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  • euphony 2020 ▼
    • table of contents
    • about euphony
    • poetry
    • poetry [ekphrastic]
    • prose [short stories]
    • prose [microfiction]
    • photo essays
  • euphony 2019 ▼
    • staff
    • mission
    • thank you
    • table of contents
    • capsule i
    • capsule ii
    • capsule iii
    • capsule iv
    • teachers!
  • euphony 2020 ▼
    • table of contents
    • about euphony
    • poetry
    • poetry [ekphrastic]
    • prose [short stories]
    • prose [microfiction]
    • photo essays
  • euphony 2019 ▼
    • staff
    • mission
    • thank you
    • table of contents
    • capsule i
    • capsule ii
    • capsule iii
    • capsule iv
    • teachers!

the poetry of shs


​
​Hometown 

A Where I'm From Poem
​by Tiffanie Cheung, Class of 2021
​
I am from passing sweltering middays underneath the oak tree,
garnishing pea soup with acorns.
I am from tongues blending languages,
eventually seamlessly tying cultures together.
I am from driving several hours north, buying foods
       not found in Walmart’s and Piggly Wiggly’s1 ,
       parents’ preserving the bond to my heritage.
Simultaneously, I am unproudly from hiding and avoiding,
       for it was an easier escape than accepting my uniqueness.
I am from Zetta’s Thanksgiving stuffing2 ,
bleeding orange and purple instead of garnet and black 3 .
I am from the annual Carolina Cup4 ,
spectating and absorbing the feeling of a close-knit community.
I am from West Dekalb and Broad5,
crossing each other before the twisting First Palmetto clock6.
I am from the many nights where lightning cracked the sky in two,
stealing the electricity and bathing the furniture in the flashlight’s white-blue hue.
I am from under the Friday Night Lights,
swimming through sweating bodies for free Sprites,
and bitter rivalries from across the river7.
From losing all that’s familiar when I said my goodbyes,
to embracing a new home with swollen eyes,
faltering in my step towards a new chapter.
Made of those moments, I’ll never forget
       when seeing familiar faces flicker across new ones
       in a hallway passing,
recollecting and savoring the bits and pieces
which compose my layered spirit.

1. Piggly Wiggly is a supermarket chain in the South and Midwest.
2. Zetta is a close family friend who made her family’s secret stuffing recipe each Thanksgiving.
3. These are the team colors of the two college football rival teams in South Carolina. Orange and purple belongs to Clemson (Clemson University) while garnet and black are the colors of Gamecocks (University of South Carolina).
4. A popular horse racing event at Springdale Race Course in Camden, SC
5. Names of the two major streets intersecting and running through the center of Camden
6. First Palmetto is a bank in South Carolina, with a location in Camden, SC. They have a rotating clock which features the temperature and time at the intersection of the two major streets in town.
7. Lugoff and Camden are rival towns separated by a river.
Picture
Spring is Coming by Jacob Bleecker, Class of 2022

​kintsugi

By Esther Gao, Class of 2023
sometimes you need to pour concrete into hollow spaces,
like the gaps between my bones echoing like
caverns stretched with lonely shadows or
the hole in my heart where my soul has torn in two,
letting the darkness crawl in and make itself at home in my skeleton.
just plaster over the cracks with gold,
gilded smiles and aurelian-tipped laughs, because
shiny girls cannot be broken.
i cannot be broken.

so i tuck my sorrows away,
folding them into my skin until i am a statue
more gold and stone than flesh and bone, and
i cannot tell where they end
and i begin.

sometimes you need to pour concrete into hollow spaces,
because people say that flaws are beautiful as they
smirk with judging eyes and sharpened souls.

golden words hurt more than golden skin
Picture
The World Is Going Through Changes by Jenna Goldstein, Class of 2021

I, Too, Sing America... in 2020

The following poems are inspired by Langston Hughes’ poem “I, Too.”:
by Keon Ingram-Christpin, Class of 2021
I, too, sing America in 2020.
I am a Mexican immigrant.
They send me to the detention camps, 
Where I am misunderstood because of my ethnicity 
and my language.

