills as best we could,From mummy wrapping to obstacle courses and more,For it was time to face the teams and in fact, we won! Also our trip to Philadelphia, To time travel the Liberty Bell To Ellis Island we went next, To mingle with the immigrants, Ballroom dancing was our next adventure, The shy beginning began to fade, Dancers we soon became, Flawless with our every move, Graduation was upon us,Matching blue Quaker Ridge shirts we all wore, To kiss the year goodbye.

Henry KlineGrade 8

Eliot SernauGrade 8

WORK URL 28

Football

When the leaves turn red and fall to the ground,There is a new show on TV that I have foundI kick my shoes off and fall into bedI watch ten hours of TV without turning my headQuarantined from the world I stare and stareSitting like a log, still as a sleeping bearThe word begins to spread all around townHey, did the Jets just score another touchdown?Interceptions, penalties, field goals, and moreThey battle and battle like they’re at warTheir bones are bruised, broken, and even scarredAfter every hit, soft or hardBlood is spilled, tears are shedI could watch it all day until I’m deadBut when the final whistle blows, and all the games are doneWhat will I do now, to have some fun?The leaves grow back, the temperature goes coldAnother snowstorm, it’s getting kinda oldThe flowers bloom in spring, off to camp I goWaiting for the day, where I get to watch that showWaiting, waiting, waiting, I almost lose my mindBut still I wait and wait, because football is one of a kind

Sam SquadronGrade 7

The Winter Olympics

Last year it came and soon it comes againThe Winter Olympics 2010Records were broken while others were far awayYes it was hosted by Canada, eh?Many great things had happened duringThe WInter Olympics from figure skating to curlingWhat annoys me the most is the announcers in skating“A triple spin deluxe” is a type of grading!And in curling what’s the point of all that sweepingIt’s not gonna go any further - if that’s what you’re thinking!America was amazed by and they really showed noSign of mercy led by Apollo Anton OnoOno won the most gold medals, he really is the bestSo maybe he should be called Apollo Anton O-Yes!Overall it was very exciting, and it is a sure thingThat we all can’t wait until 2014

Justin CooperGrade 7

Bradley TatzGrade 6

WORK URL 29

The following 15 pages contain responses and reflections to units of study concerning prejudice and injustice during the Civil Rights Era and

slavery during the Revolutionary War Era

A Land of Freedom

Every dayAfter all the work is doneI sit and watchThe disappearing sunThinking ‘bout thatLand far awayThe one in my dreamsDay after dayBut for nowI am stuckIn a land of warWith cries of fightingRight outside my doorEvery dayAfter all the work is doneI sit and watchThe disappearing sun

Leah McKennaGrade 7

Liberty, Justice, and Freedom,Three words that describe my dreams,

As I work, my passion for these things becomes greaterand greater,

My hands bleed and my knees weakenWhile I work harder for freedom,

I pray to God through song of Liberty,I think at night while I sleep about Justice,

Liberty, Justice, and FreedomWhat I will always dream

Emily BernsteinGrade 7

I Had a Dream

I’m not blackBlack is total darkness

Yet people see meSociety thinks I’m “colored”

Isn’t life in color?

I pay more for lessI do more for less

I work more for lessI wonder why...

Last night I had a dreamThat in the future,

We would be treated equallyThere was no color,

No differences between anyoneI had a dream....

John KaspersGrade 8

Tyler MandelGrade 6

WORK URL 30

The Barrier

I am trapped by an invisible barrier.You cannot see it.You cannot hear it.

You cannot touch it.You cannot smell it.You cannot taste it.

But it is there.And it is very strong.

It is a product of hatred and cruelty.It is helpful to some.

But oppressive and cruel to many others.It shows itself in subtle ways, like a predator, camouflaged in the jungle.

It is the feeling of a cry for help that will not be heard.It is the despair felt when slamming on a steel wall which will not budge.It’s the feeling on the back of my neck when someone is watching me.

Even though I try to fight it in every way I canI may never get the freedom I deserve.

But I may make the first strikeThat moves the mountain.

And even though I may never get what I wantMaybe someone, somewhere will live a better life

Because of me.Jonathan Greenberg

Grade 8

Slavery

ChainsBonded togetherChainsThey say I can’t escape,But can I?

BondagePulling pain tighterBondageThey say there’s no way out,But is there?

FreedomA distant realityFreedomThey say it can’t come true,But can it?

