Penumbra 2024 Editing V35_organized

penumbra xxvi

Smithtown Central School District Smithtown, NY 11787 Board of Education Stacy Ann Murphy, President Karen Wontrobski-Ricciardi, Vice President

Michael Saidens, Trustee Matthew Gribbin, Trustee Michael Catalanotto, Trustee

John Savoretti, Trustee Kevin Craine, Trustee Superintendent of Schools Mark Secaur, Ed. D Assistant Superintendent for Instruction & Administration Kevin R. Simmons, Ed. D Assistant Superintendaent for Pupil Personnel Services Daniel J. Helmes Assistant Superintendent for Personnel Neil D. Katz Assistant Superintendent for Finance & Operations Andrew R. Tobin Assistant Superintendent for Curriculum & Assessment Paul Strader II Director of English, K-12 Raina Ingoglia Smithtown High School West Principal John Coady Smithtown High School West Assistant Principals Christopher Elsesser Michael Freiberg, Ed. D Annemarie Freund Advisor

Robert J Kuletsky Special Thanks To The English Department The Art Department The Custodial & Support Staff SHSW IT Services

Penumbra Volume XXVI 2024

Smithtown High School West Smithtown, NY 11787

Editor in Chief Anabelle Kreitzman

Copy Editors

Alyssa Griesman

Joey Davide

Paula Araujo Parra

Abigail Jung

Cover Art Michael Raimondi

Contributors

Kayla Shaughnessy Giuliana Panzini

Emma Phillips

Mariella Myers

Hatim Husainy

Shannon Muscolino

Veronika Leshko

Michael Raimondi

Arlo Merchant

Tiernan O’Rourke

Jessica Alexander

Gwendolyn Fitzpatrick

Sydnie Vogel

Hannah Ren

Anabelle Daqui

Aidyn Rios

Bohdan Budash

Eylin Lainez

Sophia Rosmaninho

Aren Nessler

Madelyn Law

Erin Kim

Kate Braun

Michael Struzinski Olivia Wolber

Magazine formatted using InDesign software Printed by Smithtown Central School District Printed on #8 paper with black and color ink Typefaces used: Bell MT (14, 20, 26, 30, 34, 36, 48, 72)

100 Copies Printed Edition XXVI

Penumbra encourages the students of Smithtown High School West to explore their minds and hearts and to develop their many talents. Herein lies the fruit of their labors as we continue to explore, following our thoughts to new horizons ... and beyond.

Submissions are solicitied both at large and through the English Department’s Creative Writing coursework. The staff of Penumbra meets weekly, as an extracurricular club, and is responsible for selection and editing of included works.

Literary

Literary (continued)

Venus | Kayla Shaughnessy White Walls | Emma Phillips

What Was Once There | Alyssa Griesman The Perfect Book | Paula Araujo Parra Linger | Tiernan O’Rourke Penguins | Joey Davide

Tulips | Jessica Alexander String Lights | Joey Davide Wonderland | Alyssa Griesman

iii

Literary (continued)

Photography(Continued)

Peeking through the Crowd | Aren Nessler Reaching | Anabelle Kreitzman

Sunflower Field | Kate Braun Chicken Noodle Soup | Michael Raimondi Memories From a Past Life | Paula Araujo Parra

Art

Photography

Dissonant Safety | Aren Nessler Running | Anabelle Kreitzman Gateway | Sydnie Vogel The Tunnel | Sydnie Vogel

Title Pages New Moon, Waxing Crescent, First Quarter, Waxing Gibbous, Full Moon, Blood Moon, Waning Gibbous, Third Quarter, Waning Crescent, New Moon (end) |Anabelle Kreitzman

New Moon

Silhouette rises And wanders beneath the stars. Dies to live again.

Overwhelming Darkness Kayla Shaughnessy

As I walk towards the bright light, I take in the warmth.

The sun reflects off the glistening lake, and I stop to stare.

Drawn closer to the lake, I see my reflection. Dark hair, burgundy sweatshirt, and black jeans. I feel hatred stream through my body, All it took was one look.

The world turned dark. The lake no longer reflects the sun. The warmth I once felt disappears.

I can no longer walk, I only sit and ponder.

Dissonant Safety | Aren Nessler | Photography

All there used to be was light, But as the days go by I can only see an overwhelming darkness .

Brownies Giuliana Panzini

The vacant bowl lays staring up at you, A deep hole waiting to be filled.

The eggs are next. The worst of them all. Bowl ambushed— Striked repeatedly by shells.

It needs a companion, But for now, it stands.

Alone.

Runny, slimy, Infested with bacteria. Desperate for an end, This was not the company that was longed for.

You begin.

Melted, the butter plummets in, Uncomfortably warm. Coarse sugar joins, Rough, abrading.

And now?

The whisk.

Isolation was dreadful Before the butter and sugar came.

Alienation has never tasted so sweet.

Now, it is full— But with disdain.

The Puzzle Giuliana Panzini

A picture– Torn apart. Thousands of pieces Scatter across the ground.

A picture– Unique and clear;

Whether immediately seen, occasionally admired, Or disdainfully observed– . These features can stand out.

