The Witch Who Meditates
Don't do this to yourself. You know this feeling too well - That young soul getting ahead with luck. The practice and patience no longer in style. Anger and frustration showing in your hands. The incantations spoken with little thought - Why listen to that cursed voice? You have read every grimoire, until your eyes sunk, your face aged, the beautiful brown hair turned to ash and disintegrated. However, you have always known the answer. You remember that prayer can only take you so far. So take that red and white candle, inhale the cinnamon that will once again bring love and acceptance, and leave it all behind. Let the smoke trail behind you, feeling again whole and at peace. Your roots hold you more stable than a man's faith. All the imagination and beauty bubbling out of you. The confidence that could frighten any lion, tiger, or bear. Your heart that can finally let it all go, and truly accept the love you deserve. The voice that speaks of truth that can chill one’s morals. An eye that sees every atom in every creation of our gods. And finally, the crown. Even though you have been tempted to enjoy a second feast, don’t give in. You have worked too hard for this. You lived all the lives, and finally understand your own. Never again will this feeling creep its way into your soul. Never again will the devils snare and bitter lemon reach your conscience. You will instead, continue on this worn path, but this time admiring the run-down beauty of it all.
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Irina DiCunto '21 Like faith in a Christians eyes,
your light is blinding. All your hopes and desires burned into my retinas, so even if I close my eyes - in my darkest days and darkest nights - you still remain; but only as a shadow. Even with all the warnings. Even with my parents teachings; I still allow myself to get lost in your maze - tripping over the roots already buried in my heart. All for a prize; A promise that that was never there. I could cut through your words, and end this game, but then I lose it all. Your gospel. The wisdom. A freedom I never knew before. I lose my purpose in your heaven. So drown me in your finest red wine, but take off your purple robe. Take me into your Eden, and let us have a feast for all the sinners. I no longer want to pray every night - Let me show you my loyalty through my acts. Show me your love and power, not through control of wind and sea, but by you being the dove that brings me to safety. By Alessandra Antonacci '20 dear fontbonne,
although we only met a short while ago, I like to think that we have gotten to know each other quite well. maybe it’s different for everyone, but to me you were dancing around the gym at 7:30 AM despite only a few hours of sleep the night before. you were morning chatter in the cafeteria until Mrs. Barton told us it was time to scurry off to first period. you were running up and down the stairs during FA to say good morning to the people who never failed to make my day, or later on when you took the shape of smiles and cheerful yells while shuffling across a crowded courtyard. you were the lunch periods that made me laugh so hard it seemed impossible to ever cry again. you were the classes that I wished would never end- the ones where I put the books away and really, really listened. you were made up of teachers who never make themselves any less human than the students they stood in front of. you were resource periods where we spent forty-five minutes talking about who or what we want to become- knowing we would have to leave someday, but talking about it as though the future was an entity of fiction. you were alive after school hours when you became a bustling city of practices and rehearsals. you were the pollen-clad picnic tables on a soft september day, and a gym blaring with christmas carols that made us feel warm with joy in the dead of winter. you were a walk down 3rd avenue on a sunny day, or a full sprint down 3rd avenue if the weather turned to rain- but we always leapt in the puddles of our misfortune nonetheless. you were stowing away behind the piano in the music room just to remember what it’s like to be a freshman again. you were wanting to go back, but being pushed to tread forward. you were the place we grew loud and unapologetic together. you were the reason I got out of bed most days. you still are. and lastly, you were the hardest poem I ever wanted to write. but you were also the most deserving. there is simply no way to perfectly encase the amount of joy you brought me, but I am trying to look at the past in the way you taught me to. and that is to put a pen to the memories, remember them each time I am in need of warmth, and keep going. By Alessandra Antonacci '20 when you’re young,