Emily BerkGrade 7

Days and daysBut no sign of RuthI have lost all hope

I have tried to escapeBut regret it immensely

Every day I work for the LocktonsEvery day I break my backEvery day I work like a dog

And don’t even get a thank youOne day I will escapeOne day I will be free

One day I will find RuthOne day I will be back on the farm

Jonathan NatarajanGrade 7

WORK URL 31

Freedom

What is the price of freedom?for a nation?

for a girl?

What is the price of escape?for a nation?

for a girl?

Sold with her sister Ruth, to a cruel and loyalist groupWorking as a servant serving lunch and making soup.

Listening to the Locktons’ secret meetings, reporting the newsLooking forward to Rhode Island, for a future home too.

Washington’s death plan now locked into placeWhat is the outcome for the Patriots’ race?

Ruth is sold,Oh, what will Isabel do?

Without her, her promise to her mother is not true.

She must bite her tongue when Mrs. Lockton’s around,But she can’t keep it inside

and lets her words out and around.

An open door leads to an attempted escapeBut she must return home, and Mrs. Lockton she must face.

Tortured and burned, defeated and depressedshe wakes up six days later at the Seymours’ after a rest.

Mrs. Lockton wants her back as soon as she is ablebut Isabel wants to turn the tables.

The Loyalists are here and ready to fightShould Isabel join or do what is right?

Thinking hard which decision to makeShe has to cross the River Jordan; what path should she take?

Michael LazarGrade 7

WORK URL 32

The Bees are Buzzing

The bees are buzzingPatriots have burned down New YorkThe bees are buzzingMaster Lockton wants me to open the corkThe bees are buzzingRuth has been sent awayThe bees are buzzingMy name is “Sal” to my dismayThe bees are buzzingI don’t know who I am anymoreThe bees are buzzingOr what I came here forThe bees are buzzingIf I had just one wishThe bees are buzzingI would sail away on ten shipsThe bees are buzzing

Sarah BowenGrade 7

I Am the Same

I am the sameI laughI cryI hopeI loveI hurtI am the same

I am differentBecause I walk down the halls andI feel their eyes on meBecause everything I do is judgedBecause every weakness I haveis amplified by my colorBecause when anyone looks at meall they see is my skinNot what’s behind it

If I answer a question wrongIt’s because blacks are wrongIf I failIt’s because blacks are failuresIf I smellIt’s because blacks smellIf I cryIt’s because blacks can’t hold back their tears

I wish they could see from inside outThen all they could seeI am the same.

Chloe StoddardGrade 8

Zach KapnerGrade 6

WORK URL 33

The Measure of a Man

Discrimination isn’t justbullyingracism

prejudiceor segregation

But it is turning the other wayWhen you see someone different

Being afraid to approach someoneJust because they don’t look like you

Not saying hi to someoneBecause you don’t believe in the same religion as him

Not wanting to be friends with someoneJust because of the way he or she dressesOr because he is from a different country

Discrimination is thinking of someone just asThat “n*gger”Or that “k*ke”

It’s judging the new kidBased on prejudices

Discrimination isn’t just spray painting swastikas on the side of a templeBut it’s putting your jacket on the seat next to you in the movie theaterJust so that the person who doesn’t look like you won’t sit next to you

Discrimination can be subtleand obvious

But like the great Dr. King said,“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of

comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge andcontroversy.”

Josh RossGrade 8

Josie BerlGrade 8

WORK URL 34

Black and White Soars

With satin feathers, the whitest doveOn bony wing, soars from abovePurity insulated from every harmTranquil quiet, no alarm

Tiny specks, a thousand swarmsFar away, begin to formTaking shape, prepared to attackUgly creatures, grotesque and black

Hawks as dark as night, striking fearFrom the horizon began to appearMassive talons and razor teethApproach the dove from underneath

Aggressive, violent, a million knivesTheir beaks attack, the dove survivesBut still, the tough black hawks persistBloody feathers, bones that twist

The dove struggles, but can’t retreatAnd mangled it falls in its defeatWhite feathers on wind, all the whileThe hawks portray their wicked smiles

As I watch the carcass float downstreamI awake - it was all a dreamCreated by things that others had saidIt sat still, an illusion in my head

Rebecca RosenbaumGrade 8

The Best Ones

Freedom is what we all wantIt is what the British flaunt

The rebels just want to be on their ownAnd us slaves just don’t want to be a master’s drone

Though neither the rebels nor the Tories care about usIt doesn’t matter to them when we fussAll that matters to them is taking sides

Or seeing which people are filled with snide and prideIt’s not fair because we don’t ask for a lot

We have nothing compared to all they’ve gotWe are nothing to the rebels or the British,

just a piece of propertyThey cannot just make us a mockery

We are more than just some part of their ownershipThey can’t just beat us with their whip

But we all have different views of freedomAnd these ones are the best ones

Rebecca EpemoluGrade 7

Aram HovakimianGrade 8

WORK URL 35

White Sand

If a white man’s shadow is black,Isn’t there a part of him that is also black?If a white person’s television is black and white,Why is there such a difference?

