Repairing

The Ice Men

By Ilan Rekem ‘23

Look, that man, you see him there?

Look, his frozen coat, flagging in the air.

Now close your blinds, kill the time,

forget the iceman far away—

Bathe in the heat, drown in its sea,

and don’t you ever let them know what you see.

Look, that building, you see it there?

Look, its structure, it cracks and tears.

Now go rest, be fast,

you’ve witnessed how promises last—

Land on your bed, anchor your legs,

and don’t you ever let them know what you said.

Dream of dandelions,

of fantastic violets,

of creeping buttercups fire licked.

Don’t lift the root, and peer inside:

at the snow storm the ice men have not survived.

A Grief You Can't Place

By Sam Zaslow-Braverman ‘23

It's a quiet night out tonight

With bright headlights in sight

To incite our intricate fights

You and I in the same lawn chair

Any last secrets you want to share?

On a recent page of your journal, there's a tear

From where I separated the info from the source

And now they're the subject of too much discourse

And they come out stilted, and awful, and forced

But I want to hear you sing that stupid song anyway

And watch as it fails you despite all you say

Summer, April, Winter, May

It's in you all year even still

When the trees burn to dust and their fruit decays

It all stays a fear even still

It never stays clear even still

And look, now, the car's gone

It chose a different street to watch another child sulk

It always come back so don't stop for long

For they travel the roads in bulk

Now the onus of the lights is on Agnes

They shine through wheatfields miles wide

To reach a young girl, sobbing in her room

For reasons she fails to describe

And there's someone named Storm involved somehow

Memories of them are fond

How the two of them met is blurry

But that never sullied their bond

Agnes and Storm talked every day

Sharing their hopes and wonders

When the rain made mud and ruined the fields

They shouted above the thunder

Storm wants to set up shop in New York

The land of glass and beauty

Building the buildings they see onscreen

When the two of them go to the movies

Agnes wants to make the films

Displaying the work of Storm

Pan to the left of that high-rise

The lens is sepia, covered with warmth

A perfect team, they both rejoice

And Storm plants a kiss on her cheek

And all at once, the walls come down

They both now know what they seek

One summer day, they have a picnic on a hill

The birds might have flown away

And they put their arms around dear Agnes

And said they were here to stay

And there are more memories after that one

But none of them ring quite as true

She has an epiphany like never before

And confusion replaces the blue

She never knew a Storm, but remembered them well

When she tells her parents, they don't understand

She's grieving a person who never existed

Yet she feels Storm's palm on her hand

A car pulls up to the house soon after

But nobody opens the door

They shine their brights on Agnes' face

She's bright like never before

She can cry in the glow, since it celebrates tears

Before the director yells "cut"

The glow soothes your troubles with documentation

And then it all wraps, and the lights are all shut

What did I tell you? The car's en route

With aim to record your descent

You just love that attention, don't you?

Or would you suffer in the dark instead?

It's a quiet night out tonight

With bright headlights in sight

To incite our intricate fights

You and I smelling the fresh-cut grass

Soft as silk and sharp as glass

Rippling as your fingers weave and pass

This time, what say we get in the car?

I'll drive us to Agnes, it's not too far

To the city where every bright light is a star

In a constellation meant to kill

You can't see that picnic on a hill

The blaze is one hell of a pill

And it keeps its eyes open even still

When the trees burn to dust and the fruit decays

It keeps its mind hoping even still

It keeps it from choking even still

The car smells of cigarettes and beer

But don't fret 'cause I can still drive

Headlights refract to show your fear

You're on the air, in living-color live

Decades have passed, Agnes is well

A house in Beverly Hills

Scared to have kids, since what if they're fake?

Filmmaking provides enough thrill

A humanist epic like none before it

Is what she set out to make next

A show of towering spikes and lies

With the subtlest subtext

The script is written from memory

Since experience proves to be false

That's what Storm has taught her

Life as you live it quakes at its faults

She's good at her job, and prolific, too

This is her ninth so far

Yet she's never written a screenplay

Without yearning for Storm's warm arms

But filming is done, editing ensues

She's back at ninety-two-ten

Picks up a bottle straight off the plane

And drinks it all in her den

And she thinks about Storm

With their hair and their face

What color was it? I don't know

Is it because I'm drunk?

Is the memory truly fading?

Why would I forget you?

Why would anyone in their right mind forget you?

