Boylan Catholic High School 4000 St. Francis Dr.

Rockford, IL 61103 www.boylan.org

Cover art:
Derek Droessler 2014
mixed media
Lets say you are a scientist out hiking through the woods
Who comes upon a wild Me up in the trees or by the river in the sun.
I wont be in your feld book, your pocket guide
So if youd want to know Me, watch me
Laugh, sing, run and tap my foot
And paint and smile and draw and play
Or if you are persistent, see me
Stub my toe or sigh or cry.
(Lets say thats not enough)
(Lets say you want a closer look)
Then lure Me in with bread and friendly talk
No need for nets, youll have my trust.
Examiner, look at my scars
See restless fngers and tired eyes
Dont be surprised
Behind my nest of hair I hide
Open ears and feverish brain, fragmented tunes of
Warm cadmium blood racing rhythms of a patched up drum.
Open my whirlwind chest, open my graphite ribs and charcoal lungs
Shielding messy love notes and pain and
Sof hugs and
Assorted cofee mugs. ff
Lets say youve had your fll
Let me go.
(Let Me fy where I might)
Lets say you wish to come again
(It takes a lot to read a mess)
Ill be in the trees or by the river in the sun.
2 o s a i c
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Heres to Route 20,
for leading me to the ones I hold close to my heart,
from near and far.
Heres to the two lanes,
and the four.
Heres to all the little towns that consume the drive every few miles,
and to all the big cities that fall few and far between.
Heres to all the gas stations with only a single restroom,
with a broken handle,
and air fresheners that smell like cheap candles.
Heres to the backseat of my car,
for it has hosted all of my belongings;
from old and faded jeans,
to scratched Beatles CDs,
to an old lovers shirt.
Heres to the bumpy and broken road in the middle of nowhere,
and the fresh gravel with thick paint when I am city bound,
with the heavy hum that follows regardless where I am.
Heres to all the cops that never pulled me over,
and to all the ones that did.
Heres to the all-night diners with the servers named Martha,
who always brought me two chocolate chip pancakes,
with a side of hash browns and homesick.
Heres to all the motels with the broken TVs and the ill lighting
that sufced as home, but just for the night.
Heres to all the troubles I lef behind on the road,
and to all the ones I went to meet,
with a twenty year old gas pedal and brakes beneath my feet.
Heres to all the people you unintentionally meet,
and all the ones you intentionally dont.
Heres to thee, Route 20.
3 osaic M
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4 o s a i c
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Your foggy black hair
twinkling with golden light.
Your eyes are of thousands of people
smelling the grog and eating hot dogs at
the lake.
Stomach fat and paved, with
hips they lust for.
Legs seemingly miles long.
Your feet are wheels
of skateboards or bikes.
You wear a new dress every day,
a new color
or style.
But for you, it always
looks beautiful
Amidst your beauty,
though, you hide secrets.
Your eyes shif
frantic, praying to stay hidden
while remaining seen.
Your brothers killed the teacher,
your neighbor sold drugs to
children, who are running away
from a shattered home.
But all the while, you just sit
and stare at the people around you.
Sit tall, lovely woman.
Dont let yourself fall.
5 osaic M
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6 o s a i c
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On the telephone lines hang the shoes
That my brother once wore.
I look up at the sky, gloomy and gray.
I walk the long worn out path.
Oh the memories, Oh the memories.
I look down the street where my brother had his last goodbye.
Its never see you later, its always goodbye.
The stupid fght over a pair of shoes.
Sweet memories.
At the corner of 4th street is where they were last worn.
I kick the rock that is on this path.
The dark sky, has that look when its about to rain, all gray.
The shoes are worn down and gray.
The last time he said good bye.
Why did I take this path?
Stupid shoes, stupid shoe.
That my brother once wore.
They never fade, they last forever all the memories.
Memories, Memories
All are all now black and gray
They tore them down and then were worn.
I never got to say goodbye.
The telephone lines that hold the shoes,
Were on the long worn out path.
The way I get to you is by a path,
That holds all the memories,
And all the shoes.
My life is now all gray.
Goodbye Goodbye,
Is the last word worn.
I pick up the shoes that my brother once wore.
