Spring 2011 - The Heschel School

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Contrasts My life stinks: I failed my English test I’ll never have a boyfriend Why is my mom so annoying? My life stinks: I have no blankets and it’s starting to get cold I don’t know how I’ll feed my baby brother; he’s hungry I only collected a few cents today. I’m starving: They gave us meatloaf for lunch today Ew I hope I can order in tonight. I’m starving: I don’t know how many days it’s been. What will we do when winter comes? I need something good to happen soon. I love him: Why doesn’t he love me back? Why do I always call him? I guess there’s no hope for us. I love him: He’s never done anything wrong in his life and doesn’t deserve this. I wish there were a way I could help him But I’m afraid he’s getting weaker. I need help: I’m stuck inside this awful house, I’m never allowed to do anything I want, I can’t wait to go to college and finally have some freedom. I need help: We don’t have anywhere to go. Soon he’ll catch a cold, or worse. I need to think of something, fast. Zoe Goldberg Shipley Mason, watercolor & craypas Pages 20 – 21
Hands and Feet Her eyes traveled first to his feet, the instinct of a dancer; Duck walk, she nodded Feet slightly pointed out, forty-nine degree angle. Her mother used to tell her that a body should be poetry Graceful, sweeping, Percy Shelley transliterated into a language of limbs But just maybe, she thought that Poetry superimposed on the feet of the boy on the A train Would probably end up as duck-feet: A syncopated beat of bouncing sneakers. His eyes traveled first to her hands, the instinct of a painter. Her hands tapped a steady beat on Subway pole Like they were dancing a waltz, the “Blue Danube” The half notes that used to tumble out of his mother’s outdated Victrola. His mother used to play her records sometimes Sitting him down on a stool with an easel and canvas. Paint, she would say, the air filled with his jerky motions and quick, uneven breaths; Grace, she would say, pointing at the Victrola And again every painter needs grace. He had the urge to brush his fingers on the scruff of her mittens To watch them create poetry out of the negative space between subway walls Spinning grace out of the the emptiness of harsh daylight. Ariel Glueck, oil They got up at Grand Army Plaza The folds of their jackets brushing limb-to-limb. Painter and dancer, duck feet and a waltz But it was only the A train, Wednesday morning Air carrying the scent of cigarette butts, stale Halloween candy And words left unspoken in the harsh subway light. Emma Goldberg Pages 22 – 23
Page 2 and 3: 20 West End Avenue New York, New Yo
Page 4 and 5: Book Covers/Opening Pages Dedicatio
Page 6 and 7: Waiting We are all always waiting A
Page 8 and 9: So How Are You Holding Up? Did your
Page 10 and 11: Suggestions ^From Your Resident K l
Page 14 and 15: Childhood “ I want to be like Pet
Page 16 and 17: An Apology This puzzle is all one c
Page 18 and 19: Bob: Two plates of two eggs sunny-s
Page 20 and 21: Jack (unbelieving): Well, I don’t
Page 22 and 23: The Internet Is But a Vacuum The In
Page 24 and 25: 6-wo rd stories Hidden passageways
Page 26 and 27: strength to stand up to the guns po
Page 28 and 29: Empty Bottles He gins and whiskeys
Page 30 and 31: My Brother Died a Martyr Four years
Page 32 and 33: The buried comes up Beat Beat Beati
Page 34 and 35: Exile No More Exile is safer than r
Page 36 and 37: Snow Day Quandariness Sheets of fro
Page 38 and 39: Colors of Family He was purple with
Page 40 and 41: Falling violently Frequently, and c
Page 42 and 43: Harris Mizrahi, photograph The Frag
Page 44 and 45: The L o v E l e s s “What does th
Page 46 and 47: The last thing she would ever remem
Page 48 and 49: Unearthing Weeds It was one of thos
Page 50 and 51: “I’ll take a strawberry cone. C
Page 52 and 53: Growing Pains Barbie is just as bea
Page 54 and 55: Essay Number One Passion is a thing
Page 56 and 57: “Five years in this miserable gre
Page 58 and 59: I wasn’t always so scared. But I
Page 60 and 61: would have made me scared. I didn
Page 63:
Who are we? e-pit’-o-me is our op
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Spring 2011 - The Heschel School

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