In Maine: Winter, Summer, in my room
By Dorcas Bolese
Whiteout, chasing down,
engulfing,
sieging
crests of green and pine.
The lingering snow,
melting,
morphing into
a rink of ice.
While cheers of children
playing within
the frozen powder–
constructing armies of angels and men.
Their squeals,
from receiving an
Snowball to the face,
waking another
slumbering neighbor
in the late morning.
For them,
the invasive crystalline,
a wall away.
Warmth found
from seclusion
and blankets from
pipes disconnected
Chamomile Tea
cools
consuming
the frosty air around.
Winter.
It takes all,
then runs away
••••
Who would question
the earth flourished,
nurtured, and enchanting.
The evergreen stand
perfectly tranquil,
beside fields of blueberries
stretching
and reach the horizon.
Who would comment
on the sun-drenched lush.
••••
Where strangers
are lost and I am welcome
screams of the world
Silence for my comfort
My pristine escapade
A barrier from
the grass bucolic,
from the snow barren
that close in.
Sorrows of Creeper
By Dorcas Bolese
I spawn from emptiness
With an ability so effortless
Never knowing who I am
What I’ll be.
So, I roam the seed
From one rise of one sun
To another one.
The kin of nite pass all around me
Never too close to actually know me
The men undead,
the men of time
The men of bones
and the men of light
With character and life once enjoyed
But I am a bomb that must implode
At the end of the day, it is my purpose
But it all seems worthless
to be A man of lithium,
and gunpowder
And TNT
No one dear come to close me.
Cycle of Affection
By Dorcas Bolese
I think I love you
The endless hum
of natures buzz,
fertility, and life
Ceases its exhaustion
And hurt because
of the thing we are.
I see the future
of a blossoming bud
The garden as a whole
Life, giving one more eternity
To see us grow
I like you
I am enthralled with hope
Of what we could be
We could share our thoughts
And become one in unison
Merging the opposing magnets
We should be able
to reach for the stars
–We should
Do I know you?
Each guide our blind eyes
Down the distant path
Deaf to our past symphony
And its colors and magic
Tropical now frozen
The target of erosion.
My closest stranger.
Young Martyr
by Dorcas Bolese
In the arms of a stranger
Stabbed by the invisible
Knives of democracy
Of our nation.
The gray sky reflects
Mundane life around.
The redshirt
Red devils, the inner
Evil that consumes
Put out again coated
In sugar and freedom.
Retell your story
Young martyr
Park Jong-cheol,
We see your art.
Your blood nourishes
the soil of today.
Your spirit feeds nations
Discussions.
You will see peace in your path.
You paint with brushes
To reveal the truth.
The world paints with
The blood
Of young marytrs.
We will hold you up
We protect you,
My young Pietá.
Empty Kettles
by Natalie Waloven
Her teapot was occupied
only by the flies
that lingered
on its sides.
They crawled
jumped
walked like whispers
on its tarnishing sides.
They searched
for its last sugars
brave enough to come
in open daylight.
But even the flies
did not have
the strength
to venture inside.
They shrouded her.
They broke her memory.
But to clear them
would mean
to look inside
and see her face.
To sigh
and have her voice echo
back like old music.
Clearing them would
bring back her shadow
in one little corner
that can’t be touched.
Perhaps the flies can stay.
The End
by Natalie Waloven
The good
may not
be mere
against their
evilest of
foes
who laugh like
kings and
lick their knives
in the fog that doesn’t show
But when the blood
with which
you breathe
matches that
from your
cut hand,
who’s to say
the blood is not
your own,
in the end?
1877 by Amelia Gardner
Hot gleaming lights bore against her skin,
Her final extravaganza disguised in elegance and grace.
Bewitching pink labored across the stage,
Pointed toes hitting every mark.
Tension grows from the piano’s distress,
Fragile violence breaking in
and onto her dancing fingers,
Illuminating the lost inhibitions,
Unclouded by marked forte
an impending and expected doom.
Coyotes in the Woods - Jack Riddle
Surrounded by coyotes,
horrifying yet amazing to watch,
snarling,
howling,
all around him,
unfazed by the chaos around.
