Suicide of Whales
Anna Zheng, grade 12
I will be complicit in the suicide of whales.
The mornings where the sun rises
On the sanctity of beached bodies breached by seabird beaks
Seeking gullets full of fetid flesh until only the sand-scraped bones
Are left to break.
We do not see the night’s tides and
Waves beating strange heartbeats
The sinuous groans a clock’s pendulum
Weaving momentum for such violent ejection
And my hand
Hovering unseen like winds
Lapping at the sea
That final push onto the shore.
The mornings where the sun rises
On the sanctity of beached bodies breached by seabird beaks
Seeking gullets full of fetid flesh until only the sand-scraped bones
Are left to break.
We do not see the night’s tides and
Waves beating strange heartbeats
The sinuous groans a clock’s pendulum
Weaving momentum for such violent ejection
And my hand
Hovering unseen like winds
Lapping at the sea
That final push onto the shore.
the lepidopterarium (butterfly effect)
Julia Victor, grade 10
If you walk into my room you will see a lifetime of objects and memories neatly categorized so that my life appears as one clear portrait of fate and chance. The past, the present, and the future all have their place here, but they must never meet— because what a mess my room would become if the three most powerful beings of any place where time exists were allowed to intertwine. Exceptions sprinkle themselves throughout every dimension like shooting stars. Some corners of the universe are so far removed that they have not yet heard of the commonalities and rules of most galaxies. And anyways, there is far too much energy there to be controlled by something as insignificant as gravity. If you look closely at the specific impersonality of my room, you will find one such extraordinary place on a shelf near my window. Why would the universe choose this particular place for a fluke of time so large? I think it is my actions that, like the soft fluttering of a butterfly’s wings in the hard mesh of time, have led to this exact moment. It seems my butterfly has lost its way and confused the past with the present, the future with the past. Perhaps, and even time herself finds this difficult to admit, perhaps we are each our own butterfly, flitting unknowingly about in time as our bodies breath above the tangle of moments we each store at our feet. Every moment affecting a moment eons ahead: a moment so far in the distance that only the stripes on our butterflies’ wings can provide a semi-hazy outline of what will come to pass. Breathe in and change my future. Breathe out and change your future. Breathe and breathe and breathe until the breath fogs up the stained glass conservatory and suffocates the insects and the plants until everything is up to us. Do not stop breathing now; gently exhale towards the earth— gently, so as not to break the delicate wings of the now brittle butterfly. For time must continue even in death, even when the butterflies are no longer there to guide the future and my mind further resembles the small thoughts of a small creature. I am the butterfly, and I create my own constellations.
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Photograph by Anna Zheng, grade 12
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The View Outside My Window
Photograph by Yi Jiang, Paideia parent |
Breathable Skies Samantha McGhee, grade 8
Skies bluer than the rest
Taunting our broodish ways By keeping us away From what we’ve destroyed Pencil shavings litter bedsheets As music brings sanity to silence Juxtaposing the stillness Of the eerily empty streets The art works of a mad man Adorn four corners Stuck by paltry pieces of tape Clinging to dry wall The hours wane and wax Feeling like forever or a fraction The only remnants of our friends before Just grainy pixels trapped in a box And whenever the walls become too bearing Or the roof creeps too low How nice it is to be one with the blue sky And to feel its forgiving nature |
OblivionElizabeth Doyle, grade 8
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A Day in the Life of a PandemicSahil Gandhi, grade 8
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The morning started like any other. I walked along the damp, dull concrete that led to the Junior High building. The sky still held its gloom from the rain the night before. I worked my way through the day until it was lunchtime, when the unthinkable news was announced. School would be canceled for two weeks. The news was met with joyous cheers that ricocheted off the walls. We were oblivious of what was soon to come.
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9:15 –– I wake up, roll out of bed, and realize I’m late for my Zoom class. Time for an hour of
actual education. Signing off for now. 11:00 –– After back-to-back Zooms, I finally have a break. I’m not going to lie; my brain is pretty fried at this point. And I haven’t even started my homework for the day. Or eaten breakfast. Or left my bed yet. If my brain doesn’t explode, I’ll write again. 12:00 –– My brain is still intact, but I am currently eating cereal in bed and have been watching YouTube for the last hour. My work ethic could be improved, I suppose. I’ll probably start working now. Farewell. 1:45 –– So after planning to do work, I proceeded to watch YouTube for another hour, and just started my reading for the day. I have also just remembered that I have a saxophone lesson in ten minutes, so the reading is going to have to be put on hold for some music. Adios. 3:00 –– My saxophone lesson was the first thing to go according to plan all day, hence the reason that I am on a FaceTime with my friend doing my homework that was supposed to happen three hours ago. I still haven’t gone outside yet. Maybe tomorrow. Bye for now. 5:00 –– I’ve just finished my homework, five hours later than expected. Better than most days I suppose. I’ve been locked in the house all day, so I put on a mask and go for a walk outside. It’s quite warm and loads of people are out, walking in the middle of the road because there are no cars. I walk around the neighborhood, waving to familiar faces, and enjoying myself for the first time all day. 6:00 –– I return home and begin my half-hour daily workout. Seeing as my baseball season is on hold, I’ve been working out to stay in shape for the season. It’s probably my least favorite and favorite part of the day at the same time. 8:00 –– I settle into my gaming setup and start up my game. I’ll be here for the foreseeable future, so my day is essentially over. I’ll probably go to bed around 1 or 2 in the morning and then start the process again. |
now/here
Natanya Norry, grade 12
there was a time when here was now
and no one knew the difference, see? now nowhere is here and everything's now and everyone's right where they want to be everyone, it seems, but me there was a time when now was real then everyone learned their options and ran allthetime and comingsoon an appealing pair (though i never saw why) and i should not be—yet I am-- wondering when am i? and there was a time when you were here and so was i—can you imagine? the alchemy of pronouns made our bodies into "us" but now you are there and i am desperately trying to be where you are though there is a special, lonely place where only you can be i must confess, i once was there (my very own) and it was quite a thrill and now is hardly a thought you have when you can be anytime but being queen of nowhere's boring business down the line i'd much rather be at the whims of here i'd much rather be with you now |
Art by Addison Kerwin, grade 12
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