The long worn out gravel path.
The long never said goodbye.
Oh memories, oh memories
Are now all gray.
Just like the shoes.
7 osaic M
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The world is too big to fathom, too vast
To imagine, for every grain of sand
On a beach there is a person, at last
I still dream to see every bit of land
Like diamonds and jewels that I wish to hold
And stare at through the thick glass of my youth
Windowpanes to other worlds of gold
The world I live in seems to scream the truth
That I am too young to achieve, believe
To think the world is still beautiful
You can do anything that will deceive
You will do something is more suitable
Fed lies and false standards of what is right
Will distort the dreams we dream of at night
8 o s a i c
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Stand up!
Move to the wall
Crouch down
Stay Silent
No movement, no laughing
No room for personal space
No room in school to be yourself
Uniforms mold and shape
how we are supposed to look
Rules keep our behavior to a boring standard
While the tediousness of
schoolworkhomeworkpaperstests just goes on
And on
And on
But what ever happened to the creative spirit that
school is supposed to foster?
Since when have artists used artifcial molds to sculpt
masterpieces
Instead of using the hands that God gave them?
Who ever decided the potential students
are supposed to reach instead of the students
deciding themselves?
While treated like adults but referred to as children
The students themselves are drawn and quartered
between
Responsibility School Work
Drama and life. But
is that even a bad thing?
To raise a delicate fower into a beautiful blossom,
One must not dryly neglect it
Nor should one food it with water
The middle ground between both
excess and oppressed
Makes man fght to earn the strength
he doesnt know he deserves
And this way has been proven to
manifest the potential in all of us
No matter which road he takes to
arrive there.
Get back in your seats
The simple drill telling us
To wait and hide
Because the worlds eyes arent yet ready
For the blinding light of our potential
9 osaic M
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I wish I were a tree
But even your words would destroy me
I want to have a thick trunk
So nothing could get the best of me
But even a trunk wouldnt stop you
From breaking through and tearing me down
I wish I were a tree
But even your words would destroy me
Go ahead and take a hit
See what you could release
My demons are what I trap inside
I can show you the tricks they play on a persons mind
But you would know, youre one of them
I wish I were a tree
But even your words would destroy me
Cut me down and make me paper
And write the insults youve said to me
Let them sink into my pores
Be sure no one ever sees them
Because your secrets would be revealed
And everyone will see the monster you truly are
I wish I were a tree
But even your words would destroy me
10 o s a i c
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Dont write about people write
about feelings,
she told me
but I didnt.
Instead I wrote about person afer person going
as far as titling the poem His
Name that repeated over
and over while
I tried to come up with another word
for breathtaking.
Dictionaries thrown around my room
the kitchen walls covered
in torn out pages
Highlighters open
dried out like my eyes
afer scanning the same page
the letters roll of
collapse and rise, surround
me like a hopeless raf lost
in a storm at sea
all spell out the same word
point in the same direction
call me out of the water
into the life jacket of your arms.
11 osaic M
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12 o s a i c
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Look at me. Look at us. Look at them.
Synthetic organisms, skin-covered androids,
Bleeding liquid gold, breathing dusty prophecies
Nothing passes for oxygen
Sloth passes for nourishment
Lies pass for bones
Flimsy, feathery fngers grasp fragile quills
Dipped in disappearing ink
Scrawling illegible clichs on air masked as paper
While real, tangible paper lies close by
Waiting desperately, yearning everlong
To receive the honor of documentation
Spread out in plain sight, but to no avail
Feeble extremities, always moving but never in mo-
tion,
Fill pages upon pages of potentially vivid, valuable
fesh
With only insubstantial impressions
Wooden lips drif aimlessly, glacially slowly,
Forming in their spare time voiceless, meaningless
whispers
Clouded nostrils soak in the sedatives
Tongues are cut at all the wrong times
Rusty iron teeth munch on virtual cherries
Devouring the sweet fruit, discarding the hard pits
Anything undesirable should be exterminated.
Such is the motto of the masses.
They could be engines, pufng, running, soaring
through all adversity
But they balk at the thought that there is a chance
Of becoming just another train wreck.
They dont know what theyre missing.
Neither do you. Neither do we.
