INSIGHTS

SMS
Literary Magazine
2011
 INSIGHTS
Scarsdale Middle School
Literary Magazine 2011
We hope you enjoy this compilation of
literary and artistic works
created by the students of
Scarsdale Middle School!

Rachel Underweiser
Grade 8
 Table of Contents

Literary Work Page Literary Work Page Artwork Page

Kendall Bensche 14 Josh Ross 33 Amanda Berk 12

Emily Berk 30 Malorie Ruggeri 24 Josie Berl 33
Emily Bernstein 29 Maia Scacchi 25 Alexa Binday 15, 19
Josie Blatt 4 Catherine Scarcella 35 Emily Brew 9
Sarah Bowen 32 Rachel Scharf 9 Andrew Choi 40
Hugh Buchbinder 25 Carol Schott 19 Nadja Dwyer 44
Maria Ceske 17 Blake Siegel 13 Catherine Fitzgerald 19
Tomer Cherki 6 Kaitlyn Son 10 Jane Glaser 16
Amanda Clark 40 Sam Squadron 28 Jonah Gray 16
Jacob Coburn 25 Nakul Srinivas 14 Jonathan Gruen 18
Justin Cooper 28 Chloe Stoddard 32 Justin Hamra 20
Maia DeForge 42 Evan Suzman 22 Aram Hovakimian 34
Amena Elley 5 Bebe Thompson 37 Zach Kapner 32
Rebecca Epemolu 34 Annling Wang 17 Caroline Kutzin 8
Michael Fialkow 15 Madeline Ware 24 Quin Landsberg 25
Jordan Frankenthaler 23 Daniel Wasserman 19 Celine Laruelle 4
Katie Frohman 37 Sarah Weintraub 39 Tyler Mandel 29
Cindy Gao 12 Rebecca Weiss 16 Ellie Month 44
Ashley Granieri 14 Ben Winters 16 Milena Nutrobkina 13
Adaire Green 22 Alexis Zachem 42 Clare O’Hara 7
Chester Green 8 Rocco Palermo 42
Jonathan Greenberg 30 Joshua Radin 20
Abby Haber 15 Nicole Root 13
Sarah Halperin 23 Carolina Schott 17, 37
Maddie Hart 20 Becky Schwartz 5
Jonas Hermann 12 Talia Schulman 23
Emily Jusuf 15 Rachel Schwartz cover
John Kaspers 29 Eliot Sernau 27
Henry Kline 22, 27 Nicole Solomon 5
Gabrielle Kupiec 22 Yuki Sugihara 21
Michael Lazar 31 Bradley Tatz 28
Nick Leone 5 Kerri Taxter 14
Genna Levy 18 Adrienne Travis 44
Noah Li 13 Rachel Underweiser 2
Carla Lionti 16 Evan Weil 4
Taylor Lonner 23 Zoe Zelkowitz 36
Maria Marginean 9 Zach Zlatin 40
Leah McKenna 29
Jillian Mehlman 17
Livvy Meyers 41
Zara Mian 38
Pedro Miranda 41
Mishtii Murari 18
Jonathan Natarajan 30
Megha Nayar 8
Marco Paternoster 42
Andrew Pollack 26
Rebecca Rosenbaum 34

3
 What’s Your Music?

When you think of music

You may think of songs
You may think of instruments
You may think of gongs

That is one kind of music

But the music I am thinking of
Is much more broad

My music is laughing with friends

Playing the piano
Running ‘round bends
These are what I like to do
What about you?

When I think of music

I think of hobbies
I think of interests
I think of things that
Put my worries aside
Things to do where
I find peace

Your music could be

Celine Laruelle
Scoring a goal
Grade 8
Playing a game
Digging a hole
What are the things
That fill your soul?
Snow occurs when rain would freeze,
Now making many cold and sneeze.
Just ask yourself
Or letting children run and have fun,
Whenever you’re sad
Will they have hot chocolate when they are done?
“What’s my music?”
Falling from clouds after the climb,
“What makes me glad?”
All of them have unique designs. Josie Blatt
Landing in piles that leave in spring, Grade 6
Leaving for summer, then they’ll do their thing.

Matthew Rosenbloom
Grade 6

Evan Weil
Grade 6
4
 On the Other Side

I stand tall
On the ground
Although I’m diminutive
I affect the Earth in the most important way

When winter strolls in

I’m covered in snow
But when summer struts in
I become dried and yellow
Because of the lack of water to quench
my never ending thirst

I get trampled on by the many busy people

Sometimes big and tall
Or fat and small
Who walk on me every day
And I am ripped form my root when children
get bored sitting on me
As they listen to their gym coach explain
the rules of the games they already
know how to play

Although what they do makes me blue

I am forever a day greener on
the other side
Amena Elley
Grade 8 Becky Schwartz
Grade 8

Sunny Day

Sunlight crashing onto earth like a luminous ray

Underground creatures come up from their holes to feel the warmth
Now children and adults play in parks and pools
Night is now out of reach and daylight is taking over
Young children and adults play, enjoying this wonderful day
Daylight slowly dissolves into thin air
As the moon comes out, slowly, parks and pools empty
Yawning and tired, everybody shuts his or her eyes and goes to sleep

Nick Leone
Grade 6

Nicole Solomon
Grade 6

5
 To His Despair

Duncan woke up with great despair. In fear of the destiny that awaited him today, he
glimpsed at the clock remembering that he was too tired yesterday to set the alarm after
working on his homework for hours. “I can’t be late for my class with Mrs. Peach. She hates
me enough already, and if I don’t hand in my homework, I’m finished,” Duncan thought to
himself.

He hastily put on his uniform and quickly grabbed his book bag, speeding for the tube station
to get to school. When he arrived, out of breath and with no time to spare, he boarded his
train. To his despair, he then realized that he had forgotten his homework on his desk at
home. Remembering that Mrs. Peach’s class was in period two, he began to think, “First
period is not so important, I can miss it. But I can’t come to Mrs. Peach’s class without my
homework. She hates me enough already, and if I don’t hand in my work, I’m finished.”

Faster than he had ever gone before, Duncan disembarked his train, ran home, grabbed his
homework, and raced back to the station. To his despair, his usual train to school had been
delayed for an hour, and knowing that he had to find another route, he came up with a simple
enough alternate plan. He rushed to the Number 13 bus near his house, reached Finchley
Road station with a connecting tube line to Great Portland Street station, and then
proceeded to the first train to Warren Street station where his school was located.

To his despair, he noticed that the only free seat on the train was next to a dangerous-looking
character who was wearing a low, black hood. Duncan thought to himself, “If I’m going to
make it to class, I will need to rest my feet because if I don’t, I’ll be too tired to hand in my
homework, and since Mrs. Peach hates me already, I’ll be finished.” Duncan decided to sit
down and check his homework for mistakes and to do so, he took the work out and placed
his bag on the floor next to the stranger’s bag, which looked identical.

To his despair, Duncan realized that he had abruptly arrived at his station. He shoved the
work into the bag, and without thinking or looking, he grabbed the bag next to him and ran
out of the train doors. Just as the doors were closing, the dangerous-looking character sitting
next to Duncan got out of the train, too, and started yelling at him. “Give me that bag. It’s
mine, you damn kid,” snarled the stranger.

To his despair, Duncan was now being chased by the character, but just as he was about to
be caught, the police apprehended the man at the exit of the station. Duncan thought to
himself, “How lucky that stranger was stopped. He looked dangerous, and if he would have
taken this bag, I would not be able to hand in my homework, and since Mrs. Peach hates me
already, I’d be finished.”

