Different Drummer 2018-2019

“Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed and in such desperate 

enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is 

because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he 

hears, however measured or far away.” 

Henry David Thoreau 

Walden

Editors 

Elizabeth Ekstrand 

Addie Galloway 

Hannah Abels 

Andres Angeles-Paredes 

Iris Hill 

Jacob Januchowski 

Phoebe Kim 

Alison Zhang 

Matthew Zhang 

Foreword 

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We are proud to put forth the 

2019-20 edition of Chapel Hill 

High’s very own literary magazine, 

a legacy that was threatened by 

construction at our school. Change 

was prevalent in our physical 

surroundings, which thematically 

translated into the works of CHHS 

students. The four chapters of 

this year’s magazine compose 

a narrative that explores the 

destruction and reconstruction of 

the teenage mind; may our readers, 

like us, catch a glimpse of what 

it means to transform and accept 

oneself in the face of adversity. 

Thank you, contributors, for your 

courage to share personal art, 

literature, and insight. Thank you, 

readers, for taking an initiative to 

listen to our voices. Thank you to 

all those who have helped Different 

Drummer in its development as a 

platform for creative expression. 

-The Different Drummer Editors 

chapter 1: entropy 

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6 

10 

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Table of Contents 

2018-2019 in a Poem 

poem by Bree Ressler 

Follow the Leader 

fiction by Andres Angeles-Paredes 

Distortion 

pencil art by Kate Cogger 

A Sophomore’s Sorrows (A Letter To An 

Old Friend) 

poetry by Jennifer Pittman 

Why? 

poem by Phoebe Kim 

Redbird 

poetry by Megan Zelasky 

Illness 

color pencil art by Lexi Bearfield 

16 Dissonance 

oration by Aojea Mon Dong 

chapter 2: debris 

19 

20 

21 

22 

23 

25 

26 

27 

28 

Hallowed Waters 

poetry by Lizzy Kuhlman 

Untitled 

poetry by Kaileigh Brackett 

Yue Liang 

poetry by Alison Zhang 

Abstraction Vers. 1 and 2 

ink art by Sergio Jiminez 

Doldrums 

poetry by Elizabeth Ekstrand 

Selfie 

watercolor by Lily Spillane 

Dysmorphia 

watercolor by Lily Spillane 

Maisie and the Fat Cat 

poetry by Wendy Eldred 

Lion 

color pencil art by Alyssa Portanova

Cont. 

Abstraction Vers. 3 

ink art by Sergio Jiminez Lion 

29 

color pencil art by Alyssa Portanova 

chapter 3: reform 

Calla Lilies 

poetry by Claire Woodrow 

Villanelle 

poetry by Jerry Cai 

As They Have Always Been 

poetry by Grace Dodge 

Hands Clasped in Prayer 

poetry by Aojea Mon Dong 

Self-Portrait 

pencil art by Justin Foster 

Dear Bad Boys 

poetry by Luna Murphy 

Alex 

fiction by Dakota Sloop 

Shoes 

oil painting by Sarah Xu 

Macro Vers. 1 and 2 

photography by Alison Zhang 

Ode to Childhood 

poetry by Stella Blue Roth 

Kindness Saves 

poetry by Stella Blue Roth 

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34 

35 

36 

37 

38 

40 

44 

chapter 4: fruition 

47 

49 

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Colophon 

The Chapel Hill High School literary 

magazine editorial staff compiled 

the 2019-20 volume of Different 

Drummer from a total of 97 student 

submissions. Final works are selected 

through consensus of all staff members. 

Artists receive feedback from at least 

two editors during review and remain 

anonymous upon request, though 

anonymity is discouraged. 

The layout design was created using 

Adobe Indesign CS6 on Macintosh 

computers. Table of Contents headers 

are Khmer MN, size 10. Subheaders 

are italicized Minion Pro, size 10. Body 

text and page numbers are Baskerville, 

size 8. Entry titles are Charter, size 12. 

Credits are Charter, size 10. Chapter 

headings are FFF Tusj, size 60; chapter 

quotes are Baskerville, size 12. 

This issue was printed May 2019. 

Production was assisted by Kevin 

Schoden. The layout and art were 

designed by Matthew Zhang and Alison 

Zhang. The magazine is advised by Mr. 

William Schrader. 

Self-Portrait 

watercolor by Nancy Drago 

Untitled 

poetry by Lizzie Mabe 

A Witch’s House 

fiction by Annabel Fernandez 

Early Morning Villanelle 

poetry by Alyssa Portanova 

Landscape 

acrylic painting by Flora Arnsberger 

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52 

53 

55 

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Cover and back cover art by Matthew 

Zhang using Procreate. 

Chapter art by Alison Zhang using 

Procreate. 

1709 High School Rd 

Chapel Hill, NC 27516 

chhsdifferentdrummer@gmail.com 

chhsdifferentdrummer.weebly.com

ENTROPY 

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called 

resignation is confirmed desperation.” 

- Henry David Thoreau

2018-2019 in a Poem 

By Bree Ressler 

This year is insane 

Construction is slow 

Oh look a hurricane 

School conditions are inhumane 

Where did the doors go 


North Carolina weather is a pain 

We go from sunny days to snow 


Y’all must think getting to class is an express lane 

Because all the hallways are narrow 


Kids going into construction zones have no brain 

Natural selection is doing its best though 


My senioritis is put on a strain 

I thought by now I’d have a carefree glow 



♦ 

5

Follow the Leader 

By Andres Angeles-Paredes 

»» 

January 20th 

The celebrations in our little town began right when sunlight was visible on the desert 

horizon. Preparations for the festivities have been going for nearly a week, and almost every 

citizen was participating to help. Banners decorated the small buildings and hung across the 

narrow streets. Everyone was especially eager for Reminiscence Day this year. If I remember 

correctly, this is the 50th anniversary. 

All the markets have decided to display themes and images of remembrance. The 

Research Facility is holding an exhibition for the public. Old newspapers and film clips will be a 

part of the presentation, detailing the fateful events of the First Day. 

That day when the strength of society crumbled. When a strong nation became 

plagued by its own forces. At this point, it’s only a vague memory to me, but I was alive then. I 

can faintly remember the fresh air turning into a dark haze, sirens invading the sounds of peace, 

and the sky blazing with fire as the first day of devastation begun. 

Cities turned into ash heaps, and our thriving government propelled into ruin. 

