Panther Pages - Enchanted Letters 21-22

Entranced. Bewitched. Hexed. A state of being under a spell, whether for good or nefarious purposes. Enraptured. Ensorcelled. Allured. The state of being captivated by something. Charmed. Spellbound. A multitude of words and phrases to mean one thing: enchanted.

The theme of this year’s literary magazine is Enchanted Letters. This theme comes with a plethora of connotations, similar to the plethora of artistry and creativity that inhabits the halls of East Pennsboro. Are you under the hypnotizing spell of the writers in these pages? Are you allured to keep reading, keep experiencing the power of artistic passion? Are you ready to enter a place where dreams are revealed?

Then open your eyes and behold our Enchanted Letters.

- Lexi-Olive Lambert, Editor

Table of Contents

Perfectly idiosyncratic.

Nowhere near orderly,

Winding and twisting.

The curvy crevices of your brain,

Open your head,

‘Out of Order.’

Disorganized.

Inside out, all sorts of

Backwards, upside down,

Disorganized.

Inoperative, but also,

Down.

The machine has gone

Broken, broken,

‘Out of Order.’

A paper sign reads,

A blinking red light.

That you read out of order.

Almost like this poem

We’re all a little ‘Out of Order.’

One of the most confusing things to me is language and the rules around it. Like, how did some of these rules come to be? Some make sense, having something to indicate when to stop for breaths and such, but like, why can’t I just

؟this like type

I know it’s because “it confuses others,” but like why are we taught to read left to right and not right to left? In Japanese they learn right to left. It's not something inherent to language.

What makes even less sense is “professional styles” who says typing in comic sans isn’t professional? Or why do we need to be overly formal? No one likes that. “Hello, Mrs. Name, how do you do? I am very well, I hope your day is wonderful, and I hope this is not a bother, but...” Like what’s the point? Shouldn’t we be precise and to the point? “Can you sign this for me” that’s all we need, maybe like a hello but that’s it.

Another question I have is why do we need boringly formatted texts? It being straight fitted makes it so hard to read we have to read over.. And over…and over...Because of how BORING it is.

Think back to when the pandemic first started.

Chaos erupted and we were downhearted.

Stuck all day trapped in our houses,

No one was safe, not even a mouse.

I used to think our behavior was good.

The unwritten rule to help others was understood.

But my thoughts changed after I saw all around me,

People hoarding and stealing objects and money.

Some of us act like we’re number one,

And act like the disease is all done.

Some of us refuse to simply put on a mask

And see convincing others it’s over as their task.

Through riots and protests, we now know we’re prone,

To horrifying events we’d normally condone.

But that’s not at all an excuse for why,

Those “problems” refuse to comply.

The world will be acrid,

Until we finally get rid

Of those who corrupt our portrayal

Then demand for defrayal.

After all these years that made us all fret,

I know we’re fed up, but it’s not over yet.

How long ‘til it ends, no one knows when.

But we survived those years, we can do it again.

I don’t understand why we’ve sunk so low,

Why we damage our reputations, blow after blow.

How come we can’t be sisters and brothers?

And why can’t we just be respectful towards others?

It was a chilly December morning. I walked to my usual cafe faster than I usually would to avoid the cold. As I arrived, I noticed not many people were there, which meant it would be a peaceful morning to sit and enjoy my coffee. “One iced mocha, please,” I ordered, my mouth anticipating the chocolate-coffee mix of happiness. The lady handed me my coffee, and I took my usual seat in the green chair by the fireplace. I looked over and saw you, a man that I had never seen before. You were sitting there, eyes closed, as if to be sleeping. I took glances at you for a while, until finally, you opened your eyes and looked at me. You started to make conversation with me, and as the hour came for me to leave, you gave me your phone number.

From that cafe day, I would wake up to a “good morning” text, which turned into “picking you up at 7” texts, and then “I love you” texts. This winter was the winter of love for me, or so I thought. Suddenly, you became distant. No daily texts and no more seeing your shiny black car outside my home. No more feeling your arms hold me, in which it felt like I could just melt right there like a snowman on a sunny day.

The days got colder and colder, and I got more lonely and confused. Then, you completely disappeared. I tried calling you, but only to be answered with, “We are sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” My heart shattered and crumbled into tiny pieces.

