Haley Stevens

Paragon

2002 Volume VI Coe-Brown Northwood Academy 907 First New Hampshire Turnpike Northwood, NH 03261

1 THESTAFFOFPARAGON2002

EDITORINCHIEF Jennifer Heath

LITERARYEDITOR Sophia Savage

ARTEDITOR Haley Stevens

SECRETARY Rebecca Poulin

STAFF Heather Baker Erin Brearley Johanna Carling Tom Drescher Evan Freeman Krista Gray Tad Mastroianni Shonda Tenley Nathan Wyckoff

ADVISORS Elizabeth D’Amico Anna Hazen

Thank you to our faculty readers: Linda Cross, Rita Dana, Jennifer Deardorff, Jeanne Goulet, Ray Mason, and Kathy Palmer.

COLUMBIASCHOLASTICPRESSAWARDS Gold Medalist, 1997 Silver Medalist, 1998 Silver Medalist, 1999 Bronze Medalist, 2000 Gold Medalist, 2001

NATIONALCOUNCILOFTEACHERSOFENGLISH Superior Rating, 1998 Superior Rating, 1999 Superior Rating, 2000 Excellent Rating, 2001

2 This year’s magazine has been a collaborative effort, involving each member of the staff in the process of creating the magazine. As a staff we have worked together this year to use a wide variety of literary and art styles and techniques. Every step from choosing submissions to layout has been a collaboration of practical and creative ideas. The culmination of this process is a magazine that we hope you You’ve Got To Be Free Danielle Miles will find filled with inspiration. Writing and art often act as an outlet for the emotions- those both painful and joyous. This year particularly has been one that has held its calamities and triumphs. The world watched as America crumbled beneath terrorist forces, then pulled together to rise from the rubble. The 2002 edition of Paragon reflects these varied and often tumultuous emotions. While many of the pieces submitted this year focused on the pain and suffering of September 11th, there were also a number that reflected the hope that many Americans hold for the future. That hope acts as a bridge – taking us from the frightening days that followed September 11th to the hope of tomorrow.

Jennifer Heath Editor in Chief Paragon 2002

3 Tableof...

29 Blueberry Picking Jennifer Heath ‘02 28 Alpine Martyrs Thomas Drescher ‘02 26 Oda a un Angela (Ode to an Angel) Gabriele Chase ‘04 25 Before the Train Comes Linsay Wilder ‘02 24 With or Without You Hannah McDuffee ‘02 23 The Long Road Johanna Carling ‘02 22 Wishes Kara Tiede ‘02 20 Thirteen Lindsay Orlowski ‘04 18 What Is and What Should Never Be Collin Williams ‘03 16 Ode to a Bubble Colby Boutwell ‘02 15 Mine Ruth Hayden ‘05 14 Praying Mantis Thomas Drescher ‘02 12 Descending Sky Stephanie O’Neal ‘04 10 Summer Serenity Dawn Lemmon ‘04 8 Have You Been There? Haley Stevens ‘04

4 30 Essay 1 Johanna Carling ‘02 32 Valentine’s Day Stinks Susannah Monett ‘02 33 “!” Johanna Carling ‘02 34 Lost and Found Heather Baker ‘05 36 You Derive Me Crazy 2001-02 AP Calculus Class 38 Sting Like A Bee Sophia Savage ‘02 40 Everyday (In a High School Cafeteria and Elsewhere) Evan Freeman ‘02 42 (In)Coherent Train of Thought Evan Freeman ‘02 44 Malady Heather Baker ‘05 45 Sinful Beauty Sophia Savage ‘02 47 The Person I Want To Be Haley Stevens ‘04 48 America Sophia Savage ‘02 49 Together Michael Hand ‘03 50 Pride Michelle Church ‘04 51 There is No Way To Tell Samantha Buffington ‘02

...Contents

5 Tableof... Back Cover Erin Brearley ‘04 and Justine Fallon ‘03 52 Bridge Series Dan Cronin ‘02 51 Downtown Newmarket, 2002 Chris Boucher ‘02 50 Distant Beauty Michael Hand ‘03 49 Flag Series Sarah Cummings ‘04 48 Waves of Freedom Erin Carter ‘03 47 Lunar Moths Holly Gooch ‘02 46 Rebirth Alecia Stiles ‘02

