cover artwork:The MoonwatercolorHannah Hecht ’11Grade IX

Sharpie markersblock printSabrina Rabins ’13Grade VII

Faculty Editors: Maria Alvarez and Andrea Sparks

Special thanks to: Kate LaPine, Lyn Williams, and the Technology Department

Many whose writings and drawings appear here will be surprised to see themselves in print. Still others who have nothing in this anthology will be disappointed. Only a part of what I received could be included, and I regret I had to exclude so much. To select short stories, poems, and drawings for an anthology spanning writers who range in age from three to fifteen is not easy. By the selections which appear here I have tried to reach for both diversity and excellence.

John Shaw Founding Editor Park School Anthology 1966

1

Sunrise in Maracay

I raise my head off the soft warm pillow,the scent of fresh arepas grilling on the stove.“Buenos días, Liam. ¿Cómo pasastes la noche?”“Buenos días. Tuve una buena noche, abuelita, abuelito.”Sun is shining bright in my eyes, like a glistening diamond.It is searing and humid outside as I step out onto the porch.The squawking of Nachita and Polly rings in my ears,the greenest parrots with blue and red all over their beautiful bodies.“Hola, hola, hola, Liam.” Fresh tropical air rushes into my nose.Exotic flowers with vibrant colors are ablaze under the rays of sun.I look up, and I see mountains all around me, covered in lush equatorial rainforest,waterfalls cascading down their sides. The mountains are mammoths, and I am an ant.

Liam Connor-Moreno ’13Grade VII

Circleink and dyeCaroline Keating ’18Grade II

A consumate linguist, Mr. Amershadian delights in the endless riches of language, embracing the opportunities to connect with the world around him, and his delight infects us all with an appreciation for the cultures and people of our community. For twenty-three years, Mr. Amershadian has celebrated the work of his students, in the classroom and beyond. He has warmly welcomed newcomers to the Park School and similarly reached out to the youngest members of the Park family through hallway chats and visits to classrooms to read aloud. We have all come to love Mr. Amershadian for his infectious pride in learning, a quality that reflects the joy contained within the pages of the Anthology. Therefore, we dedicate the 2011 edition of the Park School Anthology to Mr. Amershadian.

2

Self PortraitcollageAyan Warfa ’12Grade VIII

I Know My Dog

I know my dogBlack fur covering his dark, brown eyesFluffy and softAfter your food at the tableI know my dogWalking him while it is pouring rainThe smell of wet dog is overpoweringWhy did it have to be wet?I know my dogPaws padding on the groundLooking for something to chewSo early in the morningI know my dog“Come boy, come…Sit… no…Not stretch, sit…”I know my dog Bounds upstairs in the early hoursOnto the big bedSnuggling up to whoever is thereI know my dogAt night curling up next to me Begging for a belly tickle“Tickle me” is what his face saysI know my dogMakes me feel comfortedWith his big brown eyesMakes me happy to know he is mineI know my dogLong walks at night“Heel, good boyPlease don’t pull on the lead”I know my dogComing home after schoolTo see his tail waggingHow does it go so fast?I know my dog Hates being put in the kitchenTo finally go to sleep“We’ll see you in the morning,” we promiseI know my dog

Lauren Mason ’15Grade V

IslandclayBen Emery ’18Grade II

3

Self PortraitmarkerIan Glick ’18Grade II

Pepi (excerpt)

Dogs have a certain dominion over their food. Some dogs eat quickly; some don’t eat; my dog eats slower than a sloth moves from tree to tree. He walks toward the food with a type of dignity. With each step he realizes more and more what is in the bowl. The floor creaks as he pounces with his puppy paws. The food is nervous. The water in his bowl ripples. The two bowls, one for food and one for water, are atop a plastic cover that prevents its contents from being spilled on the floor. The maple wood on the floor gives way to the dog, and he walks. He stops, but only temporarily, then continues aft. Closer now is the food, and hungrier than ever is the dog.

Ned Mitchell ’11Grade IX

My Haikus

The storm ragesthe dead tree balances on one footdelicately stands

The ant crawls acrossI watch it lightly scurryquickly travels far

Leaves glitter softlyat the first cool breeze of falltightly hanging on

Up there I wonderwhy the glowing stars shimmerin the Milky Way

Maddie Mills ’15Grade VPig

paintingKate Jones ’16Grade IV

IslandclayIsabel Sullivan ’18Grade II

4

SleepovermarkerAustin Forrester ’20Kindergarten

A Fresh Breath of LIfe

Humans are not created to listen to every sound surrounding them, so being able to seclude myself or just force myself to listen to the crickets, the rustle of leaves, the sound of a dog licking its paws is rare. If I’m ever able to let myself fall into a state of quiet, where all I do is listen to the things around me, I relax my mind and body. That night was a cold, crisp night, perfect for late-September, early-October. The open door next to my bed let in only the fresh ocean air and the sound of dry, crinkling leaves -- a sure sign of Fall. Being near the ocean, with falling leaves from tall trees, reminded me even more of changing seasons. Although there was a slight breeze that evening, the air was still. Did anyone hear what I was hearing? The sounds of nature; the boys finally settling down. Probably not, considering I was the only one who was still awake. The girls in their sleeping bags looked like caterpillars in their cocoons, waiting to unveil their gorgeous wings after a long hibernation in their pods. The shoes strewn over the floor reminded me of Fall’s ripe leaves scattered amongst the green blades of grass outside my window. So many scents were wafting from shampoo and perfume bottles, the smell of salt drifting up from the beach near our temporary homestead. I fought to keep my eyes closed, craving sleep. Through this need for sleep, the sounds were so intricate, so different from each other. Imagine it....

Gracie Donnell-Kilmer ’11Grade IX

PaperwhitespaintingJustin Lowry ’20Kindergarten

In spring the flowers grow, and the bushes blow in the wind, and the sun shining makes it spring!

SpringAnnabelle Brennan ’20Kindergarten

5

Family History

Why?I thought.How?I thought,one year ago...The assignment wasto learn about family history,to interview a family member.Who?I thought...This was dancing throughmy head.

It was my grandmother,who seemed to be shrinkingwhile it was just me growing.

It was my grandmotherwhoI turned toto learn about family history.Fritz Herbert Walcottwas his name.My great great grandfather.that’s what my grandmother told me when I interviewed herto learn about family history

He came from Barbadosacross the ocean blue.He sailed to a place of racism,something he was not used to.That’s what my grandmother told me.

Who knew that schoolwould give me a chanceto learn about family history.

Amisi Nazaire-Hicks ’13Grade VII

Puppetsmixed mediaTeagan Atwood ’14Grade VI

Half FacepencilFiona Ross ’12Grade VIII

Pull Toymixed mediaNina Porter ’18Grade II

6

The Gum Thief

I’m sorry for always stealingyour gum

You ALWAYS have the BEST kind, and so much

I like that it’s alwaysso minty so fresh

I knowI’m bad,but it is so good

Schuyler Edie ’15Grade V

Gong Gong

“Let me carry that bag for you,” my grandpa said.He picked up the heavy bag and dragged it slowly down the dirt road to my car.The weight of the bag turned him red like blood,but he continued on.