If white people wear black clothing,Isn’t their appearance black as well?What difference does it make?Why does it even matter?

I look around me and all I see is white.White people, giving me looks and saying things that I don’t understand.

Why do all the pretty girls have white dolls?Why are mine black?Black and white, what is the difference?Why do they yell at my mama for walking into certain stores?Why does she listen?

Why is my hair not long and blonde like all the pretty girls?Why is mine black?Black like my skin.Black like my life.

Why is my face the color of dirt and mud, when theirs is the color of warm beach sand?

Why do I always need to walk with a partner?Why can’t I go to the park alone?Why am I always second?When will it be my turn to be in charge?When will my people rule the world?

Black and white.I just need to know...What is the difference?Why does it even matter?

Why is the brightest star in the sky white?Why when I fall down and cut my knee, does Mama give me a “white-skinned bandage”?Why don’t bandages match me?Why are they white?

(continued))

WORK URL 36

TV is black and white.Dogs see in black and white.Babies once see in black and white.

What difference does it make?And why?Why?Why won’t anyone tell me?Should I be proud of who I am?Should I be afraid?I don’t know.Black and white.What difference does it make?Why?I just need to know.

Catherine ScarcellaGrade 8

Zoe ZelkowitzGrade 8

WORK URL 37

Slavery

I am black as nightInferior to powder whiteMy differences are beautifulBut equality is still a fight

We all have beating heartsThey still tear families apartBut to them we are propertyAnimals who will never be as smart

When cut we all bleed redAnd for “insolence” I bledTortured and burned for being upsetMy simple sister sold, she said

Tell me, is this fair?Men selling men with cold staresWhites see nothing but blackThough “all men are equal,” they swear

Bebe ThompsonGrade 7

This Is What I See

A little town in ArkansasThe place where I grew up

Life was always safe and serene,Until I made my life-changing decision.

Going to Central HighLife would never be the sameWhen I arrived the first day,

I was instantly surrounded by hate.

Racism.It changed my life forever

Blacks and WhitesWill never be the same

People who should have protected meScreamed with rage,

What was I ever thinking,I should have never come

Why do we have to be different?This hatred isn’t fair.

We shouldn’t have to segregate.Our rights must be the same.

Eight others and I.Who would’ve known

We’d be the only Blacks at Central HighAmong all of the Whites

Whose words and actions Hurt like bullets.

We’d eventually become heroesIntegrating the all-White school,

We lasted a whole year,And as warriors

We would become known.

We, as warriors,We don’t cry,

We stood up to our fears,And came out alive.

Katie FrohmanGrade 8

Carolina SchottGrade 7

WORK URL 38

ThinkAll the times there has been

CrueltyHatred

Because one groupFeels more superior than the other

ThinkPeople were put down

Called namesBeaten and even

KilledJust because they were different

ThinkIt was not their fault

They were born differentAnd penalized because of it

ThreatenedBecause they were different

ThinkWhy didn’t anyone

Do something?Say something?

How could people Allow this to go on?

ThinkThat could have been youThe one who is different

The outcastExcluded

What would you do?

ImagineEveryone was equalHelping each otherKind to one another

ForgivingImagine

People looking at you forWho you are

NotWhat color your skin isWhat your religion is

ImaginePeople lift you to your feet

When you trip on a bump in the roadHelp guide you to a new path

One with opportunities

ImagineNo calling names

No racismNo prejudice

No discriminationNo segregation

But

Imagine Kindness, Care, Sympathy,

Trust, Love

This is not far awayOne step at a time

And we can get thereSo take the first step

Zara MianGrade 8

Think, Imagine, and Act

WORK URL 39

Thoughts of a Slave

wondering what tomorrow will bringwill madam cause a ball of anger to form in my chest and rise into my throat

ready for me to spit out at heror will I finally be reunited with Ruth

my beautiful little sisterthe only meaningful thing left in my life

and she was taken away alsoa life torn apart by death, and a war that wasn’t mine