44 Beckon Nathan Wyckoff ‘02

43 Great Binds Think Alike Carly Popovich ‘05 41 Nothing Sarah Anderson ‘02 39 Illustration by Stephanie Serson ‘03

37 Rustamon Nathan Wyckoff ‘02 35 Sight from the Bridge Nate Schadler ‘05 33 Blood and Tears Lesley Seymour ‘02

30-31 Honey I’m Home Series Heidi Jewell ‘05 29 Smile Megan Madariaga ‘03

28 Urban Splinter Marcy Lombard ‘04 26 Classical Lady Jackie Masten ‘03 25 Kensington Gate Erin Brearley ‘04

24 Foot Fetish Holly Gooch ‘02 23 A Road Less Traveled Corinn Holmes ‘02

Dan Cronin ‘02 22 What Do You See? Sarah Anderson ‘02

21 Snow Pixie Alecia Stiles ‘02 19 Falling Without Landing (detail) Jessica Kent ‘02

17 Abracadabra Heidi Jewell ‘05 15 Sleeping Infant Jessica Towle ‘05 14 Illustration by Stephanie Serson ‘02

13 Winter’s God Michael Hand ‘02 11 Day Dreamer Marcy Lombard ‘04

8 Crossing The Bridge Evan Freeman ‘02 Cover Brilliance Lindsey Grant ‘02...Contents 6 Cotton Candy Justine Fallon

“He looked out of his clouded eyes at the faint steady lightening in the east. But he calmed himself, and took out the heavy maize cakes and the tea, and put them upon a stone. And he gave thanks, and broke the cakes and ate them, and drank of the tea. Then he gave himself over to deep and earnest prayer, and after each peti- tion he raised his eyes and looked to the east. And the east lightened and lightened, till he knew that the time was not far off. And when he expected it, he rose to his feet and took off his hat and laid it down on the earth, and clasped his hands before him. And while he stood there the sun rose in the east.

Yes, it is the dawn that has come. The titihoya wakes from sleep and goes about its work of forlorn crying. The sun tips with light the mountains of Ingeli and East Griqualand. The great valley of the Umzimkulu is still in darkness, but the light will come there. Ndotsheni is still in darkness, but the light will come there also. For it is dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret.”

~Alan Paton, from Cry, The Beloved Country

7 Crossing the Bridge Evan Freeman

8 Haveyoubeenthere?

Can you smell the hazelnut coffee? Can you taste the chocolate mints? If you can, you might have been here

Can you see the cluttered desk? Can you hear the stereo that’s turned up too loud? If you can, then you have been here

Can you feel the smooth texture of the keys? Do you stare at the mitten and have no idea where its mate is? If you do then you are here

Do you sing along with your favorite song when it plays? Are all the songs your favorite? If you do and if they are then you are definitely here

Is there anywhere else you’d rather be? Can your smile get any bigger? If not then you will be here for awhile

Are you comfortable here? Do you look at the window and see your laughing face in the reflection? If you do then you will be here forever

Not this room But this state of happiness Do you wish to stay? The coffee’s fresh.

Haley Stevens

?9 Beneath a light brown tree With rough grooves in its bark I rested against its stiff supportive figure SerenityA cushion of luscious green grass Summer Lay beneath me. I slipped my hand into a brook Running of deep blue water Which quickly glided over the deep gray rocks And sent a refreshing chill That traveled throughout my body. With my head tilted towards the sun I allowed myself to close my eyes And be engulfed in the cloud of sunlight. I allowed the warmth of the sun to battle With the crisp chill of the running water. I drifted into a world of dreams Yet still clinging to the reality and harshness of my life and world By a thread of consciousnes. I desperately yearned for the harmonious singing of the birds And bubbling of the brook To break the final thread... But their efforts were insufficient. So I took a deep breath Absorbing the sweet scent Of bright orange, yellow, pink, purple, and blue flowers And grew content with knowing I can never truly let go of the torturous reality But enjoy this very moment Where I came the closest I’ve ever gotten.

Dawn Lemmon

10 Day Dreamer Marcy Lombard

11 De sc en di ng Sky They descend from the murky sky Interweaving together, Making visions of reality. The closer they come the Softer they Fall into a dreamer’s mind. As they lie silently sleeping. They wait in the shadows of the rising sun, For the time when they can arise Back to the heavens From which they had come. Stephanie O’Neal

12 Winter’s God Michael Hand

13 To whom do you pray, O emerald czar? How shall I find Your great altar?

Wild and fierce, You rule abroad, Stalking prey, A verdant god.

Your silent prayers, What do they mean? Death is not black, But, rather, green!

To, you, O mantis, This I bring- A poem for The Emerald King.

PrayingMantis

Tom Drescher

Illustration by Stephanie Serson

14 Beautiful, you are beautiful Snow swirling, swirling. Sleeping Infant Jessicamine Towle Your face upturned to the white, white sky glowing Hands searching for something to hold Eyes longing to look into yours Little moments, years go by A thousand breaths of cold crisp air Lacing voices crying silent joy in vapor clouds Catch me, catch me Searching, connecting Sweet ecstasy, love Warm skin, soft and yielding Soft lips Mine Ruth Hayden

15 OdetoaBubble 1 My heart yearns, as I wish to be like you. My touch, is not yet as light as yours And I am afraid, that I will never float, As you do through the sky. As if a feather, from North to South, And East and West, the wind pulls you about.

2 The sun and moon seem to have colored you, A rainbow of the most magnificent colors. From the green of fresh cut grass, To the shimmer of a mint condition gold coin. The gray of the sky after a storm, And the pink of the cheeks on a young girl.