He was abhorred by all of my aunts and uncles,never given a chance to explain his mistakes.Suddenly, there was no one to turn to.He was a forgotten ghost stuck in his own world.

Why do you hate, still? Why?Why do you leave him in the cold? Why? Why do you not give him a second chance? Why?Why do you, why?

A second chance is new life,a chance to redeem yourself.You felt hope coming back quickly, quickly coming to save you.The next chance you knew you would change for good.

My mom gave him that second gasp of air,that hope and redemption slowly, slowly turning him back to a man,like that light at that end of the tunnel that is so close but so far away.He has changed for good. I hug him after he picks me up from school.He smells of smoke, guilt, and forgiveness.I forgave himfor I know his heart has melted.

Denny Yu ’13Grade VII

Maskmixed mediaSarah Evenson ’14Grade VI

Collagemixed mediaRobert Crawford ’14Grade VI

7

When I was in Washington, I got to see the White House, and I got to see the Washington Monument, but I didn’t get to go to the top. My mom didn’t have time to buy the tickets to go to the top.

WeavingyarnDavid Cammarata-Green ’18Grade II

Snapshot Writing

Two summers ago my family and I went to London. Our biggest adventure was going on the London Eye. As we watched the huge ride go up and up and up and then back down, I started getting goose bumps. It was our turn, and we stepped into the ride. As we got in the Eye, I closed my eyes, and we started going up to the top. When we got to the top my dad was sitting cold on the bench as the two year old was jumping around. As I looked out the window, I saw all of London. The sight was amazing, and I decided that it was a good idea to go on the Eye. As we got lower, I had a huge smile on my face. I couldn’t believe the things that I saw. We hit the bottom with a little jolt, and my family and I got off the car. On a little screen there was a picture of our car, and my dad looked like he was never going on any ride ever again. A lot of people laughed. After ten minutes I said, “ Let’s go again!” “No!” everybody said at once. That was the funniest part of the trip for me.

Bobby Tearney ’15Grade V

PenguinpaintingPierce Haley ’16Grade IV

Trip to Washington D.C.Finn Hayes ’20Kindergarten

8

ChipmunkpaintingSusanna Cabot ’16Grade IV

Nona and the Beanstalk

In bunk bedsSheets up over usMy grandma walks inHer honey sweet voice says“Good night, guys. I love you.”She turns to leaveIs stoppedA voice coming from the bunk below me,My younger sister“Nona! Please stay. One story.”My Grandma turns and says“Which one?”

Jack and the Bean StalkStartedNo bookNo paper

“But they are MAGIC beansThey are going to growHe’s going to climb,” Natalie cries“Natalie, be quiet!” Sean ordersAs usualMacey sits upSays a wordSounds like a squeakPuts her head back on the pillow

Jack and the Bean StalkContinuedNo bookNo paper

A giant is moving Jack is hiding Whacking wallsThey vibrateOur hands numb

(cont.’d)

A giant speaksJack hidesWe recite in unisonWith Nona

Natalie gives parts of the story awaySean tells herBe quietMace A squeak

“And they lived happily ever afterAll the money they ever wanted.Good night.Sleep tight.Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

Jack and the Beanstalk FinishedNo bookNo paper

Natalie done interruptingSean no longer speaksAnd no more squeaks

She leaves SlowlyQuietlyA steady step up the stairsNot disturbing the houseOr our dreamland

Lily Mannion ’13Grade VII

Puppetmixed mediaMaya Seckler ’14Grade VI

Beanie Babymixed mediaZachary Herman ’16Grade IV

9

Puppetmixed mediaRami Abdul-Aziz ’14Grade VI

The Life of a Seagull

Seagulls flying around an empty beach, a month after the end of summer, are not properly to be called seagulls. They seem to hope for a family to come to the beach on this cold autumn day and leave behind some food for them to pick at. These seagulls on the beach in the autumn are neither somber like black crows nor gay like pure seagulls, flying around in the summer air. The summer seagulls fly up above the waves, searching for some food at a crowded beach on a perfect summer day. The autumn seagulls sit along the beach, embracing the cold weather. These slim, white, orange beaked inhabitants of the autumn beach seem to have lost track of time and are frozen in a permanent summertime. Although it is a gray day, there is an ambiance of hope in the atmosphere that blazing summer days will someday return. It is a cold and windy afternoon, early October, and the cool wind is a reminder that winter is soon approaching. Dampness suspends in mid-air, and the smell of salty air fills my nose. Cars bustle past the beach, driving home to a warm, cozy house after a long day at school or work. The roaring of the cars speeding by blends with the crashing of waves for one brief moment. The icy waves go in and out so diligently; they show no sign of ever stopping, as if going in and out were their job.

Sarah Clavijo ’11Grade IX

Self PortraitcollageJimmy Bell ’12Grade VIII

Ipswich

The icy wind blew through my hair as I looked down at the rippling tide. I heard my friend call, “Let’s go Cole.” The salty tang of the sea water was all anyone could smell. I murmured to myself, “You’re crazy Cole.” Then I forced myself to release my grip on the railing. My stomach dropped. I closed my eyes. My arms flailed like a windmill. Questions whirled in my mind: when will I hit the water? will it hurt? I was in the middle of asking myself another question when...SPLASH! I threw my arms down, and down again. Finally, my head popped up from under the foaming water. I looked around. I then realized I had to battle the tide if I wanted to get back to land, and so far the tide was winning. I started swimming as if my life depended on it. I swam and grabbed a rock. I looked at the bridge I had just jumped off. Then I patted myself to make sure I was alive. I climbed up the slippery rocks and grabbed my towel. I asked myself this question, “Will I do it again?” Cole Englert ’15Grade V

10

When I was little, I went on a pony ride.

Pony RidecrayonNeva Gonzalez ’20Kindergarten

Puppetmixed mediaLilly Gifford ’14Grade VI

Reflections on the Grade IX Trip to Italy

When we arrived in Rome, we settled into what would be our home for the next few days, the Hotel de Petris. We then set off to give ourselves a relaxed pre-tour of Rome. Our first stop was the Trevi Fountain, the most famous fountain of Rome. It is tradition to throw a coin over your shoulder into the fountain, and according to legend, this guarantees that you will return to Rome some day. After that, we headed through the rain to the Roman Forum, which contains remains from Ancient Rome, such as the Arch of Titus and the Arch of Septimius Severus. We walked down the Via Sacra and took our first up-close look at the Colosseum. Next came the Roman Cat Sanctuary, located in an archaeological site. Many of us did not care for cats and waited outside, but Sarah, Ms. Studley, Mr. Grote and I went inside to visit the cats. They were everywhere. Some of them were a little cranky, but others loved all the attention. After a long time petting and playing with the cats, we made our way back to the hotel to get ready for dinner and end our day.

Amy Simpson ’11Grade IX

When I am alone, I like to snuggle with my cats on the sunroom sofa with my pink blanket.

CatscrayonKatie Tran ’20Kindergarten

LizardclayGuillermo Alvarez ’14Grade VI

11

CellomarkerHayden Idson ’20Kindergarten

PianopencilAlex Tang ’20Kindergarten

Me, doing piano.

