"Books are the plane, the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home." -Anna Quindlen
Table of Contents
3
Sage Skyler '18
Untitled
Molly Jones '18
Behind My Step
Jessica Navin '19
A Long-Ago Friend
Jessica Navin '19
Untitled photoset by Sarah Murray '19
Knight
Anson Huang '17
Song of RMHS
Sage Skyler '18
Feeling Colors
Emma Penafiel '17
Coming Into Focus
Anson Huang '17
Icarus & The Sun
Jessica Navin '19
Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich Recipe
Carolyn Vanasse '15 - Graduated RMHS Alumni
Original Songs
Thomas Bradford '17
Drowning
Emma Penafiel '17
The Calm Before the Storm
Isabel Azevedo '16
Photoset by Sarah Murray '19
Fly Away Freedom
Sage Skyler '18
Yours Sincerely
Anson Huang '17
Private Concert
Emma Penafiel '17
Holyoke
Lauren Seigal '19
To Scale
Jessica Navin '19
A Mechanical Mind
Jessica Navin '19
Travels
Molly Jones '18
Ledge
Nicole Kendall '19
The Relative Reality of Mickey O'Keefe
Isabel Murray '16
Caught in Thorns
Sage Skyler '18
Photoset by Sarah Murray '19
Missing the Moon
Jessica Navin '19
Hephaestus in Love
Jessica Navin '19
Reach...
Srimitha Srinivasan '17
Use Them Wisely
Nicole Kendall '19
All Roads
Anson Huang '17
More Than an Address
Regan Lynch '17
Sage Skyler '18
Untitled
Molly Jones '18
Behind My Step
Jessica Navin '19
A Long-Ago Friend
Jessica Navin '19
Untitled photoset by Sarah Murray '19
Knight
Anson Huang '17
Song of RMHS
Sage Skyler '18
Feeling Colors
Emma Penafiel '17
Coming Into Focus
Anson Huang '17
Icarus & The Sun
Jessica Navin '19
Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich Recipe
Carolyn Vanasse '15 - Graduated RMHS Alumni
Original Songs
Thomas Bradford '17
Drowning
Emma Penafiel '17
The Calm Before the Storm
Isabel Azevedo '16
Photoset by Sarah Murray '19
Fly Away Freedom
Sage Skyler '18
Yours Sincerely
Anson Huang '17
Private Concert
Emma Penafiel '17
Holyoke
Lauren Seigal '19
To Scale
Jessica Navin '19
A Mechanical Mind
Jessica Navin '19
Travels
Molly Jones '18
Ledge
Nicole Kendall '19
The Relative Reality of Mickey O'Keefe
Isabel Murray '16
Caught in Thorns
Sage Skyler '18
Photoset by Sarah Murray '19
Missing the Moon
Jessica Navin '19
Hephaestus in Love
Jessica Navin '19
Reach...
Srimitha Srinivasan '17
Use Them Wisely
Nicole Kendall '19
All Roads
Anson Huang '17
More Than an Address
Regan Lynch '17
Seams of Sanity
She's losing the war, the demons in her head are getting the best of her.
The seams of her sanity are slowly coming undone,
the scars a reminder of her agony and heartbreak
the devils taking form of figures as frightening as only her nightmares can portray.
Beaten. Bruised. Bent.
Their words are piling up, adding salt to her wounds
The hour her pain ends is upon her, once and for all silencing the demons that torment her.
Stepping towards fate, she fills the bathtub.
Up to her neck with water and misery
She slips under.
The bath water stained by an ocean of red,
Sanity,
To insanity,
To serenity.
Nicole Kendall '19
The seams of her sanity are slowly coming undone,
the scars a reminder of her agony and heartbreak
the devils taking form of figures as frightening as only her nightmares can portray.
Beaten. Bruised. Bent.
Their words are piling up, adding salt to her wounds
The hour her pain ends is upon her, once and for all silencing the demons that torment her.
Stepping towards fate, she fills the bathtub.
Up to her neck with water and misery
She slips under.
The bath water stained by an ocean of red,
Sanity,
To insanity,
To serenity.
Nicole Kendall '19
3
Won’t you please come notice me?
I’m sitting here, alone,
I wait and wait as hours pass
My time is almost done
They’re coming with their flashing lights
To blind and handcuff me
I’ve been sitting in the scarlet sink,
Sitting so patiently
Incarnadine, this skin of mine,
That I may yet be freed,
Please release me from the ones
Who’ve done this dreadful deed
Well, I cannot wait much longer
The mortuary looms
If you shall not come notice me
I’ll come and bring my gloom
Sage Skyler '18
I’m sitting here, alone,
I wait and wait as hours pass
My time is almost done
They’re coming with their flashing lights
To blind and handcuff me
I’ve been sitting in the scarlet sink,
Sitting so patiently
Incarnadine, this skin of mine,
That I may yet be freed,
Please release me from the ones
Who’ve done this dreadful deed
Well, I cannot wait much longer
The mortuary looms
If you shall not come notice me
I’ll come and bring my gloom
Sage Skyler '18
Untitled
Molly Jones '18
Behind My Step
The fire falls behind my step,
always chasing-too slow.
The smoke stings my eyes when I dream-
still so far away.
The light lingers by my shoulder
and I whisper to it-gently.
The ashes arrange themselves like rose petals,
laid before my feet.
The tinder talks and tells me with sorrow,
they were a forest, once.
The sparks spring ahead of me-
dancing in my path.
The fire falls behind my step,
chasing-I'm too slow.
Jessica Navin '19
always chasing-too slow.
The smoke stings my eyes when I dream-
still so far away.
The light lingers by my shoulder
and I whisper to it-gently.
The ashes arrange themselves like rose petals,
laid before my feet.
The tinder talks and tells me with sorrow,
they were a forest, once.
The sparks spring ahead of me-
dancing in my path.
The fire falls behind my step,
chasing-I'm too slow.
Jessica Navin '19
A Long-Ago Friend
A long-ago friend, the feeling I feel,
A flutter of the heart, brushing off dust,
Going shyly back on our bitter deal
Just as the blood was beginning to rust.
To come alive after the sun has died-
A strange time to awaken in the night.
To put it to rest, I've fruitlessly tried;
Cruel, it is: the time will never be right.
Almost, I'm glad to feel it stir inside,
A prickle of old joy, starting anew.
This sun on my back makes me petrified,
As I know it is night, near half past two.
Yet it stirs in my chest, a blissful crime;
Of course, it could never be the right time.
Jessica Navin '19
A flutter of the heart, brushing off dust,
Going shyly back on our bitter deal
Just as the blood was beginning to rust.
To come alive after the sun has died-
A strange time to awaken in the night.
To put it to rest, I've fruitlessly tried;
Cruel, it is: the time will never be right.
Almost, I'm glad to feel it stir inside,
A prickle of old joy, starting anew.
This sun on my back makes me petrified,
As I know it is night, near half past two.
Yet it stirs in my chest, a blissful crime;
Of course, it could never be the right time.