But I keep my cool, ignore the insults,
And imagine being with my family.
I keep hoping things will change for the better, 
And that we can leave this camp.
Tomorrow, we will take our knapsacks
And claim our place in this country. 

No one will dare say to me, 
“You are an invader.” 
“You are a drug runner.”
 “You are a killer,”
Then.

Besides, they’ll see how great I am,
And they’ll be as friendly to me 
as I try to be to them.

I, too, am America.

​
​
By Isaiah Brewster, Class of 2021
I too, sing America in 2020.
I am a woman.
Some still treat me like a dog 
When I try to be a strong leader, 
And they put me down and judge me.

But I fight for equality for all women,
And try to be a better leader than men.
I hope to see a change in the world.

Tomorrow, I will show young women of all races 
how they should be treated and respected.
And when fathers and sons 
see their strong mothers and sisters,
Nobody’ll dare say to them,
“Go in the kitchen and make some cookies,”
Then.

Besides, they’ll see how beautiful and strong I am,
And they will admire me. 

I, too, am America


By Anastasia Bolt, Class of 2020
I, too, sing America in 2020.
I am a stroke survivor.
They tell me I cannot be normal 
Because one side is weak.

But I plan to fight for people with disabilities,
And for those who are bullied to have a voice.
And for those with disabilities to be treated like equals.
Tomorrow, I will be their voice.

No one will dare say to me, “You are weak.”
Besides, they’ll see how brave I am.
They’ll be surprised at how capable I am.
I, too, am America.

​

​
Picture
The Angry Diamond by Dylan Kodira, Class of 2021

​For the




​Birds

​by Stanley Chavre, Class of 2020
Black pain
character always deemed in vain
Ethical principles of society go down the drain
The government kind of weird, swear they playin' games.
Looking for peace while the devil wait
Always handled every mess I’ve made from these skies.
I separate, cause we don't bleed the same.
You ain’t knew I seen the pain, but it’s only me to blame.
Belly full, soul starvin'.
Temper short as the day is
mama say I need patience.
Pacin' back and forth.
Doubt sit at the door.
Fist gon' catch that jaw.
Freedom is being fought for
but what’s it all for if we’re barely getting reciprocations at all.
We’re on the rise, we won’t fall.
You ain’t never seen my pain,
you just only knew my name.
Picture
At My Fingertips by Sara Parulekar, Class of 2022


​​
​candlehearts

By Dana Blatte, Class of 2022

we have candles for hearts and
flimsy flames for souls that
flicker in
the slightest of breezes.

if you pucker your lips and
blow like it's your birthday, like
there are fifteen candles in front of you and
a cake that your mind won't let you eat and
the whole world is watching
as you melt,
wax dripping from your body like hot tears,
you turn and
smile.

on your birthday i watch you disappear
and all i think as
i feel my own heart waver
is how easy is it to snuff me out?
Picture
Friendship by Ellie Zhao, Class of 2023

​Uncertainty

By Rachel Wachman, Class of 2020
We close our eyes
Willing away the fear, the hysteria
Clinging to the hope
That this will all disappear tomorrow

We question every breath
Second guess every step
Wonder where this path will lead us
All the while dreading the answer
The one we already know

We staunch our worries
Paste on smiles
Laugh without ever feeling joy
Breathe without consuming air
Trying to pretend like we’re not suffocating
Drowning in our own merciless disquietude

We exude desperation
Yet desperation makes us bold
Reminds us that we’re still alive
Still breathing
Even as the dead grow larger

We wait
Anticipating the inevitable
Yearning for the impossible
Facing fate, burdened with the regret
Of moments never lived


​​
​Interlude

By Olivia Carson, Class of 2020
Picture
Picture
The Garden by Sara Parulekar, Class of 2023

​Enveloping



​Fog

By Talia Aidlin-Perlman, Class of 2023
It was a Thursday. 
That night stands rigid in my brain.
If only I had known,
My life would be forever changed.
If only someone had warned me,
Make the most of this time,
That when I left those dark, tight halls,
I wouldn’t get to say goodbye.