the kind of young that perches itself on a continuum between careless and wise, you spend moments at a time thinking you know who you are. the minutes you are all-knowing of your purpose scream themselves into epiphanies, each of them conflicting- fighting against each other for a seat in the space between your eyes. when you’re young, you are swarming with thousands of revelations in which you shook hands with an ideal illusion of yourself. but only for a minute. you may have even pronounced definitively that this is who you’ve turned out to be. you are meek until the next conversation, you are brave until you are not, you are confident until the world breaks open and you do too. then the cycle begins again. it is terrifying to not yet know yourself, but it can be beautiful if you let it. you, you shapeshifter of a million descriptions, you contrasting person tomorrow, you hive mind of false declarations; when you are young, far from careless, and not yet wise, it can be beautiful if you let it. so let it. By Irina DiCunto '21 To be happy
Is to see the future in the stars - The smile and joy hidden in your eyes… Is to hear the carnival music in the distance - The lovely whisper in my ear… Is to touch the bike handle and feel free - The hand that traces my soul… Is to smell the wet black-eyed Susans in the garden - The slight scent of ocean becoming your aura… Is to taste ice cream quickly melting in the sun - The fingers covered in sugar… To love Is to see the wind blow through the trees - The rustle of your hair… Is to hear the break of the ocean on the sand - The breath on your chest… Is to smell the burning fire and pine cones - The sweet lavender on the neck… Is to touch the hot sun on your cheeks - The dance that was meant for no one else… Is to taste honey tea and melted chocolate - The sweet cherry lips on mine… To be afraid Is to see the papers slowly pile up - The black circles under the eyes… Is to touch the cooking pot on the stove - The hand that wouldn’t hold you… Is to smell the wood shavings while driving - The hospital becoming your new perfume… Is to hear the gun go off in the distance - The booming voice coming from the next room… Is to taste the metal while pacing around the living room - The spice that was a little too much on our lips… To be sad Is to see the burning candles at the alter - The legs, too shaky to get up… Is to smell the roses at the funeral - The stale room you lock yourself in… Is to touch the damp clothing after going through fog - The tears collecting under the eyes… Is to hear thunder over your house - The wispy, broken voice… Is to taste the late-night ice cream on the weekend - The fried Oreos from the parade three years ago… To be angry Is to see the tornado rip the house off the ground - The running until you collapsed… Is to touch the pedal until you get a ticket - The bloody, broken knuckles… Is to hear glass hit a wall and shatter - The tear-stained sweater and pillow… Is to smell the burning of food in an oven - The cigarette smoke circling your head… Is to taste the old lemon that has fallen off the tree… The alcohol burning your insides… To be hopeful Is to see the delicate hands planting the rosebuds - The first smile after many sorrows… Is to smell the coffee and waffles when I open my eyes - The consuming scent of shampoo and wet hair… Is to hear the nightingale’s first song - The soothing song putting you to sleep… Is to touch the fresh tomatoes in the garden - The piggy-back ride under the stars… Is to taste the red wine at dinner - The apple-flavored candy on your tongue during Halloween… To hold these memories is the best talent I have. They define me, They punish me, They cherish me. Without them, I might as well not exist. Each one tells a story that is too great for anyone to tell - Like the fireworks we set off, Or the donuts we made at the beach, Or even the days we got yelled at for skating until dark. Each one will forever entangle themselves into my mind - Until one day they will be cut loose. But I will not be upset Because one thing I will always remember Is that I did something; People changed me And I changed them Whether I remember these people or not, I was here I lived on this planet Skipped through its wonders And ran through the unknown; I was here. By Alessandra Antonacci '20 it has been a long night.