Jessica Navin '19
Untitled
Sarah Murray '19
Knight
Anson Huang '17
Song of RMHS
Feet shuffle in, slaves to the system
Small gatherings of kindred spirits cluster Lockers slam shut, locking our hearts away, rattling with more life than us Information is thrust in and out of minds Endless complainers bemoan in passing The brief freedom and ecstasy of the hallway is discovered Pencils scrape away creativity Move in, move out, this is for your own good Look presentable See the students: The boy in baggy shorts dribbling a basketball quietly, orange sphere bouncing, The girl in class copying notes in minuscule handwriting, meticulously crafted penmanship, The chorus member fiddling with the metal stand, wincing at every squeak, The pale hands gripping the cold metal of a trumpet, The overflowing tables and chatter in the cafeteria, The feet shuffling on the floor, navigating endless swarms of traffic, The volunteer in the library, pacing the shelves with an eagle eye, The junior signing herself in during the middle of the day after a doctor’s appointment, The freshman scrambling into the nearest bathroom with a flushed face, The couple interlocking hands, descending a staircase together, The teenager, stretching, restless, in an assembly, The click of a camera, obscuring the photographer’s face while capturing the view, The drama student organizing wigs, hair brushes, pancakes and makeup pallets. Now, see the people: The insecure boy teased for his inability to play the same sport his father did, afraid to take a shot, afraid to miss, afraid to move, The perfectionist unwilling to let a single slip of information slip by, unwilling to answer anything incorrectly, every ounce of her self- worth determined by the percentage at the top of the paper, The girl who loves to sing, but is overwhelmed with anxiety simply by the thought of opening her mouth, after someone once told her she sounded bad, The boy who switched from playing the trombone to playing the trumpet, just so he could sit next to the best trumpet player in the band, who was the cutest member of the band, and the person who set his heart aflame, The small groups who do not sit amongst the loud tables, the untouched paper bags cluttering the trash bins, the ones locked in stalls who don’t even make it down, The panic of a student stuck in a group, unable to get to class, filled with the worrisome thought of being late, knowing that arriving late means the world is ending, The loner in the library, who lives between pages of paper and ink, and talks not to other students but only the librarian, The girl who signs herself in at 10:30 every Wednesday morning, because this is the only time her therapist is available, The boy who stumbles into the bathroom marked “Female”, hating his period and hating his body for making him bleed, and hating the knowledge he’ll be bullied no matter which bathroom he enters, The girl who thinks her boyfriend using her for sex is okay because he’ll stay with her, paired with the boy who only feels anything during sex, tripping down the stairs and adjusting their clothes, The kid diagnosed with ADHD, who can’t bear to sit still, and is in between med trials, but receives a stern chastisement every time he fidgets, The large black device obscures the painful expression on his face, eyes raised up in hope, mouth set tight in barely contained sadness, as he takes a photo of the birds that are free, free unlike him, The girl who has a dog at her feet, a dog that makes people wonder because she isn’t blind or deaf or mute, and her panic disorder is hidden as she rearranges the supplies. We all have smiles that drip like melting ice cream, Eyes that glaze over readily, Baggy clothes to hide our insecurities, A yearning to do well and become successful, A grudging indifference born from the public education system, That moment when the words and numbers circle us and scream at us and we don’t know, Those crumpled papers in our bags that disintegrate over time, That stalled step of hesitation, That groan in the morning as we prepare to escort ourselves into the never-ending hell, The backpack bearing down upon us, making every little detail matter. The kids come and the kids go, Slipping through your fingers like snow, Some smile and some cry, Some live and some die. We all run around our hamster wheel of a building, Names blurring into faces blurring into classes blurring into blocks blurring into nothing. An excess of students, an excess of pain, The ones who are different put on a facade of cliche, And slide beneath the paper barriers meant to collect students and help them, And so they wander on, Trudging through a sunny meadow with black boots, killing flowers with every step, Looking at friends laughing, people kissing, honors students, sports achievement, class leadership, clubs thriving, and bursts of light. They are the light. We are the dark. Sometimes they are the sun, shining into our eyes with their brilliance, Making us stagger. Sometimes they are lightning, striking us in the heart. We are the fog that rolls over the hills, unseen and unheard, drifting away. We wonder why people smile when it takes so much effort, We see ourselves in the mirror and want to scream, We believe that we’re a waste of space, We cry and we bleed in the recesses of your mind, unknown and unwanted, We become a mirror, reflecting those around us, We have bursts of energy, then fade back into silence, We feel the words tumble inside of our heads, heart pounding at the idea of communication, We tremble and wait for the consequences of our mistakes, We need certain numbers, certain angles, We hear the voice saying: “Drop the baby”, “Kick the dog”, and we run and hide, We know the whispers, laughs, and glances are directed at us, We change our pronouns, We consider our attraction, We endure the yells and screams and hurled objects, We inject the insults into our skin and watch as we fall apart, We crack and break and splinter and no one knows unless We give up. Look, look at our lovely school, Peer through our windows, Eyes are the windows to the soul, But look through the windows surrounded by brick and you’ll see what we want you to see, You’ll see students with good grades, Excellent sports teams, The fantastic drama program, The many clubs and student activities we offer, Well-rounded individuals getting into college, And we bury the suffering, Let them wait in a long line for a word of comfort, Let them drown before we carelessly throw a rope, Watch them falter in the swirling storm of: Greasy food making their stomachs turn and their mouths shut, Locker room stench heightening dysphoria, A brush of a student and they shiver and grimace, A giggle causing them to flinch, The taste of blood stemming from broken lips. Painted shutters clap shut, The students walk faster, Trying to outrun the memories, the monotony, the melancholy, the malicious threats, Trying to escape, But we’re all stuck in a cage and the only way to get out alive is to Smile We smile, Doing barely enough to survive, Learning the tricks and trade, How to hide vodka in water bottles, Where no one will catch you selling or snorting, Which clothes cover up the scars, Who won’t even bother to take attendance and see who’s here, When to lie and when to tell a half-truth, What school really is, a prison, Why. Why we suffer. Why it’s common. Why it’s continual. Why everyone’s windows are cracked but some are glued and some have tape and others are abandoned and yet more windows have their shards taken and raked against flesh, Why we don’t scream unless we’re alone, Why we continue Why we don’t Why Sage Skyler '18 Feeling Colors
JULES: Likes to go to the park with her seeing-eye dog, Spark. Has been blind all her life and is a bit touchy on the subject.
ROMANO: Lawyer that travels through the park every day. Scene 1 [ROMANO is walking through the park, talking on the phone. HE hangs up, sighing and sits next to JULES who is dressed in a pale blue blouse and jeans. SHE has HER eyes closed and her face turned up to the sky. SHE is petting SPARK. HE smiles, looking up at the setting sun and autumn leaves, splotching the blue sky with patches of warmer colors. He turns to JULES.] ROMANO: [To JULES] The sunset tonight in gorgeous, isn’t it. [JULES opens HER eyes and turns toward the general direction of ROMANO, starring just past HIM.] JULES: [Smiling] I’m sorry… I can’t- ROMANO: And the leaves are gorgeous this time of year. The red… yellow… JULES: Um, well, you see… ROMANO: Fall really is the prettiest season, isn’t it? JULES: [Sharply] I’m blind. Every since I was born. [ROMANO opens his mouth, gaping in surprise.] ROMANO: [Rushed] Oh, oh my. I am so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to… JULES: [Smiling falsely] It’s fine, happens more than you would think. ROMANO: I’m just so sorry. Can I make it up to you or something? JULES: [Standing up] No, that’s fine. I should be getting home now anyways. Spark! [SPARK jumps up and begins to walk away with JULES. ROMANO jumps up to follow and jogs up to HER.] ROMANO: [Next to JULES] Please, just give me a second chance? JULES: [Not even turning to ROMANO] Seriously, it’s fine. ROMANO: [Rushed] Then… how about I explain them to you! JULES: [Slowing down to a stop.] What? ROMANO: [Hesitant] That’s right. I will… explain the colors to you. JULES: [Starting to walk away again] No, I’ll save you the trouble. ROMANO: [Persistently walking behind her.] Uh, red! [JULES stops to listen.] Red… Red is… It’s the, um… [JULES starts to walk away again.] Warmth! [JULES stops] It is the warm that slowly builds up inside of you, spreading throughout your body, when you are drinking hot cocoa… or sitting by the fireplace during winter! JULES: [Still not turning around.] …Yellow? You said yellow. ROMANO: [Gaining confidence.] The sun beating on your back as you walk through the park on a bright summer’s day. [JULES turns around and directs her attention to the speaking man.] JULES: Those seem awfully similar to me. ROMANO: But they aren’t. JULES: …What about the other colors; blue? Or green? [ROMANO takes her hand gently.] ROMANO: Follow me? JULES: Okay… [ROMANO leads HER to the sparkling fountain mirroring the sky above. HE brings her hand to skim the surface of the water.] ROMANO: Blue, the feeling of the water as it runs freely through your fingers; the deep, endless potential of the ocean when you feel the waves crash against your skin on the shore, as it ravishes the sandy sea-side uncovering its treasures. JULES: It sounds dangerous. ROMANO: [Staring in HER unseeing eyes] But beautiful. JULES: What? ROMANO: [Smiling and shaking HIS head.] Nothing... Now. Green. [HE sits down at the edge of the fountain.] Sit down? JULES: Of course. [ROMANO bends down and picks up a dying blade of grass that still holds some of its color.] ROMANO: [Holds grass up to HER nose.] Smell this? JULES: [Sniffing and pulling back. Shortly] It’s grass. ROMANO: It’s green. Remember that smell in the spring as you walk through the park on the first of every month? Of freshly cut grass? That sent that tingles your nose, that perfume which fills your head with that fresh springy smell? That is green. JULES: [Breathing in as though she were smelling and smiling.] Gorgeous, I can imagine it now. ROMANO: It is… [ROMANO leans in and kisses JULES. SHE is frozen at first in surprise and then pulls back. JULES goes to slap HIM and misses, just hitting HIS nose.] JULES: [Agitated] Excuse me, I just met you! ROMANO: Wha- I’m sorry. I just… [JULES pulls away the hand ROMANO was still holding. SHE gets up and starts to walk away again, leaving an embarrassed ROMANO still sitting at the fountain. She slows down and stops for a moment.] JULES: [Quietly] I feel red… [Loudly to ROMANO] I come here every day after I get out at 4. Maybe tomorrow you can tell me about more colors. After all, I already have a good record of giving you second chances. Let’s go home, Spark. [JULES walks away, down the cemented path as ROMANO stares after HER. After a while he smiles, gets up and leaves.] Emma Penafiel '17 |
Coming Into Focus
Anson Huang '17
Icarus & the Sky
You can see me slice the sky
like a finger dragged through hot wax;
it would burn you,
but I'm invincible.