Wastelands soon became commonplace for the handful of survivors that managed to endure 

the anarchy. Alone in an unfamiliar world, we tried to seek any remnants of society, yet our 

search was hopeless. It would’ve ended that way if we were not discovered by the being that had 

descended from above to guide us in rebuilding our lives. While we were fearful at the time, 

nowadays no one would come close to forgetting the almighty Orb that saved us from destruction 

and brought us prosperity. 

It, too, will be recognized today as the public will be allowed to enter the Chamber 

of Control in the center of town and view the spectacle of the black sphere that governs our 

community. It may not respond to the citizens when they arrive, but it will be praised immensely 

and with much gratitude. 

»» 

January 25th 

It’s always interesting to address it alone within its cell. It seems to look upon you 

without eyes and judges its decisions silently. Talking to it is like speaking to a soundproof wall. 

Your words get no response, but they’re absorbed without an echo. While it’s an unusual feeling, 

there’s somehow a sense of resolve and peace that emanates from the sphere as if it’s confident 

in what it chooses to do. For some issues that are brought up, the Orb takes time to make a decision. 

For others, it responds immediately. The words appear always in green text on the sphere’s 

glistening surface, indicating the final choice that it has made. The being has an unusual aura 

that can be felt throughout the town and compels us to follow its wishes. It’s not against our will, 

but it’s also not in anyone’s favor to go against what the Orb requests. but it’s also not in anyone’s 

favor to go against what the Orb requests. 

»» 

February 2nd 

In all my years as Mayor, I can’t remember a more tense and shocking week than this 

last one. I scarcely have enough time to be describing it now. The Chamber of Control has been 

my residence and the residence of countless other personnel for the past few days. 

♦ 

6

It all began on the 26th when we received a video transmission from one of our 

neighboring cities. The town’s leader accused us of trespassing in an attempt to incite conflict in 

their city. She explained that a group of young adults of our own had attacked and injured three 

citizens. After a brief skirmish, they were taken under custody. The leader reminded us of our 

peace agreement, which had now been broken, to leave one another alone. Threatening to kill the 

trespassers if any violent response was made, she told us to mend the truce. 

In deep confusion, everyone at the Chamber scrambled for answers. As it turns out, a 

small class of individuals left town under the cover of night. It seems that they had ventured in the 

wrong direction and were found on the property of our neighbors. Never having faced a hostage 

situation to this extent before, I immediately consulted the Orb. 

The time it took to respond may have been the longest it has ever taken. I had to 

leave its cell and manage delivering this news to the public. Nearly 15 hours had passed before it 

answered in its green words: 

“Deliver a statement of apology and request that the prisoners be released. Assure the 

city that this will never happen again. If they refuse, do nothing.” 

That last part didn’t sit well with me. I wasn’t willing to lose some loyal citizens to a 

conflict of this kind, no matter how reckless they were. For a moment, I had lost the Orb’s sense of 

security, but I quickly reassured myself. After carefully following the directions, three gripping days 

passed with no word from the city. 

Finally on the 30th, we got another transmission. Although seemingly frustrated, the 

leader agreed to a deal. If the prisoners were to be returned, we had to pay a tribute of supplies 

and uphold the agreement of privacy thereafter. The exchange would take place on the 3rd of 

February, and it would occur with no weapons of any kind. 

I didn’t trust this. It’s hard for me to believe that a city, which has made it clear that it 

wishes to remain isolated, is willing to return trespassers peacefully without any serious consequences 

on our part. Along with this, we have no significant knowledge about that city to accurately 

judge their behavior. For all we know, the exchange may be a ruse for an execution of the 

hostages, or even worse, an invasion of our town. It was unsettling to say the least. 

I decided to inform the Orb of the deal in the hopes that it would have a better solution. 

After another lengthy wait, it gave me an answer that only worsened my fears. 

“Follow the leader” 

I stared at the projected text on the shining exterior, my stunned face looking back at 

me. I asked the Orb if this truly was the best approach. I expressed my worries and how unsafe 

the whole situation was. The words vanished for a moment, but then reappeared in the same exact 

format. 

“Follow the leader.” 

I tried again and again to explain how vulnerable our town was to this unknown threat. 

I told it that in moments like these, we needed the guidance of an all-powerful being. We needed a 

resolute decision from the almighty Orb. However, each time, it only repeated that one phrase in 

green letters. 

“Follow the leader.” 

For the first time in my life, I felt like I could not rely on the Orb. Its aura of comfort 

♦ 

7

and protection had disappeared and was replaced by emotionless plain words that served no help 

at all. Whether or not the Orb had simply misjudged the information was beyond me. What mattered 

was that I had to do what I felt was best. My duty is to enact the orders of the supreme entity, 

but above all, keep my town safe. If that means that we must take every precaution necessary, then 

so be it. 

Tomorrow, a selected team and I will go out to the established meeting area. I’ve decided 

that I will brief them beforehand of the danger at hand and entrust them all with firearms. In 

my eyes, this situation constitutes the use of these weapons. We do not want to ignite conflict, but 

we will be ready in the event that it occurs. 

»» 

February 3rd 

Tragedy has struck. Absolute tragedy. The team and I traveled outside our town’s limits 

to the destination of the exchange. The heat was especially intense that day even though the sky 

was clouded. The requested supplies were carried along in a small truck that would transport the 

hostages back to town once they were returned. Nearly all of us contained a firearm of some kind 

concealed in our clothing. We positioned ourselves behind a large dune, laying on our stomachs 

and looking out onto a flat empty area. 

Soon enough, we saw some figures emerging from the haze on the other side of the 

plain. Four men and women, dressed in what appeared to be military clothing, brought five others 

who were tied up and blindfolded. Among the four troopers was the woman who had sent the 

transmissions. She addressed us to deliver the supplies. 

Two of our men tentatively volunteered to carry the crates of material over. Two people 

from the opposite side did the same, bringing the five hostages with them. Nearing the middle, 

they abruptly came to a halt and pushed the captives to the ground. The men with the supplies 

stopped as well in fear. Watching from our elevated position, I carefully moved my hand to my 

revolver. The desert plain began to look like a deadly arena for combative games. I wasn’t far off. 

One of the troopers, a man of dark complexion, placed himself right beside the blindfolded 

individuals. He stared in our direction and then reached into his military vest. Anticipating 

the worst, I withdrew my pistol, but then I heard a deafening shot that echoed through the air. I 

dropped my head out of shock and heard screams from the hostages, but when I looked up, none 

of them were harmed. Instead, the man next to them was lying still on the ground, a bleeding 

wound in his chest. I turned to my right, and I saw someone from our side holding a rifle that was 

aimed down at the exchange area. They had a frozen expression of alarm and dismay. 