3 The sight of you makes my soul lift, Straight to the heavens and there I happily wait. For you to come and help me down, Back down to my earth. This is as close as I can come to flying, And you do this to me. And only me, I thank you for that. Colby Boutwell

16 Abracadabra Heidi Jewell

17 take trips now and again to visit my fatherI in Connecticut. Times are kind of tight so it’s necessary for me to take the bus. Most of the time, I tend to make a stop in Boston for a few hours to just walk around and watch the different kinds of people that come through South Station. It’s amazing what one can ponder and come up with just by ob- serving the expressions on the faces in the crowd. One could write a book on the subject. So every time I go there I have my little routine. I get off my bus, and slowly walk through the bus station towards the train station. I’ll move my eyes around and over the benches with a knowing look on my face as if trying to spark thoughts similar to my own in a stranger. These thoughts that I speak of are primarily those of wonder. I wonder about the story behind each person I see. Where a person is going and why he or she might be going there is what I think about. From the tall man with bushy hair and the ratty canvas bag around his shoulder to the young man with his face buried in a text book. At least once every time I visit that place I witness one person do something worth writing about. And, as one might assume many of the people might be, this particular person was homeless. He was fairly short and had thin white hair that shot out from under a tired old ball cap. I first saw him when I exited the station to smoke a cigarette. I saw that he was smoking one himself and figured I might as well ask him for a light. When I did so, he extended his poorly hand-rolled cigarette towards me without saying a word. I obliged and took the butt from his unclipped fingernails, not realizing that he was homeless when I first saw him. The look in his eye told me he cared not, in any way, for what I asked him for, due to being caught up in himself. I walked away after extend- ing my thanks and continued to ponder the stories behind people, this time, naturally, about what that man had seen and done in his life to make him worn so thin. I returned to the inside of the station feeling guilty, as I always do after taking so many breaths away from my own life, and once again resumed my constant observ- ing. It would have never crossed my mind that that man would provoke an addi- tional thought in me. As I sat and watched him enter the station, an action that was unpredictable in and of itself, I watched him pull an old Dunkin Donuts coffee cup from his pocket and the telltale jingle told me it was a collection of change that probably took a man in his state days to accumulate. He then proceeded to walk toward the little bookshop in the center of the station. He browsed, ignoring the disapproving looks he got from the employees, and picked up a book that caught his inter- est. He walked over to the counter and spilled his savings onto it, along with the book. The man kept his eyes faced downward in order to avoid the dis- gusted looks he had probably gotten more times in his life than raindrops on his head. He walked back outside and I sat and thought. That was one of the saddest and most beautiful things I can remember seeing. This man, a failure by most standards, did not spend his money on a bottle of booze or on God knows what else; he spent a week or more worth of change on a book, a piece of literature to pass the time with and to warm his soul in a way most other experiences cannot. His escape was not to blur his own reality, but to enrich it in the only way he could think of. He was not a stereotype; he was unique. Then I thought. I thought about what I had seen; I thought about what had made him choose a book of all things, and I thought about the man behind the sorrow. Then I realized it was time to board another bus and wait until the next time I could witness something like that. Collin Williams

18 WhatIsand WhatShould NeverBe

Falling Without Landing Jessica Kent

19 1313131313131313131313131313131313131313131313

13 13 13 13

13 13 13 13 13 ThirteenThirteenThirteen

13 13 13 13

Geraldine, Josephine, and Christine And every other girl who is thirteen Gets high on caffeine And bowls of ice cream.

And every girl who is thirteen Giggles so much they scream With bowls of ice cream And all words are almost obscene

Giggle so much they scream And things don’t make sense Because all words are almost obscene And the sugar flows down their throats like velveteen

Geraldine, Josephine, and Christine Things don’t make sense Getting high on caffeine And the sugar flows down their throats like velveteen

Lindsay Orlowski

20 Snow Pixie Alecia Stiles

21 What do you see? Sarah Anderson WishesWishes Why do we waste our wishes on the stars? Their presence never changes life’s creatures. We continue to fight the war afar. Never noticing the wish’s features.

Like faithful friends, the stars are definite. Reliable as mom; they radiate. Always sparkling and ever infinite. Stars sacrifice light to illuminate.

Heaven’s eyes encourage the expectant, Flashing their long, flirtatious eyelashes. The wishful, however, quite reluctant. Dreams, hopes, ambitions are just flashes.

No matter how distant, each dream shines bright, Light holds a wish for me every night. Kara Tiede

22 The LongLongRoad

A Road Less Traveled Corinn Holmes

I have found here in New England something I did not knowEnglandomething I did Between snowy evenings and sunny afternoonsgs and sunny afternoons Between Route 4 and completely lostompletely lost Between despair at my loss and excitement at a beginningoss and excitement at a b Somewhere, one day, on a long stretch of road With popcorn ball trees dripping caramel onto the street I found myself here in New England Someone I did not know.

