Blue Review 2012

1. Scan the code2. Listen to a track

3. Enjoy!m e r c e r s b u rg . e d u / b r- d i g i t a l w o r k s

Co-Editors-In-Chief:

Katherine ClarkeLane deCordova

Managing Editor:

Harrison Helm

Blue Review2012

Layout Designer: Peter Benjathatchaporn

Art Editors:

Rosie HoughAidan Wallace Joyce YeoCaroline Yoo

Mercersburg AcademyMercersburg, PA

Literature Editors:

Caitlin CreminsAric DiLallaMichelle Skuba Gray Rebekah SamuelsNicolas Voegele

Faculty Advisors: Kristy Higby and Jim Applebaum

Contents5 Wormhole

Peter Benjathatchaporn

TonightMaddy FisherEscalatorOliver ZoellerBeautiful DecaySally KimThere Were Warning SignsEla ThompsonAbundanceKatherine Clarke

ParadisoLogan Trask

Plain and SimpleSally Kim

Desert SongCole Rataezyk

Tobacco PrecedentsMax BrownawellReady for the DayOliver ZoellerWavesMaddy FisherFatherSally Kim

6 LilliesMorgan Hopkins

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17 Planes Max Brownawell

AirplaneMinhee LeeBoundaryPeter Benjathatchaporn Sweeping SeaCole RataezykCall Me AliceRebekah Samuels Sweet SpotJuny Kim

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At the TreeGrace Piotrowski

Nature’s NecessitiesShelley LaMotte

BeforeLogan Trask

FearlessSally KimEnthronementSally KimIntrospective Fiction Katherine ClarkeAlwaysLogan Trask

Fever DreamMaddy Fisher

End of the World SeriesLaura Rahauser

End of the WorldGavin SongReminderAidan Wallace ShroudedAidan Wallace Dante’s Soliloquy Katherine ClarkeAdam & Eve Max Brownawell

SimplicityJuny Kim

aveCole Rataezyk

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TeapotOtto BunjapamaiUnderneath a Woman’s SkirtPeter BenjathatchapornLe Petit PrinceCole RataezykLifesaverGavin Song

Capitol P Lane deCordova

Eye See Leaf Abi Harper

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A Crack In My MaskMaddy FisherLe Vieux VéloAndrew KimUPS Sally KimReplacementAidan WallaceKairoticAidan WallaceThe BoysSally Kim

Smoke Morgan Hopkins

Trust MeSally Kim

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Youth and RiskKatherine Clarke

Autumn SnowGavin SongLookAidan WallaceMigraineAbi HarperCross PurposesPeter Benjathatchaporn

LonerGavin Song

LionKatrina Cook

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Bucket List Juny Kim

Ras TanuraCole Rataezyk

RaccoonMax Brownawell

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Title: WormholeArtist: Peter Benjathatchaporn

Medium: PhotographyDimensions: 4”x4”

*Haiku by Chris Fritz.

She is beautifulAlice leads me down the hole

where will she take me?

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She tosses and turnsIn a desperate attempt

To lose herselfBetween her bed sheets

An embraceLeading her toward

Sweet sleep

The only escape she’s ever knownIs in this time of solace

After a long dayAnd before another

Where dreams can become a realityAnd there are no obligations

No schedulesNo guidelines

Just bliss

It is the only time to imagineTo feel

The sun on her faceThe breeze through her hair

The smell of lavenderThe gentle murmur of the ocean

Sleep is her escapeHer remedy

It gives her promiseThat the future will be okay

Don’t worry now,Just sleep

Sweet sleepAnd enjoy the dreams

Of a beautiful life

Tonight

Title: EscalatorArtist: Oliver Zoeller Medium: PhotographyDimensions: 4”x6”

by Maddy Fisher

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Title: Beautiful DecayArtist: Sally Kim

Medium: Etching/PrintmakingDimensions: 16”x12”

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I promised Johnny,A long time ago, we would wed.I promised him a white dress,I promised him cherry lips of red, I promised him bouquets of bluebells and buttercups,I promised him more than summer love, one without fuck-ups.I promised him a fusing of our bodies,My young mind didn’t understand, I promised him new lives of baby dolls,I said that we’d never find our lives trapped in the time-glass of sand.Instead,Some years later,When both our bodies and minds had grown-Johnny and I went to bed,Closed our eyes,Nothing said. I promised him my whole self,My figure and my wit,But what ensued, certainly wasn’t “it”I promised him a moonbeam, I promised him the backbone of a whale,I promised him a river,I promised a well-worn trailI promised him a baby,Beautiful and smart,She smiles from the sewers,

Her heart, never to startSometimes I sing to her from the shower,Though she’s swimming in the muck-She’s deaf you know, never grew any ears.I promised Johnny we’d try again,Said we’d have better “luck”I didn’t mean it though.I promised him so many things,But I hold his hand in bed.We sleep with all our clothes on,We live as if we were dead.Promises. Iive broken so many,Iive forgotten how to count. I promised that I’d love you,Well, how did that turn out?