It takes hours, Sometimes days,

To rectify this mess, One piece at a time.

Unless you take the days, months, or years, You will never see every feature— So many are hidden deep within.

It’s slow, It’s difficult, But nothing that matters Can ever be easy.

But, with one part lost, Somewhere out there, The feature that stands out most: The visible mass of the floor.

Finally, you place your last piece In its home, Only to discover The gap.

By first glance, You’ll never recognise Its vibrant colors Or its thorough, Almost realistic details.

One singular piece Near the top right corner– Gone.

Despite it being one Out of a thousand qualities, The only part the eye will fall onto Is the one flaw.

Although missing, It isn’t alone.

Days of determination, Struggle, And strive– Deceased in the same second The piece left sight.

Green with Envy | Abigail Jung | Digital

Ashes Joey Davide

I rest in the sun’s golden radiance, In its promise of warmth and comfort. And I watch the aqueous race of blues, Breaking into piercing, perfect whites. I view from above, stagnant on my back deck, In the path of a gentle breeze, As the stream meanders through the bright-leaved trees.

If it couldn’t remain idyllic, How could I compare?

Nature’s short gusts weren’t able to blow out This perpetual fire burning in my tapered brain. That unleaving thought,

Waxing in my mind, Set the world ablaze, Smoking me from the inside out And from the outside in.

Watching its serenity, Its God-given perfection, I can’t help And want to find that beauty Within myself, Being one of His creations, too.

Even if I wasn’t there, They would have burnt it down anyway, And killed its serenity and its perfection and its beauty.

I, too, would have burnt anyway, right?

Yearning, How could I have noticed The sapphire track starting to lose its runners, Its vibrancy muting into an unassuming ash; Or the wind becoming a whooping-crane- gray that won’t subside; Or the greenery staining a hue more akin to brown? When did they do that?

7 Dressing for Success | Michael Struzinski | Charcoal

Then There Was You Arlo Merchant

My summer was dull until there was you. you were the light to my dark, the fire to my water, the sun to my moon.

But suddenly your fire was stolen and I had to light a new one. I became the light to your dark,

the fire to your water, the sun to your moon.

I wish, somehow, we can share the fire soon, but people are not halves of a whole. I should be

the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, the sun to my moon, And you should be too.

love is tender Arlo Merchant

love is tender and knows no gender. it is time to be queer with no fear.

there are days when i say i’m scared and wonder if i actually care. there are days when i say, i care, but i wish i was unaware. in this time there is so much crime— so much hate— but in my state i’ll be ahead— and hopefully won’t dread— tomorrow.

Waxing Crescent

Sliver of light Pierces the night, A doorway to somewhere So far and so bright. Barely a glance, Thinly lit chance, That parts darkened curtains, Unveils moonlight’s dance.

Sliver of light Pierces the night,

Reminds us of someday— The hope held in “might”.

snow Arlo Merchant

the snow fell, all around me. each snowflake a knife. i smiled ever so slightly.

as snow fell, all around me, i noticed even after all this time, the snow looked the same.

the snow stopped, not abruptly,

but slowly. with time, the snow melted

but suddenly, the snow returned, each snowflake felt like a knife. a tear ran down my cheek.

i no longer craved the pain.

but i missed the snow. even though snow was temporary it was pretty for a while. Running | Anabelle Kreitzman | Photography

On This December Night Arlo Merchant

On this December night, The frost shrouds my heart.

Seeing you makes it thaw, just a little.

I think to myself, no, not you, not again,

But the memories come flooding back, our long talks, our secret smiles; Us.

On this December night my heart thaws, just a little.

Why’d you do it? Hide me away.

I would have walked through a storm. I would have done it barefoot. Just to see a smile on your face.

On this December night the frost shrouds my heart.

I’m Picking You Arlo Merchant

I was always the last picked at recess. No one seemed to like me very much. I wasn't as fast as pretty

or as strong as the others.

I think that transferred to my teenage years Because I never seem to be good enough— I never seem to find someone who’d pick me first.

I fall so easily down the rabbit hole.. I like to think you like me back, but I see the way you look at me— more pity than preferred. I see the way you look at them— With admiration in your eyes.

Gateway | Sydnie Vogel | Photography

I wish one day you’d wake up and see that I’ll always be there, whether day or night, rain or shine.

Why don’t you think of me? I wish your emotions would bleed through

your stoic wall. I wish you’d see what you mean to me.

Because I’m picking you first.

The Tunnel | Sydnie Vogel | Photography

Venus Kayla Shaughnessy

Everyday we learn about our solar system, but what about Venus? It’s before Earth, so to us mere humans, it’s forgotten. No one notices its true beauty. It rotates the opposite direction of Earth, It's unique. The atmosphere so thick and fiery, It's protective. The layers all different, but strikingly beautiful, It's gorgeous.

She is Venus.

When she walks by everyday, I see how her appearance contrasts her personality. Intimidating, yet she’s the one who comforts me. She protects and loves me, as if I have no one else- Only her.

Venus is seen as a rocky, hard planet, with no outstanding features. Yet if you look deep into its core, you’ll see another part of it— a part no one else has ever seen.