You don't have a face

That's why

She wakes up the next morning and decides to call it quits

And make this next film her last

Till death won't she part from flirtation with time

Learning the myths of her past

Why does she remember a person

Who was never alive at all?

Why does she remember a kiss

When their face she can't recall?

She rents a car and drives all day

Until she gets back to the farm

Navigating strictly by memory

Or an instinct in some such form

The road winds ahead to the place they would play

The cornfields stand as they did

The only thing that isn't there

Is the house in which she lived

Yet the car is still there, parked on the path

Shining into the air

Cleaning Agnes' futile tears

Toward the house that never was there

She can cry in the glow, since it celebrates tears

Before the set is dismantled

The glow soothes your troubles with documentation

And then props are striked, and displayed for example

Don't leave the vehicle, we're moving too fast

One thousand an hour and change

Your time on stage is just a first pass

You'll be back. Now, isn't that strange?

It's a quiet night out tonight

With bright headlights in sight

To incite our intricate fights

I'm starting to enjoy our fraught little time

Racing past planets and turning on dimes

If you feel the same way, please give me a sign

I'll wait eons for one if I have to

Facilitating your faculties without a thank-you

A nod by itself would do

But enough about me, I've a story to tell

I tell it free, but normally it sells

For millions every sentence, ten-thousand for the shell

And yet you hear it free even still

When the trees burn to dust and the fruit decays

It fills us with glee even still

And it's just our decree even still

Steering's locked up and the turn's far away

We've got limited time left to talk

So listen to what I have to say

And dismiss the upcoming shock

Agnes walks to the car near her old home

Which didn't truly exist

She punches the window, shards fall like snow

The pane doesn't try to resist

(but Storm's buildings would never fall)

Nobody's in the car, no one she can name

But something that doesn't belong

Breathes in the crystals and feeds on death

And croons a sweet mating song

She knows to run, but she does not

And then it starts to rain

She's hard-pressed to find shelter

From the clear liquid untamed

She opens the back door and buckles up

The machine lurches to a start

If only she had her camera, she thinks

As a substitute for her heart

We start off slow, her and I

We seldom go too fast

But in time the surroundings are a blur

Her troubled face aghast

Museum to reading to screening to dance

We drive for many moons

Drinking art like cool spring water

It dries up far too soon

We shine our lights on creations we see

To me, they mean the world

To her they're but a pastime

To me, their meaning unfurls

I lived for millennia after the crash

Agnes died on impact

But think of all the lives we've touched

With our headlights poised for attack

All the stages we've brightened, the reels we've played

The pages we've lit late at night

Misery is penance, loneliness reward

For it gives you artists sight.

When she croaked through a broken neck

I knew this was my calling

Imparting concepts like Storm on people

Nothing is more enthralling

You're wondering where your own memory went

But I know you know what I'll tell you

Your long lost love is a long lost glyph

In your mind's artistic spew

Yet the car is still there, parked on the path

Shining into the air

Cleaning Agnes' futile tears

Toward the house that never was there

You can cry in the glow, but you're behind it

So it's more like fascination

The glow soothes your troubles, but you have none

It's not your situation

Just a few more miles to the turn

Are you ready to say goodnight?

Maybe you'll meet Agnes

Shame. You'd have something to write

It's a quiet night out tonight

With bright headlights in sight

To perform this rite of passage right

A car will pick you up in a few

And from there, you know what to do

Meet a girl on a farm who reminds you of you

Get to know her, you'll become good friends

Kiss her on the cheek, your love knows no ends

And then another car will be sent

It'll be a quick and simple procedure

Get in the car, make no attempt to see her

Once you leave her farm, perception will deceive her

She won't trust her own mind even still

When the trees burn to dust and the fruit decays

She'll look for a sign even still

Meet the corner in time even still

Just like you have all those years ago

When a steed brought you to me

And though you have nowhere else to go

You're welcome to try to flee

Now Agnes will start a masterpiece

By meeting a boy named Ray

They'll grow closer to this aspiring painter

And they'll be ripped away

You'll reunite as soon as it's done

You'll make up for all the lost time

You'll kiss and hug for hours on end

You can be in the dark as you shine

What will you say to them?

Will you congratulate them, hate them

Appreciate them for the work they've done?

Bringing your kind endless joy from art

That imparts wisdom on the dearly departed

And helps them see the sun?