There was a brief pause, and everything seemed to go quiet for a second before the 

other trooper approached the prisoners. He grabbed two of them, and the supply men began a 

sprint towards him. From this point forward, everything was chaos. I can barely recall running 

down the dune to help with the fight. There was another gunshot, and I saw the man with the two 

captives drop lifelessly. 

Somehow through the struggle, we attained all the hostages and raced back to the 

truck. When I looked back, the remaining troopers were attending to their casualties instead of 

giving chase. We quickly helped our rescued civilians on the transport and hurried to town. 

Upon making it home, we received cheers and applause. As the hostages were taken to a recovery 

center, I managed to slip away to the Chamber of Control. I didn’t want to see anybody, especially 

♦ 

8

not the cursed object that lives there. I just needed some quiet for I was shaken by the whole incident. 

It wasn’t the violence or intensity that had moved me. It was a detail that I may have been 

the only one to notice. 

Amid the mayhem, I saw the body of the man who had been shot first. The hand 

he had used to reach into his vest was now outstretched by his side. In that hand was not a gun 

or weapon of any kind, but instead a piece of paper filled with handwritten paragraphs. The document’s 

title “Treaty of Seclusion” was stained with his blood. 

»» 

February 9th 

My attempt to be a thoughtful leader is turning everything into ruin. The guilt from 

that initial day has stayed with me ever since, knowing that I am the cause of the madness that’s 

afflicted us. We are on the verge of conflict. The public is scared and confused by the limited information 

they’re getting, but they don’t need to know everything that’s going on. We, officials, just 

need to deal with the situation first. Once it’s all over we’ll assure them they’re safe. Threats keep 

coming nonstop from the other town, however. They mention over and over our wasted chance at 

peace. Even when I’m by myself I hear those messages. I can’t stop seeing that treaty. 

The many tries that I’ve made to communicate with the Orb have been fruitless. Nothing 

emanates from it anymore, not even an unnerving or distressing feeling. Its cell is filled with 

cold emptiness. I’ve pleaded and begged. I don’t know if it can hear me or if it has gone dormant. 

I can only hope this silence is temporary. 

»» 

February 22nd 

I have failed my town. Every other week our town is bombarded by canons. Gunfire 

can be heard in the distance as our armies fight against the coalition of neighboring cities. Protests 

of citizens demanding peace fill the streets. Fire never ceases to burn here. Distant memories of 

the First Day now haunt me as the world returns to that state of destruction. 

I’ve left public addresses to my peers. I can’t face my citizens anymore. I wonder if 

they’ve noticed my absence. Now, I spend most of my time in the Orb’s cell even though it appears 

to me that it’s reign is over. With this demise, society has fallen again. If only I could go back and 

listen to it properly. I could fix the mess that’s devastating the remnants of humanity. I could have 

been a far better leader than the one I am now. 

When I look into the spherical mirror, there’s a judge that was never meant to rule. I 

can see the final words reflected back at me. They weren’t there before, yet now they’re permanent 

and fixed. I’m not sure if they’re real, but it doesn’t matter. I suppose it’s my retribution. Forgive 

me, almighty Orb. Forgive me. 

♦ 

9

Kate Cogger/Pencil

Whenever I think of you, I close my eyes. 

A Sophomore’s Sorrows 

By Jennifer Pittman 

In the hazy darkness behind my eyelids, your smile seems to be twice as bright. Your squinted 

eyes make me feel safe. Your bubbly laugh makes me feel light. 

But when I open my eyes, that version of you rots away, replaced by the reality I’m in now. 

Distanced from you and everyone else, the icy pang of loneliness stabs into my heart once 

more. 

Gasping for breath, I try to call out to you, but it appears you’ve cut your ears off. 

Why else wouldn’t you hear me? 

Why would you ignore me? 

My tongue is tired, weary from all the excuses I must give. 

I haunt the halls 

Staying on course without a thought. 

Feet wandering on their own, I wonder if my mind will ever catch up. 

Too fast, 

Too slow. 

Unable to find the right rhythm, I continue on with gritted teeth. 

I am determined to find you again, the brightness that I had held so dear to my heart. 

But with you lost, I had to replace you with the dark liquid that spills out of me. 

Will you ever forgive me for that? 

I had nothing else except for this suffocating blackness that has valiantly stayed by my side. 

Will you try to replace it? 

My darkened eyes are stained from the inside, whirling storms never leave my irises 

As they rain down on my cheeks, 

An attempt to wash away my filth. 

Am I clean yet? 

Do you see me now? 

When can I see your brightness again? 

Will you stay with me like you said you would? 

Lie, lie, lie to me again. 

You have already left me, this I know. 

But your lies appear to be the truth to me, and I have always believed in you, 

Believed you would keep me warm and protect me from what is freezing my heart now. 

Am I so undeserving, I deserve to be frozen in time to watch the world spin without me? 

Time has never moved so fast yet so slow. 

♦ 

11

I count the days I’ve been waiting to hear from you. 

Weeks. 

Months. 

Have I miscounted? 

Do you not realize how long you’ve left me waiting, 

Or do you not care? 

The answer is whispered to me as I float past you 

An answer I already knew but didn’t want to be true. 

Your warmth has left me, now lost in the darkness surrounded by vines and the unknown. 

If I reach for you, will my dead hands cause you to flinch away? 

Will you lie again, again, and again? 

Will you tell me empty words given out of pity for the weeping? 

The vines that have taken root in my feet have grown long 

Wrapping around my neck 

Slowly cutting off my airflow. 

I’ve forgotten how to breathe, my lungs are full of pollution and blood spills from my 

mouth. 

Do you see my suffering? 

The blackness that has swallowed me has driven you away, with others who encourage the 

Abandonment. 

Do you miss me? 

Do you want things to go back to how they were before? 

When the image of you that I see behind my eyelids was real, 

Before the first drop of ink dripped from my bruised tongue? 

I want to go back, I want to feel warm again. 

But how can I do that when I’ve been left to drown in this isolation? 

Vines pull me down deeper into the void 

And as I call out to you for help, 

I’m reminded that you no longer have ears. 

My cries became too much for you 

You have grown deaf to them. 

Why would you leave me like this, 

To die like this? 

Should I blame you or myself ? 

I question this as the vines grow into my mouth, into my lungs. 

I am stuck, entwined by this despair with death flooding into my body. 

I am too tired to call for help again. 

I am too tired to struggle. 

