Norah Brady

 

 

There’s a neon palm tree

standing uphill

from where I emerged,

half-awake,

a moth brushing off a synthetic chrysalis

draped in imaginary green and white.

It’s just another fixture,

gaudy and bright in the then-discovered early morning.

The dull red of sunrise

sits atop the mountains,

the kind of color that reminds me of midnight,

of times not meant to be seen–

Geese out on the pond,

afraid of my heart in the dark,

my shoes full of dew.

I don’t remember looking up

which is why the stars surprise me, still flickering

in the pale gray sky–

the brightness of a planet,

still and steady

catches the corner of my eye,

like the palm tree, like me,

a satellite masquerading

as a star.

 

 

Norah Brady is a fifteen-year-old wanna-be poet, author, and actor. She’s most at home anywhere she can write, preferably with two cats and quite a few books. You can find her work in Rookie magazine, Stone Soup, and Write the World’s 2017 collection: Young Voices Across the Globe.

I trusted that the sun
would rise again
I trusted it would do so
but I suppose it grew weary of
the pressure of my dependency
and the monotony of its cycle
for it did not rise today
as it had for me every day before
Today.

I trusted that the flowers
would blossom this spring
as they had every spring
but they seemed to go the other way
to cave inwardly
and trickle shamefully
into the ground
afraid to be exposed
in sunlight that didn’t care to shine.

They trickled further
all the more calloused
in their wrong-way-wayward ways
that I had never seen them follow before
Today.

Bryce Langston is from a small town in central Florida. He writes because he enjoys finding and capturing the symbolism and metaphors in everyday life. Bryce’s hobbies include playing guitar, playing tennis, and reading.

I crave the blinding white,

The sheer intensity of it;

Burning your corneas,

Creating a

low, moaning hum that passes through your spinal cord

And turning your fingerprints and everything they’ve ever touched

Caressed or fondled to powdery, meaningless ash.

I relish in the white hot pain.

 

Or perhaps what I desire most is the murky black

The foggy forgetfulness of it;

Temporarily suspended in time.

Here you don’t just float for a moment,

Traipsing in and out of fleeting truth and

Demanding realities.

Where I go

You no longer exist.

 

 

Eleanor Colligan is a junior currently living in Chicago, Illinois. She loves to read and write poetry.

The lunch line, swirling

Full of anxious adolescents

Waiting to feed in a frenzy

Of hotdogs and burgers

 

Like a rambunctious dragon

Upon discovery of its prey:

A lone rabbit, helpless

 

Like me, sitting at the end

Of the long, plastic table

My black lunch box on it

Containing baozi and noodles

Wearing a red tee from

the Chinese New Year’s Festival

Trying to hide from my predators.

 

Light blue trays,

The surplus of ketchup on their hotdogs and burgers,

Neat hair,

Bright polos

Mark them as a different species.

 

I try to camouflage myself

Inching closer to the group

Pretending that I belong

In order to avoid detection

But the baozi gives me off.

 

Once I take a bite of it

Its luscious contents and savory flavor

Creamier and less sweet than ketchup

Waft out from the meatball inside

Into the noses of the predators.

 

All eyes turn to me

Like a tiger stares its prey

Before it pounces

Catching me mid-bite into my second baozi.

 

Suddenly, I’m

All alone, helpless

About to be devoured.

 

 

Albert Zhang is Head Editor for The Westminster Schools Bi-Line, the school newspaper. He is also Co-Editor-in-Chief of Evolutions Magazine, Westminster’s annual creative writing magazine. Albert attended The Kenyon Review workshop, SCAD as a Silver Scholar, was published in Celebrating Art and exhibited in Atlanta’s High Museum, Capitol, and National Fair.

 

 

 

 

Albert Zhang is Head Editor for The Westminster Schools Bi-Line, the school newspaper. He is also Co-Editor-in-Chief of Evolutions Magazine, Westminster’s annual creative writing magazine. Albert attended The Kenyon Review workshop, SCAD as a Silver Scholar, was published in Celebrating Art and exhibited in Atlanta’s High Museum, Capitol, and National Fair.