You might not believe they're real

Though you can feel their warm skin

through their teal jacket, but really attack it, destroy the

Love you thought was hallucinatory

Or maybe you'll see them as clearly as the clips they captured

On their camera, reels and reels, all of them real and you'll kneel

At her feet and apologize for the first time that you were even asked to leave

She might grant you reprieve and that's something neither of us can conceive

Because we left her.

Because we're nothing but shadows to her.

Because we're all but shallow people they

Remembered when they wallowed on their

Worst days in the worst ways.

They never remembered us when they felt in control,

When they could speed down the freeway without paying toll,

A real soul with real goals and true warts and moles,

When you and I are physically flawless, psychologically lawless

Completely proprietary to a time in their life when they truly needed someone like you

The car will arrive any minute now

We'll find out then

I've always loved people like you.

Even if I put you through hell and back, I do

Even as you tear your life apart with your art, it's true

And there it is. Do you see the lights?

How they brighten your dreams and sorrows for the final time?

The driver's seat window is broken

And through it, you can see a silhouette…

The Academy at the End of History

By Anonymous

When our scientist sibyls made the dark prophecy on the last of the Holocene,

saying that civilization may not die, but civilizations will, that day

uttering the now infamous line that we all know by heart, there we vowed to

fight to save what history and culture we could, salvage and

save from out of the wreckage and ruin of total collapse, total collapse that we

faced out of our own inaction, and that now threatens to

ruin everything we have built, everything we have done, so son, I do not

do what I do out of fear, but out of hope and necessity, for when the waters

rose, like a ray, a ray of light or like a manta that you

know so well but that before the floods I only saw in a zoo, when the waters

rose the first to go were the ones most vulnerable, the least

recorded, countless cultures lost in a couple decades as they could not

escape, not like you and I, and they died with their cultures, now

lost forever to the seas, and it is on that day that we

built the Academy, the Academy at the End of History, to

save our cultures, our histories, our civilizations so different and yet

united by the common threat of utter destruction that we all together

know, know by every dying tree or missing butterfly, by every rainstorm

evoking total fear into the hearts of our elders, in me, while the young

know flood so well, like my parents knew rain, anxious rain, rain that

gives me my anxiety, anxiety that our people, our peoples, will

die out before we have a chance to save their history, before we can

save our human experience, our story, our myth, the myth that we

told ourselves every day, the myth of progress, that culture so

obsessed with itself that it could not even see its own toxicity, nor

see its own deterioration from within, so obsessed with itself that it was

blind to the suffering that this culture, this myth, created and

sustained, and yet still today I work to sustain this story, not to

repeat the myth of progress but to keep its memory alive, to

remind of what it was like when we thought everything was going up and

improving, though now I know it not to be true, but I still have to

fight for the cultures that thrived under this comforting prayer that we

hoped for and worked towards and yet that led to the suffering that we all

face, some more than others, that threatens some cultures more, that

strangles some perceptions of our human myth, yet not others, that’s my fight, to

preserve these cultures most at risk, yes the songs that they

sung, and the books that they wrote, and the food that they

ate, but really above all the stories they told, the story that’s always being

told, again and again in different ways by different people, the story

told of humanity’s resilience, whether that be truth or lie it is not mine to

tell, but the story of progress, of development and innovation and dreams

dreamt, how everyone had their own reflection of this story, like the sea

reflects the sky, distorting it but adding colors to it, all these cultures each

reflecting this story of the human experience in a different way, yet still

united by our common experiences that we all as humans

hold, and even now, in this godforsaken, sunken, burnt-out age that we

inhabit, we all have different experiences, that must be saved, must be

preserved, and that, my son, is why I do this job, why I venture to

preserve all that I can, for it is our experiences and how we each

remember and reflect upon them that define who we are, and so I

must save these stories, cultures, reflections, memories for that is what

makes a human, and to kill a human is the greatest crime of all, so to

let die the stories, cultures, reflections, memories that make us who we

are, that is to kill their memory, to make them as a shadow, and I cannot

leave them like that, so this is what I do every day: I

remember, I

record, I

breathe life, I

write, and I

draw, and I

sing, and I

ponder, and I

experience, and I

preserve the stories, cultures, reflections, memories, and all that truly

makes us human, for even in this Academy at the End of History, we all still deserved

to be remembered.

goodbye

By Hannah Weisz ‘24

my love shakes and pulls

at every cord attached to my edges,

share itself grow fame and

give out my name and

I want to let it sit

but it atrophies without movement,

its own heart within mine loses the will

to keep beating with no hope of escaping me

Growth

By Lily Glass ‘22

Grew up together

Fought, but not like siblings

We grew further and further

Started together at the root

But we grew to separate branches

Our relationship became moot

It was your fault

You were a burden

Every now and again I open that vault

I look back and ask if I even know you

When you threw the fruit I saw

Right through you

I knew that was it

Again we’re different branches

You fell off the tree, how can she think you’re close-knit?