It was March.
A cold winter night.
But April warmed the snow,
And lent the sun more light.
Worries about the little things we wrap our minds around,
Lifted with the snow,
The stress no longer a bound.

Because it is April now.
And we may have rid ourselves of the snow,
But April brings the rain.
Handcuffed to our houses, 
Locked inside these chains.
At least we have the rain.
Another voice to hear around this house,
Growing lonelier and lonelier,
In this sickening paradox.
Fathers and mothers losing their jobs,
Others hoarding all the food,
But our shelves are empty, 
And cities are filled with solitude.

It’ll be May in a few days.
But my days look the same.
Filled with music and singing,
But the spark’s just a flame.

Passion burnt out in everything.
I can’t even sit still,
Moving from couch to bed, 
To try and get the will,
To do my work that I’m assigned,
But it’s hard to find the strength,
So I Facetime my friends,
Just to see a familiar face.
I talk for hours, laughing,
But the same dark thought always runs its course,
The fact that I am still alone,

In this world that’s so reverse.
It’ll be summer soon.
But it’ll be no different then,
Because we’ve become robots,
Replaying the same day again and again.
Covid-19,
It’s like we’re locked in a dream,
The sun giving way to the moon,
A faint fog softly suffocating.

​Walk, Not



Thoughtless

By Corrina Kerr (SHS Staff Submission)
Walking through cemeteries
During this Cordon sanitaire.

Not a stroll.
Deliberate.
Practicality rules.

Far too many above-ground rule-breakers
and exercise addicts with a devil-may-care attitude
nearly--or certainly--invade our
6-foot diameter bubble.

My beautiful daughter alongside, resisting
treating exercise like a history project.

By the end of the slog through the
well-manicured
grass and centuries-old paths,
we scanned
far too many, too many
Infants’,
children's,
adolescents’ and
cherished grandmas’ graves.

Pressure on the temples--a shock--when
seeing merely the same first names
on the headstones
shared by our own family members.
Imagined familiarity remained ingrained.

This is it. Humanity.
Not
how many members of the town founder’s
venerable family rested there.

You cannot observe horror.

It confronts us.
Picture
Everybody's Got Chains by Noelle Pinnix, Class of 2023


​​
​moment

By Jasmine Ni, Class of 2022
the salt blew in working its way in
and out in and out of her hair
whipping knots and tangles together
as a skilled shore man might do to
ground his boat

gulls screamed overhead blending in with the
cacophony of streets being torn to rubble cars
exclaimed winding their way around potholes and
gaping canyons all of them calling upon each other
as if to ensure one would not slip away melting
deep into the cracks of the broken concrete

people walked by eyes down and
noses pointed where they knew
to go air parting to make way for
their scheduled days and busy
minutes they were merely small
figures blending into the
background of her roughly
painted scene

the wooden planks beneath her feet felt
soft broken down by the sea that brought
with it a glaze of green ready to give way
and let loose into the torrents below at any
moment

she stood there on that harbor
the sea swirling beneath her
city pulsing behind she hated
that city
too    many   people
too    many    noises
too       many
questions

her grasp was slipping the world beginning to blur
as the weight that had settled in her stomach slowly
rose and found shelter in her heart which in turn
beat hard and harder against the new burden it had
been given

and so they had to keep her there the girl
with her feet on those wooden planks her
hair whipping around and the sound of
humanity ringing in her ears

but anyone and everyone who saw her standing there
knew she would gladly trade lives with any other at
that moment she closed her eyes and with each wave
crashing along the barren shore felt pieces of herself
wash away
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