I'm a vision, the voice of someone
floating between earth and heaven-
speak to me like
a mortal to a god.
You are a grain of sand, as I'm a star
with a tail of fire and light;
it stings your eyes,
it thrills mine.
My shadow passes the sun
with a silver flash;
as though metal can't melt,
as though man can't fall.
like a finger dragged through hot wax;
it would burn you,
but I'm invincible.
I'm a vision, the voice of someone
floating between earth and heaven-
speak to me like
a mortal to a god.
You are a grain of sand, as I'm a star
with a tail of fire and light;
it stings your eyes,
it thrills mine.
My shadow passes the sun
with a silver flash;
as though metal can't melt,
as though man can't fall.
Jessica Navin '19
Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich Recipe
Above the stove is a petite cabinet mostly containing various spices and tupperware. It smells pungently of garlic salt, so you will want to immediately close the door after retrieving the loaf of wheat bread from inside. Take out two slices and sniff them to make sure the garlic stench has not seeped through the packaging somehow. It will seem like a ridiculous task, but it might have actually happened this time so you better do it. Irritate yourself by trying to re-seal the twisted covering with those stupid square pieces of plastic that always come with bread. (If you chose to
abandon this chore simply tuck the opened end underneath the rest of the loaf so that the next person does not have to deal with stale bread.) Find a clean area of counter top to rest your food on. This may be quite difficult if one of your suitemates made Hamburger Helper last night and forgot to clean her dishes. Do NOT attempt to balance your slices on top of a spare coffee mug if there is no clear space; your other roommate’s boyfriend could have been soaking his newly infected nose piercing in that cup.
Next, get a glass jar of cranberry jam from the refrigerator. Enjoy the satisfying popping noise it makes when you take off the lid. Stir the jar’s contents with a knife, then spread it evenly across one of your bread slices. Be careful not to spill any because it is very annoying to clean up. Wipe any excess jam off of your knife onto the rim of the jar or if you prefer, the other slice of bread.
Leave the knife near the edge of the sink for later use, and travel to your bedroom. Walk past your roommate's side over to your own, licking the sticky cranberry residue off of your fingers as you go. On your bookshelf is some chunky peanut butter. It will be beside your supply of contacts and an artist book of constellations you made in high school. Grab the condiment and return to the kitchen. Cover the remaining slice with peanut butter and connect the two creating a sandwich. Search for a plate to catch crumbs with if you want. Be sure to catch any rebellious drips of jam seeping from the middle with your tongue before they stain your shirt. Eat lackadaisically, half regretting your decision of getting wheat at Star Market instead of the fattening more delicious white bread.
Carolyn Vanasse '15 - Graduated RMHS Alumni
abandon this chore simply tuck the opened end underneath the rest of the loaf so that the next person does not have to deal with stale bread.) Find a clean area of counter top to rest your food on. This may be quite difficult if one of your suitemates made Hamburger Helper last night and forgot to clean her dishes. Do NOT attempt to balance your slices on top of a spare coffee mug if there is no clear space; your other roommate’s boyfriend could have been soaking his newly infected nose piercing in that cup.
Next, get a glass jar of cranberry jam from the refrigerator. Enjoy the satisfying popping noise it makes when you take off the lid. Stir the jar’s contents with a knife, then spread it evenly across one of your bread slices. Be careful not to spill any because it is very annoying to clean up. Wipe any excess jam off of your knife onto the rim of the jar or if you prefer, the other slice of bread.
Leave the knife near the edge of the sink for later use, and travel to your bedroom. Walk past your roommate's side over to your own, licking the sticky cranberry residue off of your fingers as you go. On your bookshelf is some chunky peanut butter. It will be beside your supply of contacts and an artist book of constellations you made in high school. Grab the condiment and return to the kitchen. Cover the remaining slice with peanut butter and connect the two creating a sandwich. Search for a plate to catch crumbs with if you want. Be sure to catch any rebellious drips of jam seeping from the middle with your tongue before they stain your shirt. Eat lackadaisically, half regretting your decision of getting wheat at Star Market instead of the fattening more delicious white bread.
Carolyn Vanasse '15 - Graduated RMHS Alumni
Drowning
A cracking noise reaches my ears and I look down for the first time, startled to see my own foggy reflection before a jagged line split my horrified face in two. My eyes widen as the ground beneath me gives in and for a split second I am free falling and my stomach is in my mouth. I can hear the voice behind me calling out.
“Tammy!”
My body instinctively stiffens at that name, but I do not have time to think about it as my ears pick up a distant splash and I become submerged in the frigid water. It takes my brain a second to realize that the splash was actually me. My mouth opens to scream, but the sound doesn’t have enough time to escape before water floods my mouth. I choke as my body is dragged down.
Tamara! Wake up!
My body barely registers the cold, my lungs beginning to burn from lack of oxygen. Body unfreezing, my arms flail about in an instinctive life-saving move. One hand manages to touch the ice above me and with my eyes squeezed shut I try to find a purchase to pull myself up and out.
I find none.
Nurse! Help!
I pound on the ice, hoping the same weakness that allowed me to fall through will give me a chance to escape. But before I could create any sizable hole, my arms, already heavy from my wet clothes, feel as though they are weighed down by lead and can no longer budge. My legs, likewise tired, stop kicking.
I was just having a conversation with her.
I feel myself being dragged down, as though two hands were drawing me towards the secret depths of the frozen lake.
When I finally open my eyes, ready to accept the fate in store for me, I see a gloved hand break through the ice. I cannot see the body it is attached to, but the black leather-clad hands and expensive coat sleeve tell me all I need to know.
It’s him.
Oh dear. Honey, snap out of it!
I panic and my body fills with adrenaline. A strength fills me that I did not possess a minute ago, and as that hand closes around my wrist, I writhe, trying to escape.
NO! My mind shouts. Please no…
I would rather meet the fish at the bottom of the lake than him again.
As I struggle, I feel the force of that new hand fighting the lake and winning. I am almost glad when the darkness closes in on me.
-
Suddenly, I am aware of two hands shaking me. It’s my mother. The nurses are trying to calm her down, telling her to stop as she sobs.
I raise a hand to one of hers and the shaking ceases. Looking into my eyes, she notices me looking at her instead of through her.
The sobs stop and I watch the relief melt into her features, but there is another, sadder, emotion lodged deep into her eyes. She hugs me, but I can’t return the embrace, I am not ready for it.