it has been many long nights. but today, the body chooses to rise from the bed; slowly and cautiously, as not to wake the sleeping house. if you listen closely, you can hear the curtains gasp: “there. there you are, alive again at last.” today, as you lift the coffee cup to your fragile lips- as you wait for the bitter taste to twirl along your tongue- as the panacea, the most comforting cure, scurries its way down your throat- allow the warmth to stay a while. offer it the best room in the house. give it everything, even what you cannot have for yourself. the whole time your stomach whispering, to any of its neighbors who will listen: “alive. didn’t you hear? we are alive again at last.” this is morning now. I am trying to seek out the smallest glimpses of happiness that I’ve always overlooked in my home; the simple, yet significant. as of late they have been: the first steps out of bed, the first (and maybe second) cup of coffee, the first time I changed out of my pajamas, and the first time I let myself smile again. they are the actions that have made each day a bit more worthwhile. we used to pray to be less busy- to be less tired- to be less overwhelmed; no, this is not a case of “be careful what you wish for,” it is just- to put it plainly- unfortunate. so maybe at this moment we do not feel all there- all ourselves- but I promise, there will be a time a few moons from now where we will all be together again. and on that day- we will all laugh and sigh about every silly tear we shed while we were missing each other dearly. we will embrace knowing we survived the time we spent apart. and we will all feel a bit better knowing that all the parts of ourselves that we left in each other had stayed intact. on that day we will be alive again- together again- at last. but until then, remember to find the little pieces of happiness, the simple yet significant ones, to get you there. //alive again at last By Irina DiCunto '21 I opened the shades in the kitchen -
I forgot how beautiful it was - The stars showed the wonder in her eyes, The world was calling me to go outside and see her beauty, But I stayed home. I wanted this break, I needed this break - My heart yearned for more - It ached for something that was just out of reach, Something that she had been watching for years - The world spoke to her through the ocean - “come swim” But her fog-filled mind only heard “come drown; Come to the bottom where there are no stars or wonder, Sit on the ocean floor, never to reach the beauty and the joy, It is no longer out of reach - It was never there in the first place, Let that feeling pour into your lungs, Let it flow through your veins - Enter your heart, And wash out your mind. You are now only an empty shell of a person.” However, If you are fortunate enough, If the tides ever decide to shift - A young crab might use you, You will be its source of protection And it will love you And you will love it back because it gave you purpose. By Faith Breslin '22 I couldn’t keep it in. The feelings rushed over me. I couldn’t help it. Why couldn’t I be like Mama? Why do I have to feel? Mama had it easy why can’t I? I ran out of the doors and into the dark night, where the only source of light was the shimmering moon - shimmering like the rhinestones and sequins on my dress.
“Tee,” his voice said as I slowly began to cry. Tears, spilling down my face ruining the makeup I spent hours on. “What’s the problem?” He asked as I cried harder. “YOU!” I screamed as the tears poured down my face. This was not how the night was supposed to go. It was supposed to be the best night of my life, yet it felt so wrong. And it started in the weirdest way. ———Earlier——— “Tee, your hair appointment is in 15 minutes,” Mama said, handing me the keys to my car. Tee’s my nickname. It’s all I’ve ever been called. Daddy gave it to me before he died. Mama’s strong and brave and didn’t even shed a tear at Daddy’s funeral. “Go!” She barked, waving her hand at me, shooing me out of the house. I smiled, knowing tonight was going to be the best night of my life. It was the Valentine’s Day Dance that I have been dreaming of going to since I was a freshman. Everyone had a date, even me. Most girls get asked by their boyfriends and it’s always the popular girls that go and get invited. Imagine my surprise when he asked me, the nerdy, blonde, who is overly obsessed with Taylor Swift and hockey. Me, the songwriter - the one who got teased for being the size of a 7th grader in freshman year and for having dorky glasses and braces. That isn’t the girl who gets the jock to ask her out. Yet he did. After the braces came off and the glasses faded into contacts, James Bennet, the hottest boy in school, asked me out to the dance. We all thought, even me, that he and his girlfriend