White Walls Emma Phillips

I once lived in a house with white walls– Often passed by peculiar people, All inhabiting neon walls Of luminous brights.

As my eyes began to burn, I splotched over the neons. Soon, I found boredom in my

Pale. White. Walls. That spoke nothing artistically, once more. So, I sat in my house of white walls, Scrutinizing the neon artists And attempting to authentically make neon Out of Pale. White. Paint.

Mine remained white. Populated by buckets And brimmed with pale paints.

I often wished the neon artists Would splotch my white walls

With the bright blobs Their brushes created.

Occasionally loaning me a rendition of their color, Pigmentation dripped down the same walls That had spoken nothing artistically, Widening my eyes peculiarly with depth.

Car Ride Kate Braun

This is the worst car ride. You pretend not to notice the tears racing down my face, And I pretend they aren’t there.

The silence of the car booms through my soul. You face forward, eyes on the road, Looking anywhere but at me. Your gaze is my worst nightmare While mine is a mockery.

My focus shifts to the window. Outside this car The air is richer, Sun is brighter— It is empowering.

To you, my tears are my weakness. Yet you would never know that they water Every inch of my being.

I’m the one who found peace.

This is the last car ride With you.

Beauty at Night | Bohdan Budash | Photography

There..? Joey Davide

Holding on, Hanging off, Trying not to drop, Trying not to tumble into Oblivion. Holding on, Hanging off, The Periphery is better than Nowhere.

Struggling not to be temporary, Not to fade away into the Background.

Is there truly a difference, though?

Stained Past | Paula Araujo Parra | Photography

First Quarter

With half in white and half in black, What half possesses, half will lack.

In warmth of sadness, chill of glee, We find that life is bittersweet.

Our deepest love and deepest hate have trapped our hearts in thick debate.

The light and darkness interlock: An emblem of our paradox.

A Ballad of Freedom Paula Araujo Parra

The sun shone brighter than ever As the mockingbirds around us Sang their ballad of freedom

So she flew through the breeze, As she reminisced the times Of apparent peace that she had with him

The front one sang—rejoiced

She might still regret him With every dusk as she reaches her nest And every dawn as she flaps her wings again

The malicious whispers Of an enchanting voice And the fabricated gentleness Of a devious mind No longer troubled her heart

But at least she could now fly Without ever being caged again

For the same wounded wings That once struggled to fly

Finally let go of the conniving lure That held them back from each sky

She may have failed at rescuing That long lost soul, But she salvaged herself

Ocean’s Song Mariella Myers

The world came from those beaten and bowed. And these angels as they fell from grace Knew not of earthly quakes.

And held by beaten hands, our angels sing of the bright and noble king. And then they whisper, And then they warn,

Softly, I search for you between the black and blue. The Ocean roars— I hear its voice in you. Within the deepest black of the creatures’ cave, a cry rings out— I hear its voice in you.

“Remember what I say, for it may come in the Ocean’s song.”

Fish | Michael Struzinski | Digital

The Writing on the Wall Aidyn Rios

The commonality among all ages Is the urge to express. Thoughts and emotions manifesting on empty pages– So strenuous to repress. Whether illustrative depictions Or verbal vomits of literature, Buried feelings leap from the mind’s fictions To embark on a creative venture. Adoration and acknowledgement fuels the clamor, Though anonymity is the preferred manner. What better way to carelessly scrawl Than by producing the writing on the wall?

Lost Lives | Sydnie Vogel | Photography

Letter to the Old Me Arlo Merchant

Dear Priya, I wish I could go back and protect you. Many moons ago, I hated you. I hated that you couldn’t protect yourself. I hated how you were so naive. I hated your pure smiles. Now, it’s too late. I barely remember you, and I hate myself for forgetting you— every day. I know I shouldn’t, ‘cause it’s not my fault. It’s his. He is trying now— Trying to make amends. But in his eyes I am sick— I need to be “cured.” You never expected to live this long Yet in some ways, you did. I miss you, Arlo

It’s Not What You Think Alyssa Griesman

Scene 1

[Enter Marie, the barista, and extras.] MARIE [She waits patiently at the bar amongst the ruckus of the atmosphere, indifferent of the night’s outcome and sure that it will continue her streak of bad first dates.] [Enter Alex.] ALEX: Hello Marie, [she turns to face him] you look rather dashing this evening. MARIE: [ Unfazed ] Ha, so original. Am I supposed to be swayed? [Chuckles.] ALEX: [ Lifts one eyebrow ] First off, a ‘hello’ would be nice. Secondly, would ‘you look absolutely stun- ning in that dress’ work better? MARIE: Hm, I don’t know. [Pause] Maybe just a simple ‘hi, how are ya?’ would do the trick. Oh—and good evening. ALEX: [Smirks slightly] Someone’s stubborn. [Sits down in the empty seat next to Marie.] MARIE: I have my reasons. Can I have a beer please? [To the barista.] ALEX: [Ponders] Interesting. I’ll second that [To the barista]. Have a bad day perhaps? MARIE: I wouldn’t say that. Let’s just say that when it comes to blind dates, all that follows me is a whole bunch of bad luck. [Sighs and takes a sip of her beer.] ALEX: [Nods] Ah, that would explain it. MARIE: [Intrigued] What’s that supposed to mean? ALEX: Just that I think you should keep searching. Don’t fret because you never know—someone might break that stream of bad luck, and by someone I mean me. [Smiles sincerely.] MARIE: [Laughs and rolls her eyes] Yeah yeah, don’t get too ahead of yourself just yet. [So far, not so bad she repeats in her head. She starts to think that maybe this date wasn’t such a bad idea, as he’s not a complete eyesore to look at or a complete nuisance to be around. However, she continues to take it slow, as she’s still unsure if Alex has any other intentions in mind.] ALEX: Oh I won’t. I’m gonna take my sweet time swaying you over. Don’t you worry. [Winks.] MARIE: [Slightly less unfazed] Haha, we’ll see about that. [Silence.] ALEX: Hm, I have an idea. Wanna go karaoking? I know a place not too far from here. Just warning you though, I sing pretty well. [Smirks]