Your warmth will not reach me again, and I am left 

alone. 

♦ 

12

Why? 

By Phoebe Kim 

Did you ever notice that people look sad in their cars? 

I’ve noticed since I was five. 

Where is the smile on a lone person? 

Why do people look sad when they think no one can see? 

When did I become the answers to these questions? 

I notice myself in the car now, 

Unfeeling. 

Not smiling. 

Not gleeful. 

Where is the five year old in me to call me out? 

Did she grow up? 

Why? 

Why don’t people play anymore? 

Why did I stop playing? 

Why? 

Why is there uncertainty as you get older? 

Why do I wish I was young again when I wanted to grow up? 

Why? 

Why do people ask questions that no one can answer? 

♦ 

13

Redbird 

By Megan Zelasky 

Tap, tap, tap, hummingbird knocking 

Beak on rib cage drilling out 

Nobody is talking 

Cold and empty holes lie mocking 

Poked through skin they scream doubt 


Angry fears surrounding and flocking 

Inside a tempest rising along its route 


Bone cracks with noise thundering and shocking 

A scream or a cry or the echo of a shout 


Bloody feathers clinging to a skeleton walking 

red water spills as the bird loses its bout 


Birds in the trees watch a lone ship undocking 

Perched like sentries sent to scout 

Tap, tap, tap, hummingbirds knocking 


♦ 

14

Lexi Bearfield/Color penncil

Dissonance 

By Aojea Mon Dong 

A clash of words 

A nonexistent similarity 

A feeling that came in and hasn’t left ever since 

Is there such a thing called normal for people? 

What is the average human? 

How do they speak? 

Why aren’t you like the others? 

A group of people who love you 

Want the best for you 

Wishes that you can be the best you are 

Yet 

It feels like a death wish 

Nothing is perfect enough for them 

Suggestions and helpful advice is poison hidden under smiles 

A body rotting and decomposing 

Or so it has been said by others 

You have poor vision after all 

Or maybe they’re right 

It’s hard to tell these days 

Being the same 

Yet being separate 

So close yet so far 

A comet that is on the verge of disappearing out of orbit 

Slingshot into the outer reaches of space 

To be seen? 

To not be seen? 

Gratitude 

Guilt 

With time reveals, differences are stark 

Contrasting against skin like a burn 

You find belonging 

In other people 

A respite in the storm 

That lingers in your weak bones 

They show a world of comfort 

To feel skin and flesh connect with bones 

It’s liberating 

Do you feel at home in your body? 

Do you feel at home in your heart? 

Do you feel at home in your house? 

This feeling of disconnect, 

A separation of self and environment 

It’s a normal feeling for you 

It has been for years 

But 

Maybe it doesn’t have to be anymore 

♦ 

16

DEBRIS 

“Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” 


Hallowed Waters 

By Anonymous 

O, watch the wretched waters wave 

With frosted crests and frowsy gloom. 

Against the empty shore they lave. 

Forgotten home of dreams we gave, 

Whispered—soft!—to salty plume. 

O, watch the wretched waters wave. 

Swollen clouds hold sunshine slave. 

As broken waves form holy room, 


Swirling currents fill the nave 

With pews of shells and frothy spume. 

O, watch the wretched waters wave. 

We pray the Sea our souls will save 

While in our sleep the waves consume, 


And let us rest in silken grave, 

With sodden cross and sunken tomb. 

O, watch the wretched waters wave; 


♦ 

19

Untitled (4) 

By Kaileigh Brackett 

Across the water the sun goes down 

The reflection along the ocean slowly fades 

In these waves of thoughts we slowly drown 

Empty promises and acting like a clown 

Too stressed to make peace with our grades 


Feeling alone like we’re in a ghost town 

Putting on a show like life is a game of charades 


We wear our fake smiles like we wear our prom gowns 

People “throw shade” like they’re dropping grenades 


Endless quarrels over who takes the crown 

We hide the truth by showing off our accomplishments in parades 



♦ 

20

Yue Liang 

By Alison Zhang 

She listens to the notes of rain drop 

Ceremoniously into existence, 

Pitter-pattering from skyline to rooftop. 

Confessions ring over the hilltop, 

And as voices lift in insistence, 

She listens to the notes of rain drop. 

Yet her ears overhear and eavesdrop 

On hearts beating stubbornly in resistance, 


Remaining silent in the backdrop, 

Ever wishing to be of assistance, 

She listens to the notes of rain drop. 

Alas, she can only eye a tree top 

And glimpse stars falling in the distance, 


While Lady Yue bears witness from atop 

With her glow of ritualistic persistence, 

She listens to the notes of rain drop, 


♦ 

21

Sergio Jiminez/Ink 

Sergio Jiminez/Ink

Doldrums 

By Elizabeth Ekstrand 

Ah. 

Okay. 

Yeah. 

simply infuriating responses, 

fine most of the time, 

but not when I give my heart to you. 

How can I blame you, though? 

You’re just tired. 

We’re all just tired. 

The ache in our bones 

not from travel or progress 

but from long hours sitting, staring. 

If a new language were to be created at this point in human society, 

“exhaustion” and “normality” would be synonyms. 

Our world places us in an arena where the competition is as follows: 

tire yourself out the most, but LOOK the least tired. 

Even in our resting hours 

the heaviness never leaves us, 

we soak up sleep medicine 

in the form of blue light 

that, ironically, keeps us awake. 

Yes, some of the most heroic feats of history were finally achieved late at night, or mudsoaked, 

or at the end of a life, 

but I can tell you right now 

those voyages started with purpose 

those discoveries with casual fascination 

♦ 

23

those breakthroughs with lust, 

not apathetic weariness, sub-zero fuel and of course, blue light. 

The next time I’m disappointed in you, 

I will not respond with internal fury 

I will quash the fire using that blue light 

I will settle down in the doldrums with you, with all of us. 

Forever. 

Tired. 

♦ 

24

Lily Spillane/Watercolor

Lily Spillane/Watercolor

Maisie and the Fat Cat 

By Wendy Eldred 

You say, my friend, I look angry? Absurd! 

I’ll tell you why I’m angry. Have you heard 

The story of Maisie and the fat cat? 

It’s a long tale so sit, take off your hat. 

On Maisie’s walk you’ll never guess just what 

She found! It was a cat, very cute, but 

The cat was weird and near to being crazy. 

It wanted nothing to do with Maisie. 

But she chased it around the town, and up 

And down the streets and then again back up! 