Johanna Carling

23 Withor

WithoutYou

The path before me My toes touch the end Emotionally exhausted Mentally fatigued Cried out Run dry Memories lay behind me The future a mystery Alone on the path Once again Freedom lifts my spirits Lonesomeness brings me down I may pause in my travels But not for long Foot Fetish My soul goes deeper than bones Holly Gooch My strength is invisible But not lacking My journey continues With or without you Hannah McDuffee

24 They bend around me Black, metal gates; Knights in shining armor beckoning to my call. Making way for a traveler, The Lone Ranger of summer’s end I was searching and now my paths had crossed.

I used to count the stars at night, gathered near a crowded moon Before Wanting to be close. (Solidarity seemed to create poise) I always wished the stars would fly to open space; the Migrate to another land And roam the plains of a wild country before the train comes.

It seems that compasses point the truth, Train And maps guide many to their destination; They are not my way. For I, I follow the Tracks, Comes Making shadows in their valley before the train comes.

Sometimes the road home is woven, Thin lines in a sunbelt of the mind Stretching beyond the horizon Setting sun Quilted of a wistful migration.

Over silver lined Tracks I follow my calling Through a Night of shining armor. West will lead me home And My journey will be found Before the train comes. Linsay Wilder

Kennsington Gates Erin Brearley 25 OdaaunaÁngela La carga del mundo se apoya en sus hombros,

Las hendeduras de la tierra se arrugan la frente.

Sus ojos contienen los océanos, que suben con sus lágrimas.

El fuego de la tierra mora a su centro,

La esencia de vida fluye en su sangre,

Su voz lleva los rezos de los niños y de los acongojados.

Los hilos de sueños bailan en su cabello,

La luz de esperanza tiembla en su pecho,

Sus manos tienden para abrazar a todos con compasión.

OdetoanAngel

The weight of the world rests on her shoulders,

The cracks of the earth furrow her brow.

Her eyes hold the oceans, which rise with her tears.

The fire of the Earth dwells at her core,

The essence of life runs in her blood,

Her voice carries the prayers of the children and the heartbroken.

The strands of dreams dance in her hair, Classical Lady Jacqueline Masten The light of hope trembles in her breast,

Her hands reach out to embrace all with compassion.

Gabriele Chase

26 Self portrait Holly Gooch

27 Alpine

Martyrs

In higher altitudes, Where weather is wild, The mountains are covered with small trees, Dwarfed In comparison to their great evergreen brothers Found in lower valleys and vales. Tortured and suffering Twisted and gnarled, The pygmy trees bend and bow Under pervasive wind and snow. Urban Splinter Yet, like masked martyrs, Marcy Lombard They are noble and proud; Monuments of strength Beneath their guises. Mighty, Hardy and Hale, they are dormant pillars of might- Indomitable emblems of life. Tom Drescher 28 Blueberry mornings when The heat has already descended. Our sunbleached hair hidden under straw hats that Picking -dyed yellow red- shade sun burnt noses. Towering bushes in rolling lush hills encircled by shade, but offer little relief from the sun’s cruel rays.

Bushes - taller then I can reach descending branches -droop - with Blue ( they are almost black) berries. Working toward the end of rows filling buckets bags (anything that will hold) Blueberries. Plucking with a tender grip-Pulling Plopping one by one. to disappear - to delve in among the Blueberries. damp and sticky. shirts and shorts stick to your skin. wanting to be done. filling buckets -too heavy for their baby arms to move. I watch him from a distance sneer - ( he- my cousin) . impudent face upturned- grinning in defiance. Reaches filthy hands and pulls fistfuls of luscious Blueberries. Smile Megan Madariaga and mocking crams Blueberries - between thin lips crushing them in crooked teeth. Jennifer Heath

29 Essay1Essay1 Essay1Essay1Essay1 Essay1Essay1

The trouble with this essay, she thought to herself, is that I have so many interests and hobbies, how do I explain them all in 500 words. Let’s see that’s three hobbies and two interests divided by 100 words each, plus a title . . . Math, whoa, how did math get in here? I am not going to think about that. I am thinking about this. The life of Johanna Barbara Carling, in 500 words, is that possible? How about this: j “Japanians? Are you joking me? He actually said that? I weep for this country, I really do.” I slammed the Newsweek hard on the desk, just to add emphasis. “I can’t even comprehend the kind of person who fills in the bubble under the name of the man who can’t recall the name of the people who live on the island of Japan. It’s J ! A ! P ! A ! N ! E ! S ! E ! It’s not tricky, it’s not even hard: China, Chinese; Japan, Japanese! In the name of all that is good and holy, what is wrong with this country?” Since the Presidential Primaries, when it came down to only Al Gore and the man whom we affectionately called “The Shrub”; we began our mornings with poll results, candidate quotes, and Saturday Night Live jokes. We were bubbling political springs. Each moment spent in political discussion was truly blissful.

