The Current - The Rivers School

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I lock my eyes with my grandmother, her own yellowed with disease. And there I am, my feet tucked under as I lie trapped in the screeching train taking me to the foreign land of her death. My tears are fists thumping on the windows as all normality streaks away behind the glass. I can visit grieving relations, I know how to be a tourist. Hear the call, make my travel plan and take the next flight over. Gawk at the strange inhabitants, try to speak the language of the eternally marred which seems Stephanie Lie // Simplicity sit in the seat cushioned by relief. impossible to understand. I take the flight back to my life, I can go home, I’m not bound to that charred landscape. But what if With guilty, contraband wondering I ask, how would I inhabit that alien land I could always wonder, but now there’s no time. The train doors have shut, the swarming nurses keep filling and filling the suffocated house. The relentless iron wheels turn beneath my feet in their flip-flops and my grandmother asks for a milkshake. Just let her have what she wants, said with a knowing look. And with a final crash, the noise stops. The kitchen phone rings, my mother’s screaming sobs are the train doors that open. The minister 17 Alexandra Gaither // Autumn Puddle at the funeral hands me a sermon as I stand smothered in confusion. Welcome, you have now reached your destination. Here is your passport. Now I’m a citizen.
I can’t stand the time change, wandering through the rooms of my new home. It’s my house, but I’m still a stranger. Sometimes I can’t remember I’m not at home in my old life. Every day I wake up and, with my eyes still bleary, I look around. I remember my new citizenship. Austin Drucker // Broken Fence I can shut myself away. I close the blinds of my thoughts, try to forget the painfully looming landscape behind the gauzy curtain. I convince myself I’m back home when loneliness bites, but this practice falls away just as I forget the language of what used to be normal. Sometimes I explore my grief. People reveal themselves in the streets of my new world to offer condolences, to say hello. I’ve gone my whole life never knowing this person’s true residency, thinking he lived just down the street. He lives secretly and far away. He had to pound his fists on the screeching train. A sigh escapes my lips, warmth fills my heart. I’m not alone in this far-off land. The gleam of a watch still lingering with the smell of death, an anonymous old woman in a squeaking wheelchair on cruel white hospital floor, Lizzy Southwell // Rolling, looming Hills // Second PLace and suddenly I look up and there it is. The sky of my new world, painted in dull gray and sharp black, arches over me. My eyes wander. I’ve learned the language, I live off of the food, but sometimes I still don’t understand the place. What I carry as a citizen of loss can’t be forgotten, surrounds everything. 18
Page 1 and 2: Ceramics Sculpture Drawing prose Po
Page 3 and 4: 03 - Jenna Dicicco // reality is dr
Page 5 and 6: Stephanie Lie // Jordan Pond, Acadi
Page 7 and 8: Kate Bullion // Smoke and Smiles Th
Page 9 and 10: Anna Teng // Suspended // 1st place
Page 11 and 12: Osa Okoh // Snowy Woods Annie Reard
Page 13 and 14: I walk through the heavy metal door
Page 15 and 16: Cara Vanin // Casey // Honorable Me
Page 17: Griffin Kay // Snow She sits down c
Page 21 and 22: In this world, people have learned
Page 23 and 24: Casey Sunderland // Falling Water /
Page 25 and 26: The faint cries of seagulls intertw
Page 27 and 28: Griffin Kay // Light at the End Car
Page 29 and 30: Past midnight, we, The Four Muskete
Page 31 and 32: The teacher said, Go home and write
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Page 39 and 40: Eric Newman // Final Resting Place

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