So all around the town the pair did roam 

‘Till Maisie caught the cat, and brought it home 

And, while she was off in Honolulu, 

I looked after the cat, that’s what friends do. 

Her cat’s a demon! It gave me no peace. 

It bit and clawed and scratched me without cease. 

All this is bad, but not even the worst: 

Even though I was Maisie’s best friend first 

She’d not apologize, denied it all 

Tried to blame me for that which did befall 

Me. Can you believe she loves her cat still? 

Therefore, Maisie and I have had our fill 

Of one another, we’re no longer friends 

And that, dear friend, is how this story ends. 

♦ 

27

Alyssa Portanova/Color pencil

Sergio Jiminez/Ink

REFORM 

“Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed 

has been, I have great faith in a seed... Convince me that you have 

a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.” 


Calla Lilies 

By Claire Woodrow 

A cracked soul to warmth swiftly displaced 

The space created; the space will fade 

Violets blooming through the soil they’ve faced 

Fortitude, a staple; approach while braced 

Ever striving to reject I shall remain a maid 


Chrysanthemums shrivel if planted in haste 

Blossoms will open, patience for spring made 


Better to lie in wait, prefer to remain chaste 

Inadequacy- it will degrade- seeps into the soil splayed 


Carnations shine bright leaving no sunlight to waste 

Petals skyward, full color displayed 


Unapologetic, proud in spite of others’ distaste 

Turning from thoughts and screams of retrograde 



-- 

*Sappho (c620-c570 BC) Lesbos, Ancient Greece 

Translated by Aaron Poochigian 

Source: Come Close, Penguin Classics, 2015 

♦ 

33

Villanelle 

By Jerry Cai 

Mapped confinement leads the way, 

In a march of endurance, sparking dissension 

Will we be liberated at the end of the day? 

Flag bearers blaze the trails and scream fiery rays 

As impending hydras head for our attention 

Mapped confinement leads the way. 

Of portals opening as decisions display, 

Causing chronic unrest and visceral tension. 


Tiers and plateaus of superficial praise, 

Euphemistic with holistic and affirmative reviews, must I mention. 

Mapped confinement leads the way. 

A young seedling nourished among a nutrient craze 

Rising from the ground, another Ascension 


The longer the delay, does it prolong our decay? 

If there is no cure, what is its prevention? 

Mapped confinement leads the way 


♦ 

34

As They Have Always Been 

By Grace Dodge 

As you seek to hold the light within, 

They told me, then with our help you’ll find. 

See the path to heaven clear, as it has never been. 

This they promised me, saying to us, you must listen. 

You’ll know towards what purpose you’re designed 

As you seek to hold the light within. 

They say a holy life is one lived justly barren 

And, by following these rules outlined, 

See the path to heaven clear, as it has never been. 

But to venture on alone can only be a sin; 

With us you must be naturally aligned 

As you seek to hold the light within. 

They tell me all of this, that only they can get me in. 

Would I, I dare to wonder, if I were to fall behind, 

See the path to heaven clear, as it has never been? 

I don’t know what can be found in heaven 

(Or if there even is one) but truth is in my mind. 

As you seek to hold the light within, 

See the path to heaven clear, as it has always been. 

♦ 

35

I am a distant observer 

To these religious practices, 

I don’t understand them 

Hands Clasped in Prayer 

By Aojea Mon Dong 

The temples here are small buildings 

They don’t look like glorious shrines back in Asia 

Millions of people go to those shrines but 

I don’t see millions when I stand in these halls 

Am I at peace here? 

Am I someone who knows faith? 

Do I want to understand? 

My hands are clasped together in prayer 

My head is bowed down and i stare at the hardwood floors 

My legs are tucked underneath me, it hurts to sit like this 

Sometimes I say it, sometimes I mouth the words 

The mic is loud so everyone can hear it, the audio crackles sometimes 

Monks converse with the audience as part of prayer 

I always think it’s about to end but it doesn’t, it keeps going 

I watch some people get their heads shaved 

They sit in a pile of hair strands, waiting for their robes 

Their robes are orange with dashes of yellow and burgundy red 

Beaded necklaces and bracelets are given with the fabrics 

When it’s cold enough, the monks wear orange beanies 

They’re new and temporary 

When they’re done with their obligation, they go back to home free of robes 

The permanent monks are revered with utmost respect 

I am afraid to talk to them 

A monk will occasionally talk to me and I get nervous every time 

I am not used to their presence from back then and still now 

Pray three times 

It’s a bow of respect and worship 

Silver ceremonial bowls sit up on the stage next to the monks 

They’re used for donations 

There are rare moments when the monks give back and toss gifts out to the floor 

People scramble for these scattered gifts 

It’s fun to watch 

I put my hands together, palms touching 

When I get tired, I interlock my fingers together 

My eyes are always open, I don’t like to close them 

With my thumbs pressed against my lips and nose 

I act like I’m praying 

Maybe someday 

I will find my own prayer to speak 

♦ 

36

Justin Foster/Pencil

Dear Bad Boys 

By Luna Murphy 

Dear bad boys what is it that makes you bad? 

What makes you call the silent kid in the back a Fag 

Little do you know his mom is home struggling with depression that is slowly seeping into 

his Sister who refuses to leave the house 

You treat them like dirt in fear of what you are becoming 

The victims will forever wonder if they’d done something 

But it’s all because of the image 

The image of what is cool and accepted 

Where did the good guys go 

The ones that said please and thank you 

Or even just a simple hello 

The ones that stood by you through the divorce and the hardest days 

High school molded you like clay 

They took something pure with much potential and shaped you into what they thought 

people would like 

Then laid you out to harden and dry 

But you’ll crack eventually it’s inevitable 

Us girls don’t swoon when you whistle at us like a owner trying to get there dog to come to 

them 

What makes you think being treated like a animal is what a girl wants in a relationship 

I am not your bitch 

When did you become so close minded 

You text me and say you love me 

The next you said you made love to me to your buddies 

The boys pat you on the back and congratulate you while the girls stare reminiscing in the 

horrific thing I did 

Now they see me as the bad girl 

But not the one that gets praised for being bad 

But the one that is so disgusting you refuse to even look at her because it’s sad 

Instead you keep the rumors going without a second thought if it was true or not 

I should never of said I loved you 

It was the way you fooled my young heart 

♦ 

38

Maybe instead of a bad boy you’re a hustler on the street playing games 

You convince me it’s simple and easy with nothing to it 

Then you trick me leaving me with nothing but shame and an empty heart 

Tell me is it so hard to say I look beautiful or even nice? 

