Page 21 - Horizon 17-18

Horizon 2017
21
Private World
It’s been a long, hard day at work.
When the clock struck 5, I got on my brown coat and left
I took the scenic route home today;
I passed the park and the town square,
Then I walked down the path that led to my apartment.
There are shrubs and trees all along the path.
There is a big, black metal arch right outside my building.
My husband used to say it is like a gate
When you go through it, you enter another world;
The world at home,which is in private
And the world outside with people and shops and where reality resided. I always loved the private world where just us had existed
And sometimes our family or friends when they came over
He had always loved the outside world
Where he could be the social butterfly he was.
Now he is the social butterfly with the same people, everyday.
He forgets the nurses’ names every night
He even forgets about his friends who are stuck like him
Stuck with forgetting everything
I walk into the quiet apartment like I did last night
and like I will tomorrow night.
Rachel Bokros ’17
I Am
I am large and white. I have no corners.
I wonder how many ears I have penetrated.
I hear the sounds of gasps whenever I am worn because of my beauty. I see other pieces of jewelry next to me in this box.
I want to be shown off my by owner.
I am large and white. I have no corners.
I pretend that I am still new, although I’ve been worn many times. I feel honored to be passed down from each generation.
I touch the hearts of each girl born in the family.
I worry that one day I will get lost.
I cry because sometimes I am not worn.
I am large and white. I have no corners.
I understand that one day, my tradition may come to an end. I say that for now, that day won’t be soon.
I dream of being worn every day and night.
I hope that my owner doesn’t pass my along too soon.
I am large and white. I have no corners.
Gina Marzano ’18
Rich Guy, Poor Attitude
Thank God I was able to finesse this umbrella from that homeless guy.
I don’t know why this stuff always happens to me. I just want to go for a walk... but no... end up mugging a homeless guy. I wonder if the cops are going to look for me. Probably not. He probably won’t report it. Even if he did, the cops have better things to do... stupid puddle! I didn’t sign up to live in a river. I really should move out of this dump. Go somewhere nice... maybe Montana. Get myself a nice farm or ranch or something. Wouldn’t need much... of course I’d take this umbrella just in case... This rain is the worst. Keep calm, the cops won’t be looking for you. I’m more concerned with getting home and staying dry anyway. Maybe I’ll pick up some food on the way. Course then it would just get all wet. I hate this place.
Brian Bowne ’18
Hope
“Hope” is the thing with feathers-
Dickenson’s lovely, delicate image.
Yet how could a power as tenacious as hope be a “little Bird?” No, hope is not merely a thing with feathers.
Hope is the sun peeping through after days of pouring grey.
It is a Friday afternoon, or the last days in May.
Hope holds the anguished soul in bonds of tenderness.
It is a smile, a look of love after the world’s cruelness.
Hope is the thing that allows another breath to swell the lungs And shouts“Tomorrow is another day!”in brilliant tongues.
So you see, hope is stubborn, hope is bold,
Hope does much more than “perch in the soul,”
Yet Dickson was surely right,
It “never stops-at all-”
Olivia Manocchio ’17