a life I never asked for but received anywaya life that originally had so much potentialso carefree, running through our garden

with Momma, Ruth, and no thoughts of warnot knowing or even wonderingwhere I would be in a few years

not knowing that I would work in New Yorkwith Ruth such a long way away in Nevis

with no one to watch herno one to care for her

no one to give her a shoulder to cry onno one to comfort her after a fit

days passI am still the same slave

with hopes of getting home dwindlinghopes of being freed dwindling

no signs of RuthI don’t hear her laughter in my head

I don’t see her smile anymoreI am losing her

we used to have each othernow

neither of us has anyonewe need each other

I was the only one who understood herI saw her heart

how caring and eager to please she wasI saw past the naive diligent worker that others saw

I saw the real Ruthand she knew it

freedom is nothing without Ruthif I don’t have Ruth with me

there is no pointno point at all

with no one to lovewhat is the point

maybe tomorrow will bring a pointto this life that isn’t my choice

Sarah WeintraubGrade 7

WORK URL 40

The Last Touchdown

There’s five minutes on the clockThe Panthers are on offense

It’s my time to shine.I’m wide open

The game is on the lineSeventy-one always had a problem with me

I just never knew it was this bad.I never knew it was worth the

championship game.

Seventy-one is not like meHe is big, white, and richHe is the team captainHe is my perpetrator.

He growlsHe spits

He chucklesBut worst of all,He uses words.

All I wanted was the ballInstead I got the pain,

TrashTomatoes

SpitAll over the field

And my faceI wanted to cry

But I can’t because I am a warriorAnd warriors don’t cry.

Conquer or crumble?The choice is yoursI prefer to conquer

But that’s out of the questionBecause I am African American.

BecauseI am me.

Amanda Clark Grade 8

Zach ZlatinGrade 8

Andrew ChoiGrade 8

WORK URL 41

How Do We Find Joy?

I have read the experiences of thoseWho have lived itBooks about injusticeArticles about the GermansAnd Little Rock Nine

In some parts I can feelAnd I feel awkward and madBut I don’t really know how it feels

Teachers want me to learnRespect for othersTo get alongThey have us writing papersAnd poems for contestsHoping to take this seriouslyBut I don’t really know how it feels

I’m not threatened or harassed or bulliedI’ve got people who careAnd stabilityThe luxuries of educationA safe environmentComfortThey have experience

Some become strongerSome are scarredWith uncertaintyOr peace of mindAnd I don’t really know how that feels

How do they live with hatred?I can’t feel it, or see itI know it is thereI know it affects me, but I’m not even sure howTheir problem is my problemBut I don’t know how to help us

How do we find joy?Pedro Miranda

Grade 8

The World Through My Fish Tank

I close my eyesAnd imagine.ISeeDifferentColors.I see fish, colorful fish,Swimming in one tank.Not one more superior than another.My dad rests his hand upon my head.He bends down and looks softly into my eyes.He tells me that I am a fishAYoungColoredFish,Swimming in an ocean where some colorsAre greater than others,And mine, mine is not.But on the inside, all colors stay the same.I ask him, What makes our ocean different than theirs?He has no reply, but we both know that there is none.NoDifferenceAt All.I wake up and see the world just as it appears.Black and white.No color at all.Nothing like the fish tank I imagined.For I,I’m justA LittleColoredFish.Swimming in an ocean,Where I do not belong.

Livvy MeyersGrade 8

WORK URL 42

All these words crowd my mind,Yet out of reach,

Freedom, independence,Drifting in the clouds of my dreams

Trying to move forwardBut only pulled back

My beaten hands try to grasp onto the past

But the future is too strong a forceMy weakened body must give in

Alexis ZachemGrade 7

Rocco PalermoGrade 7

Equality

“Noi siamo tutti uguaglia,” my nonno always used to say. “Noi siamo tutti fratelli.” “We are all equals, we are all brothers.” Ever since I was a little ragazzino, he has repeated this to me over and over again, hoping I could catch on and realize that all of the racists were just “caffone” people trying to seem better than they really were. It never mattered what color somebody was, or where they came from, or what language they speak. My nonno said that God put us on this Earth for a reason, and it clearly wasn’t to mistreat other ethnic groups. I wish that other people were as straightforward and wise as him. Unfortunately, life has showed me that society has made people believe that certain people are better than others. The first time I realized this fact, I saw my Zio Vincenzino being humiliated by his boss.