MARIE: [Smiles] Ha, I would love to. For your information though, I was the president of the jazz choir in high school, so I too can sing pretty well. Better watch out. [She began to feel comfortable and at ease around Alex. She wasn’t sure if this was due to the beer finally kicking in or due to the fact that Lily set her up with him, meaning that he can’t be that bad.] ALEX: [Playfully] All right all right, you win this time. C’mon, I’ll drive. [Curtains close.] Scene 2 [Enter Marie and Alex in Alex’s Volvo, on their way to a karaoke place after having mingled at a local bar.] MARIE: [Curiously] So, how did you and Lily meet? ALEX: [Chuckles] Funny story, actually. One of my professors in college was really pissed off one day and decided to take his anger out on me, during a presentation I was giving no less. It was pretty embarrassing, and I felt pretty down about it. After class, though, Lily came up to me and asked if I’d like to grab dinner with her and some of her friends to help cheer me up. I thought ‘why not,’ so I went and ended up having a really nice time. We’ve been friends ever since.

MARIE: [Smiles] Aw, sounds like something Lily would do. ALEX: [Smiles] Now I’m curious. How did you and Lily meet?

MARIE: Funny story too, actually. We met in kindergarten, but we absolutely despised each other at first. [Laughs] No joke, we wanted nothing to do with each other. We’d constantly fight over the stupidest things. Then, at the end of kindergarten, we decided to make a truce and become friends. Now, we’re as close as ever. ALEX: [Laughs] Why, that’s one heck of a story. Are you sure you guys still don’t secretly hate each other? Even just a little? MARIE: [Chuckles] Oh don’t worry. We definitely have our disagreements. When Lily told me she didn’t like Star Wars, I had to reconsider our friendship for a hot minute. [Sarcastically] Of course, I eventually forgave her, but it took some time. ALEX: [Sigh of relief] Oh boy, it’s a good thing I like Star Wars then. Wouldn’t want to mess this up too early. [Grins.] MARIE: [Smiles] Haha, you got that right. [She reached for a water bottle, but Alex grabbed her arm, stopping her halfway.] ALEX: [Chuckles] I wouldn’t drink that. Can’t trust anything that’s in here. You never know how long it’s been sitting.

MARIE: [Unbothered] Oh please, that doesn’t phase me. All I care about is quenching my thirst right now. The beer made me thirsty. [She tried reaching for the water once more, but Alex yet again stopped her. This time, with a more forceful grab.] ALEX: [Pleadingly] Just please, don’t drink it. MARIE: Alex, I appreciate that you care about me, but I’m sure the water won’t hurt me. [She turns to face him and catches a quick glimpse of worry washing over his face.] What, are there some drugs mixed into the water or something? [She laughs until she notices his expression went cold, with his entire demeanor turning stern and stiff.] Alex…? [Silence.] ALEX: If I said yes, would that stop you from drinking it? [He pleads once more with her, glancing intently into her eyes.] MARIE: [Worry rushes through her body] Ok, this is not funny Alex. What is going on?

ALEX: [He looks away] I… [Pause] I can’t do this. MARIE Alex, do what? Please, you’re scaring me. ALEX: I’m dropping you off at the nearest bus station. I… [Pause] I’m sorry.

MARIE: What…? [Confusion overtakes her mind, making her formulate numerous conclusions. She thinks maybe he got nervous and chickened out, or maybe he was planning to drug her this entire time and had a change of heart. She ponders if the latter is true, why that may be.] [Curtains close.]

Sam DeMonte

Dawn of Tomorrow | Hannah Ren | Photography

Waxing Gibbous

A tinge of sorrow touches glowing bliss. I sought the shred of joy that twilight stole, But now I find I’m falling deep in this Confusing state of being almost full. I walk the edge and peer into abyss; The place where light relinquishes control. Illumination follows shadow’s kiss, And love is somehow part of almost whole. A trillion questions twinkling in the sky Are sung inside my heart with ev’ry beat. A gibbous bright enough to raise the tides, Is dark enough that it’s still incomplete.

Within the darkened crescent of my soul, Perplexities arise in almost full.