There Were Warning SIGNSby Ela Thompson

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Title: AbundanceArtist: Katherine ClarkeMedium: Mixed MediaDimensions: 11”x14”

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Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/IcBjY3

My darling you’re so very paleThese years of winter have been so unkindSix feet under lies PersephoneAnd you the withered bloom she left behind

They wrapped us in these paper chainsImprinted with the words of miseryBut even the deepest sadness fadesIt’s never too late to break free

We may leave a trail of bloodBut we are guided by a beam of lightAnd though the world may be ending todayTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all right

We are lost in this mazeLed by these twisted strands of right and wrongAlone each of us must faceThe demons waiting behind every turnWe may leave a trail of bloodBut we are guided by a beam of lightAnd though the world may be ending today

Tomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all right

We live in love, we live in fearWe can not tell a blessing from a curseBut in the quiet we can hearThe laughter of the universeThe universe

We may leave a trail of bloodBut we are guided by a beam of lightAnd though the world may be ending todayTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all rightTomorrow it will be all right

Paradisoby Logan Trask

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Title: Plain SimpleArtist: Sally KimMedium: PrintmakingDimensions: 30”x10”

When you awake in the depths of the ocean,

Tread on the tide that will roll unto shore.

When desert floods by the footsteps around you,

Look to the stars and they’ll follow you home.

Desert SongBy: Cole Rataezyk

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/Ilkexv

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Title: Tobacco Precedents Artist: Max Brownawell Medium: Tobacco Based PaintDimensions: 18”x24”

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If only my mind wereLike the ocean

Thoughts crashing To shore with violent

Speed and power, thenGently washing away

Leaving a trace ofThe idea, but

Not permanently takingHold of the sand.

Waves~

Title: Ready for the DayArtist: Oliver Zoeller Medium: PhotographyDimensions: 4”x4”Awards (if any): 4th place at SG Fotowettbewrb, Germany

by Maddy Fisher

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Title: FatherArtist: Sally KimMedium: CharcoalDimensions: 30’’x28’’6 Lillies

Six years ago I owned a two bedroom apartment with my wife, Lily. The spare room was filled with boxes we had never finished unpacking. I bought the place when Lily got sick. She knew

Number 1

by Morgan Hopkins

she was dying, and so did I, but we pretended we didn’t. When I saw the look on her face as we walked through the doors to the wide apartment, I immediately signed the paperwork. I’d worked as an attorney for almost nine years and had saved up every dollar I’d made. We had plans to fill our house with children and art; Lily loved to paint. She’d always talked about having many windows, so when I found the apartment with the room with one wall-sized window, I signed the papers with no hesitation. Lily knew what she wanted, but was never in a rush to get it. She al-ways talked about having children; she’d wanted two girls and a boy. We’d talked about names be-fore. Lily was set on Joanna, Marilyn and Monroe. Marilyn would be Mary for short, after her mother, but she thought it’d be clever to make it Marilyn. I thought it was a bit clichéd but I gleamed at her happiness when she giggled at the idea. When Lily got sick, I transferred the money onto a card and spent all of it. Lily had been di-agnosed with leukemia, a poison that took her away from me too quickly. There is no way to describe the feeling of true loss. Imagine the person you love the most. Now imagine yourself standing next to them. Now imagine each feature of their face slowly erasing from your view. Imagine not being able to speak to that person or write them a letter or feel their touch every once in a while. Imagine their empty shoes and the stained coffee mug they drank from every morning. The memory fades too quickly for you to fight for. If you think too much, you’re insane. If you think too little, you’re a coward.

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Number 2 Lily had a wild imagination. That’s how she used to justify actions that got her into trouble. It wasn’t an excuse, because it was true. Lily thought like no one else did, but that overwhelmed her, and she gave into the person inside of her who wanted her to hurt. I used to tell Lily that if she died I would follow soon after. She used to say that the pain felt good, but she didn’t truly understand how much it hurt me as well. Lily had gotten through this period in her life. I’m not sure what it was but she’d figured something out and what-ever that was, had helped. So I left it alone. When she was first admitted into the hospital, she made me promise that no matter what happened, I would continue to make my life as much as it could be and to live as long as I could, for her. And in return she promised she would wait for me and would stay with me as long as I wanted her there. I knew she didn’t mean it literally, but it comforted me nonetheless. I used to imagine her watching me all the time; I would sometimes look up and smile, thinking she was really there. I would write her letters and put them with the books that I hid in the corner of the bottom shelf near the fiction sec-tion in the public li-brary, the only place I knew they’d be safe. For the past couple of years though, I’ve thought less and less about her watching. She would probably be disappointed in what she saw. I know she would be, but it’s been harder than I could have ever imag-ined, and I imagined it being really fuck-

ing hard. It was worse. Lily always criticized herself for being selfish. Lily always criticized herself, which bothered me a lot. She always used to question how I could love her, why she was special. It would make me sad that she couldn’t see it, but I gave her my answer every time she asked. She wasn’t selfish, she was wonderful to me. Lily’s favorite planet was Pluto, because she felt sorry that it didn’t get much atten-tion. She didn’t have a favorite color because there were too many, and it wasn’t fair to put one above the rest. I remember that when I came home each day, there’d be a new arrangement of flowers sitting on the table in the kitchen. She always

