MY EYES: A LITERARY

MAGAZINE
By Reece Haft-Abromovitch

MAY 20, 2022

Table of Contents
1 – Table of Contents
2 – Introduction Letter from the Author
3 – Possum: A Haiku
4 – Letter to Grandpa
6 – Art Piece: Water Keeper
8 – What We Owe to Each Other
10 – 3 Entries from a High-School Senior

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Introduction Letter from the Author
Dear Reader(s),

For this literary magazine, my chosen theme is environmental justice. I’m asking

questions such as: 

 How has humanity’s relationship with the environment changed over time? 

 How does this relationship vary over different cultures? 

 What are the consequences of the climate crisis that are being felt by younger

people today, and what does this mean for the future of environmental justice? 

 What does environmental justice mean for young people?

The purpose of these works are to explore these questions and their related themes,

such as environmental grief, intergenerational relations in the face of the climate crisis,

existentialism, and the innate human connection to nature.

Included in this literary magazine are a haiku and other poems, fine art pieces, and

letters focusing on the themes of environmental grief, humans and our relationship with

nature, and climate change from the perspective of young people in the 21st century.

These works communicate my own feelings and in no way are meant to generalize that

every person my age feels the same; they are simply meant to capture how I feel about

these issues at this point in time.

-Reece Haft-Abromovitch
May 12, 2022

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 Possum: A Haiku
Furry, grey, and cute
Hanging upside down, it sleeps.
The man can’t find it.

3
 Letter to Grandpa
Dear Grandpa,

When you and I were sitting on the patio, talking about the future, you were so

certain that things wouldn’t get better. Or, if they did, it would be because humans traveled out to

colonize space. You got excited about the idea of space travel and thought it would be necessary

for humanity to survive. I also thought it was cool, but I insisted humans should invest in making

Earth healthy again instead of running away. You were fully convinced that things will not get

better. 

You seemed perfectly fine with that. You didn’t sound sad or pitying because I’ll have to

live in a dying world, you’ve accepted it. And I couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. 

Despite the 60 years age difference, you and I actually have a lot in common. Neither of

us are very religious, we’d both rather nap than go shoe shopping, and we grew up in similar

worlds, albeit different centuries. As a child, you practiced curling up under the desk in schools

in case the Germans attacked, while I grew up hiding in the corner of the room, out of sight,

silent, in case a shooter attacked.

But now I know it's not that simple. Your father wasn’t your mother’s first choice, while

my mom’s went above and beyond to have each other, and to have me.  

You were born in the Great Depression but came of age in the postwar boom. I was born

in between 9/11 and the 2008 recession, now I’m coming of age in another recession after just 12

years.  You were raised in the safety of America, away from the Nazis in Europe. Now, our

Nazis live here, amongst our police and our classmates.

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 I never really thought about how our ages would change how we look at things, I always

felt like we were on the same page. Then I realized that, considering the 60 years between us,

you and I grew up with very different futures in mind. You looked forward to flying cars and

space travel, and the biggest thing to be afraid of was communism. Now, I look forward to

environmental collapse and the deterioration of American Society; the biggest thing I’m afraid of

is the world ending. Your future has passed, we may not have flying cars, but space travel is

growing. 

My future hasn’t yet. 

I have to be optimistic; otherwise, how will I survive? My generation is very angry,

Grandpa. We’re tired, and burned out, but we’re gearing up for a fight for our future. One where

the environment won’t be destroyed, and we can have faith in our social institutions, like how

you once did.

You may believe that the world won’t change for the better, and that we’ll have to move

on to survive, but I feel like you’ve left something out from your prediction: me and my

generation. The leaders of the world now may not want to change, but we do. And it's only a

matter of time until we gain the ability to carve our own path and bring humanity back to the

right direction.

You may believe the world won’t change, and that’s okay, Grandpa. I’ll still try whether

you believe it or not. However, for your own sake, I hope you’ll start being hopeful again, so I

can look back when I’m older, and feel like I made you proud.

I love you,

-Reece.

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 Water Keeper
By Reece Haft-Abromovitch

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Explanation: The Subject of this piece is Autumn Peltier, a young activist for water conservation
and indigenous rights born in 2004. She is currently chief water commissioner of the
Anishinabek first nation in Canada. At just 13 years old, Peltier confronted Prime Minister
Trudeau about his support of harmful pipelines at the Assembly of First Nations in 2016.
I chose her as a subject not just for her bravery and passion in pursuing environmental
justice, but also for how she, according the beliefs of her people, emphasizes how the health and
wellbeing of the environment is directly connected to the health and well-being of us humans
that depend on it.
I based the composition off of a piece, The Byzantine Heads: The Blonde (1897) by
Alfonse Mucha, a Czech painter renowned for his Art Nouveau style. I was mainly inspired by
this style of art because of how it combines natural patterns and subjects with structured,
geometric forms and textures inspired by the industrial revolution. I felt that the beauty found in
nature combined with a symbol of modernity as we see it, in the form of industrialization,
particularly fascinating and compelling considering the times we are living in.