The Rose Aidyn Rios

After gazing upon the lovely Rose, He becomes enamored by her beauty — Despite her thorns, Despite her frailty. To him, she is the most alluring specimen In the universe’s entirety. Caring for The Rose would certainly be The Gardener’s most difficult challenge yet. Even so, he readily takes her in So that she can be showered with love— Such a wondrous being doesn’t deserve The desertion she’s become all too familiar with.

A beauteous portrait from afar Yet a dangerous foe if provoked. The duality of The Rose is one of a fighter: Passionate, and Courageous, and Battle-hardened — Abrasive with those lacking discipline, Gentle to the ones worth protecting, though…

Nobody can fight forever.

As thorns become jagged and Petals glide down to the floor, The Rose weakens, little by little.

Although prepared to continue the fight, Years of protecting herself have influenced Her desire to be cared for by another.

To him, she is worth every ounce of dedication and effort: She is still worth everything.

Enter the lowly gardener, Grizzled and wise, Knowing only his simple life on the ranch.

Feelings That Have Gone Unsaid Shannon Muscolino

The sky that evening was just like lava— painted red and yellow.

You were in a room, Reading a book, Next to the table, Watching it set.

Some might prefer an ocean, Maybe a moon, Or perhaps an odd machine. But I prefer that night, That sky, Because although it is set, I still love you.

to catch a butterfly Arlo Merchant

to try to catch a butterfly is a fool’s job; they will always fly away.

grow a stunning garden and let them come to you– that is how you catch a butterfly.

however, to keep both is a difficult task: you should nourish your garden but not overwater it; take care of your butterfly but not overwhelm it. if you cannot take proper care then maybe this isn’t meant for you.

Transcending Alyssa Griesman

I sat comfortably on a cushioned, yellow chair in my backyard, reading yet another book out of the countless ones left to go on my summer list. I could feel the sun’s vibrant, warm rays piercing through my winter kissed skin as I continued to flip endlessly, immersed in the captivat- ing plot. All around, I could hear the cicadas buzzing and children laughing as I continued to slowly move out of this world and into another. I could smell the distinct scents of burning wood and salty water as I continued my travel into another dimension. Then, suddenly, it felt as if time had come to a halt. All I could feel, hear, and smell was the universe that I was holding onto, engaged fully in its infinite mysteries. I began to feel the vibrant, warm ray of light once more, yet this time, it wasn’t from the sun but rather from the moonlight. I glanced up, snapping fully out of my transcendental state, only to see that I was left alone, with my thoughts and everlasting wonders resting forever in my soul.

Aurora Ceilings | Joey Davide | Photography

Taking Risks Alyssa Griesman

I sat patiently on a small black bench, waiting for the next train to arrive. Although it was early September, there was a crisp breeze that roamed through the air, whispering ever so slightly. The tiny hairs on my arms started to perk up, and my teeth began to chatter. I tried warming up by putting on a sweater, but there was no hope. All I could do was continue to wait patiently for the train, thinking about the new journey that awaited me. I began to won- der if I should turn back and quit so that I could wash away my fears. But, I reminded myself that risks are necessary in order to move forward. As the train approached the station, I lifted my eyes, head held high, embracing the cold air and the infinite mysteries that awaited me.

On The Edge of Greatness | Aren Nessler | Photography

My Old Fairy Wings Paula Araujo Parra

When I was younger, I used to fly with fairy wings And smile with painted butterflies on my face. I wore pink dresses, Hoping I would look like princesses And braided my hair like female warriors, Wishing to gain their same strength.

Why does the world seem to be convinced We don’t deserve the same respect and love We had when we were younger?

Will I be worthy if I let go of my strength, If I become who they want me to be?

I think not.

Yet my fairy wings were cut The moment I turned thirteen—

The day the world ceased to think of me Like a young dreamer

And began to look at me Like a mere body.

The day society began to criticize me Due to my independent demeanor And inability to remain quiet about injustices.

The day their comments evolved From being about the ribbons in my hair To the alleged vulgarity

Of my perfectly covered clothes Or the weight I ought to lose.

34 Waiting in Line | Michael Raimondi | Gouache, Colored Pencil, Watercolor Marker, White Ink

Why We Fast Hatim Husainy

Much, much later, the son got to pose one question to Allah: “Why do we fast in Ramzan?” And Allah chuckled, And showed the son the world he had left, And said, “Because you can only Appreciate what you have

A son asked his father: “Why do we fast in Ramzan?” And the father took his son, And put him on his lap, And said, “We fast in anticipation of Heaven, where we shall be free From Hunger.”

When you give it up On your own accord.”

Later, a son asked his mother: “Why do we fast in Ramzan?” And the mother took her son’s hand, And pulled him close, And said, “We fast in honor of those Who came before us, Who created and continue our traditions.” Soon after, a son asked his brother: “Why do we fast in Ramzan?” And the brother rubbed his brother’s hair, And pinched his cheeks, And said, “We fast in solidarity with

Those who do not have enough In hopes that someday they will.”

Full Moon

We sail the seas of memory From crisis to tranquility.