(continued)

WORK URL 6
As Duncan raced to get to school, he came across a giant puddle, and to his despair, a car
came by and splashed mud from the puddle all over Duncan’s new uniform. He thought to
himself, “Although Mrs. Peach appreciates a clean uniform, I can’t go back to change because
she hates me already, and if I don’t hand in my homework, I’m finished.”

And so, he carried on to school with a successful arrival at Mrs. Peach’s classroom on the top
floor. He sat in his desk and with a thumping heart, Duncan watched her slowly approach him
to collect his homework. The time it took her to walk over to his desk seemed to last a century,
when to his despair, he suddenly realized he had taken the wrong bag. The stranger was not
lying about this bag being his, and in all likelihood his homework was still on the train in his real
bag.

And to his bashing, thrashing, flabbergasting, doleful, woeful, and morosely awful despair,
inside the stranger’s identical bag lay a new red Gucci purse, soaked in mud, that Mrs. Peach
had loved and reported stolen by a hooded kid at nighttime two days ago. Duncan glimpsed
up, and there stood Mrs. Peach, staring into his open bag. There was no sign of surprise in her
eyes, just a cold, sharp glare. In a deep, dry voice, she said, “It was you!” and to his despair, he
knew he was finished.
Tomer Cherki
Grade 8

Clare O’Hara
Grade 6

Abigail Stone
Grade 8

WORK URL 7
 The End
Love feels like
Life goes on, you can always rely
Again and again. on someone.
But when we die,
Well, that’s the end. It tastes like
something fresh
Happiness and love, out of a five-star kitchen.
And sorrows all blend.
The heart feels so many emotions, It sounds like
But when it stops beating, well, that’s the end. the church bells ringing.

Or is it the beginning? It smells like

A new life to attend? perfume,
But when old age greets us again, sweet like watermelon
Well, that’s the end. and cherries.

Or is it a never-ending cycle? Love is life.

Lives being recycled, over and over again? Chester Green
What if that ever stops? Grade 6
Well, then we know for sure, that’s the end.
Megha Nayar
Grade 8

Caroline Kutzin
Grade 7

WORK URL 8
 First Light

Crack! Creek! Click!

The crackling critter is on its way
Cheep! Chitter! Chirp!
Dawn Carefully, cautiously, he starts to come forth
Pop! Pip! Peep!
At dawn Now he’s partially peeking out
The robin Split! Snap! Splinter!
Glides He sheds his slippery shells and saunters up sillily
The pigeon Tweet! Trill! Twitter!
Soars The itty-bitty, tiny, tawny bird takes his very first tread
The air is
Rachel Scharf
Sweet Grade 8
The mist is
Warm

The water is
Calm
The sun is
Bold
Its streaks are
Noble
While its reflection is
Golden

The water is pure

A gentle turquoise
And the sun is scarlet-stained
The sky brightens
From ebony to sapphire
Then the earth turns light
Emerald and teal

Life is short
So consume wisely
Much alike is the sun
But yet again
Dawn comes once more,
Just tomorrow
Maria Marginean
Grade 6

Emily Brew
Grade 6
WORK URL 9
 Remember Me

My name is Scott Harley. I am 23 years old. This is as much as I know about myself since
I woke up this morning on the side of the road, in a ditch. I hold the little white card in my hand,
clutching it tightly to my chest, reading it over and over again as if it would somehow tell me
more. “Scott Harley,” I whisper to myself. “Scott.”

I stand there for a minute or two, and then stuff the card into my pocket. I take one last
glance at the sight of the red, mangled and beat up truck smashed into the tree and head off. To
where? Who knows? I have nowhere to go. Nothing that is mine. I have no identity, no face, and
no memory.

There’s a town nearby; it’s a small one with tiny compact houses and stores. I pick a
coffee shop that is nearby and head on in although I have no money. The coffee shop is bustling
with people clamoring about. Waiters are weaving in and out of throngs of people, trying to get
to the tables they are serving, holding the platters high above their heads. Customers sit at
booths and holler for their orders. It is easy to blend in here, so I stay. For what? I don’t know,
but I take a seat and hunker down.

Suddenly my head starts throbbing and in my mind I’m being transported through time to
a place I don’t know, a place I’m familiar with, but I can’t remember. It’s a park of some sort.
There I am sitting on a blanket with a girl I think I know. She’s talking frantically and wringing her
hands at the same time, but I’m not listening because I’m furious for some reason. I’m so
enraged that I can’t say anything at all. I’m trying to suppress my anger, bottle it up deep inside
my chest. She’s crying and blubbering things and tugging on my arm. My eyes bore into hers
just once, only once. Her eyes are a murky, unforgettable blue. They are endless pits of tears,
welling up and spilling out and streaming down her cheeks. Then I break our gazes and I stand
up. But she follows. She keeps tugging on my arm and through slippery tears, cries out to me,
my name. The last and only words I utter are, “Goodbye, Emma Enderson.” Then I black out
and all I can hear is a faint sound. Snap. Snap. Snap...the sound of a heart breaking.

And the flashback is gone. As soon as I regain my vision I freak out. What the hell just
happened? What was that? When was that? My brain is overloaded with questions and so few
answers that I need to cool off so I push myself off the table that I’d collapsed on, and scan the
room. No one saw me. I pull my hood over my face and slither out of the coffee shop. The cold
air slaps me in the face as I step outside. There are questions swarming inside my head. Who
was that girl to me? How did I know her? What happened? Do I still know her? What was that
sound? Through my confusion I know what I must do. I have to find this girl. She has to tell me
who I am and what I was.

I trudge through the streets, pondering on this idea, walking in slow circles, keeping my
head low, and letting my shaggy unkempt hair fall over my face. Soon enough I find myself
entering the public library. It’s warmer in here and easier to think. I search for a spot to be alone,
somewhere not crowded with people. Seeing that the first floor was too busy with whiny
toddlers and their overwhelmed mothers, I bound up the narrow steps, leading to the second
floor.

Rachel Wolfe (continued)

Grade 7

WORK URL 10
 As I reach the top of the stairs, everything goes black and I get this high-pitched ringing
in my ears. I feel my body stumbling backwards, and my arms, which are flailing. Screams echo
off the walls of my mind, piercing my brain. I try to block out the sound by crumpling to the floor
in a heap, holding my ears and squeezing my eyes shut. However, the screams continue. It
doesn’t cease until I see us. It’s Emma and me. We’re laughing, hand in hand, swinging our
arms and walking down the street. And there! We pass the coffee shop, the same coffee shop!
However, we don’t acknowledge it; we are lost in our own little world. I’m not even mad this
time, I’m elated, and so is she. I’m sure this was a while before the last memory, maybe a year,
because our faces look younger and cheerier and her hair isn’t as long.

We keep on walking, down the street, we make a left, and then we keep on going for
about two blocks, and we arrive at her house. It’s a small house on a hill with a big window in
the front, next to the porch. I am guessing it’s about late afternoon. We talk for a while, and then
kiss good-bye before I head off. I go back the same way that I came, take my red pickup truck
and drive away with a glowing smile plastered on my face.

Once. Twice. Three times, the same thing happens over and over again. I watch, as I get
older, as she gets older, as we start to fight more, as she cries more, as I leave with grimmer
expressions. Snap. Snap...the sound of her door latch closing.