You say you compliment me all the time but a slap on the ass and a sour “you look sexy 

lemme hit that” does not make me feel beautiful 

What have you become 

This bad boy image should not have overcome the good guy you used to be 

I don’t know why I stayed 

Maybe it was because I was afraid 

Of what you might say to others 

Or because deep down I know someday you will change 

Why do you care what the world thinks of you anyways 

What happened to it just being us 

When we would walk the dusty and crowded halls entrapped by all the noise yet somehow 

you still listened to me 

You stopped that 

You said women don’t deserve to be listened to because the upper class lacrosse mvp was 

preaching it at practice 

Well what happened to my preachings 

The ones where I said everyone should be equal and have the same rights 

The ones where no one should have to put up a fight to feel comfortable and happy in their 

own skin no matter the gender or color 

I think that in society we care more about what others think of us rather than the ones who 

really do care about us. 

And I get it 

It’s hard to brush off what people think about you 

But if we can try to be accepting of one another then maybe the bad boy image with 

feather away 

And you will no longer feel like a lump of hardened clay. 

I miss you 

I know the good guy in you wants to come out 

Society just needs to take away that self doubt. 

This is my goodbye letter I decided it’s time I stop giving in to the bad boys. 

But when you decide to be kind again and make the right choice then i’d love for you to 

send me a letter 

Yours truly, 

You made me stronger 

♦ 

39

Alex 

By Dakota Sloop 

It was late, and Mina sat out on her front lawn, enjoying the cold night breeze on her 

face, a stark contrast to the still air of the humid days that crept on and on. Beside her was a childhood 

friend, and their idle talk proved to be a great distraction from the looming threat of school, 

which was just days away now. She flopped down onto the grass, sighing heavily as she glared up at 

the stars, blowing her hair out of her face. Alex turned his head to look down at her. 

“You know, you won’t know anyone there, and I’ll be lonely here without you. You 

don’t have to—“ 

So much for a distraction. She put up a hand, blindly searching for his face, and managing 

to put a finger on his lips without looking. “Shh. For the millionth time, I’ve wanted to study 

abroad ever since I was a kid. Plus, you’ll be fine. You have my phone number, and plenty of other 

friends.” 

He brushed her hand off. “Yeah, but my other friends aren’t you. I don’t want to make 

up new inside jokes, and wait years and years for a new history to finally be built up, so I was thinking 

that maybe--” 

“Nope. I’m going, and you can’t change my mind.” She crossed her arms. 

“Can you at least let me make my point?” 

She shook her head. “Can we just enjoy the last bit of time we have together?” 

He sighed, pausing and leaving the two in brief but blissful silence. “... Fine.” 

Another half hour or so was spent gazing at the sky, swapping old memories and jokes, 

crickets chirping during the kind of comfortable silences you only get with the oldest of friends. 

However, before long, it was nearing midnight, and Mina had to be up early. 

She rolled over in the grass. “Hey. I’m going in now, you should probably go get some 

rest soon. You better not let me being gone ruin your sleep schedule.” 

He nodded. “Like I had one to begin with.” 

She didn’t even bother to muffle her laugh. If she woke the neighbors up, that was their 

problem. “Fair point.” She got up, waving over her shoulder as she started to walk off. 

“Wait a second.” He stood, too, brushing grass and dirt from his usually pristine pants. 

Walking over, he offered a fist. 

Mina grinned, and the two did the secret handshake that had taken so long to memorize 

back in second grade--almost every recess of the second quarter. She pulled him into a tight 

hug. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

“You don’t have to, you know.” 

She pulled back from the hug, enough to look him in the eye. “I really want to do this, 

so yes, I do.” 

“There are other options, though.” 

“No, there really aren’t.” She turned, waving one last time. “I’ll call you tomorrow, 

when the flight lands.” 

Alex sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to you then. Bye, Mina.” 

♦ 

40

“Bye, Alex!” She went inside, got in bed, and before she knew it, the night had passed, 

and it was time to go to the airport. 

Once she got through the heavy traffic, and the equally headache-inducing process 

of getting into the actual airport, she stood with her bag, a bit overwhelmed by all the people 

bustling around her. Someone ran into her, almost knocking her over. “Jesus, watch where you’re 

going!” 

To her alarm, the mysterious person hugged her tightly. 

“What the--” 

“Mina, it’s me!” The person hugging her stepped back. 

“Wh--Alex? What are you doing here? Don’t you have work?” 

The boy smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “... Not anymore, no.” 

“You mean you got fired just so you could drive all the way down here to say goodbye 

again? Alex, c’mon, you could’ve just come over to my house before I left. I love you and all, no 

romo intended, but that’s just stupid.” 

“About that. Two things.” 

She tilted her head, as the two started walking towards some chairs. “Hmm?” 

“Well, first of all, Sofia stopped by my house earlier, when she couldn’t get into yours. 

She told me to say that she overslept.” 

Mina chuckled. “Typical Sofia.” 

“Yeah.” Alex smiled back, sitting down next to her. “Oh, right.” He reached into one 

of his luggage bags. “Because she couldn’t give it to you in person, here’s her goodbye gifts.” He 

handed over a pink envelope, a box of chocolates, and a tissue paper rose. 

Mina carefully opened the envelope, a grin spreading across her face as she pulled 

out the card, covered in glitter, obnoxious neon, and cardstock hearts glued all over. ‘HAPPY 

FOURTH BIRTHDAY!!!’, it had once proudly announced, before Sofia got her hands on it. It 

now read, ‘HAPPY exchange year!!!’, the new writing written a line above the old, which had been 

covered with glitter glue. The shiny four was sharpied the color of the German flag, and now had 

googly eyes, along with a small folded piece of paper. Inside, it said that ‘me + you = heart’. Not 

a heart drawn in place of the word, just the word, written out. Opening the card, she saw that 

every inch was covered in familiar cursive, this time in a glittery green gel pen. She closed it again, 

making a mental note to read it when she was alone on the plane. 

Alex glanced over at the card. “Wow, you guys are still doing that most obnoxious card 

challenge?” 

Mina nodded. “You know it.” 

“It’s been, what, years now?” 

“Yep! Since our one month anniversary, back in freshman year.” 

Alex blinked. “Jeez. That’s dedication.” 

Mina shrugged. “Well, if we ever stopped, then we’d have to pick a winner. And neither 

of us want to lose.” 

He laughed. “Then what’s the point?” 

“Hey, it’s fun! Plus, it’s not something a ton of couples do. It’s our thing.” 