Claire were going together. But when they broke up last week, he asked me, his little old lab partner who made the potion explode in our face and does all the hard stuff so he can do the writing. Claire’s face was in such shock, I was surprised she didn’t faint! The next week, I bought the best dress I could find and heels to match. It was a rose gold colored dress that had a sleeping beauty neckline. It clung to my sides and flared out once it hit my knees. The bodice was covered in sequins and rhinestones that had a gold shimmer to them. The heels were the same gold color as the sequins in my gown. I got an appointment to get my hair done in the popular style. “Hey, Neighbor,” My next-door neighbor, Jimmy, said to me. I smiled as I waved at him. He was a year older than me and always a great friend to me. Growing up, I had a schoolgirl crush on him. Yet, when puberty hit him, it didn’t work in his favor. He got really attractive with flowing locks of dirty-blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes. He placed his headphones in and began a light jog as I got into my car. As I headed off to the salon, I thought about Jimmy. He was always sweet. When I began failing French, he, without hesitation, helped me study and get my grades up and soaring! I smiled as I pulled up to my favorite hair salon. They pulled my long blonde hair into gorgeous soft waves that framed my face with rhinestones scattered throughout. I looked completely different, like I belonged to the popular clique. I bolted back home to do my makeup. Adding very little eyeshadow, my favorite eyeliner, some mascara, and my favorite red lipstick that I was inspired to wear from my favorite singer. I looked incredible. I looked like I belonged in this crowd instead of the nerdy girl I normally am. After Mama helped me into my heels, a long, white limo decorated with red hearts pulled up in front of my home and out came James in a black suit and black tie. He looked really handsome. As Mama took pictures of me and James, I saw Jimmy come out of his home. His eyes, narrowed into slits, looked me and James up and down before he hopped in to his truck and drove off. A few minutes later, James and I were getting into the car and were heading off to the dance. “Hey, Tee,” His friend Max said as he took my hand in his and kissed it. I chuckled. This is going to be a great night! We all took pictures and met his other friends Clarence and Marquez, we were having a ball of a time. “So, Honey, now! Take me into your loving arms. Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars, place your head on my beating heart. I’m thinking out loud, maybe we found love right where we are,” Ed Sheeran's voice sang from the DJ booth. Slow Dancing with James, the record continued to play his voice. His voice was soon replaced with the amazing Taylor Swifts and we began to dance even more. “And I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends. I’d never walk Cornelia Street again. That’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend, I’d never walk Cornelia Street again,” it played as we were dancing. When I needed to use the lady’s room to fix my lipstick that was whipped off from eating my food, I politely excused myself and walked off to the loo. Looking into the mirror I reapplied my red lipstick when my best friend, Aria, came into the bathroom. She was in a big, poofy gown colored in a dark, royal blue that almost looked like something Cinderella would wear. “Aria, you look amazing,” I said as she smiled at me. “Thanks and you look completely different,” She said as I smiled. “You having fun?” She asked as I nodded. “Of course! My date is James,” I said as her eyes grew wide. “But you might want to see what’s happening outside with your… ‘date’,” She said placing quotes around the word date. I grew suspicious as I saw Claire in her tight dress sitting in my seat, talking to James. I knew it was too good to be true. She kissed his lips as I stormed over there. I grabbed my purse and took one last look at them. “You’re sick,” I said as I ran off outside. ———-Present—— “I don’t understand,” he said as my feelings were a mix of emotions. I thought of Jimmy. How he wouldn’t have done something like this to me… would he? I thought about James, and that he was a playboy who probably wanted a new notch in his belt. I hit the floor with tears pouring from my face. “James, Honey, you coming?” Claire’s voice said. Turning my face away from him he walked away to her voice. I knew it. He would always go back to her. I was just a rebound. Tears built up in my eyes, yet I refused to let them fall. “Hey, Tee,” I heard an oh-so-familiar voice say from behind me. “Jimmy?” I sniffed as he sat on the floor next to me. His tie hanging around his neck undone