I am from

I am from my creaky room, annoying my downstairs neighbor. I am from a bottle of gold I got on sale in California.I am from a coconut head I got from Hawaii sitting on my shelf.IM from the computer I play on instead of doing my homework.I am from a broken down playground right near my house.I am from a tennis court, always locked, covered with graffiti.I am from a Coexist sticker on our other neighbor’s van.I am from, “Can I use the computer?” swiftly followed by, “and do your homework!”I am from being Russian and eating spaghetti with ketchup and mayo, grossing out my friends.I am from Hot Pockets®, ready in exactly 2 minutes for me to eat.I am from playing soccer on Skyline Park, playing until dark.I am from windsurfing on Sundays, sometimes getting stuck and having to pull the board and sail all the way back.I am from ultimate Frisbee on Tuesdays, playing with crazy people who manage some crazy dives, flips, and jumps to catch a Frisbee, always hurting themselves in the landing.I am from going on Youtube, sometimes staying for hours.I am from photo albums, gathering dust on the shelves.I am from.

Pasha Sonkin ’13Grade VII

Self PortraitcollageSimon Hetzler ’12Grade VIII

12

Reflections on the Grade IX Trip to France

It was day seven of our trip, and we had just finished classes and eaten a quick lunch of French sandwiches. We met our driver, Bernard, and went in the bus for our trip to the historical bridge that was made by the ancient Romans. The Pont du Gard is a 2,000 year old bridge used for transporting humans, but more importantly, it was an aqueduct, a way to transport water to Roman settlements and cities. When we got there, we were told that we would go quickly through the museum, and then we would have free time to venture for ourselves on the Pont du Gard. When we took our first step onto the bridge, we saw a group of very happy Italians, celebrating their 150th Independence Day. They even sang their national anthem! After they left, Lilah, Jenna, Chloë, and I took everything in and went up and down this amazing bridge. The others in the group went to explore as well. This bridge is old, but it is timeless. Its beauty is radiant beyond imagination.

Issy Julian ’11Grade IX

ChipmunkpaintingAnnie Muggia ’16Grade IV

Half FacepencilChris Duckworth ’12Grade VIII

Reflections on the Grade IX Trip to Spain

Before traveling to Spain, I studied the acueducto romano de Segovia, or Segovia’s Roman aqueduct. An aqueduct is a piece of architecture designed to deliver water from the mountains to the city. Segovia’s aqueduct was built in the year 89 AD and has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which means it is important to the history of the world and should be preserved. Because of the aqueduct’s excellent condition, it could still function today as a means of transporting water. While in Spain, I was eager to visit “my monument.” I already had an idea of what I expected to see, but when we turned the corner and headed towards the aqueduct, I was amazed by its size. The Romans did not have cranes to move the huge blocks used in its construction, but they somehow found an alternate way to build this impressive structure. The most memorable experiences I had while in Spain involved stopping people in the streets to ask for directions, like how to get to the Roman aqueduct. I enjoyed interacting with the Spanish people I met and using the Spanish language skills I learned in my Spanish classes at Park.

Aaron Yemane ’11Grade IX

13

I am From

I am from my mom saying, “shoes!” every single time I walk into the house.I am from my backyard and all of the childhood souvenirs left behind.I am from the forest in my backyard and hearing an “ouch” every afternoon.I am from swinging on the old swingset in my backyard,The bee’s nest that lies within the set.Every time I swing on the set, they all come flying out with anger.I am from a bedside table drawer filled with clothing tagsFrom all of the different clothes I have bought.Telling my dad they are “too small”when they fit perfectly fine.I am from a basket filled with gift cards and envelopes,representing my past birthdays and holidays.I am from my secrets,All of my beheaded barbie dolls with my unshared secrets inside.I am from a pile of soccer cleatsBuilt by my brother and me over many years.It takes the skill of an athlete to build one this big!I am from the names,“Weak Thumb” and “Vulture.”These are the names that nobody will ever find the meaning of,No matter how many times they ask.I am from always complaining that something isn’t fair.I am from my dad repeatedly saying,“Whatever will be will be,”and“Everything happens for a reason.”I am from my family explaining that life isn’t always going to go your way.I am from my diaryAnd all of the secrets that I told and kept to myself.I am from my brother stealing all of my secretive barbies and diaries.I am from my uncle and grandmother,Spoiling me to an extent where I didn’t want any more stuff.Then I turned 7 and realized that there is never enough stuff.I am from Larz Anderson ParkAnd using my old cleats to bring back good memoriesOf what I did with those cleats.I am from all the above.I am from my friends and my family.I am from their moral support.I am from...

Stephanie Yemane ’13Grade VII

Giraffes paintingEllie Formisano ’14Grade VI

Half FacepencilWiley Holton ’12Grade VIII

14

I want to learn how to make TV’s.

TelevisioncrayonJustin Shaw ’20Kindergarten

Journal Entry: Sherlock Holmes

I breathed slowly, concealed in the thick canopy of the moor’s four foot reeds. Earlier, I had seen a man enter the stone hut where I was dwelling, and I feared that my concealment was in jeopardy. The man had a revolver in his hand. He was attired in a pair of worn trousers, a plaid shirt, and a small city cap, all with mud and grime collected on them. Obviously, this man had either searched for a long time or was not very efficient at his work. From my hiding spot in the reeds, I could scarcely see him. Despite my obscured view, I could still discern the man cautiously entering the hut. He seemed to be rather agitated in his actions; he was constantly glancing over his shoulder and was not like the other young man I had met on the moor. After thirty suspenseful minutes, I observed the man sit upon the floor of the hut and become still. He was not asleep (of this I was certain). Nor was he unaware. He was watchful and so nervous I almost thought he knew I was nearby. The man stayed virtually motionless for thirty minutes, and I therefore concluded that he had come alone. I took a small but noticeable step in his direction. He bolted upright and cocked his revolver; the sound of a P. Webly 450 caliber, a gun used primarily by members of Scotland Yard. I knew then that I had nothing to fear. I stood upright and walked toward my colleague. “It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson. I really think that you will be more comfortable outside than in.”

Warren Partridge ’13Grade VII

Pull Toymixed mediaIndia Adam ’18Grade II

Building With Legos

There are many Lego collections to build. You can build a Lego car for your Lego person. You can watch your car zoom around you (with the help of your hand). You can build a huge or small airplane. It will carry all your Lego people in and out of your Lego places. No city is complete without a Lego bus that you can build. You can hold most of your people at once with a Lego bus. Building with Legos is fun, but playing with them is even better.

Vikrum Singh ’17Grade III

15

Learning to PaintcrayonHenry Saltzman ’20Kindergarten

A Bond Forged in Flames (excerpt)

Alive and dead, and alive and dead, this is the saga of fire. It responds to the attentiveness of its creators and feeds off the many objects surrounding it. Crackling, exploding, and spewing embers into the air like a mini volcano. Beautifully angry, but calming at the same time. This is the feeling of fire. Why does it hurt us but help us also? We don’t know. We just take for granted that fire will be there to light the way. That fire will be there to cook our food and warm our bodies. Fire is the unsung hero in our lives. As I sit here now, looking around at the beauty of nature, fire is the centerpiece, the great chandelier. In the midst of the waving leaves and the moaning wind, fire stands out. At the heart of fire, one will see a still center, the eye of the storm. This is where I look when I want to be tranquil, although my body urges otherwise. The calm center and the unruly edges. It is conflicting, but the calm always seems to win the day for me, and I become hypnotized by the fire. The different colors blend before my eyes, and I feel like I’m floating in the air.