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 What We Owe to Each Other
By Reece Haft-Abromovitch

You’ve been surrounded by screaming for so long you can’t hear it anymore
Just because its normal doesn't make it okay
We’ve been screaming since we were born
Screaming pain
Screaming blood
Screaming for our futures
For our heritage
For our community
For our humanity
For our friends
For the world
For our mothers we bled dry
For our fathers who couldn’t be bothered to see us. To Care.
For something that makes sense
For something good

You tell them life isn’t fair and get surprised when they don’t want to live anymore
These children are so filled with anxiety, anger, despair and grief that there's hardly any room left for
love.
They want to love
But loving hurts so much.
You took something beautiful and turned it into something painful
You fed us on the blood of our sisters and our brothers and ourselves then had the audacity to pretend it
was yours when we finally spat it out and demanded better.

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Explication: I wrote this poem about the current intergenerational tensions between modern young

adults/ adolescents and the older population. I wanted to capture the anger many young people feel in the

face of injustice in regard to their future and safety. Many young people are angry because they feel like

policy makers and people of influence don’t care about them or their future and won’t listen to them. The

poem is directed at the people who created the current environment this generation is coming of age in,

such as policy makers, parents, teachers, administrators, bosses, the government, etc. This poem is about

the rage and despair of the current generation as it rises from a collective background of neglect and

repression, to come face to face with environmental destruction. The particular issues I wanted to touch

upon were climate change, violence, mental health, economic issues, and accessibility. In an increasingly

automated world, the most recent generations have become enraptured by media and material distractions

much earlier in life than before. But while criticizing us, older generations fail to recognize the

responsibility they have in maintaining the conditions that facilitate certain issues. Children didn’t invent

the iPhone, adults made it, advertised it, and encouraged younger and younger people to use it. Children

didn’t suddenly stop wanting to play outside, adults have become increasingly stricter with their children

in playing in the street, going outside alone, and how much free time they have to themselves. It was

policy makers and administrators that raised the price of college to such a level that too many people

can’t afford it. This poem is a response to the criticisms of our parents and grandparents who admonish us

for being on our phones, not socializing, advocating for more liberal policies, better wages and working

hours, etc., without acknowledging that these problems we face are not our own creation. They can’t

accept that, in some ways, they had it better than we did. Our generation has had to face two economic

crises in twelve years, 1 in 4 of us have grown up without a father figure, even more raised by divorced

parents, and more than half of us experience constant symptoms of anxiety and depression. I tried to

communicate the anger around these experiences in my writing.

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 3 Entries of a High-School Senior
By Reece Haft-Abromovitch

September 2nd, 2021. After Hurricane Ida

The Storm last night was crazy. Some farmer nearby lost a

quarter to one third of his cow herd to flooding. According to mom,

a basement belonging to a friend of hers flooded up to the roof.

Our Wi-Fi went down, so I wasn’t able to get any schoolwork

done. So instead I hung out with my younger brother most of the

day. A small hole popped open in the front yard and now water is

bubbling out of it like a little spring. And to think it will only get

worse from here on out as weather gets worse…

September 4th, 2021

Mom and I drove up to visit Vassar college today. While driving,

we called Grandma, and Mom talked with her about the flooding all

over and in New York.

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve got a bad feeling that things are only

going to get worse. The infrastructure in the North East isn’t

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designed to deal with flooding like this. And the damage is even

crazier inland because the large hills make the flooding worse.

We need to make some serious changes, but with the way our

government institutions are currently being run, I’m afraid that

more people are going to have to die to get the politicians’

attention.

I can’t imagine living in a world that isn’t actively ending,

where elections aren’t about picking between the two evils, and the

government and its laws are designed to make most people’s live

better.

September 22nd, 2021

I’ve been sitting outside in my hammock a lot. It’s very

peaceful, just hanging there, reading. But there are so. Many.

MOSQUITOS! Maybe I could plant some mosquito repelling herbs

around the area, like lavender. I hate the smell of those citronella

candles. Or maybe I could just set up a vacuum to suck them up.

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 The moon is so bright and full tonight. I read somewhere that

the moon is usually to bright this time of year, that people could

continue working safely in the fields even after the sun went down. I

can’t imagine what the sky would’ve looked like without all that air

and light pollution. Like that time my mom picked me up from camp

in the Catskill mountains. The air was so clear, you could see the

milky way. It was incredible.

I know living at the time would definitely suck, but it would be

amazing to go back in time before the industrial revolution, and just

watch the clear sky without any special equipment or anything, just

my eyes.

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