Neither do I.
13 osaic M
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The man she loved strode through the door
As if hed just seen Hell
Concerned, she asked, Whats wrong, my love?
He had something to tell.
The note came in the mail that day
That fnalized his fate
Terrifed, they sat and cried
Soon detached from their soulmate.
He had three days to say goodbyes
Before leaving for war
He made one promise to his wife
I wont get hurt, he swore.
Three months dragged by, each more alone
With no one there to hold
She prayed at night, he fought the fght
That froze his soul ice cold.
But then hed think of her again
The ice would melt away
Hed feel the love he felt
That fateful day they met in May.
Was only a matter of time
Before his promise broke
A German shot him in the back,
Destroying all his hope.
He laid there among all the rubble
Sure hed soon be dead
Praying to God, asking for death
God let him live instead.
His partner found him, picked him up,
And carried him to base
The doctors saved his life though
He survived by Gods good grace.
The bullet in his spine would change
His course of life forever
Handicapped but soon he and his
Wife would be together.
The girl he loved, not knowing if
He was out of harms way
Was torn inside, nowhere to hide
All she could do was pray.
And then one day, as if it were
A gif straight from above,
Wheeled in the man she so longed for
It was the man she loved.
She rushed to him, embraced him and
Refused to let him go
Speechless both, and yet they knew
They loved each other so.
14 o s a i c
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It started so suddenly
Their beasts were swif
Beginning the end as they descend
The four horsemen of the apocalypse.
Death to all those who had lived well
Quick reaping with scythes so sharp
Whole towns empty, the streets are bleeding
As the whole sky is plunged into dark.
The people run screaming as they rise from the ground
Conquering their promised cursed earth
Demons of horror and enormous dimension
Wreaking havoc the whole worlds girth.
Afer the enemy fearlessly strikes
The frst attack on what is weak
No nourishment remains for those who survive
And famine decimates the lowly and meek.
War rages unchecked on the earth condemned
Humanity declining for lack of defense
But none of the soldiers could defeat
The predestined fate that was so immense
Divine power claimed those who knew the truth
Anyone else alive had to fend for themselves
Against the strength of the demonic armies
Even though they could not be helped.
The dark one arrived with chaos so great
Witnessing as the last human fell
This once great planet of condescending beings
Had now become a new part of Hell.
Watching the powerlines sway, wasting the day away.
Tall, untrimmed grasses bend, dancing with the wind.
Dark black road seems unfamiliar, not like the roads where I used to live.
Nothing to see, and at the same time-
Everything, passing quickly, enjoy it before its history.
Focused on my foot, high on the dash.
Reminds me how small the world really is, the whole earth just beyond my toe.
Houses scattered within the grass, they look like cartoons-
Too fawless to be a home.
No birds on the powerlines today, they dont come here anyway.
The children are quiet, playing in the streets,
As they waste the day away.
15 osaic M
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16 o s a i c
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It was a beautiful April day in Florida, and Herb Poovey was out mowing the lawn while his dog Judy
frolicked through the yard, her nose glued to the ground. Herb fnished cutting his last row of grass and his
wife Mariam brought him out a tall glass of iced tea. Herb turned of the lawn mower and looked out at his ff
work. The yard was perfect, and he smiled with satisfaction. The Pooveys next-door neighbors, the Finkles,
had been on his back about taking better care of his yard and now they would have nothing to complain
about. Suddenly Herb heard the sound of growling and he turned to fnd Judy tossing her head frantically
back and forth, and something white was hanging from her mouth. Herb ran as fast as his 65 year old body
could carry him to retrieve whatever poor animal Judy had her jaws on this time. As he approached the dog, he
realized that the thing hanging from Judys mouth was a white rabbit, its fur matted with dirt and blood. Herb
commanded Judy to drop the poor animal and she did. Herb leaned over the mangled animal and swore. It was
the rabbit the Finkles had gotten their son, Timmy as an early Easter present.
The Finkles and the Pooveys didnt get along very well and now the Pooveys dog had killed their rabbit.
Herb glanced over at the Finkles well-manicured lawn and remembered that the Finkles had lef for vacation
and wouldnt be back for another week. Herb bent and picked up the rabbit and cradled the dead animal in
his hand. He walked into the house and grabbed a towel, laying the rabbit on the towel on the counter. When
Mariam walked in she gave a high-pitched yelp.