As if sensing my discomfort, the nurses pry her off of me and she is taken outside. One asks me if I want anything, and I almost feel like making something up to make them believe that I am recovering.
I can’t.
One shake of my head and she leaves me alone with the snow-white walls and medical equipment. I read the pain-rating poster and laugh internally.
And then something catches my attention; I can hear my mother outside. I listen to the tail end of her conversation with the nurse.
“But she isn’t ready to be touched.”
“She’s my daughter… and if it wasn’t for him...”
“Sh, you don’t want her to hear. It could upset her.” I smile wryly at that. Yes, let’s ignore the issue.
“But…”
“But nothing, we shouldn’t leave her alone.”
“Alright.”
I watch the door as it predictably opens and my mother and the nurse enter.
However, following them is the man; glove-clad hands, expensive jacket, sunglasses and everything.
I feel my eyes widen and a gasp escape my mouth. I vaguely hear the nurse trying to comfort me, telling me it isn’t real. However, I can’t comprehend her. The only thing I can grasp to is the tall, smiling figure.
Then it hits me.
“I’m drowning.”
“Why, yes,” the smiling mouth says. “You are.”
Emma Penafiel '17
“Tammy!”
My body instinctively stiffens at that name, but I do not have time to think about it as my ears pick up a distant splash and I become submerged in the frigid water. It takes my brain a second to realize that the splash was actually me. My mouth opens to scream, but the sound doesn’t have enough time to escape before water floods my mouth. I choke as my body is dragged down.
Tamara! Wake up!
My body barely registers the cold, my lungs beginning to burn from lack of oxygen. Body unfreezing, my arms flail about in an instinctive life-saving move. One hand manages to touch the ice above me and with my eyes squeezed shut I try to find a purchase to pull myself up and out.
I find none.
Nurse! Help!
I pound on the ice, hoping the same weakness that allowed me to fall through will give me a chance to escape. But before I could create any sizable hole, my arms, already heavy from my wet clothes, feel as though they are weighed down by lead and can no longer budge. My legs, likewise tired, stop kicking.
I was just having a conversation with her.
I feel myself being dragged down, as though two hands were drawing me towards the secret depths of the frozen lake.
When I finally open my eyes, ready to accept the fate in store for me, I see a gloved hand break through the ice. I cannot see the body it is attached to, but the black leather-clad hands and expensive coat sleeve tell me all I need to know.
It’s him.
Oh dear. Honey, snap out of it!
I panic and my body fills with adrenaline. A strength fills me that I did not possess a minute ago, and as that hand closes around my wrist, I writhe, trying to escape.
NO! My mind shouts. Please no…
I would rather meet the fish at the bottom of the lake than him again.
As I struggle, I feel the force of that new hand fighting the lake and winning. I am almost glad when the darkness closes in on me.
-
Suddenly, I am aware of two hands shaking me. It’s my mother. The nurses are trying to calm her down, telling her to stop as she sobs.
I raise a hand to one of hers and the shaking ceases. Looking into my eyes, she notices me looking at her instead of through her.
The sobs stop and I watch the relief melt into her features, but there is another, sadder, emotion lodged deep into her eyes. She hugs me, but I can’t return the embrace, I am not ready for it.
As if sensing my discomfort, the nurses pry her off of me and she is taken outside. One asks me if I want anything, and I almost feel like making something up to make them believe that I am recovering.
I can’t.
One shake of my head and she leaves me alone with the snow-white walls and medical equipment. I read the pain-rating poster and laugh internally.
And then something catches my attention; I can hear my mother outside. I listen to the tail end of her conversation with the nurse.
“But she isn’t ready to be touched.”
“She’s my daughter… and if it wasn’t for him...”
“Sh, you don’t want her to hear. It could upset her.” I smile wryly at that. Yes, let’s ignore the issue.
“But…”
“But nothing, we shouldn’t leave her alone.”
“Alright.”
I watch the door as it predictably opens and my mother and the nurse enter.
However, following them is the man; glove-clad hands, expensive jacket, sunglasses and everything.
I feel my eyes widen and a gasp escape my mouth. I vaguely hear the nurse trying to comfort me, telling me it isn’t real. However, I can’t comprehend her. The only thing I can grasp to is the tall, smiling figure.
Then it hits me.
“I’m drowning.”
“Why, yes,” the smiling mouth says. “You are.”
Emma Penafiel '17
The Calm Before the Storm
Isabel Azevedo '16
(Click to see full pictures and individual titles)
Sarah Murray '19
Fly Away Freedom
Chains breaking, wings spreading,
White amongst black,
Head forward, feet outward,
Never look back.
Gazing off into the sky,
Knowing both cannot fly,
One must stay so one can go,
A balance that they all know.
Scintillating scales, shackling sacrifice
To give up the chance
Does that make it right?
Two miserable souls,
Shivering together.
Or one joyously living,
The other never is better.
The choice is chosen,
Is freedom desired?
One smile radiating
Means more tears required.
Remember the balance,
The unspoken word.
Fly away Freedom
And don’t return.
Sage Skyler '18
White amongst black,
Head forward, feet outward,
Never look back.
Gazing off into the sky,
Knowing both cannot fly,
One must stay so one can go,
A balance that they all know.
Scintillating scales, shackling sacrifice
To give up the chance
Does that make it right?
Two miserable souls,
Shivering together.
Or one joyously living,
The other never is better.
The choice is chosen,
Is freedom desired?
One smile radiating
Means more tears required.
Remember the balance,
The unspoken word.
Fly away Freedom
And don’t return.
Sage Skyler '18
Yours Sincerely
Dreams have no observable state of being, no light beams which can be seen.
yet here i see them
before my very eyes
there's a dragon there
if only you could see too
Dreams have no frequency, no vibrations with which to sound.
yet i still hear them
blending with the hustle
and bustle
of people and people things
among them, a fairy sings
can you hear it?
Dreams have no texture, no touch, no surfaces or such.
yet i feel them
all flesh, and bone
of metal
and stone
the softest cactus, the prickliest cloud
a robot's springs
a dragon's wings
all real
just hold out your hand
Dreams have no cells, no genetics to show.
yet they come to life anyways
they grow and they grow
in this space i've set aside for them
but Dreams are big
and life wasn't meant for the shelf
so they jump off and they dance for me
they breed in my mind and they breed in my heart
as thought begets dream
and dream begets thought
i bring them to life with every waking moment
do you?
My dearest Reality,
my mind
(kindly)
defies you.
Yours sincerely,
a Dreamer
Anson Huang '17
yet here i see them
before my very eyes
there's a dragon there
if only you could see too
Dreams have no frequency, no vibrations with which to sound.
yet i still hear them
blending with the hustle
and bustle
of people and people things
among them, a fairy sings
can you hear it?
Dreams have no texture, no touch, no surfaces or such.
yet i feel them
all flesh, and bone
of metal
and stone
the softest cactus, the prickliest cloud
a robot's springs
a dragon's wings
all real
just hold out your hand
Dreams have no cells, no genetics to show.
yet they come to life anyways
they grow and they grow
in this space i've set aside for them
but Dreams are big
and life wasn't meant for the shelf
so they jump off and they dance for me
they breed in my mind and they breed in my heart
as thought begets dream
and dream begets thought
i bring them to life with every waking moment
do you?
My dearest Reality,
my mind
(kindly)
defies you.
Yours sincerely,
a Dreamer
Anson Huang '17
Private Concert
The auditorium was silent and dark, the only light focused on my sitting form. I close my eyes to the brightness as a calm falls over me. My left hand returns to the position engraved into my brain, strings digging into the pads of my fingers. Before I play however, I take a moment to run the fingertips of my other hand against smooth wood and aluminum strings. I listen to the almost unnoticeable twang before picking up my bow, inhaling deeply. Exhaling through my mouth, I gently drag my bow across the strings of the giant instrument lying between my legs. The deep bass note resonates in my ears, through my skull, and it begins.