Title: PlanesArtist: Max Brownawell

Medium: AcrylicDimensions: 18”x24”

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Lily was six months pregnant. I had painted the small corner room next to our bedroom the light-est shade of purple. The crib stood in the center, cream colored and next to that was a matching rocking chair which Lily sat in each night and read stories aloud to the child inside of her. The closet was filled with gifts and clothes for Nina. We had read books on diapers, baby food and walking. We knew how to brush gums and soothe the tears. Lily had begun teaching herself how to knit because she wanted to “dress her daughter in love.” We’d imagined Nina as the child in Lily’s baby pictures: long hair, light freckles scattered around her cheeks and small green eyes. We were prepared for Nina; we were happily desperate for her. It was December 22nd, 1995. Lily and I were decorating the small tree we’d bought from the trailer a few blocks away. We were happy. There were quiet Christmas carols playing on the radio in our living room, and the batter of cookies we’d just made were baking in the oven. I watched Lily carefully dangle the spheres of red and green on the branches; I turned to grab the next box and heard a light smash. I turned and looked first to Lily, whose eyes blankly stared at the ground. I didn’t even think to look down... “Baby, don’t worry, it’s

Number 3

I hated hospitals. They were cold, pale and too clean. Lily made the hospital a new place though. She knew she would be there for a while so she improvised. She would let me borrow little pieces of her imagination so that the atmosphere of the hospital could transform into something better. A lot of the time we’d talk about the cir-cus and point out freakish features in the nurses or doctors that we didn’t like. She refused to wear the paper gowns

Number 4

just a piece of glass!” I smiled and held up the next box of decorations. She didn’t move. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She was frozen; I looked down to her feet. There sat the glass globe, the glimmering pieces camouflaged with the surrounding blood on the wooden floor. I began to panic and sweat and cry. I ran to the sink with intentions of find-ing a towel but missed the counter and threw my head into the sink. The whirl of emotions and feelings threw my stomach into a hurricane; I ran the water, grabbed a towel and rushed back to Lily. She was paralyzed, she hadn’t moved an inch. I slowly moved towards her. I reached out for her hands as if when I embraced her I would crush her instantly. She looked so fragile. I led her to the couch, wrapped her in a blanket and knelt on the floor to clean

up the blood. The whole process of cleaning, the whole experience of physical and mental emotions just hap-pened like a step-by-step system. My movements felt tense and robotic and my mind was fighting against any thoughts other than the physical task in front of me. I put her in the shower, I brushed her hair, and I put her clothes into the washer and dressed her in layers of cotton. She was shivering in the steaming shower, she shivered through the clothes I put on her. I lifted her into the back of the car and drove to the hospital. We were given no specific reason as to why this had happened. Our doctor said we had done everything right; he said that sometimes these things “just happened.” That was one of three of the hardest things I’d ever have to accept.

they had given her when she was in the hospital. Instead she wore her favorite T-shirt of mine: it was dark blue, and showed the universe. It had always seemed to cover her from neck to knee, falling around her loose and easy. But every day I visited, Lily seemed to disappear further and further into the universe. It barely hung to her shoulders anymore. By this time, Lily had given up her hair, and her face and lips had lost all moisture. But those eyes blew me away, just like they always had. She was beautiful.

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The feeling of walking into that white and uncomfortably bare room made me feel sick. For a moment I thought I had walked into the wrong room: the bed was empty and neatly made with my Lily miss-ing. I knew she hadn’t got up and left on her own... She hadn’t walked in months... No, I refused the idea right out of my head immediately and decided that they’d moved her into a room with a better view. I left the room behind me and paced down the hallway, I saw her doctor near the end and when I had gotten about five steps closer, he noticed me too. I watched his reaction as he looked up at me, and I knew. I ran as fast as I could down the stairs and out the automatic doors, thinking that I could run away from what just happened, and when I stopped to catch my breath, everything would be back to normal. But it wasn’t that the bed was Lily’s. They had just cleaned her up so easily. I felt an-gry, but mostly numb. The thought of some chubby pale nurse with thin hair and sagging eyes lifting my Lily off of the cardboard she slept on and tossing her in a room with dead strangers made me throw up on the sidewalk and on my shoes. I should have let her come home. This was another of the three hard-est things I’d ever have to accept.

