Patricia Donato, Author at Blue Marble Review

Turtle Girl

By Patricia Donato

There was a girl at my school who never spoke a word. She had turquoise hair, a septum piercing, and she wore a green hoodie like a shell. We all called her Turtle Girl.

I don’t know why I called her that and laughed with the other kids. You see, I was unpopular like Turtle Girl. The only difference was that I talked, and she didn’t.

One day, some bullies hit me at recess. I wasn’t much of a fighter, so I took it for fear of worse. The other kids watched from a distance, some trying to defend me but most doing nothing. Turtle Girl sat on her own, away from me, the bullies, and the other kids. She chewed her sandwich and looked bored, until suddenly, she wasn’t. She stood up, walked over to the biggest bully hitting me, and she left her shell just like that. She rolled up the sleeves of her green hoodie and hit the bully.

When the bullies retreated, Turtle Girl left the scene. She didn’t say a word, just walked away. While the other kids talked, I followed her, spewing thanks and wonder. Turtle Girl remained silent.

Eventually, frustrated by her silence, I asked her, “Why did you help me?”

Turtle Girl blinked at me. “You looked like a turtle going into its shell,” she said, rolling back down her green sleeves. “I thought I’d help you, because you don’t have a shell.”

And just like that, she returned to her shell and resumed her lunch.

I never called her Turtle Girl again.

Patricia Jane Donato is the aspiring author of short stories, novels, poems, and maybe even graphic novels. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, walking in the woods, drawing manga, or chatting with her friends. Patricia’s work also appears in The WEIGHT Journal and Cathartic Literary Magazine.

Wake Up

By Ally Chen

Through depicting myself in the side view mirror- watching, horrified, as the trash floats toward the car- I hope to bring awareness to the effects of global warming and pollution. The words “current pollution levels are more damaging than they appear” and the murky city skyline represent the foreseeable state of our world. While the car drives away from the pollution, it enters the untouched Antarctic realm, symbolizing life and growth. My piece highlights the deprecating impacts of climate damage and initiating change.

Ally Chen is an ambitious sophomore student attending a high school in Northern Virginia. She has long been interested in art and has been actively creating pieces since around age five. Although it fluctuates, Ally’s most preferred style is realism! Her passion for art grew throughout the years, especially during the quarantine period of 2020, where she found an abundance of time to take advantage of. During quarantine, she used art as a way to entertain herself and relieve mental stress. She now uses it to help children in healthcare centers through a youth-led nonprofit organization. Aside from art, Ally also enjoys travelling and spending time with family!

Life’s Progression

By Kalvin Verner Jr.

Life’s Progression, was made with charcoal on paper and touches on the feeling of losing a sense of control over your life and “losing your mind” in the process. The piece is representative of a really hard time I went through personally where I felt very out of place in my life and out of control of the things around me.

Kalvin Verner is a high school junior from Kansas City, MO. He has been making art for as long as he can remember. Verner has previously won a Scholastic Honorable Mention for his art and another Honorable Mention award in the Missouri State University Art Competition.

Gondola Ride

By Ria Parikh

Gondola Ride was taken in Switzerland from the top of a mountain, looking down. I kept the entire scene in focus as I actually really enjoy the sort of “overwhelming” feeling it gives off at a first glance. With so much movement and so many colors, I think that this piece highlights how small man-made creations are compared to their surrounding areas. The clouds and mountains in the back add depth to the scene while the actual gondola guides the viewer’s eyes towards the center of the image.

Ria Parikh is a high school junior from Cincinnati, Ohio who finds enjoyment in the small things. She is an avid traveler, Starbucks addict, and dachshund enthusiast. Currently, she serves as the opinion chief and photo editor of her school newspaper, The Leaf. Ria is also the recipient of three gold keys, two silver keys, and seven honorable mentions from the Scholastic Awards for her journalistic writing, poetry, and photography. She is a Kundiman Youth Fellow as well as a first place Writing for our Roots winner. Ria keeps herself busy after school by volunteering, playing varsity tennis, and pursuing her degree in Indian dance. During her free time, Ria loves to spend time with her friends and family.