When I regain consciousness, I calmly get up, walk down the stairs in a robotic fashion,
exit the library calmly and I run. I run for her house, left, straight, down the street. The pounding
of my shoes against the pavement matches my heartbeat. Everything around me is blurred. All I
can see is colors in shapes.

Then I’m here, in the neighborhood I think is hers. I’m running around aimlessly but at the
same time, hopefully, searching for her house. I can’t find it. Then I spot an old man crouched
down in his front lawn, working in his garden.

“Excuse me, mister?” I call out to him, and jog over.

He turns around to face me. He’s a withered old man with oversized glasses perched on
the bridge of his nose that he pushes up. His white and grey hair is tucked back under a cap.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” He squints at me as I approach him. “You look familiar to
me? Do I know you? My memory hasn’t been as good as it has always been lately. Sorry.”

“Um - I don’t think so,” I stutter. “Can you help me find Emma Enderson’s house?” I
plead.

“Emma! Emma?” He retorts. “Why would you need to find her house?” He pauses to
wipe his forehead. “She’s been dead over a month now, killed by her own boyfriend they say.”
His face scrunches up as he looks at me from head to toe. His face falls. “His name was Scott
Harley....Now what did you say your name was, son?”

Snap.

The sound of her death.

Kaitlyn Son
Grade 8

WORK URL 11
 The Doings of a Cat
Barber Fish
He steps lightly
Leaves barely crinkling Oh
His tail low Please
Wait your turn
Bright eyes watch For the barber fish
As a squirrel nibbles a nut From shimmering shores
As a bird gossips to her friends. The barber fish gladly thins
Trimming lines of dorsal fins
They don’t know Sand dollars are his treasured fee
What will happen his fame it spreads across the sea
Each puffer fish he darts to shine
He watches, then slips away The prickly stickers upon its spine
Like a shadow A rinse and shave to start the day
Letting them go... A school of minnows swim away
This time Every fish that leaves his place
Cindy Gao
Grade 6 Has a contented look on its face
The barber fish has lots of needs
Before he rests in deep seaweeds
In nightly dreams far beneath the bay
The barber fish still clips and snips away

Jonas Hermann
Grade 6

Amanda Berk
Grade 7

WORK URL 12
 The Man in the Woods

There’s a man named Mr. McMorrist

He walks into a great forest
He hears a loud howl
Bumps into an owl
And is toppled by a chickadee chorus

He then walks into a lake

And what a strong blow he takes
He walks into a bear
Getting fish in his hair
Milena Nutrobkina
And gives such a loud cry that
Grade 6
The whole lake shakes
Blake Siegel
Whoosh Grade 6

I am old with standing

Through thunderstorms and rain
Through hail
Through drought
Getting wet
Getting hit
Thirsting for water
But still standing
And still living

Reaching out
WIth thin, fragile fingers
To water underground
Whispering to
People and animals passing by
Yet ignored, they
Can’t understand
Me

Who will?
Who will sit with me?
Through the booming thunder
The crackling lightning
The pounding hail
The dry drought
Who will understand the loneliness I feel Nicole Root
Ring, after Grade 8
Ring, after
Ring? Noah Li
Grade 8
WORK URL
13
 Thunder Storm Language
The wind swifts
Flashes that gleam your eyes
Rain that pounds the shining sea
Seeing memories in the flashes
Listening to the sound of clashes
Watching the sky meet the sea
They touch together for a second
Holding hands
As the night goes on
Ashley Granieri
Grade 6
Kerri
Taxter
Grade 7
Sunset
Bright colors
Pouring themselves
Over the western sky
Dancing their sunset dance
Before swallowed by the night
Sinking lower and lower
Time is almost up
But the colors dance on
Using every second
Inching lower
Almost gone
Dancing on
The colors have disappeared
All is silent
All is dark
Oh so dark
WORK URL
I Walked Up the Mountain
I walked up the mountain and saw what I could see
A long countryside with a town beneath me
Alongside the town was a little river
A river of life that started it all
This town of poverty
This town of strife
This town of peacefulness
This town of life
The boys run as fast as rams
Their faces innocent, like that of little lambs
In the sea praying are the sages
WIth their meditating visages
The bees are humming
The birds are singing
The rain is drumming
The bell is ringing
The butterflies are kissing the flowers
The merchant sits on his bullock cart
The farmer milks his faithful brown cow
He may be poor but has a big heart
The lonely rock sits by the river
The river that sings like a zither
I walked up the mountain and saw what I could see
A long countryside with a town beneath me
Nakul Srinivas
Grade 6
Night has taken control
Until tomorrow
When the colors
Will dance again
Kendall Bensche
Grade 6 14
A swiftly tilting planet
Corrupted by years of
Of Island of Wonders
Civil unrest
Malicious Violence Surrounded
Children beaten down Trapped
Twisted More questions than answers
Writhing Never enough time
In unimaginable pain enough to learn
And Struggle to be
Unable to do anything
Poverty Stricken but stare
Every night ask
A child goes to bed wonder
with rethink
an The answer is a grain of salt
Empty in the pounding ocean
Empty circling
Stomach right there
but unable to reach for it
Refugees Something new
With the hopes something else
of to find out
a new life Alexa Binday
Out potential is not predetermined Grade 7
But with the misery It’s determined by what we do.
To never turn back
To watch what you love Emily Jusuf
In a pile of rubble Grade 7
Smoking in ashes
Cries of help
Erupting from the
Flames
A good poem doesn’t always have to rhyme,
Only when Those But I find it nice, so I rhyme in mine
Impoverished A good poem doesn’t always have to be written in
Homeless a certain way
Diseased But if you wish to do it one way, you may.
Tortured In a good poem you don’t always have to spell things
Hungry rite
Hopeful Some poems have a meaning that is heavy
and Some poems’ topic is light
Violent In some poems the words have a great flow,
in some they cavort
Will walk the ways of Earth A good poem doesn’t have to be long, if you want,
As one yours can be short
You can make your poem boring to read, or
That will be when our earth is not you can make it fun
that swiftly tilting planet You can end your poem whenever you want
But one This one’s about done
Michael Fialkow
At Peace Abby Haber
Grade 7
Grade 7
WORK URL
15
Snowflake Ode to Snow

For the spoon under my pillow

Slowly drifting through the air
Never wasting time
Over by the nice cool frost
Winter cuddles close and soft
Falling on my window
Landing on my tongue
Angels sparkling on my eyelids
Snow will cover the willow
For the pajamas inside out
There will be no doubt
That snow will cover the ground
And the school board will be found
Calling our homes telling us the best
For tomorrow will be better than the rest!
Ben Winters
Grade 8

Keeping in the beauty

Elegant innocence
Rebecca Weiss
Grade 6

Jonah Gray
Grade 6

Preparation for a Snow Day

One pinch of excitement.

One teaspoon for luck.
One tablespoon of fingers crossing.
One cup of praying.
One pint of inside-out pajamas.
One quart of anxious waiting.
One hundred million gallons of snow!