My hand moves down the neck, fingers becoming dancers as they begin a well-known and practiced dance. Muscle memory taking over, I play through a prepared piece, swaying gently to my music as my fingers leap across the strings. I swell softly at the crescendos and sink slowly at the diminuendos, my expression serene and focused.
And then I reach the climax. Staccato notes and a minor chord bring a harsh tone. My cello grumbles and my expression darkens, brows furrowing. I get lost, hands moving so fast I think I am going to lose it. The ballet becomes a tango. The dancers are caught up in the passion. They just keep going and going, tired and rushed. I almost think they are going to develop a mind of their own and not listen to me, their director.
Then it stops, the caesura from the sheet music engrained into my mind.
When the music begins again, it is at a slow and leisurely pace, as if the previously fast tempo had worn out my fingers. I ritardando to the end.
When I finish, I hear applause and smile gently, eyes still closed. I stand up and bow low in response to the clapping, instrument standing proudly at my side.
As I straighten myself, I open my eyes to a standing ovation.
A knock at my door brings me back to the white walls and plain room. I look to the wooden door, hands tightening on my precious instrument.
“Ms. Harvis,” the nurse’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “It’s time for your pills.”
My nurse walks in without receiving a response and sets a plate with a glass of water and two pills on my side table. Looking up to me, she smiles.
“That sounded very nice, you are quite talented.”
“Thank you.” Her comment brought back memories of my old career; I had reached my peak when Alzheimer’s had brought it to a sudden stop. My life was now at a lento.
As my nurse chatters on, I frown, looking down to the instrument that will never again reach the stage.
Emma Penafiel '17
My hand moves down the neck, fingers becoming dancers as they begin a well-known and practiced dance. Muscle memory taking over, I play through a prepared piece, swaying gently to my music as my fingers leap across the strings. I swell softly at the crescendos and sink slowly at the diminuendos, my expression serene and focused.
And then I reach the climax. Staccato notes and a minor chord bring a harsh tone. My cello grumbles and my expression darkens, brows furrowing. I get lost, hands moving so fast I think I am going to lose it. The ballet becomes a tango. The dancers are caught up in the passion. They just keep going and going, tired and rushed. I almost think they are going to develop a mind of their own and not listen to me, their director.
Then it stops, the caesura from the sheet music engrained into my mind.
When the music begins again, it is at a slow and leisurely pace, as if the previously fast tempo had worn out my fingers. I ritardando to the end.
When I finish, I hear applause and smile gently, eyes still closed. I stand up and bow low in response to the clapping, instrument standing proudly at my side.
As I straighten myself, I open my eyes to a standing ovation.
A knock at my door brings me back to the white walls and plain room. I look to the wooden door, hands tightening on my precious instrument.
“Ms. Harvis,” the nurse’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “It’s time for your pills.”
My nurse walks in without receiving a response and sets a plate with a glass of water and two pills on my side table. Looking up to me, she smiles.
“That sounded very nice, you are quite talented.”
“Thank you.” Her comment brought back memories of my old career; I had reached my peak when Alzheimer’s had brought it to a sudden stop. My life was now at a lento.
As my nurse chatters on, I frown, looking down to the instrument that will never again reach the stage.
Emma Penafiel '17
Holyoke
Lauren Seigal '19
To Scale
Amidst the days of fluorescent jitters-
Lights that seem to sear-
On a perch I wait and find it bitter:
Too long I've been here.
I scale the cliff side with sharp, probing eyes,
Wishing to depart.
Tests on its surface predict my demise-
Dead before I start.
Jessica Navin '19
Lights that seem to sear-
On a perch I wait and find it bitter:
Too long I've been here.
I scale the cliff side with sharp, probing eyes,
Wishing to depart.
Tests on its surface predict my demise-
Dead before I start.
Jessica Navin '19
A Mechanical Mind
Down on my luck but still spinning,
the metal in my skull
drives me towards winning
when even simple functions lull.
The parts creak in my ears,
an echo I'm near deaf to,
they turn, the rusted gears,
around and around like clocks do.
I'm programmed for a task,
to get there in the end,
and under a clock face like a mask,
they can't tell what I intend.
Jessica Navin '19
the metal in my skull
drives me towards winning
when even simple functions lull.
The parts creak in my ears,
an echo I'm near deaf to,
they turn, the rusted gears,
around and around like clocks do.
I'm programmed for a task,
to get there in the end,
and under a clock face like a mask,
they can't tell what I intend.
Jessica Navin '19
Travels
Molly Jones '18
Ledge
A thunder cloud of thoughts running through her mind
All of their words cracking like lightning,
Each one a new shock to the system
This is one storm she can't escape
Her body's battered
Gashes on her back, her legs
Bruises covering her stomach, her arms
Black eye
Swollen lip
This is one storm she can't escape
The blood from her wounds
The tears from her eyes
Both hitting the pavement
A heavy echo following
Blood heavier than water
That's the idea, blood is the new currency
This is one storm she can't escape
They're surviving on her misery,
Yearning for her pain
She can't take it anymore
Suffocating in a room full of hundreds of people
Yet, no one can see her dying
Doesn't let them
If only they knew the agony she was in
She wouldn't have to do it
But there's no other way
Her body grew heavy
The weight of her footsteps grew unbearable
Leaving a trail of blood and tears in her wake
This is one storm she can't escape
The
Destination
Was
Here.
One foot up
Followed by the other
Standing firm on the ledge
Thinking of all the people that cut her down
Knowing they would only care when it was too late
Saying one last prayer
She became air born,
Weightless and care-free
One
Last
Breath
Nothingness.
Darkness.
Eternal sleep.
This is the one storm she could escape.
Nicole Kendall '19
All of their words cracking like lightning,
Each one a new shock to the system
This is one storm she can't escape
Her body's battered
Gashes on her back, her legs
Bruises covering her stomach, her arms
Black eye
Swollen lip
This is one storm she can't escape
The blood from her wounds
The tears from her eyes
Both hitting the pavement
A heavy echo following
Blood heavier than water
That's the idea, blood is the new currency
This is one storm she can't escape
They're surviving on her misery,
Yearning for her pain
She can't take it anymore
Suffocating in a room full of hundreds of people
Yet, no one can see her dying
Doesn't let them
If only they knew the agony she was in
She wouldn't have to do it
But there's no other way
Her body grew heavy
The weight of her footsteps grew unbearable
Leaving a trail of blood and tears in her wake
This is one storm she can't escape
The
Destination
Was
Here.
One foot up
Followed by the other
Standing firm on the ledge
Thinking of all the people that cut her down
Knowing they would only care when it was too late
Saying one last prayer
She became air born,
Weightless and care-free
One
Last
Breath
Nothingness.
Darkness.
Eternal sleep.
This is the one storm she could escape.
Nicole Kendall '19
The Relative Reality of Mickey O'Keefe
Scene 1
(A fish bowl sits on a table by the front door at the base of a small staircase. A faded family picture hangs on the wall above it. The carpet is both moth and mouse bitten, and has been further worn by the slippers of the tired old man who shuffles up the staircase now. His bathrobe is of an emerald green, but this appears to be the only interesting thing about him. In fact, it is the only interesting thing about him.)
GENINE
(Calling from the kitchen downstairs)
For Christ sakes Mickey, you haven't got the strength in your knees to hobble up those steps any longer, give it a rest and move your room downstairs.
(Mickey stops, turns around, and manages to nod "No" between asthmatic gasps.)
GENINE, (disgruntled)
Ain't my fault if you fall down these piss poor steps one morning. I'm your housekeeper, not your nurse, and I ain't any kind of responsible for you.
(Genine exits out the door into the dining room. We hear Mickey chuckling at her between his ever present gasps before he proceeds to heave his ancient body up the steps.)
Scene 2(It is morning, or so it must be, since MICKEY is descending the stairs. He is halfway down the staircase, and we see him almost thrown off balance by an enormous yawn. When he finally makes it down to the floor, he takes his inhaler out of his bathrobe pocket and downs the puff as if it’s nectar from God. He sits down at the head of the dining room table, and we can see him through the doorway.)