along with the top few buttons undone. His hair gelled back, only slightly and his green eyes popping out, glowing brighter than the moon. “Want to go for a walk?” He asked as I nodded. I got up from the floor with his help. He smiled at me and we began our walk. I began shivering as I was walking outside, in the middle of February with no coat and no sleeves since I was wearing a strapless gown. He peeled off his tight-fitted suit jacket and placed it over my shoulders. It smelled like him, Peppermint with a hint of sweat from his hockey playing. I immediately felt warm and fuzzy on the inside. What’s happening to me? I looked up at his big green eyes which were already looking down at me. “Thanks for everything, Jimmy,” I said as he chuckled. “Anything for you, Princess,” He said as I chuckled. I used to be such a diva he called me Princess growing up. “I missed your company, Tee,” He said. “Remember when you used to run into the sprinklers and cry since you were wet?!” He said as he began to laugh. “It’s not that funny, Jimmy,” I said as he laughed harder, making me laugh. God his laugh is like music to my ears. We walked more and finally arrived at the ice cream parlor where Mama used to take me when I was upset about Daddy’s leaving. Mrs. Venice, Jimmy’s mother, used to tag along sometimes with Jimmy. “Tee, I… I have something to confess,” he said after we ordered our ice cream, him a chocolate swirl and me vanilla with sprinkles. “Tee, I have always enjoyed your company,” he said as I got some ice cream on my nose. I went to wipe it when he took a napkin and began wiping it from my nose. His hands, softly touching my face giving me the fuzzy feelings all over again. “Jimmy, I enjoy yours too,” I said as he looked at me. He smiled when we continued eating our ice cream in silence. We finally started heading home when he spoke again. “It’s not just that. You see, I have this crush on a girl. She makes me so nervous but I talk to her anyway. She has the prettiest blue eyes in the world and soft blonde bouncy hair. She needed help in French,” he said as we chuckled. I was failing French in freshman year but I knew he was fluent in it and so I went to him for help. “And she wasn’t so bad. I hope she remembers the most important lines I taught her,” he said as I beamed recalling him teaching me the romance phrases. “How could I forget?” I said as I stepped a little closer to him and he stepped closer to me. “Je t’aime,” I said as he chuckled leaning in even closer. “Je t’aime,” he said as his lips hovered over mine. He leaned in and our lips made contact. Sparks and fireworks lit the dark night sky. It was magical. We finally pulled apart and I looked into his gorgeous green eyes. He looked like home. He looked safe. My heart was fluttering hard and fast making my world spin in circles in a good way. “Sois à moi, Valentine,” I said as he beamed. “Toujours et à jamais, Tara,” He said as we leaned in for another kiss. And magic flew through the air. We really are Toujours et à jamais. (Translations: Je t’aime - I love you Sois à moi, Valentine - Be mine, Valentine, Toujours et à jamais - Forever and always) By Alessandra Anotonacci '20 this is an ode to the matriarchal magicians,
the women who brandish their bloodline like it’s a new form of artistry. as if the capillaries beneath their skin are as divine as da Vinci’s brush strokes. those who have never learned much about magic, but can charm the sun enough to make it flood through every window, even on the worst days. this is an ode to the women who hold their chins high above their shoulders, along with those who haven't been able to in years. the women who turn every hair salon into a roaring palace of gossip- who can rewrite the ten commandments in body language only they can understand. this is my testament to their life stories- ones that curl like the sky over the horizon line and twist like bubblegum at their fingertips. stories that are not perfect, but beautiful, nonetheless. starting with the women who bite cherries in half just to show me the veins that lie dormant beneath aubergine flesh. just to prove once and for all that there’s always something bleeding, living, breathing, below every surface. that everything has a pulse, a purpose, a meaning, even if it isn’t immediately seen. the women who vow to live to a hundred years old, promise to not leave this earth until it is beautified with their touch. the chameleons of every social hour who can mold their personalities the way the sky molds the weather, promising to change the world in that same fashion: quickly, methodically, and always for the better. next, the women who tell me stories of how they learned to mend their bones with nothing more than twine and ambitions and a ticket to america. the women