Her typing halted with a sudden realization and a smack on her forehead, Oh good heavens, what if someone on the admissions board is Republican? I am bipartisan, but the Shrub joke could be misconstrued. Joke, was that a joke? Do I sound too flippant? She crumpled Draft #210 against her forehand like a soda can and stuffed it in the overflowing trash can. Focus Johanna, focus! Let’s try this one:

The first time I heard about the problems in Africa I was a sophomore furiously scrib- bling notes in my Honors World Studies class. Only minutes earlier my biggest problems were too much homework, a jammed locker, and a cramped hand. Then my teacher described a place that changed my life. On the continent of Africa there has been constant warfare since European Colonization. Mass genocide, severe poverty, grossly inadequate sanitation, water and health services, and the worst AIDS epidemic in the world, are the least of their problems. How could I live everyday without thinking about these abused people? And how could a little Mormon girl from southern Utah do anything to help? I wrote letters, I did research, I even wrote a bill for Student Congress calling for debt cancellation in Africa. The little success I achieved was enough to force me to change my plans of becoming a lawyer, in order to become someone who could really make an impact; a politician.

This is madness, absolute madness. Maybe math was the way to go. No, never, I will never sink that low. The distraught young girl fell dramatically onto her bed with a sigh, promptly drifted into a deep slumber, and dreamt of happy days in New Haven. Johanna Carling

30 Honey, I’m Home Heidi Jewell

31 !Splurge Power! !Electric Marathon Emerging! !Live! Escape! Be bullish! Sprint! !Trust Pure-genius Magic! !Stop the Blah Blast! !Hatch Smart Beautiful Self! !Punch Unimpressive Spots! !Go, Win Life, Value Spirit! .Bravo. !!!!! Johanna Carling Valentine’sDayStinks Valentine’s Day is coming soon Everyone in love, everyone swoons Cards, kisses, and emotions shared From all the love no one can be spared Slight glances Deep romances Tears of joy, tears of sorrow Please God make it tomorrow All in love, all together You, twelve states away, feels like forever You had to go away You couldn’t stay You make me wait And for that I hate But you do have your reasons So I must go through the seasons Alone and sad Valentine’s Day is bad Susannah Monett

3232 Blood and Tears Leslie Seymour

33 LostLike a seer that can see no more, Like an artist who cannot draw, A writer who cannot write, Feels strangely lost, As if they are missing something everyone else has, And always did, It’s almost like the stars are out of alignment, Or perhaps someone changed something, And you didn’t know it, The world has a new look to it, As if it really isn’t there, Because to you everything is really made to come alive in your writing, So as you walk you put the world into words, Vying to put it onto paper as soon as you can, But when the paper and pen graces and comforts your hands, The words have retreated placing a barrier between you, Like a friend who’s betrayed you, Like a promise so simply broken, Of words, once flowing, to come, Frustrated and lost you swear against the words, As if you could provoke them into coming, Every dawn like a curse, every night a simple blessing of sleep and no awareness, Of what you had lost, The world has no beauty and everything so, so colder than before, Then something happens, Something so stunningly beautiful, Or so drastically sudden, To show you it was you restraining the words, Keeping them away &as a dog on a short tethered leash, And now suddenly the words flow, As a rushing river, And suddenly the world is too beautiful to behold, And every thing can be described and written ecstatically beautiful and elegant words, Fit only to grace your pages, And soon dawn seems to come for the first and only time ever, Every last morning. Heather Baker Found

34 Sight from the Bridge Nate Schadler

35 Rusta-mon Nathan Wyckoff

36 YouDeriveMe

You graph my function You push my buttons CrazyYou approach my limit Our function is explicit. You’re the focus of my parabola When I’m with you, my derivative is + I relish your concavity, You make me feel like a natural log. Our love is an open interval In which you’re never an irrational asymptote U-substitute my integrals, And now I have a C. You bake my π, woman Our trend will continue to ∞ Baby, it’s µ. 2001-2002 AP Calculus Class