Number 5

I remember the night Lily and I lay in bed, it was raining. The thun-der crashed into the thin walls of our bedroom and Lily was afraid. We lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, fingers entwined, legs wound together. She slept in a blue hooded sweater that covered her bare skull. We had bought three heat pads that we plugged in and lay under the sheets. Her weight was slipping off her body; she was always cold and always sick, but always smiling, even though I could tell it hurt. She bruised easier than a newborn. She had to stop the habit of cracking her knuckles because they began to bruise and swell. The cancer was slowly drifting around her body, taking her over bit by bit. I held her close, but gently, and we listened to the rain.

.....

Number 6

Title: AirplaneArtist: MinHee Lee Medium: Mixed MediaDimensions: 8”x11”

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I guess it’s like the waves,this feeling that will change.Its swells that held me in her arms,within the shroud of night.

I guess it’s like the winds,this feeling that she’s in.It grows and flows,but I don’t know where it’s blowin’ in.

I guess it’s like the sands,this feeling as they stand.They brush and touch so softly,‘round my slowly agin’ skin.

Sweeping Sea.By: Cole Rataezyk

Title: BoundaryArtist: Peter BenjathatchapornMedium: PhotographyDimensions: 4”x6”

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/JdzSp5

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Type:PhotographyArtist: Oliver Zoeller

“Auge“

Falling a long way down –losing track of the time; moments, minutes, hours, years that

pass me by– skirt billowing around me, and my feet kicking the lonely air, somersaulting, spinning, traveling 9.81 m/s as I float down

into the abyss. I grab nature’s work, and try to slow myself down. The pains of the unforgiv-ing and demanding world; the pains that do not seem to let me take a breath; the pains

that do not seem to exonerate a girl from the duties of living, not daring to give me that

prized and rare extension; and when my mo-rale plummets, so low that it calls for a lil’ nap under the God-given tree, me, an unsuspect-

ing specimen of this cruel world, takes that break with an allowance of my mind-soon, I, Alice, find myself falling again. I, again, have that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach,

that feeling of unknowingness. What will lie beneath my feet? When I finally land, not so gracefully. My fingers slide against the cold, dank, dirt wall. I thought I was just taking a nap; a break from the world around me; an

intermission from the PG-13 action movie that continues to play, a pause button not in sight.

My mind spinning as I do, also, diminishing into the darkness that lay beneath my kicking

toes. I look up to see the blue sky and only wonder what lies beneath the heavenly empy-

rean and me. If I knew that this would hap-pen, I would have never allowed myself to be

led by bad influence, that dumb rabbit.

Call me Alice. by Rebekah Samuels

Title: Sweet SpotArtist: Juny Kim


Title: BlastArtist: Aidan WallaceMedium: PhotographyDimensions: 6”x4”

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Word gets aroundQuicker than expectedSomething happens and before it’s over,Everyone knows.

The wind is always around,Anticipating the latest news,It has nothing better than to just wait and listen.It takes what it gets and rushes to tell the leaves.

They whisper among themselves,Not aware of the squirrels concealed inside the tree, Eavesdropping.Quiet enough to get the gossip,And leave before being noticed.

The squirrels can’t help but giggle,A little too loudly for the flowers to ignore.

The flowers,Satisfied with the grasses’ full attention,Retell the story with a few extra details added to make it more interesting.

And as the birds pluck their food, They can’t help but listen in on the gossip.Unable to keep quiet,The birds proclaim the news.

As everyone sighs,That was so yesterday.Haven’t you heard?

Title: Nature’s NecessitiesArtist: Shelley LaMotte

Medium: PenDimensions: 27”x22”

by Grace Piotrowski

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Before.I am a treeAll green leavesHow could I know what winter would bring

The autumn cameI started fallingHow could I help but try to cling

I’m not flying I was pushed from the nestThis is a testThat I was not prepared forI’m not flying I haven’t got my wingsIs it too late for everythingTo be as it was before

I am a roseBred to perfectionI will never be as sweet again

When I bloomAll of the beesWill come and spread me thin

I’m not flying I was pushed from the nestThis is a testThat I was not prepared forI’m not flying I haven’t got my wingsIs it too late for everythingTo be as it was before

I am a treeAll green leavesThere’s still a lot of time to grow

I am a girlWith child’s eyesThere’s still a lot I don’t want to knowThere’s still a lot I don’t want to knowThere’s still a lot I don’t want to know

I’m not flying I was pushed from the nestThis is a testThat I was not prepared forI’m not flying I haven’t got my wingsIs it too late for everythingTo be as it was I’m not flying I was pushed from the nestThis is a testThat I was not prepared forI’m not flying I haven’t got my wingsIs it too late for everythingTo be as it was before

by Logan Trask

Title: FearlessArtist: Sally KimMedium: Paper Cut (Print Making)Dimensions: 33” x 20”

Title: EnthronementArtist: Sally Kim

Medium: Mixed Media Dimensions: 60” x 60”

Awards: MAPL Art Best in Show

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FeverFeels like a perfect dream Haven’t woken up yetHoping I never will

Feels like I’ve been gasping for airI can finally take a breathRelieved and re-freshed, now I can live