With a calm yet assertive voice
shooting them down one by one
to no avail,
the coyotes continue relentlessly.
I run to stop the conflict,
almost as though I have power over them.
They scatter into the woods,
but the damage had been done.
Why would anyone
stand for something like this?
I tell him, “We should report this,”
He sadly said “no,
they don't care about me.”
I bow my head in silence
knowing it to be true
because, in my youth,
they never listened to me.
Who would listen to a freshman anyway?
Milk and Honey
By: Elena Schlax
An orange tree
It stands alone
She reads inside its shadow
Thinks of the seeds she’s sewn
She wonders of a world
That's beautiful and sunny
She pictures then a land
Flowing with milk and honey
And now she dreams in color
And I just wish I might
See in blues and yellows
Without her, life is black and white
She thinks no one will notice
When she does leave the room
But I notice everything
Down to the color of her shoes
I know she rides a bike
And leaves an open door
Just in case she forgets a key
And must return once more
The orange tree
That still is standing strong
And doesn’t seem to wilt
Is seen dancing ‘til dawn
Still she looks like Dickens wrote her
And DaVinci drew her face
Steinbeck gave her kindness
And Atwood gave her strength
So looking in the mirror
The only thing I see
This child that I love so much
The girl I used to be
But I’m picking up the pieces
And finding her again
But while I’m on my way there
She’ll always be a friend
And orange trees
Are always bright
They sing their songs
And find the light
I hope I grow again like that someday
But time will pass and I’ll grow more away
Spreading my wings- Justin Silver
I lie awake in my chamber watching as the golden sphere rises
And watching as the children play in the fields of freedom
Mourning that I will never have their freedom or even
Taste the joy of being a “normal child’’ but alas
I am a bird in a cage wanting to spread my wings
Souring in the dusky sky. I am afraid of what my
Guardian would think what would they do if they found out
I was not mortal, I was an angel. Nay, I can not let my
Fear controls me any longer I must break off my chain and
spread my wings. As I wait for the gods to give me a sign
I made my mark in the mossy stone wall for the last time
At dawn, I shall leave and spread my wings for the first time in maleness
Yes I will admit every bone in my body is telling me no as I look to the sky
With the town below that I used to call home I was free and thanking the gods
For helping me find my way and spread my wings.
A reminder of my own illiteracy
By Ana Borda
Talking over a two piece phone
Her soft voice lulling metallically
Letters slipping through my fingers
like snow in a child’s warm palms.
The face of a loved one warping
into that of a stranger.
It’s Tia Jimena’s birthday today.
Hoy es el cumpleaños de tia Ximena…
Joy
By Mason Small
Joy became a funeral
that celebrated the death of sadness
The sadness whos warm embrace
had been felt for to long
The warm embrace that was always lingering
It was high time for a goodbye
And time for sadness to be replaced with joy
Joy overwhelming
Joys embrace was new
With a different kind of warmth
A good warmth like a hug
Not like the warmth of sadness
Like the warmth of a flame
Burning your skin
The words that were never spoken
by- anonymous
The words that were never spoken
The time I wish I could have back
The minutes I missed
How selfish I was
The card I never sent
Something you could see but never saw
Like an owl hidden in its nest high in the pine tree
The chances I never took
The time I took for granted
All I wanted was to say I’m proud
That I love you one last time
But yet here I am left with all these words
All the things racing through my head
The sound I hear
The happiness we could share
However the ball doesn’t always stay in the air
It has to hit the ground at the worst time
Oh the words that were never spoken
The wings you grow as you elevate in the sky
But sink in the dirt
Oh the words I could never speak
Pure upon arrival
By Owen T.
Fluid, Liquid is clear and
extrapolating
It seeps up into everything
when you least expect.
The air is cool and coff
I walk through the forested
streets
not knowing when it will
ever be me big and tall
who consumes it all or a
little tatty thing like a roach
purging the most essence
of its host. The vineyard is
almost starting to escape
cradling marmite to the river
to sink in the everlasting well
and welts into the essence itself.
When I finally reach the beach,
the grape (like a pearl) is so pure.