Carla Lionti
Grade 8
Jane Glaser
Grade 6

WORK URL 16
Sunset

I watch in awe as
Beautiful colors
Stretch across the sky,
Purple,
Red,
Orange,
And yellow,
An unforgettable illustration
That man could never create.
One of nature’s
Greatest works.
Slowly,
The colors fade away,
Blink,
And it’s gone.
Pure blackness Carol Schott
Grade 7
Is taking over the sky.
Night has come.
Annling Wang
Grade 6
The Spider Web

Delicate spindles
Glistening in the sun
Dusk A gracious feat
A prize well won
As the sliver of moon cuts through the
echoing darkness, An invisible trap
the water cascades across the plateau, Do not fly there
teardrops etched against the sky, If you don’t
shining webs of water trickling through crevices, Your life you spare
feeding the earth.
A web of life
The sea, crashing upon the slick sand, Of ideas so bright
foam bubbles, waves hurtle fish, A beautiful masterpiece
fighting the current, with their thin ocher bodies, Sparkling in the light
flashing sunlight,
vanilla twilight ignites the light in the sky, A web of death
the balmy breeze whistles through A coffin of silk
the branches of trees, Your blood will be
emerald leaves touching the firmament, The spider’s milk
foliage twists through the air,
falling firmly on the loam. A web of love
Day has begun. A web of hate
Depending on which
Jillian Mehlman Side you take
Grade 6 Marie Ceske
Grade 7

WORK URL 17
 Garden of Sunflowers

Nature’s Flashlight As I danced through the garden I hear a whisper

Maybe it was a young lady or even a mister
The luminous shadow, I looked up, down, and all around
The bright, shiny glow, And then I saw a young little sunflower with a huge sound
The crimson colored trees, It stopped whispering and smiled at me
Sway in the dark. So did all the rest
As the moonlit sky I spent the day with the sunflowers and it was the best
Darkens once more, As I told them I had to leave
The full moon’s rays They stretched out their sleeves
Follow the night And begged me to stay
Like a star enlarged I told them that it was enough for one day
To fill up the sky. They should get some rest
It soars above us, And be prepared for the best
Near the twinkling stars. A week that they will never forget
A circular figure As I wake up the next morning
Emerges from the clouds, I see the sun
A reflection of gold, I looks just like a sunflower
Revealed to our faces. And the sun disappeared as quickly as it came
Behold, I have wondered ever since that day
The moon. If the sun came out just to remind me to go
Mishtii Murari and visit the sunflowers
Grade 6 So off I went to see my flowery friends
And now this poem will come to an end

Genna Levy
Grade 7

Jonathan Gruen
Grade 7

WORK URL 18
America’s Beautiful

The wind is high today.

I see death in the window.
I’m glad.

I don’t like being so far up.

I like night,
when he takes me down,
puts me in my box.

Except up here,
I have the view,
and with fifty shining eyes
I have a lot to see.

But for now,

I’m stuck.
Been stuck,
since he raised me this morning
at the dawn’s early light.

I feel limp and deflated. Catherine Fitzgerald

I blow and tumble, Grade 8

rise and fall with the wind.

Fly backwards with the impact
of bombs bursting in air. To travel is to see the beauty of the world.
To explore.
I sense him below me, No matter day or night,
feel a tug. You’ll always find what you’re looking for.
I become half mast. When traveling, memories are made,
Daniel Wasserman And moments that will be remembered.
Grade 8 Traveling is available at any time of year,
Hot or cold from January to December.
Europe, the Americas, Africa, Australia, and Asia,
All around the globe something new is to come.
Either to see castles, natural beauty, or try new food.
Be ready to learn.
Every place in the world has something special,
Whether it is clothes, monuments, forests, or food.
It’s part of what makes the world unique and good.
Some people travel just to relax,
Others may travel to see adventure,
And some for relief from stress.
Culture and traditions
Customs and festivals.
Alexa Binday All parts of traveling,
Grade 7 To see the beauty of the world.
Carol Schott
Grade 7

WORK URL 19
Justin Hamra Joshua Radin
Grade 6 Grade 6

Look, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe me about this story. I mean, if I were a
“regular,” I wouldn’t believe me, either. I have this....ability to turn into and talk to animals. No, I was
not born with this ability...my dad dropped me when I was a baby, and instead of something being
taken away from my brain, something was brought out. Doctors say it’s a lost human ability.
My name is Cami Ross. I come from a small but wealthy town...but I can’t tell you the town’s
name. I also come from a BIG family. I have two parents, four sisters, and three brothers! We also
have a few pets: two dogs, Cupcake and Creature; three cats, Razzy, Berry, and Snowy; three birds,
Dot, Spot, and Shot, and one iguana named Homer.
Now that you know my messed-up family, let’s get to the REAL story. So, it kind of started a
few months ago when I got called into the principal’s office. I call him Phil.
“Cami,” he started,”I need to talk to you about something very important.”
I leaned back into the chair, knowing where this was going. “What do you need?”
“The school fair is coming up and we need lots of people to come. We want you to be our main
attraction!” he said with pride, like it was the greatest idea in the world.
“Fine, what do you want me to be? And, what’s in it for me?” I asked him.
He sighed and said, “You get to be any animal you want, and we will have a big pen for you,
and any pets of yours can stay with you. We will ask you to stay overnight, because the fair lasts two
days.”
I thought about this. “I will get back to you tomorrow,” and then I left.
Later that day, I went to the zoo. My best friend lives there. He’s a tiger named Potenza, which
means “power” in Italian. I turned into a bird, flew into the exhibit, went behind a rock, and turned into
a tiger. I looked around for Potenza.
“Over here!” he called and I trotted over.
“Hey,” I said.
“How ya been?” he asked.
“OK, I guess. Phil wants me to be the main attraction at our school fair. What do you think?”
“Will you be a tiger?”
I giggled. “If you want me to.”
“Then you should do it!” he said excitedly. My cell buzzed. It was my crazy mom.
“I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow, Potenza!” I went behind the same rock, turned into a robin,
and flew off.
(continued)

WORK URL 20
When I got home, it was a madhouse, as usual. My sisters, Lila and Elizabeth, were fighting over a
stuffed bunny, Tia was listening to her CDs really loud, Mariah had her boyfriend over, and all the boys
were practicing sports...in the living room. I looked at the paper on the fridge.
Lila - ballet; ELizabeth - religion school; Tia - tutor; Drake and Kyle - basketball; Cupcake and
Creature - groomer; Noah - soccer
It was a list of where everybody had to go today. I called to Mariah.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Where’s Mom?” I questioned.
“She got called into work, short notice.”
“What about the list?”
“She said she called everyone and told them that they weren’t coming. Hey, can you get Lizzy
and Lila to stop fighting?” she said as she walked into her room. That’s my sister - a super babysitter.
I walked over to them; they were screaming at this point. I turned into a big, fat pig. Lila let go
of the bunny and yelled, “Piggy back ride!” as she hopped on my back. I walked around the house
until I got to her room.
“I’ll be right back, and we can play box game!” I told her. She squealed with excitement. I
turned into a lion and went into Tia’s room.
“Turn it down, or I’ll bite!” I said. She knew I was serious. She plugged in earphones and
turned the music down. I trotted downstairs to the living room. A soccer ball came flying towards me.
I held out my claw and popped the ball. The boys stopped playing, looked at me, and ran outside.
Later that night, Mom and Dad came home and made dinner. We all sat down in the dining
room and started chatting amongst each other. It’s worse for me because I’ve got to listen to the
animals talk, too. It’s like at the end of a meal with all of your relatives, and they are all talking at once!
I decided to make the most of it.
Maddie Hart
Grade 7