Feels like electricityPowering me through every mundane motionGiving me the strength to go on

Love is fallingNot knowing that he’ll catch meBut trusting that he will

Dreamby Maddy Fisher

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ALWAYS

Title: Truth deFactoArtist: Katherine ClarkeMedium: CollageDimensions: 12” x 8.25”Awards: MAPL Art Merit Award 3D

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ALWAYSYour laughter is like musicGonna kill me, gonna save meIt’s always singing to me, can’t forget itDrives me crazy

And I always say that it’s just this one thing, I knowI’m always blaming something, but I come up with nothingFor a reason why I can’t let go

And I always make the same mistakesEvery night walking on my graveJust to have you haunt me againI’m always tempting fateOn the edge of heartbreakBittersweet enough to pretendThat when I’m thinking of youYou’re thinking of me tooBecause I’m always a little bit in love with you

Your smile is a prisonAnd it’s my heart you’re keepingAnd just when I can’t see it, it’s in my head When I’m sleeping

They say that dreams don’t lie, even when you want them toI know I should move on, but whenever I tryI just don’t know what to do

And I always make the same mistakesEvery night walking on my grave

by Logan Trask

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/IUz8YB

Just to have you haunt me againI’m always tempting fateOn the edge of heartbreakBittersweet enough to pretendThat when I’m thinking of youYou’re thinking of me tooBecause I’m always a little bit in love with you

And I love you for everything about youAnd everything about you makes me love youAnd I don’t know who I’d love without youWould I even know how toI don’t know how to

Because I always make the same mistakesEvery night walking on my graveJust to have you haunt me againI’m always tempting fateOn the edge of heartbreakBittersweet enough to pretendThat when I’m thinking of youYou’re thinking of me tooBecause I’m always a little bit in love with you

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I know a bird‘way across the seayes, I know that bird.

I know a birdoh, she can singbut she don’t hear her song like me.

avean’ if ever get ‘a hear her singI don’t want a’ be it ‘bout the birds and the bees!

I know a birdI’d like to meetyes, I’d love to meet her.

I know a birdwith most beautiful wingsbut she don’t see her wings like me.

an’ if I ever get ‘a see her wingsI don’t want a’ be it ‘bout the birds and the bees!I just wanna see her smilin’ back at me!

By: Cole Rataezyk

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/IuxY7b

Title: SimplicityArtist: Juny KimMedium: PhotographyDimensions: 4”x6”

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END OF THE WORLD

Title: tigre desesperado Title: elefante sonriente

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By: Gavin Song

Title: sello anhelanteArtist: Laura RahauserMedium: Mixed MediaDimensions: 12”x9”

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/IsZhMU

END OF THE WORLD

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Title: ReminderArtist: Aidan Wallace

Medium: Ink Drawing, Painting, and CollageDimensions: 24”x18”

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Title: Shrouded Artist: Aidan Wallace

Medium: PaintingDimensions: 12”x9”

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I want for a little bit of destruction, to fracture my composition and shake my soul; the pain it would cause would be useful to repent, to make up for the wrong that I am. So cold I feel, and weighted, a slow burn that does not for warmth decay in my chest, a smoldering consump-tive, saccharine lacking its sweetness. It is empty here, so lavishly empty, meaninglessness riddled with hollow paper cutouts, empty in themselves. Am I alone in my observations?

Come, that which has bruised my spirits, forth with bravery and break me! Do not, in cow-ardice, make this emptiness more empty, these charades more hollow, this saccharine more sour on my tongue. Finish what you started and destroy me; don’t leave me pitiful, halfway broken, heavy and cold and dying—if I am to die, then let me be dead. But, if I am to live, then give me something to live for, something to live through, some destruction to survive.

Even just a little bit.

DANTE’S SOLILOQUY

Title: Adam & EveArtist: Max Brownawell

Medium: Acrylic Dimensions: 4’x4’

Awards: 2nd PlaceWilson’s College Art Competition

By Katherine Clarke

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I knew she would think I was romantic if I bought her a bouquet of broccoli instead of roses. She was the kind of girl who thought anything from red roses to pink hearts was too cliché to be romantic. She told me once that she searched for the poetry in school buses. I thought this would be the perfect gift on Valentine’s Day; perfectly poetic, perfectly original, perfectly simple. It was just how she liked it. Helene was always hard to impress. Every piece of jewelry was a failure, either too pretty or too gaudy. Noth-ing held the poetry she desired. And, don’t ask if I thought of actually writing her poems. Every time I attempted to endure the brutal months it took to find the perfect rhymes and diverse vocabulary, I failed. Apparently my images were too abstract, and I only wrote “capital P poems.” I never even thought twice about trying to understand what that meant; but ever since she completely denied me on Valentine’s Day, sent me a text that she was busy, and two hours later I find out she went to a party, got wasted, and hooked up with some random skater boy, I decided maybe I should try to understand the lack of poetry in my life. First of all, Helene and I were exactly the average couple from beginning to end. I know this because it’s statistically proven that more girls cheat on guys than guys do on girls. And, I’m also pretty certain that most stereotypical high school relationships consist of an artsy girl and a football player. What is actually interesting though is that no matter how