GENINE
I've made you scrambled eggs and hash for breakfast. (aside) Not that you could swallow anything else. (Aloud to MICKEY) Do you want cream in your tea?
(MICKEY raises his frail, bony finger as if he wants to say something, and in fact he does whisper something. Unfortunately it is entirely inaudible to either us or GENINE.)
GENINE
Whatsat? Did they give you iron tonsils as well as everything else? What?!
(MICKEY motions for GENINE to lean her head in closer, and he whispers something hoarsely in her ear.)
GENINE
I ain't Mickey. Last time I put liquor in your tea the doctor nearly busted me, and I ain't gonna do it again. Last time was the last time. Forget the gin.
(MICKEY's mouth drops open in disgust. He leaves his lower jaw hanging there in denial.)
GENINE
Don't you worry none. I've got the gin safe, you just can't have any yourself.
(GENINE winks at the audience and then walks out of the room to fix MICKEY's breakfast. MICKEY's mouth will have trouble receiving the food, presumably, as he still hasn't figured out how to close his jaw.)
Scene 3(The stage is dark, except for flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder. We hear a startled yelp and pots crashing to the ground from the kitchen. GENINE switches on the lights and stumbles in with a bottle, mostly empty, in her hand. She puts the mostly empty bottle of gin down on the dining room table where we can see it. In fact, we can see it exceptionally well since she slumps down against the doorframe, leaving it plainly in view. She is sobbing obnoxiously loudly. She's more than drunk, she's drank.)
GENINE
Help! Help! I ain't got legs. My legs are gone. They broke. I ain't broke. I got broke legs. I fell over, oh lordie. My head ain't half as broke as my legs. But they're broke. Help!
(We see some frail skinny ankles in slippers start to descend the staircase, followed by the bottom of an emerald bathrobe. The rest of the bathrobe eventually follows, and MICKEY's outstretched arm is up as if that will help him get down the stairs any faster.)
GENINE
Mickey I drank your gin. I drank all your gin. You had a lot of gin Mickey.
(MICKEY pauses on the staircase to wipe his brow with his pocket hanky. He hasn't walked this fast in decades.)
GENINE
I drank it. Least I ain't thirsty. You had a lotta gin.
(An ambitious little crack of lightning manages to short circuit the lights in the house, causing a momentary black-out.)
GENINE
Mickey! Are you alright? Hang on...
(The lights come back on as GENINE jumps to her feet, apparently forgetting that her legs are "broken". She is alone on stage.)
GENINE
I'll come get you!
(GENINE looks up, seemingly befuddled by the serious lack of MICKEYS in the room. She looks around, trying to find him, although there is clearly nowhere he could have gone.)
GENINE
Oh lordie I lost an old man. Oh, how did I.... I couldn'ta.... I ain't lost no people never...... I ain't a loser.....
(Scared and angry, GENINE grabs the bottle of gin and smashes it on the ground.)
GENINE
I ain't a loser I ain't I ain't a loser I AIN'T A LOSER I AIN'T I AIN'T LOST NOBODY!
(GENINE sees the fishbowl in her fury and grabs it as if to smash that on the ground too, but stops when she realizes that there's something inside. Stuffed inside is something green. She grabs a corner of the fabric and tugs out MICKEY’s emerald bathrobe.)
GENINE
I drowned him. I drowned him with the goldfish... and I drowned in gin. I drowned everybody. I ain't a loser -- I'm a killer. I'm drowning everybody. Everybody's drowning. Why is everybody drowning?
(GENINE's strange drunken rant is cut short as she falls flat on her face, passed out from intoxication. The stage goes dark.)
Scene 4(The lights come back on and it is morning. GENINE is gone. A police officer is writing in a notepad by the banister at the base of the stairs. Another officer comes in through the front door. The broken glass, empty fishbowl, and bathrobe are lying in a heap in the doorway to the dining room.)
OFFICER BARROWS
I think we've collected enough evidence to deem Genine Portland eligible for a transfer to a more stable situation for her mental health.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
You mean you're tossin' her in the asylum? She's no more'n a drunkard, let her keep the house until she can't pay for it any longer. That'll teach her.
OFFICER BARROWS
She's gone off the deep end, Freddy. She keeps babbling about how she killed the old man she works for, and she drowned him in the fishbowl after he fell down the stairs. She's talking nonsense.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
Did anyone else live here with her?
OFFICER BARROWS
No. She's been living alone since her husband abandoned her 5 years ago. The grandmother has had custody of the kids for a year now. Mrs. Portland's lost everyone.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
I was talking to her neighbors, apparently she claimed that she was working as a housekeeper for an elderly guy. Somebody named Mickey?
OFFICER BARROWS
Did anybody ever see the guy?
OFFICER ROMIRTE
No, why?
OFFICER BARROWS
'Cause I've run DNA samples through everything -- the spare bedroom, the chairs, that green robe -- there was only her DNA on all of it. She's been alone. Besides, she's been living off of government checks for the past year, not a salary.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
I guess she is nuts. Poor lady, I hope she turns out alright. I'll file a report. See you tonight Rob.
OFFICER BARROWS
See ya.
(They exit the room through the front door. As the door slams shut the lights go out onstage. When the lights come back on, an unbroken gin bottle and a fishbowl containing a goldfish are seen sitting in the doorway to the dining room. MICKEY begins to come down the stairs in his emerald bathrobe. He stops halfway down and looks to the audience, gasping for air as usual. He begins to smile, and as he breaks into a grin he starts to chuckle in a raspy tone. The lights go off and on again and once again MICKEY is missing, but we still hear his laughter as the lights fade out to dark.)
CURTAIN
Isabel Murray '16
(A fish bowl sits on a table by the front door at the base of a small staircase. A faded family picture hangs on the wall above it. The carpet is both moth and mouse bitten, and has been further worn by the slippers of the tired old man who shuffles up the staircase now. His bathrobe is of an emerald green, but this appears to be the only interesting thing about him. In fact, it is the only interesting thing about him.)
GENINE
(Calling from the kitchen downstairs)
For Christ sakes Mickey, you haven't got the strength in your knees to hobble up those steps any longer, give it a rest and move your room downstairs.
(Mickey stops, turns around, and manages to nod "No" between asthmatic gasps.)
GENINE, (disgruntled)
Ain't my fault if you fall down these piss poor steps one morning. I'm your housekeeper, not your nurse, and I ain't any kind of responsible for you.
(Genine exits out the door into the dining room. We hear Mickey chuckling at her between his ever present gasps before he proceeds to heave his ancient body up the steps.)
Scene 2(It is morning, or so it must be, since MICKEY is descending the stairs. He is halfway down the staircase, and we see him almost thrown off balance by an enormous yawn. When he finally makes it down to the floor, he takes his inhaler out of his bathrobe pocket and downs the puff as if it’s nectar from God. He sits down at the head of the dining room table, and we can see him through the doorway.)
GENINE
I've made you scrambled eggs and hash for breakfast. (aside) Not that you could swallow anything else. (Aloud to MICKEY) Do you want cream in your tea?
(MICKEY raises his frail, bony finger as if he wants to say something, and in fact he does whisper something. Unfortunately it is entirely inaudible to either us or GENINE.)
GENINE
Whatsat? Did they give you iron tonsils as well as everything else? What?!
(MICKEY motions for GENINE to lean her head in closer, and he whispers something hoarsely in her ear.)
GENINE
I ain't Mickey. Last time I put liquor in your tea the doctor nearly busted me, and I ain't gonna do it again. Last time was the last time. Forget the gin.
(MICKEY's mouth drops open in disgust. He leaves his lower jaw hanging there in denial.)
GENINE
Don't you worry none. I've got the gin safe, you just can't have any yourself.
(GENINE winks at the audience and then walks out of the room to fix MICKEY's breakfast. MICKEY's mouth will have trouble receiving the food, presumably, as he still hasn't figured out how to close his jaw.)
Scene 3(The stage is dark, except for flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder. We hear a startled yelp and pots crashing to the ground from the kitchen. GENINE switches on the lights and stumbles in with a bottle, mostly empty, in her hand. She puts the mostly empty bottle of gin down on the dining room table where we can see it. In fact, we can see it exceptionally well since she slumps down against the doorframe, leaving it plainly in view. She is sobbing obnoxiously loudly. She's more than drunk, she's drank.)