Jake Philbin-Cross ’11Grade IX

Half FacepencilSeho Young ’12Grade VIII

This is my house. My HousecrayonBenjamin Wood ’20Kindergarten

16

... when I grow up, I want to be an astronaut.

AstronautcrayonCordelia Loomis ’20Kindergarten

CleopatracrayonOlivia Sarkis ’20Kindergarten

Super Snazzy Activities to Do on a Winter Day

There are many creative, cool things to do on a snowy winter day. You can go ice skating on smooth slippery ice. Skating on a pond can always be fun, too. You can build a snowman. Make sure to use snow that you can pack into balls. Going sledding is a great way to spend a snowy day. You can go speedy fast down steep hills, like a horse galloping as fast as it can go. It’s always nice to have a warm hot cocoa after a cold day outside. It can warm you up in a jiffy. I love winter, and there are so many fun things to do on a winter day.

Ambrey Hayes ’17Grade III

The Rattlesnake

Diet: Are you curious about what we eat? Well, I’ll tell you. I, the rattlesnake, am a carnivore, and I kill my prey with a venomous bite. I swallow my prey head first and eat at night. I wait for the venom to paralyze it and can’t wait to get the juicy meat into my mouth. I love those mammals, too.

Recipe: I’m going to tell you how a rattlesnake can make a meal out of a kangaroo rat. First, the rattlesnake catches its prey. Then, season it with some dirt. Finally, bake it at 100º in the desert sun. And there’s a meal for me, the rattlesnake.

Gage McWeeny ’17Grade III

SwimmercrayonOctavia Reohr ’20Kindergarten

17

IslandclayJack Hornyak ’18Grade II

Memories of a Tropical Paradise

“Bang!” A coconut dropped from the tree outside as the man scuttled down the tree. You could hear the sound of the sea as it crashed against the sand and see the glitter of the sun falling down from the sky. “Beep, beep!” You could hear the sound as a buggy wandered past. The chattering was very peaceful as I entered the breakfast room. Looking around, I could see the wonders of tropical food. Leading myself out of the breakfast room, I found myself in a land of giant tortoises. As I wandered over, I could see the tiny ripples as they drank heavily in the stream. As dawn rose, I woke up, ready and active for a day full of fun. “Triga, triga.” There was the sound of the boat before we set off to go snorkeling. “Plop” I jumped in just to see the secrets to the underwater paradise. There were fish of all shapes and sizes, all different colors, and all different species. When we arrived back at the beach, we decided to have a competition. We found a beach in the sea and said, “Whose sand castle can stand up the longest?” Packing my bags, I ran outside to say good bye to a memorable paradise further than the eye could see.

Kiera Mason ’17Grade III

No one likes a bat. Hunts at the dark. It hears a bug in the dark. Ahh! It’s a bat, so scary. Drinks blood. Hangs upside down. Lives in caves. People are afraid. No one wants a pet bat.

BatpencilDaniel Kang ’18Grade II

Beanie Babymixed mediaAlex Cherry ’16Grade IV

18

THEM

In front of me was a mass of brown. Above me was one massive grey blob, spanning from horizon to horizon. The grass was dead, the trees were dead. The sky looked as if it would start pouring at any second. In the middle of all the death were two little girls, full of life, playing tag. Their mother was worried about rattlesnakes. Rattlesnakes were a common problem in New Jersey…and bears. In the past, this lifeless place had been a sanctuary from my real life. Every summer I made the trek from Massachusetts to New Jersey. When I got there, I was always greeted by smiling faces. Before, it was easier because they lived closer. When they moved, their mother was forced to get a job, which gave me one: babysit them from 7:00 to 1:00 every day. It wasn’t a pain. They were good, and they behaved. They weren’t city people; they owned a horse and took their time with everything. They didn’t mind driving an hour to a supermarket or to a movie theater. They belonged there. I had often wondered why they moved; their old house had been big enough, far enough away from civilization, and it had a cool property. I had been disappointed. Their new house was cool and had a much bigger property, but I didn’t like it as much. I don’t like change. Now, though, I was beginning to like it. It was different. They loved it. It had a three-car garage, a wrap-around porch and an acre of property. In the back their dad had built a deck and a playhouse. They loved that, too. They had a finished basement, and they played tag down their for a week while it was raining. They entertained each other so their parents had very few fights to break up. But there was a problem. If you walked through their front door and looked right, you’d see a living room. Devoid of life. Past it was the dining room, the kitchen the den, and the back door. Empty. The hallways, deserted. Their parents’ room had faint sound coming from it. Their room, the guest room, the office. Desolate. The basement, the playhouse, the yard. Vacant. Their parents were fighting. That was part of the reason I was there. Their parents wanted me to watch them so their parents could work on the relationship. But it was beyond hope. They had no idea what their parents were doing. But now that I think about it, I think that they might have. They just chose not to show it. Much like me.

Ben Palmere ’11Grade IX

It is easy for me to ride a two-wheeler bike.

CyclistcrayonCaleb Hirschfeld ’20Kindergarten

An Interesting Fact: Cougars climb up cacti to dig for food. My Opinion: I’d never like to be bitten by a rattlesnake.

Desert Lifecolored pencilJake Gershberg ’17Grade III

19

KangaroopaintingWilliam Jarrell ’16Grade IV

This Medal of Honor is being awarded to the original 29 members of the Navajo Code Talkers in recognition of their gallant military service for this country during World War II.

I, Blair Englert, am excited to take this opportunity to honor the Navajo Code Talkers for their brave and clever service to the United States. Code Talkers were Navajo men who made a code using the Navajo language to communicate with U.S. forces to warn us if Japan was coming. The Navajo had to go to the Marine training place to get trained for their code talking job. The first task they had to do was called the Marine Corps Training Course. The Marine troops told the Navajo that they needed to come up with a code representing each letter from A to Z. The Navajos helped us win WWII because they were able to come up with a code that no one could break. The Navajo were often in the middle of the heaviest fighting. With bullets flying around them, they worked calmly and quietly to translate hundreds of messages. Six Code Talkers worked day and night to send more than eight hundred messages. They did not make a single mistake. The Navajo deserve the highest honor because without them we would not have known when the Japanese were coming or what they were planning to do.

Blair Englert ’17Grade III

Beanie Babymixed mediaLauren Marendett ’16Grade IV

TeachercrayonRebecca Goodman ’20Kindergarten

When I grow up, I want to be a teacher.

20

The Lecture

As a warm breeze touches my cheek like a kiss from GodDavid and I romp in the lush green grass.The football whizzesback and forth between us.David gives me a lectureor as he calls it, “a life lesson.”I catch the football.I try to pay attention to him,but I keep my eye on the football,his voice honey as he speaks.I give the football a good toss.David tells me stories with experienced precision.My mind starts to float up into the spotless white clouds.I snap back to reality as the football comes at melike a speeding bullet.The story, like a train, keeps moving as I try to keep up.The sun beats down on the football as I snatch it out of the air.He finishes his brilliant story with a moral:That’s why you should watch with whom you become friends.