“So… Does that mean it’s unironic now?” 

♦ 

41

“Maybe it does.” She crossed her arms, forcing a glare onto her face. 

He copied her, looking her in the eye. It took only seconds before they both dissolved 

into laughter at how weird the other’s expression was. 

“God, I hate you.” 

“Aww, thanks.” 

Mina focused her gaze back on Sofia’s gifts, eyes landing on the box of chocolates. 

“Oh, my god.” 

“What is it?” 

“I’m dating the world’s most lovable idiot. Look at this.” She gestured towards the 

candy. “I do not want to deal with 

getting this through security.” 

“Oh, yeah, yikes. It was annoying enough the first time, and I don’t think they even 

spotted it.” 

“God, I love her, but… Wow.” 

“Yeah. So… What are you going to do?” 

“You mean, what are we going to do?” 

“Huh?” 

“I can’t eat the whole thing fast enough by myself, duh.” 

“But it was a gift from--” 

“If you care that much, you can buy both of us something small later. Come on, we 

need to hurry, before I have to get on the plane.” She opened the box, handing Alex a peanut 

butter one. “Also, I’m pretty sure she knew we’d share, because I hate this kind, and they’re your 

favorite.” 

“Oh. You’re right.” 

A few chocolates in, Mina remembered what Alex had said initially. “Hey, didn’t you 

say you had two things to tell me about earlier?” 

“Oh! Right! I almost forgot.” 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m coming with you to Germany.” 

Mina blinked, pinching her arm without even thinking about it. “Ow.” 

Alex snorted. “Did you really have to check if you were awake or not? Mina, oh my 

god. You can’t taste food in dreams, you didn’t even need to—“ 

“You’re doing what?!” 

“I’m going to take an exchange year, in Germany, too. We could even be roommates, if 

you want.” 

“Of course, but—Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” 

“I tried to, but you kept thinking I was talking you out of going.” 

Mina felt the twinge of guilt. “Oh. Sorry I kept cutting you off.” 

He waved a hand. “No, you’re good. I should’ve started my sentences more clearly.” 

“I just… Are you sure about doing this?” 

Alex nodded. “Of course I am. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe, but I also wanted 

to make sure I could speak the language, so I’d been thinking about England. But…” 

♦ 

42

“You also know German because you picked the class so we could have more together,” 

Mina finished. 

“That, and needing the language credits, but yeah. I can probably speak enough German 

to go to stores, and I’m sure someone will be able to translate if I really need it.” 

“I mean, I can.” 

“Exactly! So that’s not an issue. Other than that? My grades are good enough, my 

parents agreed as long as I’ll try to mail them kinder eggs, and I’m not sure if I’m even allowed to 

change my mind at this point.” 

Mina leaned over, and hugged him tightly. “God, this is going to be the best year school 

year ever.” 

Conversation slowed, before turning to small talk. Despite the vast difference in 

location, it didn’t take long before the inside jokes and old memories of lying in the yard last night 

returned, continuing into the lines after they stood up to go towards where their flight would be, 

commenting on odd luggage and outfits, trying to guess destinations, and eventually inventing a 

sort of traveler’s bingo. As Alex tried to justify the soccer mom he’d possibly spotted, Mina, while 

debating just as intensely as him, could barely believe how lucky she was to have such a good 

friend. 

Especially as they finally boarded the plane, she just kept dwelling on how lucky she 

was to have him by her side. Not that she would have admitted to it out loud, but if she was to 

be entirely honest with herself ? She had been terrified of doing all of this alone. Sofia, while she 

would’ve loved to travel with her, was too busy trying to ace all her AP classes, which she was 

extremely successful at. That success was something Sofia didn’t care to risk, because she was on 

track for some really good scholarships. 

Alex, however, had high grades and all, but also had money set aside for college since 

he was a baby, paid for by wealthy grandparents. He had no reason to worry about a little stumble 

in grades while he adjusted. Plus, despite being one of the most charismatic people she’d ever met, 

he had trouble making close friends, and a strong attachment to consistency in life. 

Which, she realized, meant her friendship was the absolute strongest piece of that 

consistency, even above living in an entire country. 

She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly once more. “I’m so glad you’re 

my best friend.” 

“I’m so happy I know you, too.” 

As the plane landed, Mina was incredibly excited to start this new chapter of her life. 

She was excited for new adventures, and excited to be in new places. 

She was excited to meet new people, try different foods, and have new experiences. 

Most of all, though, she was excited to do all of it with her best friend, Alex, by her 

side. 

♦ 

43

Sarah Xu/Oil Painting

FRUITION 

“Things do not change; we change.” 


Alison Zhang/Photography

Alison Zhang/Photography

Ode to Childhood 

By Stella Blue Roth 

the glory days are often overlooked 

forgotten, as they come too soon to tell 

but those not too far gone remember well 

when no one cared about how people looked 

our biggest worry was what was for lunch 

the playground full of possibilities 

and we’d pretend the moon was made of cheese 

walking home and jumping onto leaves- crunch 

now we are caught up in the trivial 

test and books and papers must be written 

it’s time to decide what your future holds 

and somehow these worries all reveal 

it seems growing up had us all smitten 

and we all miss being those six-year-olds 

picture frames hold memories dear to our hearts 

we reminisce with old stories and clips 

of paintings made in kindergarten art 

loved and missed, as childhood escaped our grips 

♦ 

49

Kindness Saves 

By Stella Blue Roth 

The girl with the perfect hair and makeup every day? 

She has severe anxiety. 

The boy at soccer tryouts? 

He has an eating disorder. 

The kid pushing kids around in the playground? 

He’s seen his dad treat his mom that way and doesn’t know it’s wrong. 

The jock, laughing with his friends? 

Hides in his room while his parents yell at each other. 

Everyone you see has a story 

Something hidden behind the walls we build up. 

Everyone has battles to fight 

And everyone has lost their battle once or twice before 

When you meet a person 

You see what they want you to see 

The best of them 

And sometimes parts of them that don’t even exist 

Yet we all let ourselves get consumed by jealousy 

Or judge each other 

And treat each other badly 

As if we have a right to it 

Because we believe we are worse off 

As if pain is a competition 

And not something we all feel 

We put people down not to bring ourselves up, but so we feel like they are on our level 

But even then, we are worse off. 

We tell ourselves no one will understand, and close ourselves off 

Sealing in the final bricks in the wall 

When in reality, all we have to do is open the door 

And talk about our issues 

That’s truly the first step to getting better 

But we must treat everyone with kindness 

Until they are ready to open their doors 

And not fight alone. 