Yuki Sugihara
Grade 7

WORK URL 21
Home
The Recipe of Life
My home is not here
There is another place Four cups of love,
Where there is not anything wrong One teaspoon of hate,
Sitting on the grass Two tablespoons of talent,
Listening to the train go by fast Half a cup of intelligence,
A cup of humor,
My home is not here but there Two teaspoons of jealousy,
A place where I walk along the rocks A dash of fear,
Somewhere I can sit and think A pinch of clumsiness,
ANd a handful of truth and lies.
My home will always be Bake for approximately nine months,
Where I race to the finish line
I go tubing to the end of the lake Remember, results may vary.
Henry Kline
My home is a place Grade 8
Where a dog named Owen
Knows who I am when he sees me
A place to drink lemonade and relax
Ride our bikes with no helmets or shoes

My home is with my family

Aunts and uncles Bliss
Cousins and siblings
BLISSFUL
My home is a place to remember I’m blissful
Not bubbly like champagne
Adaire Green Not hysterical like a clown
Grade 7 Not goofy like a toddler
who just got ice cream
But blissful to be smiling
Box in the Attic Blissful to go on a picnic
no matter the weather
My wall is like a box in the attic Even if I forgot the blanket
With memories of many lifetimes
With posters of rock and roll Gabrielle Kupiec
Of concert tickets Grade 8

From heart and soul

From precious coins collected from precious years

From old memories through joy and tears
License plates from near and far
From the unknown backs of unknown cars

So when you look at my room’s wall

Look past the mess of it at large
Because it’s the little details that give sentiment
And it tells you about me one hundred percent.

Evan Suzman
WORK URL Grade 8 22
The Roots of My Life

I am from technology. Some People Grow Weird

From iPods and Droids.
I am from the plain, simple house Everyone grows older,
that smells of warm family. Sprouting up like trees.
I am from the Sunflower. The shoulders may get colder,
The majestic cherry tree whose long gone limbs But not cold enough to freeze.
I remember as if they were my very own. Maturity comes with age,
Or at least for those who want it.
I am from pizza nights and beach days. Unique is not just for a sage,
From Mom and Dad. Those who stand out can spot it.
I’m from hospitality and compassion and from Personalities are endless,
loving care. Wise at heart or young at soul.
Like a nest-less robin you are helpless,
I am from “No running away at the airport” and With which identity you are foretold.
“You can’t always get what you want.” Some people think you may leap out,
I am from Sabbath nights. But it is really what they feared,
From New York and Germany Like me we’re bold and we jump out,
And from chicken soup and meat sauce. Some people just grow weird.
From the wine cup that has been to every wedding
Taylor Lonner
and the architecture tools from the World Trade Center Grade 7
That I still remember in my heart.
Jordan Frankenthaler
Grade 8

Smart

I’m smart.
Not knowing all the knowledge in the world smart.
Not the best at everything smart.
Not smart like Albert Einstein and his theory
of relativity.
But smart with the decisions I make.
Trying my best with whatever I do.
Trying to leave an imprint on the world.
Sarah Halperin
Grade 8

Talia Schulman
Grade 8

WORK URL 23
 Waiting and Hoping

Left alone
Way deep down, tangled in the seams
waiting and hoping.

I hear my name being mentioned. They are looking at me.

I have seen her first sleepover,
Pressed against her soft polka dot pants and Fluffy the bear.
I was there on her first day of school, stuck under pens, pencils,
and papers without her knowing.
But now all I see is pink glossy lip shine and very black Sephora mascara.

I have been to Disney World and back

waiting and hoping.
Going unnoticed,
waiting for the day until she finds me and brings me back home
to the box that’s turquoise-y blue with a white silky ribbon.

But for now,

I’m just a pair of Tiffany earrings

tangled in the seams.
Just waiting and hoping.
Malorie Ruggeri
Grade 8

The Lion, the Witch and My Wardrobe

Old, rustic and vintage,

An antique design with an orange glow,
Doors shining with deep curves,
And grooves on polished wood,
Scratches scar the scruffs,
Tinting a million specks of colors,
Light glistening and reflecting.
A tassel tangles with a vanilla scent,
Containing threads clenching,
Onto a half-inserted key.
Around for eighty years,
Listening and watching,
Remembering a little girl,
With pigtails posed on her father’s lap,
Reading the story.
With hopes of a secret world unveiled,
Maybe reaching in...
Feeling warmth from the bundle of coats,
And then...
Feeling soft snowflakes,
Falling onto her fingertips.

A shadow on her half-lit face,

From a tattered glowing lamp post.
Madeline Ware
Grade 8

WORK URL 24
 EDGE advanced gel

Dear
Me Zach, this
Is just to say
I am from the stove That I put shaving
from the clock and the computer Cream on your toothbrush you
I am from the cozy and the loud May say it wasn’t very nice,
From good tasting food But you have to admit
I am from the strawberries You deserved it!
The maple tree
whose long gone limbs I remember Hugh Buchbinder
as if they were my own. Grade 8

I’m from Saratoga Springs and the Torah

from Allison and Katelyn
I’m from cooking and yelling
and from playing sports.

I’m from “Wuff” and “Don’t fight with Katelyn”

and “Money doesn’t grow on trees”
I’m from dogs
I’m from New York City and Russia
lamb chops and apples
“Digger come back”
Pictures of my great grandma
on my wall.
Jacob Coburn
Grade 8

Quin Landsberg
Grade 8

Journey of a Backpack

I open my mouth,
and swallow Spanish projects, science papers, pens, and scrappy pencils,
Bright colors of orange, purple, blue, and red fill me up
And keep me full.
My gold hearts move about as my long arms are stretched and squeezed.
UHHHH
my stomach groans as I’m pulled by a strong force.

My sewn stitches spread and strangle as I bump up and down, left to right, and
BOOM,
there I go,
right into the wood grains of a familiar house.

I yawn from an exhausting day, emptying all the hard work,

Sagging sadly, and
ZIPPP
My lips are sealed.
Maia Scacchi
WORK URL Grade 8 25
 A Home Away From Home

My locker is like a home away from home.

My home is somewhere that I go
No matter how I feel or what I am doing.
My locker and home are similar in many ways.

Books, like the ones I have in my book shelf,

that I never read, they are there for decoration.
Binders: English, Social Studies, Math and Science.

Folders: GALORE GALORE GALORE GALORE!

Just like my room.

The new Snapple flavor, Trop*A*Rocka,

Snacks that I save for a day when I am hungry,

Papers s c a tt e r e d
on the bottom of my locker,

Shelves to help me hold up my belongings.

*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*Shelf*
Just like my kitchen.

Jansport backpack,
A navy blue Northface, like all the rest
of my sweatshirts to keep me warm
Nike 6.0 as a back up for when my shoes
can’t take it any more.
Just like the laundry room.

Erasers, to help me erase all of my bad writing,

Rulers, to measure things, anything...
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Just like my desk.

A green and black lock that keeps my home away from home
safe,
So I know that I can return and everything will be OK.
Like my front door.

My locker is......a home away from home.