suave and appealing I tried to be, she always had something on me. I really didn’t understand; Helene was a smart girl, but she was not a know-it-all. Even though I did everything to keep our conversations going, she managed to have the last word. And, nine times out of ten, the last word was something I couldn’t conceptualize, or something that made me reply, “What do you mean?” to which she respond-ed, “It’s over your head.” Now this might seem like I had an overly controlling, sneaky, intelligent girlfriend. But I thought she was exactly the person I needed. Every time we were to-gether things honestly just felt a million times better. Just knowing she was watching me from the back row of the stands, or waiting for me in the student parking lot after school, made me feel awesome. Oh, and she hated the word awesome. She always told me how awesome was just my excuse for not having a wide enough vocabulary to say what I actually feel. Which, by the way, I don’t even think it’s possible to use words to say exactly how you feel, because frankly, there aren’t enough words. Looking at all the random thumb tacks pierced on my corkboard, I felt colorless. I had taken down every photo, every doodle, every cursive signature that Helene and I had. My bedroom walls became bare of her paintings and now were covered by cheap NFL posters. I honestly didn’t know what else to do. I figured there was no other way to forget the situation besides stripping my life of things that reminded me of her. Luckily, attending school at Oak Hills High, the largest high school in our district, it was easier for me to avoid her. She was never in my group of friends to start with. We met during the last week of summer at a lake about an hour outside the city. I remember seeing her dive down into the water and come back up with a pile of sea weed. Her long black hair just met the middle of her back, and the fact that she took out the seaweed herself to make room to swim

“CAPITAL P”By: Lane deCordova

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amazed me. I continued to watch her submerge un-der the water again and again, each time bringing up another load of green stalks. I knew most girls would have been disgusted with sea weed, but something about her besides the string-bikini attracted me. As she began to paddle back to shore, I took my shirt off, kicked off my sandals, and dove in. “Can I help you with that?” I asked, careful not to swim too close.“No, I think I’ve got it all, thanks,” she replied. Her mouth slowly formed a smile, revealing her white teeth. She climbed the ladder on to the dock, dumping the load of sea weed into the pile beside her. Her violet bikini matched her eyes. I thought: How have I not seen this girl before?“You do this all yourself? How come you’ve never asked someone from around the lake to help you?” I

asked, completely shocked that she’s been living at a lake house almost right next door to mine.“Because you can’t always depend on other people to get things done for you,” her eyebrows perked up, almost hinting for me to come up with a better come back. “And, we just moved in, I’m from Poughkeep-sie, NY.”“I’m Mason,” I replied, swimming over to her dock to rest, hoping the conversation would last longer than I could tread water. We ended up not having the lengthy conver-sation as I would have liked, but afterwards and for the remaining week of the summer, I managed to swim over as often as I could. What was intriguing about her was that I never could completely figure her out. She just had this way of always keeping a secret. I tried to impress her with varsity football

Type: Eye See LeafArtist: Abi HarperMedium: CharcoalDimensions: 18”x24”

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saw me in my bathing suit, but if you can give me one more reason why you like me, then I will go on a date with you.” Her face was animated, lively, and I could tell she was almost laughing. “I like you because there’s something about you that right now, I’ll never be able to figure out.”I said it. Just like that. None of the ‘cause your face lights up when you smile bullshit.’ I was being as real as I could with her. I almost thought I was original. So, we began dating and dated all throughout senior year. We went through Homecoming, Hal-loween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, her birthday, and then it finally came down to Valentine’s Day. Throughout our relationship, she became more and more open to sharing with me what she was thinking. When we would hang out in the parking lot of Dairy Queen after getting drive through, she would always tell a story of her childhood filled with emo-tional stories of her older brother, and her parents’ divorce. Each time she let me into a part of her life, I

victories and upcoming college recruits, but noth-ing seemed to completely catch her attention. She was only interested in what I felt about things. More specifically, what I felt about her. “How come you always visit?” she asked, “You were here yesterday and the day before.” “Because I like to see you, and it’s refreshing to meet someone new.” I hoped she didn’t notice when my eyes wandered to her waist. Her body was perfectly formed, and her skin was milky and smooth. I tried to be as subtle as possible but at the same time, I wanted her atten-tion. I wanted her to notice that out of all the stupid girls in my class that have been bugging me all sum-mer about where I’m applying to school and who I’m asking to homecoming, that she was the girl I wanted to get to know. But nothing worked. I some-how couldn’t ever say the right thing, but finally she figured it out. “Look, I know you’ve liked me ever since you