She says we know different versions

But I’ve seen every character

When you call it’s just recursions

The stains on the ceiling

Remind me no one will ever be done with you

I just need some healing

But every time I hear the ring

You just keep stealing

The attention and they continue

Dealing and avoiding feeling

That’s not me

I don’t find any of this appealing

One day they will cease kneeling

At your beck and call and I won’t be there

I’ll be squealing

In your absence.

Babydoll

By Hannah Lancman ‘22

Baby Dolls are made of plastic

And their clothes are made of cotton With pretty pink daisies and rose Colored cheeks painted with ease and Blue eyes curtained by lashes full Of wonder, innocence and hope. Thin red lips open in a smile

A babyish cry released

Mother, mama, care for me please! Love me, care for me, smile, say cheese! Rockabye baby sweet, sweet, sweet Smell of wood paint on bars holding Forever innocent mine, she

Wishes to stay, stay, stay wishing Upon a star made of plastic

Yellow smiling down from above Is the mom, a baby herself

Still holding her bottle of milk

Could it be that my care needs care? But will the baby ever think,

That her mother is just the same, With clothes pretty pink and rosey Cheeks that have an innocent glow? The difference between you and me I care for you, know what I need But you, you stare blue eyes in space Following me, following me

Expiration Date

By Hannah Lancman ‘22

every item has an expiration date

milk is in a week, flour in a year

fruit loses its freshness to fruit flies

drowning in a sweet aroma

really, everything has an expiration date

there is a certain amount of time you will own a pair of shoes

and the years spent living at home will one day come to a close

unawareness of these expiration dates

without the use of black letters printed in plastic ink scattered carelessly along the side of a peanut butter jar

makes life a guessing game

when will one friendship end and another will begin?

objects can be smelled, tasted, or tried on

but we cannot

we have an expiration date

and no method to test

if the shoe will fit

I Don't Know How To Start Love Letters

By Sam Zaslow-Braverman ‘23

I don’t really know how to start love letters. I haven’t actually

Written a true love letter in my life, so I’m not sure if you’re

Supposed to start it like a poem, or a novel, or a formal essay.

Maybe it’s something in between.

Consideration, just tried to break the ice

Invalidation, that didn’t feel too nice

Appreciation, of our collective vice

Implications, I had to pay a price

Any harm was unintentional

And yet you failed to mention all

The heart I poured into that letter

Yes, my truth was three-dimensional

And yet it was conventional

Too strong for me to know any better

I told you I loved you, got nothing in return

Tried to delete the conversation, let the relationship burn

When I got rid your contact I felt something in me turn

So I put the number back in my phone, a number I didn’t earn

Blamed myself for days and days because of you

Negligence and silence made me aspire to

Take back every nice thing I’ve ever had to do

You broke my heart and goddamn it, you truly knew.

Consideration, just tried to break the ice

Invalidation, that didn’t feel too nice

Appreciation, of our collective vice

Implications, I had to pay a price

The first day of summer camp, we both started chanting the words

“Human Shield" for some reason. We were the only ones saying that,

And it confused the hell out of everyone else. That’s the moment

I knew I liked you. Then, about a week later, I was

Walking across a field at dusk, and you came up behind me,

Grabbed my shoulders, and screamed into my

Left ear. I jumped about a foot into the air. That’s the moment I

Knew I really liked you. Finally, at the end of camp, you

Played guitar and sang for everyone. Two numbers went by, and you said

There weren’t going to be any more. But then you got back

Onstage and rickrolled all of us, acoustically. That’s the moment

I knew I loved you, and the moment I knew that I would love you for

A very long time.