By Anonymous
Eyes shining
like an apple freshly waxed.
Swinging braids
that dance when the wind blows.
Your laughter tickling my brain
filling my heart with warmth,
that not even the winter winds
could scare away.
Your breath on my neck soft,
like the petals of cecilia’s.
When I bury my nose
into your soft, blue hair
I smell apple pie
freshly baked
sitting on the window sill
As the wind blows
Your smile glows,
Brighter than a thousand suns.
And I know
That I love you.
A Poem Titled "Free" by an Anonymous Freshman
Free
Freedom
Freeing
Freed
A state of being
A noun
An act
A past
Free
Is how i should feel
Free
From the constraints
Placed on people
Free
from worrying about money or food
Free
from half thought out plumes
Of love
Free
from being told
I’m not enough
Free
From having to rise above my station
Free
From having to fight for my own sanction
Free
I am free
From all but me
Never free from the expectation
Of knowing you're headed somewhere
Never free
From this mind-crushing panic
Swarming my senses when I least expect it
Taking over my thoughts
Holding me in one place
Drowning me under the load
Of having to go through another day
Always waiting in fear
Of when anxiety will strike
And that when it does
I won’t be able to hide
Crowd my face with a smile
Keep all this panic down deeper than a mile
Amazing
By Sally Higgins
Amazing
I just think you're so amazing
you just brighten every single room
That's what you said to me
And for a split second, I believed it was true
Believed you thought it to your core
Believed it like a dream
I can’t remember anymore
And I haven't forgotten
The pit you pulled me out of
The pit of grease and slime
of hatred and self-doubt
But I just can’t seem to forget
That it was you who pushed me in
Who through no fault of your own
Left me hanging by a thread
And you said I was amazing
That you were always there for me
And that lines up perfectly
With the person I painted you to be
The flawless ethereal goddess
Swooping down on golden wings from the sky
An
Amazing
Unreal human
Who somehow let me sit by their side
Amazing
Photograph
By Sally Higgins
I would take a photograph
On this stage where I stand
One microphone in hand
Our hands not mine
Your hand
Speaking
So I turn to the side
left side
Turn to look at you
See your face
Your eyes
your truth
See your confidence
In saying
What is hard to hear
But a needed new
And all I can think
Is that if I could paint
I would paint a picture of you
If I had a camera
Nothing would stop me
From taking a photograph of you
From this exact angle
I look up at you from
Seeing 3/4ths of your face
From just under the sun
I’m just the right hight
To get this perfect sight
And all I can think
Is that if I wasn’t me
I would take a photograph of you
Confidence
By Sally Higgins
Confidence is a finicky thing
It comes and goes on a breeze
An unpredictable pattern
Of when I can wear skirts above my knees
Or when I have to hide my body
My skin my flaws my self
Because confidence will leave you stranded
If it's given by someone else
Each day is a performance
As I preach about self-love
Reminding each passing person
That their body fits them like a glove
That they are perfect no matter what
That their shine outdoes that stars
Yet when I get home at night
my mirror is covered in iron bars
And I try to love this body I’m in
But is my confidence worth anything
If it’s only there
when I see myself as thin
Pop
By Sally Higgins
Pop tops
Pop socks
Pop band
Playing on the rocks
Pop-out of time where your mind was a clock
Tik tik tiking
Down to a stop
Because time doesn't halt
When the music goes pop
1960’s rock with the fluffy hair on top
Give a little get a little
Music doesn't stop
Pop pop pop
Popcorn in the bowl
Butter dripping like a waterfall
Loosening your hold
Hold onto life
Like life holds on to you
Don’t go pop when your only 52
Don’t just stop when your only 53
Don't give it up when your only 54
55 is the limit guess you popped out your soul
A Short Story Written by an Anonymous Freshman
It was just another day in Windsor High School and right now I was in science class listening to Mr. Small rant about how teachers should get better healthcare. I sat at my table as my foot tapped the ground to the beat of the music that was playing in my left Airpod. Mr. Small had no way of finding out though because I had strategically put my pink highlighted hair over my ear to hide it. My eyes dragged up to the old white clock that had been on Mr. Small’s wall for decades. Five minutes later I was dismissed from that awfully boring science class and I was finally free to have lunch with my friends.