The full moon brings to light each scar; Impressions made us who we are.

While hope is dawning in the dusk, Our shining dreams are born from dust.

Though some are bright and some are dark, Each moment leaves behind its mark.

A Part of Me Shannon Muscolino

I’m dreaming: I’m in a garden full of flowers; roses, tulips and sunflowers. The sun is warm but feels just right in my mini blue dress, the sky a bright blue, clouds go in to hug each other, only to pass each other by. Then, over my shoulder, I see her. She’s me, but younger. She’s definitely me in first grade; her bangs are dangling loosely on her forehead, her pink square glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, helping her see a far distance as she’s fixated on the flowers until she snaps her head up, realizing she’s being watched. However, she’s not scared when she sees me. Instead, she carefully gets up, one sunflower in her hand, skipping over to me. “Hi!” little me beams, pushing up her glasses. “This is for you.” She hands over the sunflower and I take it diligently, just so I don’t break it—I don’t. I tuck it in my hair and little me watches the whole time in awe and adoration. “You’re so pretty,” she says. I crouch down to her level, admiring who I once was. Her pink square glasses, her floral dress, and her bangs that I once hated, but seeing her having them…They fit her c hild-like nature perfectly. “So are you. You’re beautiful.” Smiling, I say, “Can I hug you?” No answer. Her arms were already around me, saying enough.

Sweet Honey | Eylin Lainez | Photography

Happy Aidyn Rios

Dancing around this glorious field, I feel the sunlight grazing my skin. The wind, complimenting the glorious sun rays, does the same, Brushing my face and stroking my hair. How soft these petals are– Kissing my hands as softly as a baby kitten’s fur. The world may be harsh, but at least these blades of grass Provide some comfort and distraction amidst the chaos. This gift of nature, it isn’t Exotic, or expensive, or solely bestowed upon the fortunate — It is a catalyst of happiness available to all willing to accept it.

I accept it. I am happy.

Rainy Days Alyssa Griesman

Rainy Days, how people take you For granted, I wonder. With your endless drumming

And unique chiming I could listen forever.

Rainy Days, I get lost in your trance and everlasting wonders. Your enchanting glow pulls On my tired soul.

Rainy Days, how I thank you For giving me comfort and Warmth during pressing times, When I felt like I would Never reach the end of the road.

Rainy Days, I will Carry you with me— Forever.

A Contrasting Sky | Kate Braun | Photography

Peace Alyssa Griesman

That lingering stress that Never seemed to disappear, That fast paced life that Never seemed to wane, That constant fatigue that Never seemed to fade— has finally vanished.

This new feeling, a new sense Of self, has granted me a Fresh life with fresh possibilities.

I am finally free— and at

peace.

Mi Rim | Erin Kim | Acrylic

I Am Human Alyssa Griesman

Numbers don’t define me— No matter what people think.

Those mistakes that never frey, Those failures that always linger Do not define me.

What does define me, though, is What I make of these fallbacks. I will always be learning new things And making mistakes because

I Am Human.

I will never be perfect— That’s just an uncontrollable part Of each day.

Something I can control, though, is How I approach and view the world. I possess the power to change the Way I perceive my struggles. I could choose to view them as a never Ending cycle of feeling inferior, or I could View them in a positive light and embrace Them as a part of my road to success.

Numbers don’t define me: I am simply Human .

Twisted Reality Alyssa Griesman

Nature’s enchanting sheathe pulled me deeper into the mystifying forest. With each gracing step, I became increasingly immersed in its effortless beauty. Sunlight pierced through the forest, illuminating everything in sight. Trees were varnished with deep emerald vines, which chased down to earth’s surface and danced effortlessly in the whispering wind. Flowers of red, blue, and pink hues blossomed in every corner with bright butterflies roaming at their delicate tips. Birds were singing their morning songs, and frogs were croaking their cheerful melodies. The surrounding air was so crisp that every inhale infused a sense of clarity, and every exhale eased any persistent perplexities. I could always count on this daily stroll to tranquilize my mind and enable me to escape from reality—even if it lasted just for a little while. As I continued my walk, I crossed over a stone arch bridge that shimmered in the sunlight and re- flected the scenery surrounding itself. When I glanced over the bridge, I spotted a water lily pond resting soundly, rippling from the swift motion of the fish that inhabited the area. The pond’s multitude of light and dark green lily pads along with its span of blue and pink flower buds held me in pure astonishment. I’ve always pondered on how nature could be so angelic… Before continuing on, I noticed my reflection staring back at me. Up until now, I’ve never realized how akin I am to my own mother: my strawberry blonde hair, my opal eyes, and my fair skin were entirely analogous to her own features. The memories we once shared began to stream like the ocean’s current in my mind, alluring me into a deep, mystic trance. Then, a sudden splintering sensation surpassed me, arresting my thaumaturgic trance. With curiosity, I peered over my left shoulder, tracing where the sharp sound emerged. I could’ve sworn I observed a strange figure residing near the far side of the pond: this was quite unusual, as this part of the forest was usually regularly empty. I assumed it was just pure imagination—until the figure appeared once more. This time I was absolutely certain that it wasn’t just my so-called pure imagination but, in fact, some strange creature, roaming swiftly now through the seemingly infinite span of trees on the other side of the bridge. Although hesitant, I cautiously creeped towards where I last saw it with each step of mine be- coming more deafening than the preceding one. Once I reached the trees, I felt the neighboring air begin to drop into a brisk, frigid intensity that generated goose bumps along the lengths of my limbs; it evoked my teeth into an uncontrollable chatter and my hands into a frantic tremble. The wind blew at a sudden accelerating pace, triggering the trees to tilt towards tall, boulder-like pillars located a few feet away from where I was currently wandering.