37 tingLikeA S Bee

When I was born I weighed 6 pounds and 6 with a smooth and determined jab. Not only did I move ounces. A small person, a slender girl who took ballet the bag, I punched it till sweat was running down my lessons for ten years; I have the body of a ballerina, tiny forehead. I felt exhilarated. The skepticism I had en- wrists and ankles to match. By appearance I could be a countered towards my new found boxing only made my typical seventeen year old girl, yet in the mind I am no swing stronger. All the frustration I had ever felt was longer a ballerina, or a pale little girl who reaches 5’4” like a deadly force at the breach of my knuckles. Here I high and weighs 104 pounds. was, ex-ballerina, using all the grace and balance I had In my mind, I am Muhammad Ali. gained from dancing to keep my body Taking up boxing as a personal lithesome and steady, and using all the hobby is not something most girls do, but frustration and determination I had to that did not stop me. I admit that boxing make my mind stronger, smarter, more is not the same as ballet, and body size re- powerful, and more determined than the quirements differ, but that did not stop me. bag. Suddenly I realized that size had Despite the skepticism I faced when I de- nothing to do with it, not in my mind at cided to take up boxing, I put on my cross least. trainers, sports bra, and tennis warm ups, In my mind, I became Muhammad Ali. and tied my hair into a pony tail. It was Female boxing defies the socially condi- now time to face the punching bag. It was tioned paradigms of most people; yet big and weighed more than I ever will, but boxing is no longer just a strong man’s that didn’t convince me it was stronger, game; it is a strong mind’s release. Prov- smarter, or more agile. So there I stood, ing that the rules of human thought can arms up protecting my ribs and my face, be broken is like owning your own piece tiny hands concealed in red Everlast box- of heaven; my own quintessence in a boxing gloves. My torso curved, my feet stood ing glove. Boxing may not denote who I a little over a foot apart. My stance was am or express what I dream, but it proves directed sideways to the punching bag, my to me that success is not based on size eyes were filling with resolution, my mind nor determined by outside opinions. with moxie. “Can I even make the bag move?” I wor- Muhammad Ali’s boxing credo was, “Float like a butter- ried. Then I laughed at myself and punched the bag fly, sting like a bee.” His words tell me go through life 38 like a butterfly; soaring and innocuously potent, but they also tell me to sting like a bee; leaving my mark wher- ever my bruised knuckles take me. Ali chose to leave his mark as a black eye and a broken nose; my sting will be harmless, but undoubtedly potent. In my mind, I am Muhammad Ali. Few people go out to prove themselves or something just because it seems impossible. Many assume I learned to box only to prove that the nature of woman is still in the making. Yet women who dare do not dream of the impossible; they defy that which is accepted as their reality. I dared to prove that boxing may be a man’s game, but just as importantly, this woman’s pride. In my mind, I am Muhammad Ali. Sophia Savage

Illustration by Stephanie Serson

39 Everyday(inaHighSchoolCafeteriaandElsewhere)

“Excuse ME?!?” her voice was louder now, and had lost its syrupy, fake plastic sound “We said no. You can’t sit with us.” Heads were now turning at some of the nearby tables in the High School Cafeteria. “Fine!” She muttered something inaudible under her breath, and spun around, causing her Bleached, Straightened Hair to whip around behind her, trying to communicate the distinct attitude that said, “I am better than you,” —in one last attempt to maintain her Pride and Self-worth in the face of Social Rejection. As she walked to the girls’ bathroom, where other girls were throwing up, she carried her brown paper bag containing her lunch: a “fun-size” snickersbar, and a Diet-Coke, and she wondered... “Why did they say no? ...I paid $49.99 for this new shirt at ABERCROMBIE & FITCH... I wonder if it was my hair...”

Back at the lunch table, the girl who was wearing the new pants from AMERICAN EAGLE muttered to the boy next to her : “God, did you see her shoes?!?” Evan Freeman

40 Nothing Sarah Anderson

41 CoherentTrainofThought(In) when he awoke, he was walking, aimlessly wandering. his brain was foggy and he found it difficult to focus his eyes. he was stumbling through narrow hallways and in and out of cluttered rooms. he knew that the rooms were not empty, no, they were full... but he could not quite see what filled them. there were very few lights in the rooms, and a sort of smoke hung in the air, as if burnt from incense by pious Jews in the temple of ancient Israel. or maybe it was just smoke, from smoldering cigarette butts... the shadow-shrouded rooms were connected to each other and there were halls that connected to the rooms connecting the connections. there were doors and windows connecting the walls to the rooms, and some were open, but most were closed and he could not open the closed ones... they were locked. in a haze of over-exhaustion, he walked on moving to an open door (when he could not enter a closed door.) blinking, he tripped over an idea while wading through his thoughts, which incidentally, made him think of chunky, chocolate pudding. hindered by these abstract concepts someone smiled at him, and he saw that there were people all around him he said, “hi,” and someone waved their middle finger at him. he looked-- to see if they were really looking at him, and I noticed that I was him. no more awake than he was, I wondered, somewhat hindered by a mental fog of sorts, where I came from, where they came from, who they were, and simutaneously: who am I? Evan Freeman