(continued)

Feeling Freedom

The wind blows my way, but I can’t reach it.The smell of freedom lurks in the air.It smells like flowers after rain falls.

It feels like love blooming in my heart.I feel unwanted, shipped, and owned.

I feel taken away from my home.I want to feel where I can be myself.

I want to step out of the dark.So I do.

The wind blows my way.I can reach it.

Maia DeForgeGrade 7

WORK URL 43

My zio was a construction worker. During the early 1930s, work was scarce, and my zio went to look for work on the Empire State Building construction project. He found one, and for a while our family was very happy. About two weeks into his job, zio asked his boss for his payment. The boss, a big fat man with a gray mustache, gave him less money than what was written on their contract. My zio asked where the rest of his money was. his boss responded, shouting, “You lying little wop! I don’t owe you a cent! You’re lying! You’re trying to steal from good, American taxpayers!” My zio started to get angry, retorting, “If you did this to all of your workers, you’d have no construction crew!” The boss replied, “If you want to quit, go ahead. I ain’t stopping you! What separates you from the average guinea off the street? Nothing, that’s what!! All you stupid Italians are the same, you lying thief! Get out! You’re fired!” My zio walked away, cleaned up his tools, and came home. For weeks, we lived in despair over our dwindling money and looming rent to pay. Luckily, he was able to find work with a different construction company. In 1930s New York, money was hard to get, especially for Italian immigrants. We barely knew the English language, and the “better” immigrants refused to help us. There was no money for houses, so we lived in dirty, crowded tenements in Little Italy. The tenements held eight families. The small, dark apartments held large extended families. The children, in frayed clothes, were unable to attend school. The exhausted mothers were unable to work. Everyone depended on the earnings of the day laborers. If the laborers were fired, everyone suffered. My Zio Pompeo was becoming frustrated and angry. His bosses had no respect for the workers, and they often changed their minds about wages. The working conditions were deplorable. No measures were taken to ensure the workers’ safety. Many men became injured and were unable to work. The family would starve. My Zio Carlo fell three stories to the ground once while on a construction project. He broke both legs and was in the hospital for two months. He couldn’t work for six months, and even then, he was never the same. Most people would be surprised that the construction company didn’t pay for his medical expenses or support the family while he couldn’t work. But I was accustomed to this type of treatment. So, I quit school and went to work for the company. The workers treated me like dirt. I can clearly remember one of them saying, “Hey, look, now we have a small one to do the more dangerous stuff.” When Zio Carlo was well enough to work again, I continued working. Extra money at the end of the month for my family was more important than my education or safety. A few years after Zio Carlo’s fall, all eight of my uncles decided to join a union. Joining the union could mean no more wages. It meant threats, danger. But they knew they had to take a stand and work for what was right. Their boss came to the house with several bigger men to try to threaten my uncles into quitting the union. They wouldn’t, so, the next day, he fired all eight of them. Now, with no food or money, my family felt its strongest bond. Gradually, my uncles all found work again as carpenters, plumbers, and janitors. Their new jobs were safer, more stable, and paid better. My family was proud of my uncles for taking a risk and providing more money for the family and an example for the children. Throughout my life, my family has been discriminated against. When we walk by, some “superior” people always shout, “Guidos! Greasy Italians!” Each word hurts, but it is overcome. I bring myself to forgive the ignorant who dislike us for our heritage, but I can never forget. “Noi siamo tutti uguaglia. Noi siamo tutti fratelli.” “We are all equals. We are all brothers.” I respected my nonno, and his words will always ring true.

Marco PaternosterGrade 8

WORK URL 44

Adrienne TravisGrade 8

Editorial StaffEmily BerkEmily BernsteinSarah BohenRebecca EpemoluCharlie MusoffJon NatarajanSarah Weintraub

Faculty AdvisorPeggy Fox

English DepartmentJim AndreskiLisa BryanAlex CampbellKathleen ConnonDenise DelBalzoBrian FisherJanie FitzgeraldPeggy FoxCara HillerJonathan HilpertMarjorie RossMarci RothmanTrish SerafinDavid Wixted

Nadja DwyerGrade 6

Ellie MonthGrade 7

Many thanks to Ken Holvig for his efforts to help us produce

and publish thisLiterary Magazine!

Special ThanksMichael McDermottLarry ChatzinoffRochelle HaugeDenise CassanoLinda FisherMiriam Freedman-CarmenScarsdale Middle School PTA

Cover ArtworkRachel Schwartz, Grade 8

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