Herb told her what had happened and Mariam frowned. Suddenly a plan formed in Herbs head and he
turned the water on and held the rabbit under the faucet. All the dirt and blood streamed into the sink. Afer
the rabbit was clean Herb went into the master suite bathroom and grabbed Mariams blow dryer. He returned
to the kitchen and Mariam watched in horror as he dried the dead rabbits fur. Afer the rabbits fur was dry
Herb and Mariam stood back and looked at the rabbit. It almost looked like it was sleeping. Herb picked up
the rabbit and walked back outside crossing the boundary into the Finkles yard, and found the rabbits cage.
Sure enough the cage door was wide open. The rabbit must have escaped. Herb gently laid the rabbit back into
his cage so the Finkles would not think he had anything to do with the rabbits untimely death. He secured the
cage door and walked home to his wife and dog.
1 week later
Herb was cleaning the vegetables Mariam had picked up at the store and through his big window he saw
the Finkles blue minivan pull into their driveway. Herb swore and prayed that they wouldnt think anything
was amiss with the dead bunny. He didnt need any more problems with the Finkles.
Later that day Herb decided to go out and prune the hedges in his front yard. Jim Finkle was out
starting up his lawn mower. Herb raised a hand in a wave and Jim gave him a weird look but also raised his
hand. Throughout the afernoon Herb kept catching Jim giving him odd looks over the lawn mower. Herb kept
pruning the hedges but was starting to worry that Jim somehow knew what Herb had done. Jim fnally cut the
lawn mower and walked over to Herb.
Hey, Herb, you didnt happen to see anything weird going on around here did you?
Herb shook his head, No, sorry Jim. I havent. Why?
Well its the weirdest thing. You know I got my son Timmy a rabbit as an early Easter present.
Yeah, I think I remember your wife saying something about it.
Well, it died.
Herb pretended to be shocked, Im so sorry to hear that.
But thats not the weird part. We buried it before we lef on vacation and we arrived home and the
rabbit was back in his cage, dead with not a spot of dirt on him.
17 osaic M
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Nothing in the world is too broken. CRASH!
Know it can be fxed with gaf tape. ff
Now if only someone could fnd it. WHERE THE?
BLACK A mike wire bent to a ninety degree angle,
WHO THE? a human incapable of whispering,
a broken green curtain, a slow scene change
How could he have missed HOW THE?
his cue, its the same every night.
Hectic chaos, Hurrying feet QUIET
I found it, gaf tape. ff
18 o s a i c
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I never knew the thief
never as well as I wished
His marriage into my family when I was a child,
Forged in my mind only through stories reiterated over
Years.
Respectful nods to the dead.
But all I saw
were sideways glances
and my aunts broken heart.
I never loved the thief.
His only legacy in my mind was the brand,
the scar he lef on the ones who loved him.
The only credit to his name:
the tears of my favorite cousin
shed for the man she called father
I never forgave the thief.
The echoes still rebound
Her words,
another cut
were his fault always in my mind,
The traitor of his kind
for abandoning the girl I was too young to know how to help
I was too young to understand her words
Another cut.
I never understood the thief,
his lack of hope for the beautiful daughter he loved,
but chose to leave.
Ill never know.
Ill never understand.
Ill never remember
Why the thief took his life.
19 osaic M
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20 o s a i c
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He is a working man,
His hands are calloused, sandpaper like
His body is tired, an old car that has reached its last
miles.
His body shows the signs of years of 12-hour days in
the sweltering heat,
Days covered in grime and dust particles that invade
his lungs,
His once fawless skin is stained by the dirt.
He speaks with an accent, the kind the business man
looks down on.
The man in his fancy suit has already made a judg-
ment
My father is not worth his time.
If only hed listen he would know,
My father has value past his accent
He is an intellectual,
Education is the only true gold, hed say.
My father has lived through hard times and come
out on top.
He is not afraid of life
He loves with an intensity comparable to the sun in
summer.