I wondered if I should turn back, but I physically couldn’t, even if I wanted to. It was almost as if someone or something was manipulating my motility with every progressing movement I made. Out of nowhere, an abrupt force started to shove me towards the center of the pillars, trapping me into its confinements. A terrified shriek escaped from my solicitous soul as I was suddenly lifted into the air. I felt my stomach drop as I fell into a surreal, dark hole that went on for what seemed like an eternity. In a dire effort to escape, I sealed my eyes shut, hoping for some sort of salvation. However, I continued to plummet further down this deep void with my soul slowly straying from my helpless body. Then, all at once, the perpetual drifting came to a halt. Gradually, I re-opened my eyes, noticing that I was, once again, facing the tall, boulder-like pillars. I released a sigh of relief, as I rationalized that what had just occurred was probably a hallucination. The environment, however, seemed different. In contrast to its previous darkness, the landscape enclosing the pillars was now glistening in the radiant sunlight. The foregoing monstrous wind was now replaced with a light, airy breeze, which relaxed my racing heart. Instinctively, I began to walk back towards the stone arch bridge in hopes of heading home for the time being. Once out of the trees, I stopped walking out of pure, utter shock. I resorted to hysteria, as I could not believe what I was witnessing: people with long, wispy hair and shimmering wings soared through the sky, including that strange figure I saw from before… Fairies? Impossible. I tried to make sense of it all—the sudden atmospheric change, the abrupt force, and the aphotic void. It couldn’t possibly be an alternate dimension…right?

Erudition and Symmetry | Bohdan Budash | Photography

Astronomy Paula Araujo Parra

The galaxies of your eyes Chart my most luminescent dreams In their luster They gleam so immensely, So undoubtedly, That not even a thousand suns Could ever outshine them

You disproved the laws of the universe The moment you pulled me out of the black hole I had been trapped in for an eternity

More than a northern star, You are the savior of my heart

Hope | Sophia Rosmaninho | Acrylic

Blood Moon

We held on too tight To a night made of glass. It broke in Our Hands. We picked up the pieces As sharp as horizon Cutting heaven From Earth. The shards were returned To their place in the sky, A dome of Stained Glass.

Colored with passion With life and with death, The starlight Shone Red. And moon passing by, Pure, whole, and unbroken, Was tainted by Bleeding Penumbra.

Red Veronika Leshko

Crimson, burgundy, and maroon, What do all those shades remind you of? Tomatoes or cherries, roses or ladybugs? All I see is blood.

Bloody soldiers, bloody mothers and wives, Traumatized children, and a blood-soaked land, Red Rosaries in the hands of newly deceased Christians, And homes turned to nothing but rubble and dust. Red used to symbolize love and family Now, all I see are those young men fighting in the East, For if we were not this resilient, if we were weak and puny, Europe would not be the same as it is now.

Every day is a powerful reminder. The gates of Europe have always been red— Breathtakingly beautiful yet painful shades Shall always be reminders of my blood .

Fire | Joey Davide | Photography

Perturbed Aidyn Rios

Desires for freedom swiftly extinguished, No more wishing nor hoping was muttered. Why shan’t my demons concede and relinquish That which renders my windows barred, shuttered? Or would it be best to swing them open? Burn the beasts with light — save me from the dark. Sun, grant me this illustrious token; Damn these demons with your radiant ark!

Now wouldn’t that be grand?

No prayers or offerings have sufficed; You stand atop that falsely bright tower. You’ve bastardized me, turned me to a feist — Sapped me of my valor, vigor, power.

The Sun has set, the stars are numerous. Here I remain, alone, yet surrounded.

49 Progenitor’s Rebirth | Michael Raimondi | Gouache, Colored Pencil, Watercolor Marker, White Ink

Vengeance Alyssa Griesman

As I made my way down the steps, I started to feel the warm, lively air from upstairs intermixing with a cold, dead air currently residing downstairs, causing goosebumps to trickle down my limbs and a spiraling chill to sliver down my spine. When I reached the first floor, I stood frozen in my tracks: my body, mind, and soul immobilizing with each passing second. Immediate shock and utter disbelief rippled through me, tearing me apart bit by bit. I tried to obscure the scene before me, but it was pointless. Red overtook my vision, blurring every other shade in sight. It was everywhere—splattered on the walls, engrossed in the carpet, soaked in the furniture. It was all I could see. Maybe I’m just seeing things, I pleaded, in a desperate attempt to remove myself from this dreadful reality. But no matter how hard I tried, reality began to sink deeper, my heart following its dwindling descent. As I was pulled further into the darkness, my body and mind and soul became one with the red color. It encapsulated me. It erased all ties to my previous life and forced a single pur- pose upon me: vengeance. Old sensations of fear pivoted into a roaring rage that wrapped itself around my neck like a tight noose. It latched onto my skin and lit me on fire, burning me to nothing but a mere crisp. A fierce, dire hunger for answers swallowed me up whole, sending my mind into a crazed spiral. What I need, what I want, and what I crave is revenge. I will get my vengeance.