Tyler (Drew) Fizek ’13Grade VII

15 to 16

For the whole night I have been going over to the mirror to see my tooth. I was so close to losing my sixteenth tooth. I tried to get my tooth even more wiggly than it was. I held onto my tooth and pulled on it a little, but it hurt, and it didn’t come out. I went back to the mirror one more time. I moved my head back and forth. I couldn’t sleep with a tooth that was jiggling with my head as I moved it back and forth. I just couldn’t! I reached into my mouth one more time and wrapped my hands around my tooth. I saw a little thread connecting the tooth to my gums. I thought to myself, it won’t hurt, it won’t hurt. I only had a limited time because the commercials were almost over until “American Idol” started up again. So I pulled one tiny bit… and guess what? My tooth came out, and it didn’t even hurt that time! I felt the empty spot in my mouth. It was weird. It just felt like gums. Eww! I walked over to my moms… I said, “MY TOOTH CAME OUT AFTER ALL THAT TIME!” I showed my mom my tooth. She wasn’t the biggest fan of teeth, but she held it anyways. She said, “Why don’t you put it in that tooth container?” (The one that held all of my other teeth, the ones that the dentist had pulled out.) So I put it in the container. My sixteenth tooth. Just in time… “American Idol” just started!

Izzy Antonelli ’15Grade V

AnniecrayonCaitlin Klosek ’21Pre-Kindergarten

Half FacepencilAmanda Zhou ’12Grade VIII

21

I Know an Indoor Soccer Game I know an indoor soccer game I hear the referee’s whistle that begins the match The defender covering me slips andI see my chance “I’m open,” I shout I see the ball fly toward me I get past the last defender and now I’m 1 on 1 with the goal keeper My foot connects with the ball, and next thing I know the ball is in the back of the net My teammates hi-five me, and I go on the bench I smell gatorade, and I drink some water A minute later the referee blows the whistle that ends the gameI know an indoor soccer game

Ashwin Devavaram ’15Grade V

My Soccer Ball from Italy

“Thank you, Mom,” I said after my mom gave my soccer ball to me when she got back from Italy. I have a great soccer ball that is special to me. It is round, and the colors are gray and black and white and yellow. It has a logo from an Italian team. I don’t play with it because it is so special to me. I keep it in the red room. My mom bought the ball for me in Italy, but she lost it in Germany. When she got to Boston, she didn’t know where the ball was. She talked to the person at the airport to try to find her bag. They found the bag with the ball in it in Germany. It came to our house at 12:00 noon. I was so excited to get a new ball from Italy.

Jacob Kraft ’17Grade III

HandsclayElizabeth Koris ’11Grade IX

One Sunday, I woke up and went upstairs (Oh, and it was in Vermont!) for breakfast. I had a bagel. Then my dad did the dishes, and then we wrestled and threw the boxes in the fire. And a few hours later, we went to the pool....

VermontcrayonMarley Connors ’19Grade I

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My family celebrates birthdays.My family laughs about memories.My family plays ball.My family relaxes by reading. We have a house with no rules.

My Familytext and illustrationKata Khakali ’18Grade II

Zakim BridgepaintAaron Olawoyin ’19Grade I

Another Memory, Inspired by The House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros

Three years unseen. Excitement filled my heart and mind thinking about it. Don’t Touch the Ground Tag once again with her. Everything still looks the same as it did before. Two red swings that helped us achieve our goal of learning how to fly. Two slides next to each other, where we would try to slide down as fast as possible. Two legs wrapped around the green slippery monkey bars that would make our faces look silly while all the blood rushed to our heads as we hung upside down. Two leaves on that certain branch. Those two young girls giggling at each other, not having to worry about anything. A beautiful day, the fluffy pillows mixed with the blue sky like mixed oil colors on a palette; the different shades of green on that one tree; the hill screaming for us to roll down it; the only two swings teasing us to see if we would get a seat or not; the long beige slippery slide that kept us wondering who would go down faster; the white, blue, green, red, and beige colors in front of us, forcing a vision into our minds. The past is secret. It sends ferocious roots down below us. The memories grow down as we grow up. They hold on to us as tightly as a tree’s roots bite violently into the ground with teeth like a vampire. The tree’s roots hold its own heavy body, leading to stretched arms and into delightful beauty verte. Forgetting the past is the tree collapsing without that beauty, which has been absent as if the cold season has come. When I have forgotten, I have come back to the two swings, two slides, two leaves, and our two legs. Conversation may be more exciting currently, but the two swings, two slides, two leaves, and our two legs teach me to never forget, to always come back to our roots. The beginning is like reading the book over again.

Nancy Kacupaj ’12Grade VIII

Mapcolored pencilCarolina Bragg ’18Grade II

23

Rivers

My river is a long and twisting snakeLike the Mississippi River,With many branches,Each one a whole different me.

But with each snake,A connection to the long riverWith the same characteristicsOf bold, energetic fun.

But there are also parts of my riverThat are antonyms of my river,With a serious tributary for School and sports.

So I think you get the point thatMy river is long and complicated,But the same as well.

Charlie Mathews ’14Grade VI

Alligatorpaper machéJack Martell ’15Grade V

Three Small TurtlesInspired by The House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros

They are the only ones in our house. I am the only one that understands them. Three small turtles with long necks and pointy faces. Three who belong in the wild but are not. Three small turtles from the wild and from pet stores. From my room, I can hear them, but my family just sleeps and pays no attention. Their power is secret like a tree. They push logs around with almost no effort, like giants. They swim in the water as their webbed feet cut through the water like a motor. Let one forget to feed them, and they get angry like bears crashing into glass over and over and over again, like drums. Like hungry kids, they will not forget about their food. Learn, learn, learn, they say, and I learn from them. When I am too sad and unhappy, that is when I look at the turtles. Three who swim and don’t gorget to swim. Three whose only reason is to swim and swim and swim.

Michael Schaff ’12Grade VIII

Lampmixed mediaIsaiah Freedman ’13Grade VII

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Ish-landpencilGuled Adam ’19Grade I

Drum Stick

I ate a drum stick. One tiny drum stick. Everyone was mad, but the drummer was very mad. He could only play with one drumstick now.

Nicky Hayre-Perez ’18Grade II

DragonclayBenjamin Crawford ’17Grade III

A Swing

A swingis like the wind

pushing and pulling back and forthand then it stopsno wind to pushno wind to pullstill like a leafon the groundstill like a lake

just still

James Wood ’18Grade II

Housecolorerd pencilLily Franks ’15Grade V

25

The Depressed Globe

I’m a very depressed globe,That really isn’t bold.All day you spin me round and round,But don’t even know what is happening.After all, I am your world.I spin and hold you all,But I am just a replica and am reallyMuch too small.The stapler says to me,“You’re treated fairer than me,”“No,” I reply with a spinning smile,Showing my best side, Iran.So you spin me round and round,Making my head cry,Never realizing that if I were Earth,The first thing I’d do would be to give you a little ride!