When I look into his eyes reminiscent of cofee ff
beans,
I can see the face of Christ
Ive watched him give his last fve dollars to a home-
less man on the street
Afer suggesting the man would only use it for drugs
He explained: We are all brothers, it is my duty.
He has calloused hands, sandpaper like.
My father is a working man.
21 osaic M
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Run fast, run far, please run away
Said Anya to her child.
The rioters will soon get here
Her eyes grew wide and wild.
But mother dear I wish to stay
I feel no fear of man
My boy, my boy, my brave small boy
They would not give a damn.
The president, he would not sign
A bill to give us trade
In the European Union
A grave mistake hes made.
Oh no, theyre here! Theyre right outside!
The mother she exclaimed,
Dont worry mom, Ill guard you here
The child he proclaimed.
He quickly ran outside the door
Despite his mothers cry
The rioters were mad and crazed
She feared her child would die
The cops had tried to stop the mob
They tried and tried and tried,
The end saw guns and bombs and mace
So many people died.
The fres burned, the city sacked
The damage had been done
The corpses scattered in the streets
And Anya lost her son
I am awakened by the voice of my father
speaking in whisper
to avoid waking my mother
She sleeps soundly in her room
My brother waits in the jeep of my father
The dark navy metal is starting to rust
but the wood shines like it is still new
I pray the car wont break down again
A small tornado of pebbles
whirl when the wheels come to a stop
I can see our boat tied to the dock
The paint is chipped and looks small next to the others
but it is ours
I carry the cooler down the hill
It is almost as big as I
My father starts the engine
and my brother lays down the lines
The small strands from my ponytail escape
from the speed of the boat
We head to our cove in the lake
and see the sun start to rise
Now we wait
22 o s a i c
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Hemingways baby shoes
For sale but never worn;
My little kid ballet shoes,
Dirty, tattered, and torn.
Bloody nails and bandaged toes,
Caused by their replacement;
A shiny pair of pink toe shoes,
My feet bound in their encasement.
While other kids were running free
Or playing with their toys,
I was busy, hard at work,
Learning discipline and poise.
To be the best, as I was told,
You had no time for fun.
You must plie, and tendu, and pirouette
Until the day is done.
Ballerinas look so beautiful,
Afer recitals, holding their roses.
No one seems to understand
The pain our art imposes.
The aching muscles and battered feet,
Toenails sent permanently to their graves.
Countless turns ending up on the foor
Get up, try again, be brave.
Sometimes I regret the time Ive spent,
All the normal things I have given up.
But when I am on stage once again
Its worth it to hear the audience erupt.
Of my seventeen years here on this earth,
More than half I have spent on my toes.
Its peculiar to look back and see the years past,
My little kid days gone in repose.
The price of grace, I never thought,
Would be so great a fee.
Hemingways declaration I do see ft,
There was no childhood for me.
23 osaic M
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Relaxed.
Silent.
Crunching through the crumpled leaves, the sound as crisp as an autumn apple.
Walking down the windy, winding path, unaware of the slowly disappearing trees.
Still walking down the narrow path, the light haze of dusk overhead.
A gentle breeze carries me.
Looking up at the endless sky,
I follow the path of the sof darkness of dusk.
I walk on.
The night sky comes to life with its angels.
I see one fy.
The darkness consumes me,
But I am not afraid
24 o s a i c
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Some girls want to be famous.
They are fascinated with
Wanting to be fascinating.
They are stuck in a fction
That only exists in movies,
Hoping for one day to be in a movie.
They are brainwashed into
Believing that beauty is
Obtained afer editing for
Fify minutes, and they ff
Dont see how beautiful
They are by just being
Alive,
But in their unconscious
They want to be famous
Because they crave the
Attention they didnt
Receive from their
Fathers and lovers
And while they want to be famous
I just want to be heard.
25 osaic M
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The cashier says, That will be $11.76, please. Looking down
I reach into my pocket, searching
For something to hold on to, anything to ft
Into my hands to keep them warm and occupied; they search
The depths of the darkness and long
For substance, for security, for life
My pocket holds the next moments, waiting
Always waiting to see what
Will come next. My hands
Now warm and occupied
Find their way out of my pocket, holding
What they were searching for. Grateful to see the
Three quarters and penny gently lying
In my hand, I reach
Over the counter and slowly hand
The exact change to the cashier
26 o s a i c
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Ode to you who protects them
from my piercing light.