The funny thing is, is that I was comfortable being alone again this winter until you came along. You won me over with your bright blue eyes and shiny black car. I realized that I didn’t want to be alone anymore when I was with you. However, you left faster than I could blink, and now I’m truly alone again. God, I desperately hate being so alone. Winter is the season of romance, where love blooms. For me, it is surviving the cold months with a frozen heart.

Image by Izzy Rullo

To believe we have unique thoughts

To think unique thoughts

Is nothing short of impossible

A need to be original

Creativity emphasized

To believe a deception

The world is recycled

Inventions unoriginal

Explanations rearranged

Ideas a renewal

We compare and contrast

Nothing more

New springs from old

A seed must be planted

For the sprout to grow

The plant towers high

It’s branches twisting at random

But it still grows the same

The same as another

To think anew

Compare your ideas

Previous understandings

The food for new revelations

Contrast a born concept

Originality is a lie

But closer to a perception

A mind novel

It’s products, conversely, reused

New ideas died

When one man became two

photo by Samantha Kintzel

Winter.

A beautiful white blanket covers the earth,

Sparkles and twinkles when the sun hits it just right,

Winter is beautiful…

Right?

Along the snowy banks of a pond,

Stood a boy,

Covered head to toe in clothing,

Boots caked in snow,

Jeans soaked and mattered with mud,

Cheeks rosy red,

With winter blue eyes that gazed,

Upon the frozen lake,

Locked with a sheet of ice,

Waters beneath it nothing but a black abyss,

Hesitant,

Slowly stepped onto the ice,

It creaked and groaned beneath his boots,

But the boy kept going,

Birds cawed in worry from the trees,

But the boy kept going.

Crack

Snap

Plunk

Crunch

A faint sound,

One only those who listened closely could hear,

But the noise grew louder,

And louder,

Feeling his heart catch in his throat,

Head-turning to look behind,

Eyes widening til they looked like saucers,

Behind him...

Realization...

The ice was cracking.

He ran,

Boots skidding across the ice,

Making a break for the snowy bank,

The noise grew louder,

CRACK,

SMASH,

PLUNK,

The boy felt his heart skip a beat,

Hearing large chunks of ice sink into the bottomless lake,

He could see the bank in the distance,

He’s so close,

But the noise grew even louder,

And even closer,

The wind began to howl,

Nipping,

Gnawing,

Clawing,

At the boys face,

In desperation, he looked around,

Eyes locking onto the trees,

Once covered in beautiful green leaves,

Kissed by the sun,

Dead and empty,

Their branches shake in fear,

Birds perched on these branches,

Cawed in dismay,

Beady black eyes fixated on the boy,

Almost there now,

Just a few more steps,

Safety!!!

But the noise grew louder,

Suddenly,

His foot sunk into the black waters below,

The boy fell,

Body slams against the ice with a loud,

THUMP,

Icy,

Cold,

That numbing feeling,

Shoots through the boy like a rocket taking off into space,

He scrambled,

Stumbled,

And fought to rise to his feet mentally chanting,

He was only a few steps away from the bank,

I can make it!

The noise enveloped him,

The boy rose,

Limping towards the bank,

Just a few more steps and then-

And then…

Silence.

Deafening,

Heart wrenching…winter…

Silence

Snip, cut, snip.

Useless, maybe important pieces of you,

being cut off, thrown away, and left behind.

Having so many ways you have been folded, been attacked by challenges,

feared by failure.

When you unfold and face them, those creases still remain.

You have to be a new you, a new piece.

Live with those discarded pieces,

with all those folds,

don’t be afraid to make new ones.

Go out and make new crinkles,

memories, choices, changes.

Don’t look back on what was left behind.

All the snipping and cutting is what you are now!

With many changes,

but a work of art.

Metal on metal

Crunch

Metal on sand

Metal on mud

Shiny horns

made of metal

Shiny truck

made of destruction

Metal on metal

Snap

Metal on plastic

Metal in eyes

Bright colored trucks

roaring by

Stands full of people

cheering for the destruction

Metal on metal

Chomp

Metal on metal

CHOMP

People shout as the truck

climbs the ramp

Rushing, roaring, moving

to crush the poor creatures

Metal on metal

Crash

Metal on twisted metal

Metal on smashed glass

The tires are twice the size

of an abnormally large person

The demolished vehicles

twice the size of the truck

Metal on metal

Boom

Metal on earth

Metal on top of you

The only place where mud

falls from the sky

Like rain but launched

from destruction

Metal on metal

Bang

Metal on monster

Monster on metal

The monster is victorious

because the monster doesn’t care

The monster is victorious

because all are small compared to it

Do the small deserve to be crushed?

