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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. |
Spring is Coming by Jacob Bleecker, Class of 2022
kintsugiBy Esther Gao, Class of 2023
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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 |
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.”:
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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. |
The Angry Diamond by Dylan Kodira, Class of 2021
For the
by Stanley Chavre, Class of 2020
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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. |
At My Fingertips by Sara Parulekar, Class of 2022
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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? |
Friendship by Ellie Zhao, Class of 2023
UncertaintyBy Rachel Wachman, Class of 2020
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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 |
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The Garden by Sara Parulekar, Class of 2023
Enveloping
By Talia Aidlin-Perlman, Class of 2023
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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
By Corrina Kerr (SHS Staff Submission)
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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. |
Everybody's Got Chains by Noelle Pinnix, Class of 2023
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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 |