Piano man  

The piano man sings,  

He plays the same old tune,  

Everyone joins along,  

He may love that same old stool,  

Surrounded by people who love his song,  

But at the end of the day, 

there is someplace they would all rather be,  

The piano man is singing his old melody alone,  

Surrounded by many; trapped feeling lonely 

As long as everyone’s feelin’ alright   

The memory he plays  

Night after night.  

–Jemma Rubalcava, ’27

A Lonely Path

Once, a lonely path I tread

The ground below me brown, and red

Akin to blood, that’s mixed with mud

Upon an earthen bed

About the path were shrubs and trees

Filled with creatures, birds, and bees

Their song did sound, about and ’round

The green and growing leaves

The sky above was bright and blue

As streaks of clouds across it flew

A gentle breeze, from distant seas

Upon me gently blew

Now as I walked I did behold

A bowing tree so brown and old

On it mounted, around it sprouted

Blossoms pink and gold

Beneath it sat a lady fair

Lithely built with flowing hair

And as I came, she called my name

Which played within the air

Together down within the shade

Beside each other long we laid

A path that was, once lonely has

Worth walking now been made

-Elliott Zrudsky, ’26

The Sculpting of My Soul

I am from my path, which formed and sculpted me into what I am today.

The experience of awareness and identification.

But in my path, I have found myself, 16 years as of now.

My memory holds my significant symbols that shall be shared.

The little apartment on Jay Street is where my conscience gained.

Where I played with my dolls and the kids on the playground till the sun was into a

daze, one day gone stripped from my gaze.

My Grandma’s house was where I stayed the majority of my days, as that was our last

option, not disappointed.

 I just couldn’t escape my thoughts of the days.

The LED lights that glowed blue and red while fueling my emotions.

I held so many in the impactful environment that I could not escape.

As I was just a tween with little freedom and a lot of emotions.

Therapy was what saved me from my own.

Teaching me about myself and how I can handle the emotions I hold.

My mom always did the best she could, which I appreciated.

My grandma was like my second mother, while my dad was my father on the

weekends.

My dad pretended to be a father only when it benefited or just when he had to be.

There was always a girl and little apartment, with me tagging along.

I was left alone; an independent person, so my thinking overcame me.

I became a self-aware person as time went on.

Observing everything and constantly thinking of all that surrounds me:

Relationships, reflection, environment, emotions.

We moved out of my grandma’s house, which cleared my mind significantly.

I have my own space, which is my safe place.

Being able to identify these emotions while knowing what I can do about them has

helped me greatly.

I flow through my emotions and life with conscience and confidence like the wind.

My mind holds so many memories that I could make a book of them.

My life has happened to me and will continue to,

The sculpting of my soul.

-Sage Gradford, ’27

Positions

I think a lot about

Will I ever truly be comfortable?

I tell myself I’m uncomfortable because 

Of the position

Of the place I’m in

Of the textures

But at the end of the day 

I get back home 

I’m just as uncomfortable as then

I can’t sleep on beds anymore 

For some ungodly reason

So I sleep on couches

And I liked the leather texture

It was cold, and dark

But they’re always interfering 

And so they bought me a couch for my room

And it’s really nice

But it’s really not

I wanna be in that cold open space

But even there I question my position

I’m uncomfortable and aching 

There’s no fix to that

I always say that

When I get home I’ll rest

But my body feels no different 

Than laying on concrete 

Why am I in chronic pain? 

They say it’s restless legs

So they put me on sedatives

Nerve relaxers

And I don’t know if they’re doing anything

Other than the fact I can’t wake up

But just because I’m asleep doesn’t mean it’s comforting 

There’s been times I can name 

Where I did sleep comfortably 

But it’s not easily implemented 

Like a couch

The first time was my dad’s side of the bed

My parents have one of those split mattresses 

My mom’s side is too soft 

My dad’s side is firm enough

And there was always this one blanket

That was slightly itchy and mostly air

But with the combination of the firmness 

And the dark, cold room

It was perfection

I like the cold

But if I keep my windows open

I’ll only regret it in the morning

Just like the second time I felt comfortable 

Falling asleep in the arms

Of someone who I’m not supposed to talk to anymore 

Because most my friends hate you now

But that was the most peaceful I slept in years 

Despite being scared you’d judge my breath on your arm

Such conditions aren’t easily achieved 

I think 

Why do I have to be so down to detail 

For even the slightest bit of comfort?

I don’t share beds with people anymore

I don’t like the proximity 

Because it feels warm

One time a boy asked me,

“You know you’re allowed to share beds with friends right?”

And I just knew, 

Knew he wouldn’t get it

Because I’m not someone who’s doing it for inconvenience 

I just need space 

But that’s not a problem we share

Not a problem a lot of my friends share, actually

Because I could ask you a million times

And you’d always “forget”

That I didn’t like being grabbed from behind 

Or jumped out at

I’ll forgive you every time though

Because you’re human

Just like I forgive this body

Because it’s human too

I understand heavily

How hospice patients must feel

Lying in pain 

Because I feel it every night 

And I can forgive that now too

For wanting to just not be in pain anymore 

Because I want that

I want to not ache when I rest

If you were to ask me how it felt

It’s like there’s an ecosystem under my skin

Where the bugs want to weasel their way out

Because they’re suffocated 

And the white noise of air is too loud 

And my jaw is locked in place 

And my eyes burn from tiredness

And my only thought is

Will it always be like this?

-Madison Schaeffer, ’27

Untitled

I am a mosaic of everyone I have ever loved 

But you’re the centerpiece

We share the same eyes, freckles, and last name

For everything that is yours 

Was once mine 

Bruises paint pictures on my knees 

From tripping during summer nights 

Trying to chase lightning bugs 

But they will eventually fade 

Like my memories with you 

Melted popsicle trickles down my sun-kissed arms 

The same way sweat does my neck 

I watch you grow with the grass 

Without realizing, 

So am I 

Our walls will change colors

Our hair will change lengths 

Our jokes will change punchlines 

But our love will stay the same

As another summer ends

I will try to remember all the ones passed 

Where it was just you and I 

And imagine the ones to come 

Where I will speed on the interstate 

Kiss my kids goodnight 

And drink a cup of coffee on the front porch 

All while mentioning you 

Because it is impossible 

To know me, and not know you

-Margaret Trilk, ’27