42 Great Binds Think Alike Carly Popovich

43 She reached toward the sweet, sweet face, sleep- Heather Baker ing contentedly beside her, only molecules of air between face and fingertip. She longed toalady stroke the face, allow herM fingers to roam over it, memorizing the feel and struc- ture of the face that was so sweet, so smooth and clean. She turned her head away from the sleeping form and let her hand fall to her side. Sadly she noted the irregularly slow rise and fall of the chest, a speed of breath seen only under enchantments. A single tear fell and splattered down the woman’s pale cream dress, sliding between folds until it was dashed upon the stony floor. When her gaze again came to rest on the face of the man beside her she engraved its image on her heart. Again her hand rose to just above the face, fingers twitching with the urge to touch, while tracing in the air its every aspect. Then reason quickly flew from the woman and her hand reached down to stroke the strong, masculine forehead. Just as her finger was about to make contact the sleeping eyes moved beneath their eyelids and the sleeping human stirred, but stayed asleep. She snatched her hand away, fearful at what she had almost done. Her heart broke and she fancied she could hear their crystalline pieces shattering on the stone at her feet. She ripped her face away from the sight of the man beside her and let her tears fall steadily down her rosy cheeks. Her thoughts turned desperate and distraught. Oh, to be so evilly cursed, so sweetly blessed! Rang through her mind. Whirling faster than the eye could follow she ran fleetingly out of the room and down the hall until her form was indiscernible and footsteps silent. The room seemed to become less sunny without her beauty to light it up. Perhaps a searching eye would have noticed an interesting happening when the woman had run down the hall. As she ran her arm and hand reached out, a gesture of surrender and sadness and goodbye. The very tip of her fingertip had caught the leaf of a potted plant decorating the lonely stone hallway. If that eye looked closer still it would of noticed the plant, so live and healthy moments before, was dead as if it had always been. The leaves were wilted and decayed, flowers brown, rotted. It looked as if a very serious disease had attacked it. A gust of wind flew through the hall after the woman, carrying with it a smell of death and rot, seeming almost to follow Beckon her like a perfume. Nathan Wyckoff The sleeping man stirred, sighed, and was quiet. 44 infulBeauty

If you were to ask a person on the street to define Beauty, they would give you some noncha- Slant response that reflected the modern paradigm that overlooks what true beauty is. By definition Beauty is perhaps a visible trait, yet it conveys so much that the naked eye overlooks. Life crime in concentration camps during the Holocaust, and is Beautiful is about beauty; not the beauty you can see joy was restricted, if not forbidden. Happiness was sin- in a fashion magazine or try to obtain by dying your ful, and the act of happiness was considered disobedient hair. The film is about the beauty in life, and the beauty toward the imposed restrictions. To think beauty could of life itself. The film is haunting, depicting Naziism ever be sinful is both devastating and reviving. Life is and an era of fear using cheerful imagery, emotions Beautiful made me realize the simplistic beauty in life’s and colors. Watching the film without subtitles would smallest and most forgotten things. Seeing beauty shine almost lead one to believe it was a happy film, perhaps through life during the Holocaust, like embarrassment even a comedy. Yet, the cheerful colors and child-like does through blushed cheeks, is omnipotent in waking joys expressed in Life is Beautiful serve to exemplify up tired minds that have been blind to the beauty of life the true beauty in life, even in a time when the joy of in its most simple form. The beauty of everything around beauty was almost sinful. us thus shines through as well after watching this film, The setting of Life is Beautiful makes the making our neglect of the beauty we have such easy ac- beauty of life jump out of the film at the viewer, simply cess to the only true act of sin. Even when my life ap- because it is such a contrast to the time period and pears to have such little beauty and joy, I am reminded atmosphere. The innocence of a son’s smile, a family’s that this life itself it what beauty is. joy, or the excitement in hearing music for the first time Life is Beautiful’s original portrayal of beauty in weeks of torment; this is beauty. Because beauty is attracted me to the nontraditional foreign film. It expressed in such contrast to the film’s context, it does opened up my eyes and made me think even after appear to be almost sinful. Laughter was practically a leaving the movie theater and renting it on video. 45 Continued on next page Whereas most modern films follow a formula and leave moviegoers feeling unsatisfied, Life is Beautiful dared to make something beautiful out of one of the cruelest points in our history. Not only did this film make me reassess the beauty in my own life; it also reassured my faith in films and made my desire to create them as a screenwriter even stronger. To evoke such emotions out of people or to cause people to think outside the box of the accepted norm is an incredible gift and ability to have, as well as something that has been truant in the majority of films for a long while. Life is beautiful, and it is the film-maker’s job to capture that beauty by provoking thought, developing meaning, and by relying on originality to create a work of art so beautiful that it might even be considered sinful in a world that sometimes forgets its own beauty Sophia Savage

Rebirth Alecia Stiles

46 ThePersonIWanttoBe

Lunar Moths Holly Gooch

Should I feel guilty for not practicing flute as often as I should? But I have to make decisions... Only a lot of the time my decision is to go online for hours before sleepy time, This, I realize, isn’t healthy, Considering that it takes my beliefs and feelings And twists them up so much I can’t recognize them. I wonder if they are really mine any more Or are they someone else’s that I just adopted as my own for the evening?