You shield me as a mother
covering her childs eyes. You are my eyes.
But I wish I could see the world myself.
My light could cast out shadows
from the farthest book on the bookshelf,
and revive its binding.
I know youre here to protect them.
But all I want is to reach out.
You dull my feeble attempts to touch
the shadows.
Your stif fabric keeps me subdued. ff
Quietly, as particles drif through my galaxies.
My light pours around your curves
begging to be let out of your doors.
My wires spark delight whenever
a shadow crosses my avenue.
Is it the CAUTION stamp hugging my body?
I caution you to relieve me.
I promise to make my light reach every corner.
Do you fear their reactions? Their judgments?
I want to see them dance in the rays
of a ray I have sent. Sparkling.
Ode to you lampshade,
I could shine so bright for them.
The peace of nightwhat holds?
The cool breeze, the dark and starry sky, the slowness of the neighborhood
The fast hum, the quick and wavy lights, the hurriedness of the town
the highway built strong and loud
The lights blinding the stars, the noise shattering the solitude
Why no rest?
Turn around. Look into the home. What is seen and seemed?
Uncertainty? Mystery? Flagrancy? The chilling night is taking hold.
Security? Familiarity? Humility? The house is warmed.
We have what we have; people have their people;
Good or bad; survive?
Good or bad; thrive.
27 osaic M
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Passive voice was written by a wearisome man.
Each word was made from the stroke of his tired hand.
A grand thought was pondered by his mind
about what was contained in each line.
The written lines were praised highly by his eye.
Your poem is sublime the people will cry, said a lie
That lingered inside, and was brought about by
a person who has been chastised by a power from high.
Praise was received by the man
from all of his adoring fans.
The style was made the new norm
to which all the writing experts would conform.
Now catastrophes could be reported by the news
without worrying about people who were afected by the blues. ff
The passive power was spread by all who wrote
It felt so good when it was spoken by the throat
The lifelessness of society was observed by all.
Crying was common by people curled up in a ball.
Passive voice was written by a man who used to stand tall
but now was loathed by society who wanted him to fall.
A way to survive was sought out by the people.
A man told the people he had an idea to save their lives.
Even passive is better was the reply given by the people
who despised their lives by allowing the life of their writing to die.
28 o s a i c
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I want to be him, a man
The man with guns and not sticks
With a beard and not a naked cheek
I want to see over people and not have
To stand on my tip toes to make eye contact.
I want to be strong, a soldier
He who is at the front line
While I quiver behind my shield in the back.
His name will forever be remembered
But my name was never known.
I want to be steadfast, a rock
The man who does not shed a tear
Is not me for my tears fll a sea, and
My ideas change every moment while
He does not change in the face of adversity.
Even though I dont have guns or height,
Even though I dont have strength,
I have my me.
My chest is barren and my face is naked.
I shine bright and can out emotion the manliest man.
My strength is in my words and ideas
My willingness to stand up for myself is my chest hair
My voice is the lions roar defending his rock
I do not envy the man who gets in my path
Nothing is stopping this train
Enough coal to keep it going for three lifetimes.
Our breath came out in slow pufs of steam, ff
the sky above us cool and gray, like my grandmas hair,
as she chopped down the fresh Christmas
trees aroma with its waxy needles
glistening like beautiful fgures at my grandmas house
smelling of lemon and lavender
and the lingering aroma of good food
unlike the middle schools cafeteria afer recess
when the air smelled like burnt leather soles
of the shoes worn by little warriors
playing our dangerous games which never
threatened to take away the delicious smell of mom
her stew which made you take your coat of
to stay awhile to eat on our
lemons rich pulp polished, carved wooden table
from far away where
the father lion in Africa protects his cub,
but the freezing rain kept coming, the smell
of tears lingered in my home because
the one who was a cat in one scene
was a dog in the next.
29 osaic M
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30 o s a i c
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Good morning, Gracelyn, the nurse called as she pushed a wheel chair into my room, I brought you
a visitor.
Hey, Gracie.
Hey, James, I smiled back.