“Damn,” The boy next to me laughed.
“I think Mr. Small woke up on the wrong side of the coffin today huh, Lainie.” I laughed at this boy’s joke as I stood up slowly from the cramped desk and stretched. I was feeling tired but not too tired to start some small talk with this boy.
“He should be ranting about life insurance instead.” I looked at the boy and he seemed to smile through his mask as we started to laugh. I felt better after that. Sometimes it was hard to communicate with people with masks on because you could never tell if they were being sarcastic or brutally honest. I gave one last look at Mr. Small as I slipped out of the grey and quiet classroom and into a loud, bustling hallway full of colorful people and personalities. I slipped past of mob of loud varsity basketball boys and as I did I heard one shout,
“Are you kidding? The Warriors are ten times better than the Nets. You have absolutely no taste bruh.” I glanced behind my shoulder at the tall, skinny boys whose whole lives seem to revolve around adult men throwing balls into hoops and I couldn’t help but laugh. If you were to take away their love of sports and all things having to do with ‘balls’, they’d probably turn out to be inverted guys who stay in their rooms playing Clash of Clans all day. Because of course, that was how they communicated and connected with each other. Through other people’s triumphs and other people’s drama. That last bit almost sums up all of Windsor High School. Some of us are so dulled down, not even the most traumatic event in history could make them less self-centered than they already were. Unless that came down to talking dirt about someone. That was as far as they went to thinking about other people.
The hallways had shiny grey and blue speckled floors that seemed to sparkle when the light from the grand windows in the front hit them. The trophy cases lining the sides were filled with pictures and medals and trophies from and of Windsor High’s greatest athletes. Strangely enough, not one case on those walls had room for any of the awards the art department kids won. Windsor had its priorities and those priorities littered the free wall space. The posters had acronyms spelling out positive words telling kids to ‘be kind’ and ‘spread positivity’. My personal favorite was the ‘stick up for the underdog’ sign that was plastered above the water fountain right in front of a group of varsity hockey boys shoving a mathlete to the ground. In their eyes, that mathlete didn’t have enough of the athlete in mathlete to matter to them. Even though I felt terribly for the boy on the ground, I immediately averted my eyes when the hockey boys looked my way. It was one thing to be a bystander, but another thing to be the one on the ground. I swore at the hockey boys under my breath as I passed them, clinging on to the backpack straps, but thankfully they didn’t hear me. That was about as heroic I could be at this moment in time. I was stopped in the hall by a girl, one with shiny brown hair that framed her face angelically. She had a clean-looking white sweater with lavender-colored pants as she put a well-manicured hand on the shoulder of my hoodie.
“Lainie!” She gasped. “Your new hair is so… different! I don’t normally like pink hair on people but you really make it your own.” I stared into her wide, blue eyes with my tired brown ones and sighed internally.
“You do know I’ve had my hair dyed pink for at least a week and a half now, right Paige?” I questioned, laughing a little. I couldn’t help being intimidated.
“Ooh,” she bemused, removing her hand from my shoulder. I wonder if I smell bad. Does my hoodie have a stain? I tried to push away my insecure thoughts but couldn’t help looking down at my hoodie to check.
“Well, that must be because you’re finally wearing it down!” Paige was really pushing the charisma today.
“It’s normally in that messy bun of yours you seem to love so much.” Now, this is normal Paige.
“It’s nice to see you too Paige,” I said, pushing past her and continuing down the hall and onto the stairs.
“Wait!” She pulled my backpack. I whipped around and I could feel the anger bubbling in me. I wish I could tell her to go away but she seemed determined to end our conversation on a good note.
“I-I didn’t mean to offend you…I was just pointing it out Lainie!” She put her hand on my shoulder again and looked at me earnestly, but I shrugged her hand off and looked away.
“I know I know,” I responded. I looked back at her,
“I know you’re trying to fix our old friendship, but it’s just not meant to be. People change a lot, especially during high school and I think we’re better off being just classmates instead of besties. Okay?” Her hand was now in the back pocket of her jeans and her shoulders slumped. Our roles changed as she began to recoil from me and I watched as her synthetic charisma faded.