Hannah Park ’16Grade IV

Garden

Twirling flowers float on the waterBathed in petals from the tree nearbyGently pick a petal up and blow it into the distanceSunset right beside you

Bathed in petals from the tree nearbyFall back into the water and float like the flowersSunset right beside youYou shimmer in the evening water

Fall back into the water and float like the flowersClose your eyes and feel lovedYou shimmer in the evening waterA symphony of birds sings you a song

Close your eyes and feel lovedGently pick a petal up and blow it into the distanceA symphony of birds sings you a songTwirling flowers float on the water

Brianna Silva ’14Grade VI

Wind

Wind is like an invisible friendIt follows you wherever you goLike an invisible force pulling you inSlowly and silentlyBut sometimes as loud as a lion’s roarAnd sometimes it feelsAs if it is whispering to youFor your ears only

Leyla Ewald ’16Grade IV

RainforestcollageHannah Ono ’19Grade I

Desert LandscapecraypasOwen Croce ’17Grade III

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I Am the Best

I am the greatest dancer aliveeveryone gasps as I do the best jive

when I leap and I turn, the whole crowd bows in honortell the other dancers that they are a goner

as I prance across the stage, the whole world is stillit’s not my fault, I just have awesome skill

I love to dance, it’s my favorite thingI make a difference like Martin Luther King

I can do ballet to jazzand I dance with pizazz

I know all the tricksand you’ll be transfixed

I’m the best of the bestI’m the treasure in the chest

I’m amazing at danceif you try to beat me, you won’t stand a chance

Mandy Brown ’14 Grade VI

Don’t Speak English

My grandmother lives in the tiny apartment that smells old, like an ancient oak tree that stands and watches. Every day, she cooks dwenjang stew and stares out the window, waiting for Grandpa. My aunt sighs, an ugly, choke of a sigh, and sets the jesa table. She eats the dwenjang stew, eats the rice, and drinks the water. I sit on the old leather couch that is rough like elephant skin. I feel bad for her because every day she sits by the window and says, “Where are you, my love, and why is my grandson not here?” And then she bubbles into tears. When I come every summer, she sits by me and strokes my hair and says, “How are you doing? How is your mother? How is school?” And then she cries again because she is happy. That is all she does. Cry and cry and cry. I say this to my father in English, and he says in Korean, “Don’t speak English.” And my grandmother cries again because I am speaking English in front of Grandpa’s spirit. So Father and I go up to the jesa table, and we pray for the safety of our family. Then Grandma cries again because she misses Grandpa and because that is all she does. Cry and cry and cry. Crying in the apartment that smells old on the couch that feels like elephant skin. And I don’t speak English.

G.Mo Kang ’12Grade VIII

RainforestmarkerBecca Shaff ’19Grade I

Housecolored pencilTristan Edwards ’15Grade V

27

Ode To My Catcher’s Mitt

So leathery,So soft,And oh, so comfortableGlove My hand-savingFun-makingGloveA toolOf destruction(Of the other team,That is)A toolOf baseballTreasured equipmentBut most of allA beloved object

When I feel my gloveRough on my left handI feel something specialI really doSomething amazing Like the glove is playing itself

I remember when my glove was a young baby gloveI took it home from the storeExcitedHappyI threw it under my mattressWhere it slept for two nightsHolding my dreamsOn the morning of the second dayI excitedly took it out I woke my brotherWe played catchAnd when the ball landed perfectlyIt made a beautiful soundWhoosh.... thud!The sound of a catch

One gameIt was rainingEvery time the pitcher heaved the ball towards meIt made a muddy stain on the sand-colored leatherWhat an amazing game

Max Keating ’14Grade VI

Bee Rain Boots

I hunched over the water that had a girl staring up at me. Whenever I would move, it would move in sync with my movement. The girl looked exactly like me. It looked like a picture of me. My picture wiggled slowly as I breathed heavily on the it, trying not to move it too much. The sunshine shone down into the puddle with rays shooting and burning into my green hazel eyes. “Is there a different world under there?” I used to think whenever I saw a puddle or patch of water. Being four again would be great. Wishing I could stay that age forever. I would jump around in the puddles with my yellow bee rain boots and splash around trying to find the other world, but it just wasn’t there. I wouldn’t sink into the deep water. My mind switches back to the thought of jumping in puddles. I want to bring back those small memories, so I splash in the liquid. Now that I am older, of course I know that there isn’t another world in the puddle. But I like to believe that there is. Great times when I was younger visit my head, and then they all just wash away. I wish I could put on those bee rain boots again and jump in the water, not knowing that there actually isn’t another world under every patch of water. I know that I am always going to be four, but the numbers will keep changing. Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. That phrase keeps echoing in my mind while I walk up the stairs to the house that holds all my memories.

Chloe Lelon ’16Grade IV

All-Star Shoeblock printElsie Coen ’13Grade VII

ToothbrushcrayonLuke Witkowski ’21Pre-Kindergarten

28

The Prefailles Market

I could,if I wanted,stay here at the Prefailles market,the savory smells swirling around me,the kind, friendly merchants,the samples of bread and jam,and the “clink clink clink” of Euros on the wooden counters.

What you know first stays with you.Just in case I forget,I will takethe countless sausages that always interested me,the olives -- green, brown, black and more, the honeys that I would stare at,a rainbow of yellows and browns.

I cannot takethe putrid smell of the cheese,the sound of talking or asking for prices,or the different faces of the many people that hurry by.

But I’ll try hard to rememberthe smooth feel of chicken wrappingand the “chop, chop chop” of the butcher’s knives,the smell of warm bread,the mysterious stains on the ground,and enjoying the foods with my family.

Alex Tesson ’16Grade IV

Kaleidoscopefused glass, copper, and woodGeorge Lucey ’11Grade IX

Riddles

MirrorI am a copy catthat staresright back at youand copiesyour every move

BookI’m an intriguing worldthat lies behind barriersmade of paperwhen you enteryou will never leave until I end

FilerI’m a helpful assistant to help you stay organizedI store things about all sorts of items.

Sophie Perry ’14Grade VI

HandclayGoh Kobata ’11Grade IX

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Ice Creamblock printBen Thompson Hall ’13Grade VII

Housecolored pencilFord Chope ’15Grade V

The Muddiest Boy in the World

“I’m going to cross it!” Myles yells as he crosses the flamingo colored blur over everybody like a bird in the sky. My feet stick to the ground with a suction like feel as I look at the reflection of the murky water. The pink ball lands in front of Will’s dirty skateboard shoes. He pulls the trigger of his leg and fires like a gun. I leap to the ball like a frog would to a bug to protect the rusty old Pond Field goal. The ball dings off the post. I land with a thud and slide on the gooey goopy mud as the ball bangs off the old rotten backboard of the goal and then trickles toward my side. I hear the uncontrolled excitement of the other team. My pants feel all soggy and uncomfortable. They stick to my legs like a gecko on a wall. It is so insanely muddy, my neon blue jeans are now something you would find in a landfill. I look down at my three month old sneakers; the orange check marks are barely visible. I walk stiffly up the hill. I stick out my hands and wrinkle my fingers and try to get the slimy mud out of my killer whale shirt. I walk like a frankenstein penguin across the football field, my feet crunching on wet gravel. I think to myself, “I’m the muddiest boy in the world.”