GENINE
Help! Help! I ain't got legs. My legs are gone. They broke. I ain't broke. I got broke legs. I fell over, oh lordie. My head ain't half as broke as my legs. But they're broke. Help!
(We see some frail skinny ankles in slippers start to descend the staircase, followed by the bottom of an emerald bathrobe. The rest of the bathrobe eventually follows, and MICKEY's outstretched arm is up as if that will help him get down the stairs any faster.)
GENINE
Mickey I drank your gin. I drank all your gin. You had a lot of gin Mickey.
(MICKEY pauses on the staircase to wipe his brow with his pocket hanky. He hasn't walked this fast in decades.)
GENINE
I drank it. Least I ain't thirsty. You had a lotta gin.
(An ambitious little crack of lightning manages to short circuit the lights in the house, causing a momentary black-out.)
GENINE
Mickey! Are you alright? Hang on...
(The lights come back on as GENINE jumps to her feet, apparently forgetting that her legs are "broken". She is alone on stage.)
GENINE
I'll come get you!
(GENINE looks up, seemingly befuddled by the serious lack of MICKEYS in the room. She looks around, trying to find him, although there is clearly nowhere he could have gone.)
GENINE
Oh lordie I lost an old man. Oh, how did I.... I couldn'ta.... I ain't lost no people never...... I ain't a loser.....
(Scared and angry, GENINE grabs the bottle of gin and smashes it on the ground.)
GENINE
I ain't a loser I ain't I ain't a loser I AIN'T A LOSER I AIN'T I AIN'T LOST NOBODY!
(GENINE sees the fishbowl in her fury and grabs it as if to smash that on the ground too, but stops when she realizes that there's something inside. Stuffed inside is something green. She grabs a corner of the fabric and tugs out MICKEY’s emerald bathrobe.)
GENINE
I drowned him. I drowned him with the goldfish... and I drowned in gin. I drowned everybody. I ain't a loser -- I'm a killer. I'm drowning everybody. Everybody's drowning. Why is everybody drowning?
(GENINE's strange drunken rant is cut short as she falls flat on her face, passed out from intoxication. The stage goes dark.)
Scene 4(The lights come back on and it is morning. GENINE is gone. A police officer is writing in a notepad by the banister at the base of the stairs. Another officer comes in through the front door. The broken glass, empty fishbowl, and bathrobe are lying in a heap in the doorway to the dining room.)
OFFICER BARROWS
I think we've collected enough evidence to deem Genine Portland eligible for a transfer to a more stable situation for her mental health.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
You mean you're tossin' her in the asylum? She's no more'n a drunkard, let her keep the house until she can't pay for it any longer. That'll teach her.
OFFICER BARROWS
She's gone off the deep end, Freddy. She keeps babbling about how she killed the old man she works for, and she drowned him in the fishbowl after he fell down the stairs. She's talking nonsense.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
Did anyone else live here with her?
OFFICER BARROWS
No. She's been living alone since her husband abandoned her 5 years ago. The grandmother has had custody of the kids for a year now. Mrs. Portland's lost everyone.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
I was talking to her neighbors, apparently she claimed that she was working as a housekeeper for an elderly guy. Somebody named Mickey?
OFFICER BARROWS
Did anybody ever see the guy?
OFFICER ROMIRTE
No, why?
OFFICER BARROWS
'Cause I've run DNA samples through everything -- the spare bedroom, the chairs, that green robe -- there was only her DNA on all of it. She's been alone. Besides, she's been living off of government checks for the past year, not a salary.
OFFICER ROMIRTE
I guess she is nuts. Poor lady, I hope she turns out alright. I'll file a report. See you tonight Rob.
OFFICER BARROWS
See ya.
(They exit the room through the front door. As the door slams shut the lights go out onstage. When the lights come back on, an unbroken gin bottle and a fishbowl containing a goldfish are seen sitting in the doorway to the dining room. MICKEY begins to come down the stairs in his emerald bathrobe. He stops halfway down and looks to the audience, gasping for air as usual. He begins to smile, and as he breaks into a grin he starts to chuckle in a raspy tone. The lights go off and on again and once again MICKEY is missing, but we still hear his laughter as the lights fade out to dark.)
CURTAIN
Isabel Murray '16
Caught in Thorns
A land of light and dark
Everyone, yearning for the sun
Born into an open meadow
But dragged into the thorns
By society
Now, caught in thorns
Agony with every movement
Some lie limp in defeat
Others delude themselves,
Focusing on the superficial
Why does no one still reach?
The light never leaves.
It waits, waits patiently
But ignored because of its
So-called unattainability
Stretch out a hand,
And be thought a fool;
An outcast, not wanting to be
With the crippled minds
That are everywhere
We were born for the light
We long for it without knowing
We turn away in ignorance
And instruct others to do the same,
So we will not be alone
Something's missing, we know,
So let's make everyone forget
No, child, don't turn around
Don't long for the sweet golden glow
It's not for us; we're caught in thorns
Sage Skyler '18
Everyone, yearning for the sun
Born into an open meadow
But dragged into the thorns
By society
Now, caught in thorns
Agony with every movement
Some lie limp in defeat
Others delude themselves,
Focusing on the superficial
Why does no one still reach?
The light never leaves.
It waits, waits patiently
But ignored because of its
So-called unattainability
Stretch out a hand,
And be thought a fool;
An outcast, not wanting to be
With the crippled minds
That are everywhere
We were born for the light
We long for it without knowing
We turn away in ignorance
And instruct others to do the same,
So we will not be alone
Something's missing, we know,
So let's make everyone forget
No, child, don't turn around
Don't long for the sweet golden glow
It's not for us; we're caught in thorns
Sage Skyler '18
(Click to see full pictures and individual titles)
Sarah Murray '19
Hephaestus in Love
Shattered in
The best of ways-
Drowned in thick liquid,
The ichor makes me sway.
Pools in my lungs-
The breathless weight,
Crushing me inside out,
The air, the color slate.
Uprooted from
The hill of peat,
Cast into brightness-
The luscious lick of heat.
Raw in
The new day,
Thirsting for a change-
The ambrosia, I say.
Whorls in my mind-
The blinding clarity
Coaxing me, cruel-
The pain from your charity.
Ruined, like
The jewel that's beat,
Chipped into shape:
Beautiful defeat.
Smashed to
The foot of the hill,
Broken beyond repair-
Never better, still.
Jessica Navin '19
The best of ways-
Drowned in thick liquid,
The ichor makes me sway.
Pools in my lungs-
The breathless weight,
Crushing me inside out,
The air, the color slate.
Uprooted from
The hill of peat,
Cast into brightness-
The luscious lick of heat.
Raw in
The new day,
Thirsting for a change-
The ambrosia, I say.
Whorls in my mind-
The blinding clarity
Coaxing me, cruel-
The pain from your charity.
Ruined, like
The jewel that's beat,
Chipped into shape:
Beautiful defeat.
Smashed to
The foot of the hill,
Broken beyond repair-
Never better, still.
Jessica Navin '19
Missing the Moon
Hope wanes,
like the white iris
of moon that reigns
when the day I’ve missed.
The glow dwindles
to a dull pulse; grey.
On black as sharp as spindles,
the crescent fades away.
A slow death
of glow I've seen-
where there was breath,
there's now no sheen.
Thin as ocean foam,
pearly color stands;
no longer will it roam
as the dark expands.
All is dim and worn
on the sequined slip
where stars are lorn-
and off, sequins rip.
Vanished with a quiver
like death, drawn,
the sky will shiver;
all alone until dawn.
Jessica Navin '19
like the white iris
of moon that reigns
when the day I’ve missed.
The glow dwindles
to a dull pulse; grey.
On black as sharp as spindles,
the crescent fades away.
A slow death
of glow I've seen-
where there was breath,
there's now no sheen.
Thin as ocean foam,
pearly color stands;
no longer will it roam
as the dark expands.