“I just don’t understand why we can’t be friendly towards each other,” Paige whined.
“I know I took Paul from you, but that was this summer and I’ve grown up since then!” I was already tired before I left Mr. Small’s boring class but now I was even more fatigued.
“Can we not have this talk right now?” I spoke, a little firmer now. Her eyes darted nervously from the hockey boys behind us, then to me. The hockey boys were beginning to get bored of kicking the mathlete and were beginning to disperse. Paige finally looked away from me and nodded. I took one last moment as I let what had happened sink in. I knew she was trying to rekindle this old relationship, but I just wasn’t done with what had happened this summer. I breathed in and turned on my heel just as I heard the hockey boys begin to talk about last night’s game.
“Did you see how #14 played last night? He was shit! He must’ve changed or something in the last season because he didn’t use to suck this much.” That’s when I reached the bottom of the stairs. The shiny, clean stairs that I had been walking up and down for three years now. Three years of almost the same drama every day. There were always the rowdy boys arguing about sports loudly in the halls between classes. Always a relationship that needed to be mended or broken off that would be addressed in the most awkward of times. Because that was what high school was. A bunch of awkward teens trying to decide on what to worry about. Their drama or somebody else’s. Or maybe if they were feeling fussy, they would create drama themselves. That poor mathlete.
Poem of Love
By Mira Snow
Golden flowers; golden sun; golden rocks and golden fun; molten kisses and molten love; molten sweets and molten destruction. Murderous looks, killing glares, stabbing words, painful scars. Silver people; silver tongue; lying heart; burning shards.
Lost.
Alone.
Afraid.
Forever.
New healing. Bronze hope. Kind smiles.
Can
I
Be
Fixed?
Golden flowers; golden sun; golden rocks and golden fun; golden rings and golden love.
Together ♥️ forever.
The Darker Side of the Woods
By Mira Snow
He could barely see as it was, and the oppressive darkness of the woods wasn’t helping. Jake trudged through the dark forest as the fog became thicker and thicker. He was beginning to think that this halloween dare wasn’t worth the five pieces of candy. This forest was like a legend in their small town. You go in and you never come out, it was a story parents told their kids if they ran off too far. But Jake wasn’t scared, it was just a forest, what’s so scary about that? As he continued on he started to hear noises around him, he only had to walk straight in for five minutes than walk out. His timer on his phone went off suddenly causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. The five minutes were up. Jake spun on his heel and began to walk the direction he came in. He had walked for about a minute when something caught his eye. The small figurine stared at him like it was passing some sort of judgment. The little golden statue sat on a rock that definitely wasn’t there before.
“Um, hello?” Jake called shakily into the darkness, there was no response. “Guys this isn’t funny!” Jake spun in circles trying to catch sight of one of his friends, he knew they had to be there somewhere. Who else would have known about the figurine that he hid away years ago other than them? A branch snapping behind him sent the sudden silence echoing away from him. Jake turned around, a scream lodged in his throat…
“Hey guys? You think we should go after him?” Mathew turned to his buddies, they hadn’t seen Jake in 15 minutes and he was starting to worry about his friend.
“Nah bro, look! Here he is now!” One of the guys pointed into the woods at Jake stumbling out. Mathew sat up in relief and clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Hey man, what did you see in there?” Mathew got a closer look at him in the light of the flashlights and nearly dropped his own. The bags under Jake’s eyes were so deep they looked like bruises. His nails were caked in dirt and he showed a wide toothy grin, something Mathew had never seen on his friends face before.
“There was nothing in there bro. Just some trees,” Jake giggled, sending a shiver down Mathew’s spine, “hey why don’t you sleep over at my house tonight?” He said, turning to look menacingly at Mathew. “We’ll have so. Much.. fun…”
The only noise the neighbors heard that night was a scream, and no one heard from Mathew again.