Now I write poems about you, that’s pathetic

Hopin’ I can gain some ears that, are sympathetic

Prayin’ I can ditch this self-hating rhetoric

Wishin’ you weren’t so, goddamn magnetic

You know what I mean? There’s something in your eyes

An old soul with true goals, celestial in disguise

Funny, Pretty, supernaturally wise

The perfect storm in which we can both of us capsize

I don’t trust my heart because of what you did

Feel miles above you but I’m still a little kid

Disregarded my words with resentment that you hid

A simple “no” would have sufficed, but God forbid

I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I don’t feel that

Way about most people on earth. Horrible movies, Sartre, death metal,

Therapy, it doesn’t matter. Occasionally, when I text you, I feel down.

Sometimes it isn’t significant. It rarely is. I just know that learning

More about you brings more light into my day.

I can’t trust the pen because of your actions

Can’t write confidently once more based on your reactions

False friendship supported by your inactions

Lost my writing the luster that gave it attraction

Teeter-tottering between anger and sorrow

Check my messages hoping for replies tomorrow

And perhaps your own declaration to follow

But I don’t know. If I were capable of letting go…

You live in Virginia. That’s about 373 miles from New Jersey.

I live in New Jersey. That’s about 373 miles from Virginia.

I know you think a long-distance relationship is impractical.

That’s okay. In the end, I just want to be close to you,

Whether that’s as a boyfriend, or just a friend. But never a stranger.

I hope you feel the same way.

So that’s all I have to say. This is a love letter.

I know it’s disorganized, but it’s all true. You can ignore it if you want to,

And you won’t catch any flak from me. Hell, you could tell me how stupid

And saccharine it is and I probably wouldn’t mind. No matter where life

Takes us in the short run or the long one, I’m always happy to text about

music, movies, existentialism, and so much more.

Yours,

Sam

Alone

By Sam Zaslow-Braverman ‘23

Alone.

I wish I had the privilege and the pleasure of saying someone broke my heart but it wasn’t exactly stoked from the start.

Alone.

Hoping I might get noticed by my face or my name in a crowd that knows my place and never stays the same

Alone.

Watching movies all night while the fight leaves my bones, I’m driving inside the cones, the lens is sepia cause most other things are dark, down deep in a sleet-covered sleepscape, snow knows my predicament though it might be indicative of something far faker than the statues on screen

Alone.

If the shoe fits, put it on. I fear my chance at love is long-gone, beyond reason, beyond salvation, anon I show appreciation for my write or flight response but it isn’t enough for me. Keys in the ignition, I speed from the seeds of my sorrow, telling myself I’ll be gone by tomorrow, then the steering wheel locks, reverse follows. Headlights beaming their bright light through the night as I make my way to the first of many final fights.

Alone.

I got melatonin but I lack sufficient serotonin, hopin’ that snafu gets solved before my head teeter-totters too far into a tailspin. I have a thick skin but a weak interior, feeling inferior unworthy of a crush or a flame or a thought I can claim. It’s all the same, making up shit to blame, hoping to exempt myself from this shame, hoping that when I find the one, all my struggle will be done, just fun times in the sun with the beating of the drums, but it can't feasibly be that easy ‘cause that queasy feeling leavin’ me reeling’s got a ceiling and no one will help me find it.

Alone.

Nobody can completely comprehend my conflicts but me. So many see them and assume but a small portion are true, and they’ve hardly got a clue, but they’re right. That’s a fight I’d like to pick. A right to which I’d like to stick. I embellish, that’s my fatal flaw. But I never lie and if you saw, the lengths I’d truly go to show you how head-to-toe self-sabotaging I am, how this carefully-calculated collage casts a mirage over the eyes of all who see my façade, I swear to god that you’d want me to handle my problems

Alone.

Lullaby

by Ilan Rekem '23

I wanted to sing you a lullaby under the moon, but you were gone too soon

I wanted you to poison my skies whilst we bloom

I’d rather you love me - your worth

But we never got that chance, it’s down there in the earth

I need to sing you a lullaby under the stars, but you’ve gone off to mars

I need you to kill them dead after we dance in the yard

I’d rather you hate me - your birth

But we have to take a rain check, it’s encased in worms.

I can still shake the Polaroid, but what happens when it rips?

If a sketch of your face is all I’ll have left, is it only time until it slips?

I’ll sing you a lullaby beneath dawn, despite us apart for so long

I’ll watch you comfort me and we’ll embrace

I’ll rather we sit by the sunrise and sing grace

and while you’re down in the dirt we’ll reminisce you to our place