How can I tell when I am myself? When am I me and when am I the person people want to see? Or the person I want to be? I don’t think I want to be anyone but me, But how can I know for sure? I know how I can be sure, I looked in the mirror

And what I saw was a girl who smiles a lot, I looked at my eyes and saw kindness and love, I listened in a dark room and heard myself laugh out loud, With my hand on my heart I felt its slow steady rhythm And knew that it would continue for a long time,

I looked at my hands and saw the firm tenderness of assertiveness, I lay on my bed and felt the warmth and comfort that comes with security, I looked at my flute and saw an instrument that I am capable of playing, Beautifully, I looked at pictures of my friends and saw how much I love to be with all of them,

I looked in the mirror and saw the person I want to be. Haley Stevens 47 america/ avid search and aspiration for/liberty/sense of moral justice and pride/lacked conviction and failed to recognize its own contradictory nature/inability to change a paradigm in the white man’s mind/omnipresent as his dream of creating an ‘equal’ nation/fought for a modern cause, freedom/fight for freedom/ignited their passion/virtue/now an American quality/vital part of/paradigm/strong enough to win a war/clear enough to write a Constitution/quixotic/lack of ability to make a nation/as strong as/they could preach/contradiction to itself/hopes of an equal nation/acceptance of slavery/unjust/woman/racial minorities/intangible danger/such ‘excessive love for equality/appearance of maintaining equality/key to/government/Voltaire/ “Men are equal; it is not birth but virtue that makes the difference”/perhaps the country that prided itself/ most in equality/made the biggest contradiction of all/becoming a greater nation than the rest/creating inequality among/not people/but nations/After the Revolutionary War/America/years fidgeting in a pool of ideals/searching for an identity/Industrial Revolution/character was born for America/materialistic/perfection seeking/still today/America grew up future/power hungry/No one thought/something like this/not to America/not to us/get up again/burning like a flag in wartime/not since Pearl Harbor/freedom/have it taken away/heroes and martyrs/symbol of humanity/the most powerful nation/fear/takeover the weak/let’s play god Sophia Savage Waves of Freedom Erin Carter

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Together they marched, As soldiers to a battle. No one stayed back, They were in this together

Any time it could have come down, But that did not stop them. As a nation watched in terror, They were there, On the Ground, Together

Why, they asked, why today, September 11, 2001 Not in America, home of the free. Today a nation is in need, We are in this together.

As they walked to the towers, Thoughts ran through their minds. 123456789012345678901234567

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Our nation attacked, OUR FREEDOM, 123456789012345678901234567

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These great men and women will 123456789012345678901234567

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Our great nation is in this together. 123456789012345678901234567

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1234567890123456789012345678 Photos by Sarah Cummings 49 A tattered flag sits on its post And wafts gently in the breeze Inside an apartment building Pride Blown by an electric fan And wafts gently in the breeze Our nation’s colors sway with pride Blown by an electric fan Where the family can see it

Our nation’s colors sway with pride Protecting those who love it Where the family can see it Hung on the wall in the living room

A tattered flag sits on its post Protecting those who love it Hung on the wall in the living room Inside an apartment building Michelle Church

Chaotic Necessity - Distant Beauty Michael Hand

50 ThereIs NoWayToTell

There is no way to tell how I am; No words or actions, No way to tell the future or the present. Live everyday and wait for tomorrow to pass, Maybe yearning for tomorrow to come Forgetting that tomorrow will not last. The first moments of laughter will echo, The first cheers and praise will linger. The last goodbye hardens, The last tears stain.

There is no way to change the former times, There is no way to see what the past will bring. Let the doors open and the forgotten come in, Let eyes remain open to the truth- And don’t let it fade.

Soak in what you have gained. Lighten the load of what remains, Downtown Newmarket, 2002 Yet care for what clings on. Christopher Boucher Some things may latch and seem lost in misunderstanding. Sometimes it’s necessary to tend to what is lost. Lack of understanding comes from lack of caring. Peel off, layer by layer, and something, someone new will appear. Do not shudder; do not fear just because what has been seen is already known.

There is always one thing that is known in the future- Hope. There is only one way to see the future- Believing. I hope you believe.

Samantha Buffington

51 COLOPHON

The text of Paragon is set in Bauer Bodoni, chosen for its dramatic difference in thick and thin letter strokes, severe vertical stress, and extremely fine, delicate serifs and hairlines. (Adobe Type Library) The font was originally cut for the Bauer type foundry in 1926, based on an eighteenth century design by Giambattista Bodoni. Students designed the titles of literary works with the help of Pagemaker tools, using Papyrus, a modern calligraphy font with a hand- crafted look.

Text was originally word processed in Microsoft Word and Clarisworks, and imported into Adobe Pagemaker 6.0. Images were scanned using Adobe Photoshop LE 3.0.4 on a Macintosh, using a Hewlett- Packard scanner.

Postscript files were then taken to Town & Country Reprographics Inc. on a Zip disk ready for printing.

For an explanation of our selection policy, please see the previous issue posted on the CBNA Web Site: www.coebrownacademy.com.

Dan Cronin 52