Gabrielle
by Maya Faulstich
I forget how it started
I forget how she became my friend
She’s just always been there
I remember knocking on her door almost every day, and asking her if we could play
I forget the times we fought, if we ever did fight
I remember sitting in my room with her, dreaming up stories of good and evil, before I realized the world isn’t all black and white
I remember swinging in my backyard, jumping in leaves, planting a garden, her brown curly hair
always getting knotted and tangled.
I forget the day she went away
I remember her garage sale, and how the neighbors bought her scooter
She gave my sister her purple stuffed bunny.
I forget what she said to me when she went away on the last day.
I remember the hole she left.
Empty and gaping in my stomach.
I forget who lived in the house before her, I forget who lives there now, but I remember she lived there.
I remember the music that came from her house at night.
I remember her smile, I forget her eyes.
I remember feeling alone. Scared.
Without her, who am I?
I forget.
The In-Between
by Maya Faulstich
The Bible says God made two great lights, and separated day from night.
Created mankind in his own image, “male and female he created them”.
Yet we’ve all seen the wonders right before the sun breaks
that moment in time, that place in space
We call it dawn.
We’ve all seen the glamour of a suspended sun
sparkling, reflecting, every bright bold shade before the darkness invades
We call it sunset.
So why can’t we see the beauty in the people of the in-between?
Identities flowing like a river, bridging land and sea
colour bursting from the seams
Those who need not choose between
day or night
black or white.
Why trap a person inside boxes labelled
boy or girl?
What would we be without
the dawns, sunsets, rivers,
and rainbows of the world?
The Show Is Over
by Maya Faulstich
I've always been afraid of fireworks
Not because of the bright bold blinding colors
Not because of the loud split-second
crack
echoing throughout the night sky
No
It's not the big boom that makes my fists clench tight,
it's not the little sparks
showering me like sea-spray that make me squeeze my eyes shut with fright
While my family cheers along with the crowd
my eyes blur out the sparkling show
My gaze focuses
upon the heavy ominous cloud
of smoke
Drifting
Slowly
Away
Away from the stunning colors that have them all hypnotized
Back behind the curtain that draws the line between the performance and backstage
Visions
swarm my head
Dark
humid
air so polluted you can't see past your coughing neighbor
A world
without nature
A sky
without stars
How are the people so blinded that they can only see the dazzling illusion
of Bright Booming Colors?
They ooh and ah and in their awe
They forget
That beautiful things can be made by ugly
Every perfect utopia has a twisted dystopia hidden inside
And when I look behind
the flashing colors
See beyond
the booms and bangs
Gaze into the dark starless sky
And watch
the cloud of smoke
I reach
But there's nothing to grab
Just
an
empty
sky
And the visitors picking up their picnic blankets
The show is over
But I still sit there
watching
the heavy ominous cloud
of smoke
Drifting
Slowly
Away
Beyond m y c o n t r o l
Poem by Sally Higgins
Penny for your thoughts?
A penny’s worse than nought
Is that all you think I’m worth
A simple cent of old crushed dirt?
A piece of faded copper
All greened over stamped design
A single little penny?
To show you what’s on my mind?
My mind is worth its weight in gold
A dime a quarter, a dollar for its hold
My mind is open as the rushing sea
Yet a penny is all you bring before me?
My thoughts could level mountains
My dreams could change the tides
Yet one unassuming penny
Is all you hold inside
How much is your mind worth?
What would you charge for a talk by your hearth?
A dime, a dollar, a dozen golden eggs?
I would gladly pay to sit and talk all-day
I would talk of open fields and briar
Stories and legends told to me as a child
I would talk of what is and what could come to be
I would talk of the deep dark mourning of the sea
I would talk of our world and why it was
The thoughts of an age at last come undone
But you opened your fist and all I could see
Was a single cent penny
Greened with age
An unprotected page
Worthless in the eyes of fate
So I took that old green penny
I washed off the dirt and grime
I polished it with china-scrub
And waited for it to shine
Then as water once again ran clear, I could not contain my glee
For not just a simple penny had you given me
But a beautiful piece of our history
For inscribed on this penny
was a faint little date
Reading
Massachusetts. Eighteen-o-eight
Union
By Tatiana Coyne
In the eighteen-hundreds,
a movement started to form.