The sociological concepts

holding this world together

declare how power corrupts

and mangles the perception of others.

Mangles like metal on metal

Corrupts like monsters in the

wrong hands

Metal on sin

Is that what this is supposed to teach us?

The power of metal on metal on screams?

The joy of metal on metal on BANG?

The calm of metal on metal on crushed?

Metal on metal

Crunch

art by Izzy Rullo

As I walk through the orchard in the valley

I see something that you can’t see

But I’m still blinded by the nearly ripe fruit

Signals both red and green

You can say to the trees, what you can’t say to me

Secrets and traumas alike

But I’m still blinded by the nearly ripe fruit

And the apples are more red than green

Find a branch and whisper your confession

From your present and from your youth

The leaves will turn brown, watch as they fall,

More grow in their place to hear your call

Oh autumn is a beautiful season

But she’s still searching for a reason

A way to say “hey, I’ll sit back today”

And a way to let go of her treasons

She’s got til spring to remember

There’s ways to make it to September

Get her roots in the ground, make her feel safe and sound

And be the ground, the only contender

Photo by Samantha Kintzel

Taking a short walk around the neighborhood, ice all around.

The sight offers a sense of alacrity that cannot be found

anywhere else in town.

The razor sharp sting of coldness pierces through,

a feeling that one cannot experience without the element of blue.

Warmth seeps through my skin because of the weight of my clothes.

All the while I notice a lack of humidity, apparent under my nose.

The streetlights glow, meaning it's time to go.

I rush back, eager to see home.

As soon as I enter through the door, the heated air greets me almost immediately.

Exhausted as ever, my feet give out inconveniently.

Smuggling next to my mother, whom I love,

time passes by which is undreamed of.

Without even realizing, the sun is already peaking through the blinds.

Crazy how time moves by this quickly, I’m already out of my mind!

As lazy as I am, I don’t feel guilty about being worn out.

After all, winter is a great excuse to be lazy

and have a long lie in, without a doubt!

Making the most out of the shorter days,

My lack of energy only continues, as I stare around in complete daze.

I enjoy spending the night binge watching my favorites.

At the same time, my comfort foods are waiting nearby; always looking exquisite.

Despite the cold feet and the shivers during daylight,

It's a beautiful winter experience,

Tis a Brumal Night.

photo by Caitlin Peters

oh,

to jump in

with closed eyes,

fully submerged.

to never return,

killing us

both.

cool to the touch,

but burns like a fire.

an avalanche

separates everything

i have,

you.

lovely

spring brings death.

what feels like a

fresh breath of air

from the biting snow

ends up suffocating

me.

today.

all the flowers

planted in barren

frost never emerge,

sowing seeds never

meant to bloom,

us.

Oh, so lovely today.

photo by Katelyn Stodolak

Down in a forest and fearing the trees

The scree giving way to descent

Wandering, wearily wondering

Which was the way that I went

Finally seeing, relieving to meet

A shining assortment of ice

Though it refrained from assisting me

I saw, within them, advice

Frozen, the creekbed was calm and replete

As snow was beginning to fall

Too, the way trees were reflected so

I saw myself just as tall

Seeing my face past the shrouding of white

I shunned the flawless allure

Preferring to witness the trees unobscured

Unexpectedly then came the night

photo by Foster Lemley

I button up my jersey, and lace up my cleats.

For the last time, I will be taking the field and

playing the sport that I learned to play at age seven.

For the last time, I will scrub the dirt out of my pores

and limp around my house with sore legs and feet.

For the last time, I will pack my bags

and load up the car for a weekend tournament

spent in a hotel with my dad.

For the first time, however, I will be saying goodbye

to the sport that stitched its name into my soul.

For the first time, I turn my head

and over my shoulder, and down the road

stands a little girl

with pigtails and a bright yellow bat.

For the first time, I will say goodbye to that little girl

who loved the sport so dearly.

And for the last time, I will take the field and play

one more game.