Andrew Pollack
Grade 8

WORK URL 26
 Ending Elementary

Finally I was in fifth grade, with all the exciting activities,

The Health Education we took, we were all given deodorant,
We put it on constantly,
Throughout the day,
Before gym and after play,
Then someone ate it,
Ate someone else’s deodorant,
took a bite out of the bottle.
Olympics was next, we used all our skills as best we could,
From mummy wrapping to obstacle courses and more,
For it was time to face the teams and in fact, we won!
Also our trip to Philadelphia,
To time travel the Liberty Bell
To Ellis Island we went next,
To mingle with the immigrants,
Ballroom dancing was our next adventure,
The shy beginning began to fade,
Dancers we soon became,
Flawless with our every move,
Graduation was upon us,
Matching blue Quaker Ridge shirts we all wore,
To kiss the year goodbye.
Henry Kline
Grade 8

Eliot Sernau
Grade 8

WORK URL 27
 Football

When the leaves turn red and fall to the ground,

There is a new show on TV that I have found
I kick my shoes off and fall into bed
I watch ten hours of TV without turning my head
Quarantined from the world I stare and stare
Sitting like a log, still as a sleeping bear
The word begins to spread all around town
Hey, did the Jets just score another touchdown?
Interceptions, penalties, field goals, and more
They battle and battle like they’re at war
Their bones are bruised, broken, and even scarred
After every hit, soft or hard
Blood is spilled, tears are shed
I could watch it all day until I’m dead
But when the final whistle blows, and all the games are done Bradley Tatz
What will I do now, to have some fun? Grade 6

The leaves grow back, the temperature goes cold

Another snowstorm, it’s getting kinda old
The flowers bloom in spring, off to camp I go
Waiting for the day, where I get to watch that show
Waiting, waiting, waiting, I almost lose my mind
But still I wait and wait, because football is one of a kind
Sam Squadron
Grade 7

The Winter Olympics

Last year it came and soon it comes again

The Winter Olympics 2010
Records were broken while others were far away
Yes it was hosted by Canada, eh?
Many great things had happened during
The WInter Olympics from figure skating to curling
What annoys me the most is the announcers in skating
“A triple spin deluxe” is a type of grading!
And in curling what’s the point of all that sweeping
It’s not gonna go any further - if that’s what you’re thinking!
America was amazed by and they really showed no
Sign of mercy led by Apollo Anton Ono
Ono won the most gold medals, he really is the best
So maybe he should be called Apollo Anton O-Yes!
Overall it was very exciting, and it is a sure thing
That we all can’t wait until 2014
Justin Cooper
Grade 7

WORK URL 28
The following 15 pages contain responses and reflections to units of study concerning
prejudice and injustice during the Civil Rights Era and
slavery during the Revolutionary War Era

A Land of Freedom

Every day
After all the work is done
I sit and watch Liberty, Justice, and Freedom,
The disappearing sun Three words that describe my dreams,
Thinking ‘bout that As I work, my passion for these things becomes greater
Land far away and greater,
The one in my dreams My hands bleed and my knees weaken
Day after day While I work harder for freedom,
But for now I pray to God through song of Liberty,
I am stuck I think at night while I sleep about Justice,
In a land of war Liberty, Justice, and Freedom
With cries of fighting What I will always dream
Right outside my door Emily Bernstein
Every day Grade 7
After all the work is done
I sit and watch
The disappearing sun
Leah McKenna
Grade 7

I Had a Dream

I’m not black

Black is total darkness
Yet people see me
Society thinks I’m “colored”
Isn’t life in color?

I pay more for less

I do more for less
I work more for less
I wonder why...

Last night I had a dream

That in the future,
We would be treated equally
There was no color,
No differences between anyone
I had a dream....

John Kaspers
Grade 8
Tyler Mandel
Grade 6
WORK URL 29
 The Barrier

I am trapped by an invisible barrier.

You cannot see it.
You cannot hear it.
You cannot touch it.
You cannot smell it.
You cannot taste it.

But it is there.
And it is very strong.
It is a product of hatred and cruelty.
It is helpful to some.
But oppressive and cruel to many others.
It shows itself in subtle ways, like a predator, camouflaged in the jungle.
It is the feeling of a cry for help that will not be heard.
It is the despair felt when slamming on a steel wall which will not budge.
It’s the feeling on the back of my neck when someone is watching me.
Even though I try to fight it in every way I can
I may never get the freedom I deserve.
But I may make the first strike
That moves the mountain.
And even though I may never get what I want
Maybe someone, somewhere will live a better life
Because of me.
Jonathan Greenberg
Grade 8

Slavery

Chains Days and days

Bonded together But no sign of Ruth
Chains I have lost all hope
They say I can’t escape, I have tried to escape
But can I? But regret it immensely
Every day I work for the Locktons
Bondage Every day I break my back
Pulling pain tighter Every day I work like a dog
Bondage And don’t even get a thank you
They say there’s no way out, One day I will escape
But is there? One day I will be free
One day I will find Ruth
Freedom One day I will be back on the farm
A distant reality
Freedom Jonathan Natarajan
They say it can’t come true, Grade 7
But can it?
Emily Berk
Grade 7

WORK URL 30
 Freedom

What is the price of freedom?

for a nation?
for a girl?

What is the price of escape?

for a nation?
for a girl?

Sold with her sister Ruth, to a cruel and loyalist group

Working as a servant serving lunch and making soup.

Listening to the Locktons’ secret meetings, reporting the news

Looking forward to Rhode Island, for a future home too.

Washington’s death plan now locked into place

What is the outcome for the Patriots’ race?

Ruth is sold,
Oh, what will Isabel do?
Without her, her promise to her mother is not true.

She must bite her tongue when Mrs. Lockton’s around,

But she can’t keep it inside
and lets her words out and around.

An open door leads to an attempted escape

But she must return home, and Mrs. Lockton she must face.

Tortured and burned, defeated and depressed

she wakes up six days later at the Seymours’ after a rest.

Mrs. Lockton wants her back as soon as she is able

but Isabel wants to turn the tables.

The Loyalists are here and ready to fight

Should Isabel join or do what is right?

Thinking hard which decision to make

She has to cross the River Jordan; what path should she take?

Michael Lazar
Grade 7

WORK URL 31
The Bees are Buzzing

The bees are buzzing

Patriots have burned down New York
The bees are buzzing
Master Lockton wants me to open the cork I Am the Same
The bees are buzzing
Ruth has been sent away I am the same
The bees are buzzing I laugh
My name is “Sal” to my dismay I cry
The bees are buzzing I hope
I don’t know who I am anymore I love
The bees are buzzing I hurt
Or what I came here for I am the same
The bees are buzzing
If I had just one wish I am different
The bees are buzzing Because I walk down the halls and
I would sail away on ten ships I feel their eyes on me
The bees are buzzing Because everything I do is judged
Because every weakness I have
Sarah Bowen is amplified by my color
Grade 7 Because when anyone looks at me
all they see is my skin
Not what’s behind it

If I answer a question wrong

It’s because blacks are wrong
If I fail
It’s because blacks are failures
If I smell
It’s because blacks smell
If I cry
It’s because blacks can’t hold back their tears

I wish they could see from inside out

Then all they could see
I am the same.