Throughout the young United States,
the concept of unions were born.
See the workers worked within factories
where they stayed twelve hours or more
their labor given not for their bosses
but for their families who were made poor.
And deep within these factories
where machinery groaned and roared,
the prayers and pleas of workers abused
were silently ignored.
These were not their only qualms, though,
as you could probably guess,
their own Children dying in the mines below
made the “lower classes” quite distressed.
And in these eighteen-hundreds
it was decided something had to be done,
so the workers joined hands
and went on strike,
united as one.
But the bosses they wern’t stupid,
they were callous, cunning, and keen
to destroy a movement of workers,
and preserve them as machines.
So out of the fear of freedom
and out of a lust for greed
they turned to events in the country
that would make the workers concede.
See the plight of the working class was not the only plight occurring
For deep within the United States racial animus was stirring
And so one fateful day
while the strike was ongoing
the bosses exploited the racial hatred
in America that was growing.
And now, dear reader, I must confess that our story gets quite sadder,
for the workers, pale in complexion, allowed their movement to be shattered.
For then they arrived at a crossroads
where they had to make a choice:
they choose to stick with ignorance
and, therefore, gave up their voice.
They became divided
on something as stupid as color;
and while they fought amongst themselves,
their bosses soon recovered.
And by the time the workers woke
from their xenophobic slumber,
the bosses they had won,
and the workers were outnumbered.
But don’t fret, dear worker,
for within your working life
there is always a chance to free yourself
from the perils of working strife.
But please, my dear worker,
listen to these humble words––
You cannot build a union strong
upon ignorance, hate, and fear.
Becoming a Woman
By Colleen Lynch
Woman is beautiful
Woman is smart
Woman is strong
But not as beautiful, smart, and strong as man
Growing up, no one tells you women are seen as less.
They try to protect you.
They don’t tell you that today at recess, you’ll be left out of a kickball game
Because you’re a girl.
They don’t tell you that a grown man will say to you that you can’t be the first female president,
It’s too hard for a woman, ‘realistically’.
They don’t tell you a boy in your math class will assume you’re stupid
Because ‘girls are always stupid’.
They don’t tell you about a lot of things
I wish they would.
Tradition
By: Tessa Martin
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..”
“Ok guys! Get ‘em while it’s hot!” the family rushed to their mother. Father, daughter, and dog, all coming to get a taste of the mom’s delicious cooking.
“I’ll tell ya, hun, you can’t get food quite like this anywhere else!” The father chortled and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“Ok everyone,” the yellow-orange-haired daughter cheered, “it’s time to hold hands and give thanks for this meal!”
“Yuletide carols being sung by a choir..”
They gave thanks to the farmers who graced their table with their wheat and fruit. They gave thanks to their family for passing down recipes upon recipes.
They gave thanks to their good friend, who graciously gave away their body and mind for this meal.
“Alright, time to eat!” With the loud clap of the hands from the father, the family ate with peace and togetherness.
“Ma, you know I don’t like hair in mine!” The girl slowly and delicately pulled black hairs out of her sacred meal, chunks of the meat still latching onto each strand. “Ok,” she said, “that’s better.”
“Just put it here sweety,” the mom said with a kind smile. She neatly wrapped up the obsidian hairs in a floral cloth napkin and put it to the side.
“Merry Christmas to you..”
Written by YAWP club members during club meeting
A fallen leaf hides
A mask limp on the damp earth
Once a protection
The darkness oozes
Abandoned house on the street
Wind whistles through
Inbetweenness falls,
Twilight’s upon the aching world
Leaves start to cascade
Leaves falling from trees
Made a collage of colors
Orange, red, and green
Watch the falling leaves
As you hide behind your mask
Watch them drift and swirl
Stay apart, wear masks
Watch your germs and your distance
But still watch the leaves
Kids afraid of ghosts
Scary stories of monsters
Now raise back your mask
Hello there pumpkin
Are you feeling down today
Here's a candle
Happy Halloween
Boo! Says the ghost with the large grin
Bye! Says skeleton
What is up my friend
Leaves changing pretty colors
OH NO! Your branch died