Rishi Banerjee ’16Grade IVThose Who Don’t (vignette)

Those who don’t do not prosper as those who do. They live their lives as people with ghost minds. I try everything new that seems reasonable to do. If chances weren’t taken and people did not do, then the world would be a different place. They wouldn’t rise; they would just fall. Plummeting into nowhere’s ditch, their bodies becoming weaker. They would lose their grasp on life. They would break into pieces. Down they would go. Nothing to hold onto.

Joey Kremer ’12Grade VIII

GhostcrayonMargaret Bowles ’21Pre-Kindergarten

30

SSSnake

Hot like the sunSky blue as the oceanWorking hard like an antThat’s Mississippi with my aunt for yaI was youngOh, so youngWhen I saw itSaw what? you askI saw some snakeSome snake scared meSome snake scared me

So hard, oh so hardI scrambled homeAww, shoot! I dropped the axeI dropped the axeI scurried like a squirrelThen she stopped meI couldn’t breatheI felt horrible that I dropped the axe!How can I work without my axe?Baby, why you cryin’?Baby, baby, stop your cryin’. Wha’s wrong?I dropped it! I dropped it!I lost it. I saw some snake, and I dropped it.I dropped the axe.Go out and look for’t, then.I can’t see. I can’t see.Baby, wipe those tears.Wipe those tears.You can’t see with tears in your eyes.Wipe those tears, baby.Wipe those tears.You can’t see with tears in your eyes.

Rachel Kennedy ’14Grade VI

Water Slide

Zoom! Splash! Water splashes against my face while I slide down the water slide with my cousins. We go over jumps and loops. It takes five seconds to go down and one minute to go up to go again. We went about twenty times. The last two times, when we were going over a loop, I almost fell off, and the last time, I hurt myself at the end when the water splashed on me so hard that I fell off onto the pavement.

Matthew Klosek ’18Grade II

Faithful Foxcolored pencilJessica Reed ’17Grade III

Fast Fishcolored pencilJude Littell ’17Grade III

31

The Sticky Garden

I can’t go up there anymore. They came and took her branches, the ones ragged like pavement, covered in needles and sticky syrup. I used to go up there every day to read in its embrace, to sing, to listen to the dancing wind. It’s like a sticky garden of green hand fans, heavy trunks, woven bird nests. The tree knew my touch, my sound, my feel, my emotions. It was where I sailed off to different places to admire the beauty of stories and words, to places that I could be free of stress and worry. But now I can’t. I sit on the carpet of needles looking up at the tinted shafts of light poking through the branches. I wish I had known what they were doing. Then I could have said, Wait! Would they have heard it, and stopped destroying my sticky garden?

Karly Oettgen ’12Grade VIII

Daft Punkblock printJameson Woods ’13Grade VII

Will Adam ’16Grade IV

Self-portraitclayIsaac Roy ’19Grade ISisters in the Backyard

crayonZoe Hamilton ’21Pre-Kindergarten

32

We sit on the high seats in the moonlit kitchen, eating chicken nuggets and frozen peas, watching “Cyberchase” on the big old TV that sometimes goes fuzzy. We eagerly wait for Dad to come home from work in my old house in downtown Boston. The door is white on the inside. There are bells that ring when someone opens it. I imagine him with his gray hair and matching rough beard, clutching his briefcase, tired from an eight hour work day. Henry, my older brother, is finishing up his tiny bit of homework. Eager to see him, we are like jumping jelly beans, and all we can say is, “Is he home? Can you see him?” We hear the bells jingle, and I nearly trip after I hop off my seat. As I rush over, I hear the thud of his briefcase. I run to him as he puts his arms out. Henry and I yell, “Daddy!” He comes and sits with the three of us and snacks on frozen peas. Mom brings us up the steep four flights of stairs as Dad does some work. He comes upstairs, and the four of us try to squish on Henry’s bed, but we end up going on Mom and Dad’s bed and read a story. I tiredly stumble up the stairs. As I drift to sleep, I can hear the faint sound of fans cheering at the Red Sox game and the clink of the silver silverware.

India Claudy ’17Grade III

Self-portraitcraypasGrayson Cheek ’17Grade III

Classroom illustration and captioncrayon and markerHaley Englert ’19Grade I

I hope we are thinkers.

Waiting for Dad

33

PuppycrayonPayton Bonang ’21Pre-Kindergarten

Swanpaper machéNeila Connaughton ’15Grade V

Landscapeacrylic on canvasChloë Sahyoun ’11Grade IX

Candytext and illustrationMia Bartlett ’19Grade I

If I were in charge of the world, I would put candy on everybody’s desk, but I would eat the most.

34

DragonclayGeorgia Cook ’17Grade III

ToucancraypasSofia Samuels ’19Grade I

DragonswatercolorSophia Lowry ’17Grade III

Stars

StarsYou little angelsDancing across spaceSmall bits of sea foamFloating across the oceanHoles in the skyOn the other side of heavenLike tiny dots acrossA deep, dark canvasFireflies dancing on aCloudy nightScraps of paperThrown up thereFrom right here On earthSnowflakesFloating across Dark paddlesStarsYou’ll alwaysBe there When nightComes back around

Charlotte Gifford ’16Grade IV

Clouds

A cloudIs just a self-conscious sheep!It can attractYour shiny little eyes.You can see it Oh so clearly.But to the clouds,You are tiny smudgesOn a beautiful canvas.So listen, all you smudges!Stop smogging the sky, Else the wonderful blueShall be gray,And we,Won’t even be here.

Jackson Smith ’16Grade IV

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Harpy EaglecraypasRonan Tabor ’19Grade I

Birdblock printSteven Kim ’13Grade VII

Lobsterpaper machéRick Ono ’15Grade V

Storming the Sky, Inspired by The House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros

You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad. Language is too plentiful and sadness creeps like a lazy sun creeps through a sleeping window. A faint sound blooms, as if it is a train racing toward you... halting. A noise-filled mushroom cloud of sparks and color has burst, like an egg from its shell. Spectators have stopped, just for today, to point up at the balls of floating color, oohing and ahhing at this annual event, the event that leads everyone to my street. Fireworks as tall as the Eiffel Tower, they linger over the city as the memory of the Bastille lingers in the minds of citizens. The park is full of people, but right now they seem insignificant, like the unused key on a keychain. A new puff of smoke shoots up and out like a star and blows sideways like the ecstasy of the cheers that are making the sparks last. And all too soon the sound comes to an abrupt halt; the jubilation comes to a stop. It seems like everything is quiet for a moment. Then you hear heels clicking and chatter moving in a massive group down the street and away from the sky.