Chloe Stoddard
Grade 8

Zach Kapner
Grade 6

WORK URL 32
 The Measure of a Man

Discrimination isn’t just

bullying
racism
prejudice
or segregation
But it is turning the other way
When you see someone different
Being afraid to approach someone
Just because they don’t look like you
Not saying hi to someone
Because you don’t believe in the same religion as him
Not wanting to be friends with someone
Just because of the way he or she dresses
Or because he is from a different country
Discrimination is thinking of someone just as
That “n*gger”
Or that “k*ke”
It’s judging the new kid
Based on prejudices
Discrimination isn’t just spray painting swastikas on the side of a temple
But it’s putting your jacket on the seat next to you in the movie theater
Just so that the person who doesn’t look like you won’t sit next to you
Discrimination can be subtle
and obvious
But like the great Dr. King said,
“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of
comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and
controversy.”
Josh Ross
Grade 8

Josie Berl
Grade 8

WORK URL
33
Black and White Soars
With satin feathers, the whitest dove
On bony wing, soars from above
Purity insulated from every harm
Tranquil quiet, no alarm
Tiny specks, a thousand swarms
Far away, begin to form
Taking shape, prepared to attack
Ugly creatures, grotesque and black
Hawks as dark as night, striking fear
From the horizon began to appear
Massive talons and razor teeth
Approach the dove from underneath
Aggressive, violent, a million knives
Their beaks attack, the dove survives
But still, the tough black hawks persist
Bloody feathers, bones that twist
The dove struggles, but can’t retreat
And mangled it falls in its defeat
White feathers on wind, all the while
The hawks portray their wicked smiles
As I watch the carcass float downstream
I awake - it was all a dream
Created by things that others had said
It sat still, an illusion in my head
Rebecca Rosenbaum
Grade 8
Aram Hovakimian
Grade 8
WORK URL
The Best Ones
Freedom is what we all want
It is what the British flaunt
The rebels just want to be on their own
And us slaves just don’t want to be a master’s drone
Though neither the rebels nor the Tories care about us
It doesn’t matter to them when we fuss
All that matters to them is taking sides
Or seeing which people are filled with snide and pride
It’s not fair because we don’t ask for a lot
We have nothing compared to all they’ve got
We are nothing to the rebels or the British,
just a piece of property
They cannot just make us a mockery
We are more than just some part of their ownership
They can’t just beat us with their whip
But we all have different views of freedom
And these ones are the best ones
Rebecca Epemolu
Grade 7
34
 White Sand

If a white man’s shadow is black,

Isn’t there a part of him that is also black?
If a white person’s television is black and white,
Why is there such a difference?

If white people wear black clothing,

Isn’t their appearance black as well?
What difference does it make?
Why does it even matter?

I look around me and all I see is white.

White people, giving me looks and saying things that I don’t understand.

Why do all the pretty girls have white dolls?

Why are mine black?
Black and white, what is the difference?
Why do they yell at my mama for walking into certain stores?
Why does she listen?

Why is my hair not long and blonde like all the pretty girls?
Why is mine black?
Black like my skin.
Black like my life.

Why is my face the color of dirt and mud, when theirs is the color of warm beach sand?

Why do I always need to walk with a partner?

Why can’t I go to the park alone?
Why am I always second?
When will it be my turn to be in charge?
When will my people rule the world?

Black and white.

I just need to know...
What is the difference?
Why does it even matter?

Why is the brightest star in the sky white?

Why when I fall down and cut my knee, does Mama give me a “white-skinned bandage”?
Why don’t bandages match me?
Why are they white?

(continued))

WORK URL 35
TV is black and white.
Dogs see in black and white.
Babies once see in black and white.

What difference does it make?

And why?
Why?
Why won’t anyone tell me?
Should I be proud of who I am?
Should I be afraid?
I don’t know.
Black and white.
What difference does it make?
Why?
I just need to know.

Catherine Scarcella
Grade 8

Zoe Zelkowitz
Grade 8

WORK URL 36
 Slavery This Is What I See

I am black as night A little town in Arkansas

Inferior to powder white The place where I grew up
My differences are beautiful Life was always safe and serene,
But equality is still a fight Until I made my life-changing decision.

We all have beating hearts Going to Central High

They still tear families apart Life would never be the same
But to them we are property When I arrived the first day,
Animals who will never be as smart I was instantly surrounded by hate.

When cut we all bleed red Racism.

And for “insolence” I bled It changed my life forever
Tortured and burned for being upset Blacks and Whites
My simple sister sold, she said Will never be the same

Tell me, is this fair? People who should have protected me

Men selling men with cold stares Screamed with rage,
Whites see nothing but black What was I ever thinking,
Though “all men are equal,” they swear I should have never come

Bebe Thompson Why do we have to be different?

Grade 7 This hatred isn’t fair.
We shouldn’t have to segregate.
Our rights must be the same.

Eight others and I.

Who would’ve known
We’d be the only Blacks at Central High
Among all of the Whites
Whose words and actions
Hurt like bullets.

We’d eventually become heroes

Integrating the all-White school,
We lasted a whole year,
And as warriors
We would become known.

We, as warriors,
We don’t cry,
We stood up to our fears,
Carolina Schott And came out alive.
Grade 7
Katie Frohman
Grade 8

WORK URL 37
 Think, Imagine, and Act

Think
All the times there has been
Cruelty Imagine
Hatred Everyone was equal
Because one group Helping each other
Feels more superior than the other Kind to one another
Forgiving
Think Imagine
People were put down People looking at you for
Called names Who you are
Beaten and even Not
Killed What color your skin is
Just because they were different What your religion is

Think Imagine
It was not their fault People lift you to your feet
They were born different When you trip on a bump in the road
And penalized because of it Help guide you to a new path
Threatened One with opportunities
Because they were different
Imagine
Think No calling names
Why didn’t anyone No racism
Do something? No prejudice
Say something? No discrimination
How could people No segregation
Allow this to go on?
But
Think
That could have been you Imagine
The one who is different Kindness, Care, Sympathy,
The outcast Trust, Love
Excluded
What would you do? This is not far away
One step at a time
And we can get there
So take the first step
Zara Mian
Grade 8

WORK URL 38
 Thoughts of a Slave

wondering what tomorrow will bring

will madam cause a ball of anger to form in my chest and rise into my throat
ready for me to spit out at her
or will I finally be reunited with Ruth
my beautiful little sister
the only meaningful thing left in my life
and she was taken away also
a life torn apart by death, and a war that wasn’t mine
a life I never asked for but received anyway
a life that originally had so much potential
so carefree, running through our garden
with Momma, Ruth, and no thoughts of war
not knowing or even wondering
where I would be in a few years
not knowing that I would work in New York
with Ruth such a long way away in Nevis
with no one to watch her
no one to care for her
no one to give her a shoulder to cry on
no one to comfort her after a fit
days pass
I am still the same slave
with hopes of getting home dwindling
hopes of being freed dwindling
no signs of Ruth
I don’t hear her laughter in my head
I don’t see her smile anymore
I am losing her
we used to have each other
now
neither of us has anyone
we need each other
I was the only one who understood her
I saw her heart
how caring and eager to please she was
I saw past the naive diligent worker that others saw
I saw the real Ruth
and she knew it
freedom is nothing without Ruth
if I don’t have Ruth with me
there is no point
no point at all
with no one to love
what is the point
maybe tomorrow will bring a point
to this life that isn’t my choice
Sarah Weintraub
Grade 7

WORK URL 39
 The Last Touchdown

There’s five minutes on the clock

The Panthers are on offense
It’s my time to shine.
I’m wide open
The game is on the line
Seventy-one always had a problem with me
I just never knew it was this bad.
I never knew it was worth the
championship game.

Seventy-one is not like me

He is big, white, and rich
He is the team captain
He is my perpetrator.

He growls
He spits
He chuckles
But worst of all,
He uses words.

All I wanted was the ball Andrew Choi

Grade 8
Instead I got the pain,
Trash
Tomatoes
Spit
All over the field
And my face
I wanted to cry
But I can’t because I am a warrior
And warriors don’t cry.