Being kind does nothing but good 

And yet we stray from it 

Because in some way we feel it’s easier to be cruel 

But its not 

And hurting others brings more pain into our world 

Until our wall is bursting with it 

Open the door 

So others can follow suit 

Be kind to everyone 

So others can follow suit. 

♦ 

50

Nancy Drago/Ink & watercolor

Untitled 

By Lizzie Mabe 

To see the yellow in a sea of grey 

It often makes you stop and wonder why 

It’s little things that keep the dark away 

Although I don’t believe in God, I pray 

That something joyful soon will catch my eye 


It seems insignificant in a way 

But it’s still impossible to deny 


The colors weren’t as bright the other day 

But something takes my mood from low to high 


When sadness comes with cause I can’t convey 

And hopeless feelings make me want to cry 


A cup of tea, a pair of boots, they may 

Be how I keep my head up to the sky 



♦ 

52

A Witch’s House 

By Annabel Fernandez 

“Hello?” I whispered into the dark room. 

No response. I slipped inside, as subtly as possible. A witch’s house was already cause 

for consternation, a mysterious one was too much. 

A candle was lit. It made little difference, but now, I could see the shape of a woman 

in a cloak approaching me. 

She paused to examine me, holding the candle so close to my head I thought that my 

hair would catch fire. 

“What do you want?” she croaked. From what I could see, I made out an elderly 

woman, smaller than myself, wearing an austere facial expression. 

I mumbled my answer. 

“A what?” 

“A love potion,” I muttered nervously. 

“Why would you need one of those?” She asked in an unpleasant tone. 

“To make someone fall in love with me. You see, back in my town, everyone’s getting 

married, having children. Except for me. Try as I might, no man will succumb to my feminine 

wiles, despite my dire need for company.” I hoped she would accept my answer. 

She looked at me intensely. “Very well.” She said finally. “But you will have to repay 

me.” 

“Of course. How much?” I reached for my wallet. 

“I have no desire for money. You will repay me with two months assistance. And 

you will get your product after your labor. Come back tomorrow at eight o’clock sharp.” She 

commanded. 

I headed back home, dreaming of a brighter future. 

The next day I returned. When I entered, I encountered a much brighter lit room, 

cured of its sepulchral atmosphere for the night before. However, the old woman was not the 

only person there. 

Sedentary in the corner reading a book, there was a beautiful girl my age, one of 

the prettiest I’ve ever seen. She had ebony hair and bright hazel eyes, wearing a red dress and a 

thin, translucent cape over her shoulders. 

I stared at her until she looked up at me. “Grandmother, who is this?” She asked. 

“Odessa, meet Alexandria,” said the witch, somehow knowing my name. “She will 

be working for me for the next couple of months.” 

The elderly woman gave me a list. “I need you to collect these plants.” 

I skimmed down the list. “Ma’am, I don’t recognize any of these.” 

She gave a disappointed grunt. “Odessa, you have been sitting around for hours. Go 

out and assist her with her hunt.” 

Odessa did not protest, and did as told. 

We walked in silence. “You’re working for my grandmother for two months? I pity 

you.” 

♦ 

53

And she was silent the rest of the day. And the first week. 

After the first couple of weeks, my task had been upped from grocery shopping in 

the woods to potion maker. Cooking had never been a skill of mine, and this required even more 

finesse. Half the time I couldn’t even manage to light the fire. 

At some point, Odessa stopped chuckling at my failings and came over to help me. 

“Like this,” she said, lighting the match on her first strike. “Also, you’re supposed to use the salt, 

not the sugar,” she handed the correct substance to me. Her help made my assignments much 

more efficient, and I enjoyed her company. 

One day I came to the place covered in streamers. “It’s Oddie’s birthday!” Said the 

witch, her demeanor completely changed. “We’re taking a break today. How about you and her 

her head out to get a cake, and I’ll finish putting up all the decorations!” I didn’t know where she 

would put more decorations. 

Odessa, as usual, was devoid of enthusiasm, but in a new dress. 

And so we followed the witch’s instructions and headed to town. “She still thinks I’m 

seven.” 

“I think it’s sweet. My grandma was never this all-out. Of course, she had to deal with 

seven of us, so she was always a little tired.” I giggled. 

Odessa looked down. “I’m the only family she has left.” 

The conversation became an awkward silence until we arrived to the bakery. 

“Let me guess,” I said, looking at her clothes, “you like red velvet!” 

She giggled. “No, but I do like strawberry. Which is still kinda red.” 

“Debatable.” I replied. “Are you ready to get your party on?” 

“No.” 

“Not even for cake and presents?” I nudged her. 

“Okay, maybe I could muster enthusiasm for cake and presents.” She gave a small 

smile. 

I was glad she was warming up to me. 

Finally, I had reached my final day. Odessa and I spent the day on the standard chores, 

until the evening came. The witch gave us nets and instructed us to go the river to fish. The sunset 

was upon us and the river looked like a stream of embers. I held my net in the water and gazed 

us at the citrine sky. Unfortunately, I didn’t watch my footing and fell into the river headfirst. The 

water was freezing. 

“Good job,” Odessa guffawed. Her features were softly illuminated in the remaining 

sunlight. 

“Hey now, help me out!” I spat out the dregs of dirty river water. Fishes tickled my legs. 

“Alright, alright.” Odessa held her arms out and I grabbed her hands. “On the count 

of three. One, two, three, and up you go!” 

She pulled me out, and we both fell on top of each other. The sunset reflected off her 

eyes, and I doubted I was in need of a love potion anymore. 

♦ 

54

Early Morning Villanelle 

By Alyssa Portanova 

The sky fades to a pink hue 

Colors are shown against the early sparrow’s wing 

As he spread his petite feathers and flew 

A gentle breeze blew 

Against the soft babbling of a spring 


The grass is damp from morning dew 

The faded wind chimes ring 


The sun now shows through 

The moonlight nothing but a sliver of string 


Now, it is his cue 

To wake up and sing 


The owls withdrew 

With the sun arising 



♦ 

55

Flora Arnsberger/Acrylic

Afterword 

“Try to remember...” 

“The lawless entropy splintering a fledgling mind,” 

“The crushed debris scattering ashes of offset dreams,” 

“The budding reform sprouting out of bittersweet acceptance,” 

“And the firm fruition bearing a heart stronger and kinder than before.” 

“This is the journey of how we got here.”

Different Drummer 2018-2019

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