Title: TeapotArtist: Otto Bunjapamai

Medium: Sculpture

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almost felt like I needed to do something for her: give her an award, a trophy, buy her something. I needed to do something to tell her that I appreciated that she cared enough to tell me. But as winter got colder, she became more solitary. We were both busy with school and stressed with the upcoming college letters in the mail. We fought about stupid things and most of the time it was because I wasn’t communicating enough or not being clear, and she was mostly complaining about me not paying attention. Lately, she had been complaining that I couldn’t answer her philosophical questions. She came out of English class, her long black hair tied in a secure ponytail and her forehead creased with frustration. She was upset because her teacher told her that poets can see beyond what’s visible. We were sitting in the cafeteria when she asked me, “Why can’t I see past what’s in front of me?” “What do you mean, babe?” “Am I too ignorant to understand life’s trage-dy? Why is it that the poets I look up to end up killing themselves. Is that what I’m pursuing: some 30 year old poet who puts her head in an oven?” I had no idea what she was talking about. I felt awful because I could tell she was upset, but I didn’t understand why. I hated English class. All we did was read out loud during class and I did the best I could to stay hidden. I knew not to say something that she referred to as “shallow,” so I decided to just hold her and listen as she continued to bicker about something her English teacher said and how she doesn’t understand the world.“Do you think the world is happy or sad?” she asked.“Well, you’d have to give me a situation; it could be a lot of different things.”She was not pleased. She asked again,“Mason, is the world happy or sad; I need to know.”“It depends on whose life you’re looking at, Helene.

You can’t just make that generalization.”I guess that was one hundred percent the wrong thing to say, because she got up and left the cafete-ria. I couldn’t find her the rest of the day. She would not answer my calls, would not reply to my texts, and finally I gave up and counted on seeing her on Monday, which was February 14th. I searched for her all day, followed the paths to all her classes and waited for her at her locker. Nothing. No one I asked had an answer, and my mind began to think of all the terrible things that could have hap-pened to her. I pictured car accidents to suicide. The thoughts of her in pain felt harsh in my stomach. I couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, she texted me, say-ing she wasn’t feeling well and had a big paper due tomorrow. I didn’t want to argue with her because I was worried that any more arguments could lead to a serious fight. That night, I stood in my room, the bouquet of broccoli lying on my desk beside the white card. She hadn’t contacted me the rest of the evening, my parents were out to a restaurant, and I was home alone with no dinner. I searched my kitchen for food, partly because I was just bored, but mostly because I was starving after a hard workout. Surprisingly, after sweeping out my entire kitchen, I found nothing to eat. Without thinking, I walked upstairs, grabbed the stalk of broccoli on my desk, put it in a pan, added butter and cooked it. I made myself a glass of milk, turned ESPN on, and ate my delicious broccoli din-ner. After receiving the drunken text from Helene, I wrote on my napkin “Capital P Poem,” placed it on my plate next to the remaining broccoli, and took a pic-ture and sent it to her. I have never written a poem and I will never know if the world is happy or sad. But, I now understand the poetry in my life is in her covered paintings on the wall, my empty desk, and the last piece of broccoli I left burning on the stove.

.....

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She is just a flower, oh a pretty one.

Her poise as if a tower has fallen now she’s gone.

“Don’t you leave, I pray”The Snapdragon solemnly

spake“Until our yesterdaysSmile upon my face.”

as the Prince he turned away.

The Prince is but a human inclined to his desire.

With space abound and looming and suns in brilliant

fire.

“Don’t you weep for me!”The Prince did strongly say

“For I’ll be back againTo smile upon your face”

and the flower, her heart sank.

Le Petit

Title: Underneath a Woman’s SkirtArtist: Peter BenjathatchapornMedium: PhotographyDimensions: 6”x4”

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Title: Bucket ListArtist: Juny Kim


Prince By: Cole Rataezyk

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/IlkmgA

44

Title: LifesaverArtist: Gavin SongMedium: Collage

Dimensions: 18”x24”

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smoke slid through her lipsthere was that strange feeling in her chest which rose and fell with each sip of her cigarette breathingshe forgot she knew how to do thatshe’d been holding her breath for so long

there was a dim white light in front of hershe watched the smoke run away from her and tried to catch it with her fingers but it flew right through each time she closed them together

she flicked her thumb and black ash fell against the same wet floor as her bare feet she watched the ash fall each speck like a black butterfly landing on the red flower that came through the cracks in the concrete

she wasn’t thinking much she liked it that way though her mind was covered by the hood over her head there was a shadow over her face no one could see those green circles that man called eyes

she liked it that way thoughher eyes had betrayed her they told all her secrets and all her lies green eyes are too honestso she hides themthey’re not that pretty anyways

there was a thick sound in her head she used to try and fight it outbut it had started to sound beautiful it had turned into a melody on the piano she loved the piano white and black keys that she could tap when she wanted and make the bad noise good

the ash had fallen the little black butterflies had been soaked in the puddles and their wings were too wet to fly so they slept instead they cuddled with her feetand then her hands which pulled her to the hard floor she was comfortable

the smoke danced above her head and she watched their performance until her eyes shut and her breathing stopped finallythe bad noise had ended so there was no need for good it was so quiet now

by Morgan Hopkins

Smoke

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Title: Trust MeArtist: Sally Kim

Medium: Acrylic and CharcoalMedium: Painting


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I am only half Of who you think I am.