Conquer or crumble?
The choice is yours
I prefer to conquer
But that’s out of the question
Because I am African American.
Because
I am me.
Amanda Clark
Grade 8

Zach Zlatin
Grade 8

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 How Do We Find Joy?

I have read the experiences of those

Who have lived it
Books about injustice
Articles about the Germans
The World Through My Fish Tank
And Little Rock Nine
I close my eyes
In some parts I can feel
And imagine.
And I feel awkward and mad
I
But I don’t really know how it feels
See
Different
Teachers want me to learn
Colors.
Respect for others
I see fish, colorful fish,
To get along
Swimming in one tank.
They have us writing papers
Not one more superior than another.
And poems for contests
My dad rests his hand upon my head.
Hoping to take this seriously
He bends down and looks softly into my eyes.
But I don’t really know how it feels
He tells me that I am a fish
A
I’m not threatened or harassed or bullied
Young
I’ve got people who care
Colored
And stability
Fish,
The luxuries of education
Swimming in an ocean where some colors
A safe environment
Are greater than others,
Comfort
And mine, mine is not.
They have experience
But on the inside, all colors stay the same.
I ask him, What makes our ocean different than theirs?
Some become stronger
He has no reply, but we both know that there is none.
Some are scarred
No
With uncertainty
Difference
Or peace of mind
At
And I don’t really know how that feels
All.
I wake up and see the world just as it appears.
How do they live with hatred?
Black and white.
I can’t feel it, or see it
No color at all.
I know it is there
Nothing like the fish tank I imagined.
I know it affects me, but I’m not even sure
For I,
how
I’m just
Their problem is my problem
A
But I don’t know how to help us
Little
Colored
How do we find joy?
Pedro Miranda
Fish.
Grade 8 Swimming in an ocean,
Where I do not belong.
Livvy Meyers
Grade 8

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 All these words crowd my mind,
Yet out of reach,
Freedom, independence,
Drifting in the clouds of my dreams
Trying to move forward
But only pulled back

My beaten hands try to grasp onto

the past
But the future is too strong a force
My weakened body must give in

Alexis Zachem
Grade 7
Rocco Palermo
Grade 7

Feeling Freedom

The wind blows my way, but I can’t reach it.

The smell of freedom lurks in the air.
It smells like flowers after rain falls.
It feels like love blooming in my heart.
I feel unwanted, shipped, and owned.
I feel taken away from my home.
I want to feel where I can be myself.
I want to step out of the dark.
So I do.
The wind blows my way.
I can reach it.
Maia DeForge
Grade 7

Equality

“Noi siamo tutti uguaglia,” my nonno always used to say. “Noi siamo tutti fratelli.” “We are all
equals, we are all brothers.”
Ever since I was a little ragazzino, he has repeated this to me over and over again, hoping I could
catch on and realize that all of the racists were just “caffone” people trying to seem better than they
really were. It never mattered what color somebody was, or where they came from, or what language
they speak. My nonno said that God put us on this Earth for a reason, and it clearly wasn’t to mistreat
other ethnic groups. I wish that other people were as straightforward and wise as him. Unfortunately, life
has showed me that society has made people believe that certain people are better than others. The
first time I realized this fact, I saw my Zio Vincenzino being humiliated by his boss.

(continued)

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 My zio was a construction worker. During the early 1930s, work was scarce, and my zio went to
look for work on the Empire State Building construction project. He found one, and for a while our
family was very happy. About two weeks into his job, zio asked his boss for his payment. The boss, a
big fat man with a gray mustache, gave him less money than what was written on their contract. My zio
asked where the rest of his money was. his boss responded, shouting, “You lying little wop! I don’t owe
you a cent! You’re lying! You’re trying to steal from good, American taxpayers!” My zio started to get
angry, retorting, “If you did this to all of your workers, you’d have no construction crew!” The boss
replied, “If you want to quit, go ahead. I ain’t stopping you! What separates you from the average
guinea off the street? Nothing, that’s what!! All you stupid Italians are the same, you lying thief! Get out!
You’re fired!” My zio walked away, cleaned up his tools, and came home. For weeks, we lived in despair
over our dwindling money and looming rent to pay. Luckily, he was able to find work with a different
construction company.
In 1930s New York, money was hard to get, especially for Italian immigrants. We barely knew the
English language, and the “better” immigrants refused to help us. There was no money for houses, so
we lived in dirty, crowded tenements in Little Italy. The tenements held eight families. The small, dark
apartments held large extended families. The children, in frayed clothes, were unable to attend school.
The exhausted mothers were unable to work. Everyone depended on the earnings of the day laborers. If
the laborers were fired, everyone suffered.
My Zio Pompeo was becoming frustrated and angry. His bosses had no respect for the workers,
and they often changed their minds about wages. The working conditions were deplorable. No
measures were taken to ensure the workers’ safety. Many men became injured and were unable to
work. The family would starve. My Zio Carlo fell three stories to the ground once while on a construction
project. He broke both legs and was in the hospital for two months. He couldn’t work for six months,
and even then, he was never the same. Most people would be surprised that the construction company
didn’t pay for his medical expenses or support the family while he couldn’t work. But I was accustomed
to this type of treatment. So, I quit school and went to work for the company. The workers treated me
like dirt. I can clearly remember one of them saying, “Hey, look, now we have a small one to do the
more dangerous stuff.” When Zio Carlo was well enough to work again, I continued working. Extra
money at the end of the month for my family was more important than my education or safety. A few
years after Zio Carlo’s fall, all eight of my uncles decided to join a union. Joining the union could mean
no more wages. It meant threats, danger. But they knew they had to take a stand and work for what
was right. Their boss came to the house with several bigger men to try to threaten my uncles into
quitting the union. They wouldn’t, so, the next day, he fired all eight of them. Now, with no food or
money, my family felt its strongest bond. Gradually, my uncles all found work again as carpenters,
plumbers, and janitors. Their new jobs were safer, more stable, and paid better. My family was proud of
my uncles for taking a risk and providing more money for the family and an example for the children.
Throughout my life, my family has been discriminated against. When we walk by, some
“superior” people always shout, “Guidos! Greasy Italians!” Each word hurts, but it is overcome. I bring
myself to forgive the ignorant who dislike us for our heritage, but I can never forget. “Noi siamo tutti
uguaglia. Noi siamo tutti fratelli.” “We are all equals. We are all brothers.” I respected my nonno, and his
words will always ring true.
Marco Paternoster
Grade 8

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Editorial Staff
Emily Berk
Emily Bernstein
Sarah Bohen
Rebecca Epemolu
Charlie Musoff
Jon Natarajan
Sarah Weintraub
Adrienne Travis
Faculty Advisor Grade 8
Peggy Fox

English Department
Jim Andreski
Lisa Bryan Special Thanks
Alex Campbell Michael McDermott
Kathleen Connon Larry Chatzinoff
Denise DelBalzo Rochelle Hauge
Brian Fisher Denise Cassano Many thanks to Ken Holvig
Janie Fitzgerald Linda Fisher for his efforts to help us produce
Peggy Fox Miriam Freedman-Carmen and publish this
Cara Hiller Scarsdale Middle School PTA Literary Magazine!
Jonathan Hilpert
Marjorie Ross
Marci Rothman Cover Artwork
Trish Serafin Rachel Schwartz, Grade 8
David Wixted

Ellie Month
Grade 7

Nadja Dwyer
Grade 6

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WORK URL 45