Cake Olivia Wolber

You made a vanilla cake. You were neither proud nor disappointed, just moderately satisfied. You shared it with a few people, and one told you they didn’t like it.

So now, you’re unsure if you like it.

You begin to hate it, so you add icing to it. To gain back your confidence, you get more people to try it, and out of all of them, just a few don’t like it.

Now, you hate that dreadful vanilla cake even more, so you add sprinkles to it. When the cycle repeats, you try adding fruit to it. When it continues on, and you almost smash the whole thing, you try neat- ening up the edges and putting it on fancy china.

You continue to let more and more people pick apart and critique it, and you keep adding more and more things to it until it’s just a pile of mush on a pedestal. Unrecognizable, even if put next to its former self.

Now, you certainly don’t like it at all.

You can pick apart a cake or your own flesh. You could pay a man to do it for you.

But anything you change will never satisfy you if you were never secure in the first place.

The End Giuliana Panzini

They have taken the same path down the stairs, across the parking lot, and down the street on their way home for so long that no one recalled a time where they hadn’t. Today started out no dif- ferent. School ended, and the two companions began their usual journey home until suddenly, out of nowhere, a fight broke loose between them—and it was taken to the extreme. To this day, no one knows what happened to cause it. All of a sudden, they tackled each other as if they were on the wrestling team. They yanked each other by the hoods of their sweatshirts and accidentally slammed into their unsuspecting peers who were busy texting or scrolling through social media, ignoring the world one minute and on the ground, caked in mud, the next. No one knew what to do. They began to inch closer to one of the brick walls. The girl was significantly stronger than her compeer, which became evidently clear when she sent him flying into that wall. The glass of the window shattered and she, holding an obvious victory at this point, leapt back, avoiding major gashes. Her victim, trapped in the chocolate-colored dirt, just layed there in affliction and exhaustion. Glass shards sliced his arms and legs, and a dark red stream poured out. His glasses had shattered as well, transparent blades falling into his eyes. His lips were turning blue and the once bright green grass was becoming permanently red. Even the once brown brick wall seemed to gain red splashes of graffiti. Somehow the boiling rage in her intestines remained. She began picking up the glass from the window and rapidly throwing it around. Everyone was sprinting away, until the girl was finally put to a stop, her strength and rage, as well as her ten-year friendship, dissipating into nothing.

The Colors of Night | Joey Davide | Photography

Defeaning Silence Alyssa Griesman

“Hide here and don’t move. I’ll be right back,” my mother whispered in her calm, composed tone. I tried desperately to make her stay, but it was no use. She held me tight and sent a reassuring look my way. She then gave me a soft, tender kiss on my forehead and headed over to my bedroom door. Her eyes, brave and fearless, met mine one last time before she gently opened the door and closed it quietly behind her. Moments later, screams reverberated throughout the house, forever imprinting themselves into my soul. Glass and plate wear shattered as tables and chairs were knocked over left and right. A surplus of tears began to accumulate, streaming down my face, feeling as if they’d never stop. I felt a stabbing in my heart as more screams traveled through the air. They became louder and louder and louder…until they were gone. Silence. The silence was so loud that I could hear the inhumane rhythm of my heart throbbing in my throat. Any previous, inaudible sounds were now easily and eerily detectable, making the almost faint sound of unfamiliar footsteps infiltrate the quiet air like the roar of an engine. Fear penetrated my body and blood as each thump became increasingly louder and closer. Clouds of darkness gathered around me, distorting my world into absolute horror. Then, the chime of the heavy footsteps stopped right outside of my bedroom door. I’m never making it out alive . Yet, the expected click of my door knob and creak of my door never came. Instead, I was met with the expansion and contraction of the wooden floors, as those heavy footsteps retreated away. Moments later, the click of a door knob and creak of a door came not from my bedroom door but from the front door downstairs. And then, there was that silence once more, leaving me by myself: scarred, scared, shaken up, and alone.

Waning Gibbous

One petal falls From Midnight’s flower.

Fragrance of uncertainty, Enchanting, unnerving, Conquers the breath of dreamers

Who linger in wonder, Resisting fate’s beckoning Of still darker hours.

One petal falls.

We Were Wrong Arlo Merchant

You are too much like me. While you don’t have my eyes, smile, hair, you have my hope, naivety, and torn heart.

You are so sweet but not meant for me.

I ask the earth, why now? but she stares in return. I ask the moon, why here? but she is gone, resting her days away I ask the sun, how come? But he is hiding behind clouds. If we met at a later point, a better place, a better state, maybe we would be.

Clouded Joy | Paula Araujo Parra | Photography

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