I am a carefully balanced façade, Waiting for the right moment

To unleash my inner workings.

I am but a ghost,Walking the streets with false hope.

I am a half-hearted soul,Waiting for the right person

To open up my spirits.

I am black and white,At least on the surface,

Because I am only human.I am waiting

For the colors to burst through;I am hoping.

I am desperate,For human connection

While separating my real self from you.

I am impossible,An enigma in every way;

I am searching. You are broken;

Forgotten are honesty and love, for you are

Trapped in a world of perfect lies. You must leave it all behind,

Return to the place of your pain, and be

Forgiven.You and I will break,

Break free of these walls that con-tain us,

For we are only human,And together we are stronger than

the seas.I am half,

And you are half,And we are whole together,

Colorful, beautiful, free.

A Crack In My Maskby Maddy Fisher

48

Title: Le Vieux VéloArtist: Andrew Kim


Awards: Cumberland Valley 49th Annual

Photography Exhibition

RasSo where did time go?These dead streets now erodeWinds stir the ghosts of my home.

Keep me homeLeave me homeLet me walk these fading roads.Please don't goI'll stay homeLet me be where I belong.

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Title: UPSArtist: Sally Kim

Medium: Mixed Media (Acrylic, Cooking Foil, Soft Bread)


And though winds come and goMy feet sink far belowStray breezes blow right to my home.

Keep me homeLeave me homeLet me walk these fading roads.Please don't goI'll stay homeLet me be where I belong.

Tanura

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/IXID8O

By: Cole Rataezyk

50

Title: ReplacementArtist: Aidan WallaceMedium: PaintingDimensions: 24”x18”

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Title: RaccoonArtist: Max Brownawell

Medium: PaintingDimensions: 24”x18”

Title: KairoticArtist: Aidan Wallace

Medium: Graphic DesignDimensions: 27”x20”

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LO-NERBy: Gavin Song

Title: The BoysArtist: Sally KimMedium: Charcoal, inkDimensions: 12”x15”Awards (if any) : Gold key for 2012 Scholastic Arts and Writing Awards Regionals

Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/JtWdRj

54

Title: Lion Artist: Katrina Cook

Medium: Mixed MediaDimensions: 8”x11”

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Title: Youth and RiskArtist: Katherine ClarkeMedium: PaintingDimensions: 16”x20”

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SNOWAUTUMNBy: Gavin Song

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Scan to Listenhttp://bit.ly/IkmHth

Title: LookArtist: Aidan Wallace

Medium:PhotographyDimensions: 6”x12” SNOW

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Title: Cross Purposes Artist: Peter Benjathatchaporn


Title: MigraineArtist Abi HarperMedium: Collage

Dimensions: 24”x15.75Awards: MAPL Art

Juror’s Award

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Modern humans are intimately familiar with overstimulating. In a world where we hold an infinite wealth of information at our fingertips, surrounded on all sides by splashy advertisements and solicitations, deep focus becomes a luxury. But to experience writing and artwork—to engage in it—one needs focus. In our 2012 edition of Blue Review, we wanted to counteract the over-stimulating of our society by presenting our pieces in clean, elegant stages to allow for that focus, to encourage and nourish it. This magazine seeks to be one for the present day, including the introduction of digital pieces, video submissions and original musical compositions. Written submissions are encouraged by Mercersburg’s English Department and Writing Center, then peer-reviewed for creativity, style and flow. Blue Review’s arts staff, supported by Mercersburg’s Fine Arts Department, similarly judges submissions and is responsible for the concept, layout and cover design of the magazine. Grant yourself a few minutes of concentration, and allow our best pieces of creative writing and artwork to engage you.

The layout of this year’s Blue Review was designed by the staff on an iMac Core i7 using Adobe Photoshop CS5.1 and Adobe InDesign CS5.5. The body text is set in Helvetica Neue. The cover is Portal Strips printed on an Epic Black Classic Crest® Cover, 130 lb. The magazine was printed on 80# Signa-ture Dull Text paper with spot varnished images. It was printed and bound by Mercersburg Printing, Mercersburg, PA.

Blue Review is Mercersburg Academy’s Literary Arts publication. The annual publication acts as an outlet for student work and creativity. An Annual literary review has been published since 1901. The arts aspect was initiated in 1993. The opinions expressed here are reserved to author and artist. For further in-formation and to order additional copies at a cost of $15, please write to:

Blue ReviewMercersburg Academy300 East Seminary StreetMercersburg, PA. 17236

The 2011 edition of Blue Review received a Silver Crown Award from the Columbia

Scholastic Press Association.

Documents

Blue Review 2012