who taught me how to sew when I was only five so that I learned young how to put the pieces back together when it feels like the world has been split in half. those who handed me piles of fabric, watched me stare down their makeshift everest, laced my fingers in theirs, and showed me that what I choose to make of life is in my own hands. the women who still believe in miracles, who believe in a god that still believes in them. who pray for their grandkids, and their grandkid’s grandkids, and anyone who continues to carry the beat of their heart for decades after they’re gone. who seem to know everything about what it means to find heaven through decades of hell. or “the others,” as my mother calls them, who sat back and told me bluntly to protest against any person who says it’s a woman’s job to patch up problems like a quilt, who says it’s a woman’s job to tie up the ends of each meal, who says it’s a woman’s job to become the cliff people go to when they need something to jump off of. these are the women who told me to become every part of the storm but the eye, those who told me to never let the burden of setting the table like it’s a game of chess be thrown onto my unwilling back. the women who shaped my tongue to become as sharp as the eye of a needle, and told me to never, ever, let a boy tell me what to make of the music box in my throat. their strength, the kite string between earth and divinity. they are still alive, still bringing Atlas to envy with their ability to hold the weight of a family tree using only two open palms. and, finally, the bringers of life. who throw their happiness into the wind and let it fall back on their past like a dust storm. just to make it known that every sacrifice was well worth it. bending their rib cages to form the shape of a harp, as if they can play themselves full with their own heartstrings. still finding anything lost within moments of looking, just to defy whatever the doctors may say about decaying eyesight. this is an ode to all of the women who watched me grow, the women still picking pawns out from behind their ears like the magicians they are, always will be. the women who have made a habit of finding love in a storm; when all I saw was rain, my grandmother, who loves stronger than a tornado on a good day, turned my attention from the window with a smile that parted the clouds. she took one glance up at the sky and said, my love, all I ever wanted was to lay outside and let the rain fall on my face one of these days, can you do that for me? and I finally understood where I fit into all of this. By Genetha Bhulai '22 We are teenagers in high school. Surrounded by drama and new gossip every week. Who did this? Who said that? When did that happen? We have our set friend groups and our cliques. But, when does it end? When is enough, enough? They say actions speak louder than words, but words can cut like knives as well. Because of these friend groups we form, they sometimes come with restrictions. Rules. “Oh, you can’t be friends with her because we aren’t friends. So, if you want to be friends with her, then you’re out of the group”. You’ve heard it, I’ve heard it. It’s typical high school drama. But have you ever thought, that maybe, just maybe, your words are doing damage as well? “Who? Her? Oh yeah, I heard she…” “She’s weird. She doesn’t belong in our group” “Her? Why would you want to be friends with her?” It’s not nice to be talked about, especially in this manner. Take it from someone who’s been bullied before. The things we say have an effect on people. There’s a song, ‘Girl in the Mirror’ by Bebe Rexha. I suggest you listen to it. Here are some lyrics:
I'm tired of my thoughts They weigh me down, feels like I'm drowning I'm tired of my flaws, they fill me with anxiety and I Honestly, I'm done with hating pictures of myself And tryna be like everybody else Because of the friend groups we form, the cliques, and the exclusion, people like me and so many others start to feel like that. They start to have these thoughts in their heads saying they’re not good enough. That their flaws make them imperfect. They start to hate the way that they look. No one should have to feel like that. So what if someone is different than you? So what if they’re weird? So what if they have a past? So what? If you’re reading this, I want you to go home and look in the mirror and ask yourself, “What kind of girl do I want to be? How do I want to define myself? Am I going to be the girl that sticks to her clique by excluding someone who is different? Or am I going to be the girl that makes a change? That says ‘to hell with it’ and hangs out with the girl they said was weird?” Who is it that you want to be? Because at the end of the day, nobody else should define you, other than you. |