All is dim and worn
on the sequined slip
where stars are lorn-
and off, sequins rip.
Vanished with a quiver
like death, drawn,
the sky will shiver;
all alone until dawn.
Jessica Navin '19
Reach...
It was only a mere decade ago
When I sold my soul
To the tapping of feet and twirling of hands:
To the graceful ebb and sway of heart and emotion,
First of my blood I was to venture into that art,
And first of my blood I was to have such daring.
At our native-element,
the bearer of my life held my hand
and bade me to nurture my grace;
“Just like a rose bud,” she had said, “and when even the storms rouse,
when the nature-vessel quivers from Lightning’s strikes and Thunder’s bellows,
don’t falter.
Let the ground be your altar.”
She kindled my passion, she stoked the hearth and watched the flames grow.
It was well into the first frost-blanket, when the Perfectionist held my other hand,
“Don’t bend your back, stand tall.
Bend your knees, or you’ll fall.
Hold your arms out, reach...reach…”
My father did indeed beseech.
And when I fell,
When balance and strength had all but flown out from beneath me,
He placed my hand in his,
Stood beside me and straightened his back,
Bent his knees,
Held his arms out as if he were a tree,
Threw his head back
And the toddler of the house’s tinkling titter still rings in my ears
when the first string of the violin is grazed,
I wait for my cue and smile slightly as my mother says to me,
“Don’t falter; not even at the quake of the earth.”
And never do they let me forget the little girl with her father
Even as I leap across the spotlight-path; back straight, knees bent, arms reaching…..
Srimitha Srinivasan '17
When I sold my soul
To the tapping of feet and twirling of hands:
To the graceful ebb and sway of heart and emotion,
First of my blood I was to venture into that art,
And first of my blood I was to have such daring.
At our native-element,
the bearer of my life held my hand
and bade me to nurture my grace;
“Just like a rose bud,” she had said, “and when even the storms rouse,
when the nature-vessel quivers from Lightning’s strikes and Thunder’s bellows,
don’t falter.
Let the ground be your altar.”
She kindled my passion, she stoked the hearth and watched the flames grow.
It was well into the first frost-blanket, when the Perfectionist held my other hand,
“Don’t bend your back, stand tall.
Bend your knees, or you’ll fall.
Hold your arms out, reach...reach…”
My father did indeed beseech.
And when I fell,
When balance and strength had all but flown out from beneath me,
He placed my hand in his,
Stood beside me and straightened his back,
Bent his knees,
Held his arms out as if he were a tree,
Threw his head back
And the toddler of the house’s tinkling titter still rings in my ears
when the first string of the violin is grazed,
I wait for my cue and smile slightly as my mother says to me,
“Don’t falter; not even at the quake of the earth.”
And never do they let me forget the little girl with her father
Even as I leap across the spotlight-path; back straight, knees bent, arms reaching…..
Srimitha Srinivasan '17
Use Them Wisely
Be careful how you use them
They have an impact on everything we do, everything we are
They can cause wars, making the world go into utter chaos
Forge feuding nations by achieving peace
They can mentally destroy someone,
Piece by piece picking away at their sanity
Making them withdrawn and distant
In some cases, they can cause someone to go over the edge
Making them put the barrel to their head and pull the trigger
Taking yet another innocent victim, adding to the long list of never forgotten souls
But, they also have the power to stop someone from ever doing it again
Simply using them the right way.
Imagine that.
They can shatter someone's heart or glue it back together
They can be used positively or negatively
You hold the power in your hands,
Well, more like on the tip of your tongue
Use them wisely, my dear friend,
Be careful how you use your words.
Nicole Kendall '19
They have an impact on everything we do, everything we are
They can cause wars, making the world go into utter chaos
Forge feuding nations by achieving peace
They can mentally destroy someone,
Piece by piece picking away at their sanity
Making them withdrawn and distant
In some cases, they can cause someone to go over the edge
Making them put the barrel to their head and pull the trigger
Taking yet another innocent victim, adding to the long list of never forgotten souls
But, they also have the power to stop someone from ever doing it again
Simply using them the right way.
Imagine that.
They can shatter someone's heart or glue it back together
They can be used positively or negatively
You hold the power in your hands,
Well, more like on the tip of your tongue
Use them wisely, my dear friend,
Be careful how you use your words.
Nicole Kendall '19
All Roads
I’ve been here before, I know I’ve been under
these red-orange trees, I’ve looked up and wondered
how long it had been, how long it would be
until I was finally, finally freed
from the choking restraints, all the ties that had bound
my arms, my body, and soul to the ground
I was waiting for something, those two magic words
or the familiar signs that would say that we were
just about there, ‘round the long string of shrubs
to the green and white sanctuary I’d come to love.
Because when you are seven (point five) years old,
you know only one thing, and one thing alone.
No matter the distance or where you may be,
the important thing is– eventually,
all
roads
lead
to
Home.
Anson Huang '17
these red-orange trees, I’ve looked up and wondered
how long it had been, how long it would be
until I was finally, finally freed
from the choking restraints, all the ties that had bound
my arms, my body, and soul to the ground
I was waiting for something, those two magic words
or the familiar signs that would say that we were
just about there, ‘round the long string of shrubs
to the green and white sanctuary I’d come to love.
Because when you are seven (point five) years old,
you know only one thing, and one thing alone.
No matter the distance or where you may be,
the important thing is– eventually,
all
roads
lead
to
Home.
Anson Huang '17
More Than an Address
Lush, manicured lawns
Moats around the freshly-painted clapboard colonials, lined with peaceful flower beds, surrounded by white picket fences,
The people inside shut up more tightly than the black shutters lining the windows,
More hushed than the dove quietly cooing while perched on the branches of the maple outside, leaves slowly falling and falling,
Falling.
Sometimes I feel as though I am falling
Fast, in and out of love, of luck, of joy, of pain,
Headaches roll across my temples day after day, smiles temporarily puncturing the stress,
Wrinkles in the carpet carefully smoothed over, only to be treaded on again,
Sometimes I break.
I am broken, in fact, shattered memories strung together with golden strength,
As imperfect as the peeling paint on those shutters,
As wilted as the petals those flowers can be,
As bent as that board in the fence,
As dry as that grass which graces the lawn,
Details go unnoticed to the naked eye, the passerby, the “did you see the new begonias they added in the flower boxes?,” the “look at that addition!,” and the sound of “that new patio is something else,”
Despite the leaking faucet, the scuffed floors, the worn curtains,
Life thrives inside of those walls.
We bruise, we crash, we burn, but laughter eternally echoes and love abounds,
My beating heart, that house on the corner
Teem with life,
More passionate, more rich, more deep, more powerful than any ephemeral scrape that may hinder us,
Look in those windows
Look in my eyes.
Regan Lynch '17
Moats around the freshly-painted clapboard colonials, lined with peaceful flower beds, surrounded by white picket fences,
The people inside shut up more tightly than the black shutters lining the windows,
More hushed than the dove quietly cooing while perched on the branches of the maple outside, leaves slowly falling and falling,
Falling.
Sometimes I feel as though I am falling
Fast, in and out of love, of luck, of joy, of pain,
Headaches roll across my temples day after day, smiles temporarily puncturing the stress,
Wrinkles in the carpet carefully smoothed over, only to be treaded on again,
Sometimes I break.
I am broken, in fact, shattered memories strung together with golden strength,
As imperfect as the peeling paint on those shutters,
As wilted as the petals those flowers can be,
As bent as that board in the fence,
As dry as that grass which graces the lawn,
Details go unnoticed to the naked eye, the passerby, the “did you see the new begonias they added in the flower boxes?,” the “look at that addition!,” and the sound of “that new patio is something else,”
Despite the leaking faucet, the scuffed floors, the worn curtains,
Life thrives inside of those walls.
We bruise, we crash, we burn, but laughter eternally echoes and love abounds,
My beating heart, that house on the corner
Teem with life,
More passionate, more rich, more deep, more powerful than any ephemeral scrape that may hinder us,
Look in those windows
Look in my eyes.
Regan Lynch '17