Lily DeBenedictis ’12Grade VIII

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Self-portraitcraypasHenry Tsai ’17Grade III

Self-portraitclayTheo Goldman ’19Grade I

The Emperor and the KitecraypasTanner Creelman ’19Grade I

Tree House, Inspired by The House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros

Northwest from the pond, East from the house, across the woodchip rows of carrots and beans and through the mowed field; there stands the house. On four spindly legs, anchored into the unforgiving ground by sweat and perseverance, the wood carries moss on her rails, and the roof, reminders of past storms and snow filled nights. Weeks of hauling the great limbs of wooden planking, with the sound of drilling echoing through the fields down to where the old tractor sat. Days of twenty minute breaks to gulp a glass of lemonade before returning to the skeleton of nails and plywood. Hours of climbing over bars and under extension cords to reach the drills, of panting and huffing to climb the trees and secure the roof. But still she stands, that old tree house, amongst the rabbits and the mice, the blue jays and the cardinals; amongst the squirrels and chipmunks who scamper in her shade. Between the fields and bushes, she still sways. And she is always guarded, that old tree house, by the trees; those four skinny trees, which whisper in the wind, keeping watch over her for years to come.

Taylor Lord ’12Grade VIII

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Legolandpencil and markerJeremy Altman ’19Grade I Terrarium

markerJacob Schuster ’19Grade I

Self-portraitcrayonMilan Joshi ’21Pre-Kindergarten

Refreshing, Inspired by The House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros

Across the perfectly trimmed lawn, green like Wally the Green Monster on opening day, is Mr. Serge. He was there long before we moved in. When I think about it, he’s the only neighbor we really socialize with. I mean, it’s not like we never tried with the others. The house on the other side of the fence grew distant from us, while the old man across the street died, and we never connected with the new move-ins. Mr. Serge is quite fine, though. During the summer, he lets us use his pool, which shimmers as if it were made of liquefied diamonds. Lately, my parents use him to test our latest food recipes for our catering business. We ask him because Mother says he has taste buds like little bees, analyzing every bit of food. He says it is good. Most people do, though, so it’s not a lie. Overall, he is a good neighbor whom I’m glad to have. He’s very refreshing, compared to the bleakness of my neighborhood. Refreshing as his perfectly trimmed lawn.

Jaleel Williams ’12Grade VIII

Empire State BuildingmarkerMolly Brenner ’19Grade I

I went on a ride in Legoland. It was a laser game. I shot 864 targets.

The seeds are under the soil and not growing now.

I went to the Empire State Building. It was fun.

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Clambake

During the summer, I went to a clambake. I saw a lot of family and friends. I played with my cousin at first, the my brother wanted to play with us, then my friend came to play with us. We played a lot of games. After that, it was time for dinner. There was a lot to eat. I tried some of the food. After that, I waited for the lobster with my cousin, Mollie, and my friend, Ariana. My dad, mom, and brothers were leaving. I wanted to stay, so my aunt offered to bring me home. It was getting cold. We waited and waited. Finally, finally, finally! The lobster came. After we ate, my cousins and I went home. My brothers were just getting into bed when I got home. I really, really wanted to change. I had spilled butter on myself twice.

Lucy Hirschfeld ’18Grade II

When I Was Born

The day I was born, word passed from the humpback whales to the monarch butterflies, from animal to animal. The day I was born was my day. The sun shifted to give me a safe path out. Gravity pulled to hope that you never float away. The moon moved its place to watch you, to make you safe your whole life, and when you are finally out, the voices are getting closer, the hands are making you happy, using all their love on you. The day I was born.

Olivia Hartshorn ’18Grade II

Swan BoatpaintRobin Pinchera ’19Grade I

AirplanecraypasBenjie Neilson ’21Pre-Kindergarten

Self-portraitcrayonAmos Lawrence ’21Pre-Kindergarten

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Personification

BootsMy foot slips into the bootand it gobbles up all my toes.As it grabs my foot it holds it inplace all nice and snug.Once it is full it coughs up my foot.Getting hungrier by the second,it waits ‘til it can feed again.

RefrigeratorWhen I open the fridge it awakensand its yellow eyes shine in my face.It growls when I take foodand purrs when I give it food.It helps me every day.

Jamie Carroll ’14Grade VI

Things That Drive Me Nuts

The smell of fake leather that gives me a headacheNothing good on T.V. When sales people are good at their job People try to rip me offthese are things that drive me nuts

When people lieWhen people whineClimate skeptics are insaneStupid politicians! who voted for them!!they don’t even have a brain! they’re insanethese are things that drive me nuts

people who wreck my snowmenwhen parents use stupid analogieslike “If everyone jumped off a cliff would you!!”People in the mafiathese are things that drive me nuts

innocent people in jailrude strangers yell at methrowing up in your mouthwhen mosquitoes bitethese are things that drive me nuts

when food is in my braceslosing raceshavin’ braceswhen my things disappearthese are things that drive me nuts

mom trying to make everything healthybrown rice.. frown riceteachers who think they’re always rightrotten food that stinks up the housethese are things that drive me nuts

Henry Burnes ’14Grade VI

Lampmixed mediaSophie Formela ’13Grade VII

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Housecolored pencilAsjia O’Neal ’15Grade V

Cubeglass and copper wireSylvie Florman ’11Grade IX

Street Drawingcolored pencilPippa Hodgkins ’15Grade V

Thomas Edison

In his labworking awayinventing, inventingPull the switchon it goesNo going to the dockfor whale’s oilThe light bulb is workingin homesin his labworking awayThomas Edison isinventing, inventing

Sarah Hart ’18Grade II

Paradise

Sluggish snail slowlycrosses the busy highwayto the other si....

Baby bird tries tofly up and up and up, butepically fails.

Babysitter arrives,freedom disappears,all hope is lost.

David Tsai ’15Grade V

Sketchbookblock printCaroline O’Boy ’13Grade VII

Push

Get into the water. Let it absorb you. Remain relatively shallow so you can see everything surrounding your floating body. The salty dew will tickle your face and drown you in its serenity. Now stand up without exerting too much effort, for you want to save all of your lasting drops of energy. Observe the open water, from the peaking swells all the way to the foggy strips of land way out in the distance. This may mystify you; let it. Now pick out a swell in the water, preferably the biggest one in bloom. Then follow it. Watch it begin to bubble up, and see it grow and rise with every inch of its progression. Keep your gaze on the developing current but get a bit deeper into the water, about up to your waist. This will help your leverage and angle. Turn around so you are facing the shore where you started, but store your gaze on the continuously rising wave. It should be getting close. Your plan should be racing through your head as the wind picks up. The wave will get nearer and nearer, and the anticipation should be overwhelmingly exhilarating. It’s here. Now bend your knees so your kneecaps and your tiptoes are perfectly aligned. At this point, the swell is high above your head and almost at its climax. Remember all of that energy you were saving up for the ideal opportunity? This is it. Using all of your might and power, push off with the muscles in your shins. Make sure that you do not jump, for this will throw off the entire routine. Once you have pushed off and are no longer in touch with the ocean floor, begin to swim. Swim hard and fast. If carried out correctly, there are no more steps. From here on in, you have no control over your own body. It is all in the hands of the deep blue sea. At this point, your blood should be pumping excitedly as you are lifted by the wave. Up and out it will take you. Now is the time to relax. Let all remain still and calm while you indulge in the wonders of the salty water rushing through your veins and the heavy current pushing your feet. Everything is beginning to die down now. Your 7 seconds have past. Now look and feel around you. It’s sand.

Lilah Lutes ’11Grade IX