Dead Birds and Dead Families

By Srina Bose

i. I remember my sister once found robin eggs in the post-box. She tells me they were bluer than a shipwreck, but when I ask her what happened to them, she says she doesn’t remember.
My father breaks nests in our house every week. He once threw a birds’ eggs down our fifth storey balcony. I think his hands reek of the daughters he has killed before they were even born.

ii. I have a photo album from which I cut out pictures to stick on my wall. They flutter furiously to the wind and refuse to be held down by the tape I attach. Yesterday, I cried for an hour trying to find more tape, and maybe it’s the universe trying to tell me that no tape could hold back a broken past. That it’s time to let go. Maybe I’m a dead bird waiting to sink into the graves of the sky.

iii. My mother likes to stand at the edge of the balcony at exactly 10:47 p.m. and feel the breeze brush against her skin. She says it feels like her dead father giving her a hug, but sometimes she stands on her toes and tips over a little too much. Then, in her eyes, I see a world pulsing. Maybe she doesn’t do that to hug her father. Maybe she wants to see him. Maybe she stands at the edge of the balcony every night at 10:47 p.m. because she likes to watch the ground murmur the names of all the dead birds whose ashes stain this family’s hands.

iv. My heart remembers too much. It throbs and searches for names of dead lovers on everything it sees. My heart remembers too much and though I forgive the razor, I forgive my hands, I forgive those who saw in me a shipwreck and watched me drown, and I forgive the birds that knock on my ribs, asking to be let out saying—please? Just tonight? Let me be free?I forgive them but my heart is cruel. It doesn’t forget. My heart still remembers the hurt.

v. Sometimes, I am threatened by the abilities of others. I look at my hands and see a lost soul. I watch others standing at the peak, while I am still trying to drag my feet. I’m still searching for reasons to not fall.
I’m still lying on the ground; dirt seeping into my hair and I am watching the birds in the sky. They tell me it’s time I let go of this heavy pretence of sorrow and do something. Something. Anything. It’s time I bleed meaning into this life, they say. And in the blink of an eye, the birds aren’t dead anymore.

Srina Bose is a high school student based in New Delhi, India. She has previously had her work published in “The Ice Lolly Review”, and “Cathartic Literary magazine.” She has also published her own collection of poetry titled— “Roses In My Mind”, which is commercially available.
You can find her poetry blog on Instagram at @teardrops_of_ink

Home Will Break Out of Me Someday

By Abioye Samuel Akorede

but for now, let the stormy earth take charge of the moment.

In my room, there are silhouettes of things I’m trying to live for–

my room is the only place I act not as a fugitive in this country.

I’ve taught my legs how to rebel against the soil of the land.

/how do you picture yourself happy in a country like this?/

My body is morphing into a road stretched across this country

Some parts of me scamper towards the North– the abattoir

Where the fates of over 200 girls were buried before vanishing.

Another part of me is sailing across the ocean, seeking refuge

From lands innocent of my origin. I don’t want to believe

that our mothers deserve the blame. Is it nothing to call love

when a mother burns out of comfort just to give her child life, but

a country wring out the soul of the child from his body? My body is telegraphing

Seeking asylum in the ruins of this country. I’m still longing for home.

A castle of hope is sinking inside of me. I wish there will be a time

when nothing will know my name or my origin. I’m claustrophobic.

If I ever see God in my dream, I think I’m damn sure of what to ask him.

Abioye Samuel Akorede is a Nigerian poet & an undergraduate student of the University of Jos, Nigeria. His works have appeared on Literary Platforms such as Kalahari Review, Parousia, Sparrow’s Trombone, Praxis Magazine, Ice Floe Mag, The Quills Journal, EroGospel, and so on. In 2020, Abioye’s poem ‘RUNNING OUT OF THE MIRROR’ was longlisted for the Nigerian Students Poetry Prize (NSPP). His poem “A BOY, HIS GOD, AND A COUNTRY” was Longlisted among the TOP 20 of The Nigeria Students Poetry Prize in 2021.