Spring 2011 - The Heschel School
Spring 2011 - The Heschel School
Spring 2011 - The Heschel School
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<strong>The</strong> buried comes up<br />
Beat<br />
Beat<br />
Beating out the speakers<br />
Pulsating through me<br />
Reverberating in even the most hidden caverns.<br />
<strong>The</strong> notes reach higher,<br />
Sensually oscillating,<br />
Climbing,<br />
Climbing.<br />
Swaying hips and insinuating eyes<br />
Speak over and with the notes.<br />
Manipulative songs set the mood.<br />
<strong>The</strong> mood chooses which song,<br />
Skipping past that song<br />
That reminds you of that shared time.<br />
But your head starts spinning<br />
Faster than the new song<br />
That is unable to drown out the memories.<br />
Faster,<br />
Faster<br />
Keep skipping songs<br />
As you frantically search<br />
For something,<br />
Someone,<br />
Anything –<br />
To mute the thoughts<br />
Turn it louder, louder so you can’t hear them.<br />
Charlotte Marx-Arpadi<br />
Drowning<br />
A bounty of life dwells and explores<br />
Eats and sleeps down there, out there<br />
<strong>The</strong> depths of which undiscovered<br />
And the appearance: so pure, so clear, so serene.<br />
Surprise was no fun<br />
I hadn’t met a surprise such as this<br />
Birthday surprises, anniversary surprises, surprise parties<br />
<strong>The</strong> good kind –<br />
<strong>The</strong> only kind.<br />
Like every other day that summer in Fire Island, the beach was calling<br />
We were off – tote bags stuffed, lotion and Frisbee in hand<br />
Mommy, Daddy, and Brother behind as I led the short stroll<br />
to the beach,<br />
On my way to a surprise<br />
A new kind<br />
<strong>The</strong> bad kind.<br />
Opposite page: Harris Mizrahi, photograph<br />
Pages 60 – 61
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