Dont forget, you have radiation at four, James. Ill be back at three to get you prepped. The nurse
reminded as she walked out the door with a smile.
I looked at James in the chair. He hated using it. He insisted that God gave him legs for a reason and I
always wanted to say that God also gave him a heart for a reason but kept my mouth shut. James was my only real
friend in the hospital so I couldnt go making him mad at me although I dont think he would stay angry for long.
A few minutes to everyone else are a years to us. Were terminal.
So, hows the cancer treating you? James said fnally.
Like Im its bitch, I laughed. I hadnt been feeling too good the last few days so I was confned to my bed
which wasnt very unusual. Im hanging in there though. Not giving up yet.
Same with the new heart valve. Hey, I brought you something, he grinned that lopsided smile I loved. His
big sky blue eyes shined with excitement. Those eyes were the closest to the sky I had been in a long time. Here,
open it. I had to order it and the package just got here.
You didnt have to get me anything, I looked at him through my eyelashes. I ripped the blue paper of
the box and opened it gingerly. Inside was a small, silver heart shaped necklace with little cancer ribbons lining the
sides. The ribbons were so small you could barely tell what they were if you didnt already know. I ran my fngers
down the side of the heart and felt a ridge. Pulling it open, I saw a picture of the two of us on the right hand side.
On the lef, engraved in the silver, was a poem that James and I had written when we were little: ff
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Life will never
Be tougher than you
Stay strong, my dear,
Ill see you again.
Life isnt over,
When another one ends.
Thank you, James. Its beautiful. I could feel salty tears collecting on the brim of my eyes.
Happy sweet sixteen, Gracie. I began to fumble around with the clasp, my hands shaking too much from
my meds to hold it properly. Here, let me.
Thanks, I replied awkwardly, hating my own weakness. James swung the chain around my neck before
I lay down so I was level with him as he closed the clasp. I hate not being able to put on a necklace by myself, I
muttered.
You know I would have wanted to put it on you myself anyway.
I know but I just wish I could do anything for myself. I hate staying in this bed all day.
Look on the bright side, you get to see this devilishly handsome guy every day, he gestured to himself and I
couldnt help but laugh.
Yeah, and thats good because Id never be able to get a guy anyway.
James sighed, And why not, Gracelyn?
What guy wants to go out with a bald girl that can barely stand up half the time?
What girl wants to go out with a defective guy that cant run more than a few steps without passing out?
I should have known not to bring it up.
If you went to school Im sure girls would be all over you.
And guys wouldnt be all over you? He challenged, Come on, look at you!
Yeah, the scrawny bald girl that will probably be dead before shes twenty. Thats a real turn-on.
James looked down at his lap.
Please dont talk like that, Gracie.
I could see a thick tear slide down his cheek and land with a small click on his blue hospital gown. His chest
moved up and down quickly. He was crying.
31 osaic M
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James, Im sorry, please dont cry. Please.
You cant talk like that, Gracie. I cant think about you dying. Youre my best friend and the thought of
you being gone Having to watch them bring your body downstairs I couldnt handle it. You cant leave me,
Gracie, you cant.
James, Im sorry, I leaned down and hugged him. I could feel him shake under my arms. My face was
buried in his shoulder and I could feel my own tears starting to soak into his papery gown. Ill do my best not to
leave you but you need to promise me you will to. Can you promise me something?
He looked up at me, his blue eyes now red and pufy. ff
Anything.
Keep fghting if Im gone before you.
I promise, He said in a choked voice. He laughed, wiping at his eyes. God look at us.
Here come on up. I patted the space of mattress beside me, scooting to the end of the bed and helped
James haul himself out of the chair.
We curled up under the scratchy sheets and faced each other. We stayed there and talked about life, death,
and the in between place where he and I existed. I didnt know what would happen to me and James. Would
we grow up? Would we see each other tomorrow? Would we live long enough to go back outside? Life was full
of questions. Why did bad things happen to good people? Why did the good die young? Why couldnt life be
fair? One thing that James told me that day stuck with me: if bad things happen to good people then we must
be fantastic. If we die, we know we were good. In the end, I think he and I lived more than most people get to.
Everyones terminal. Someone just had the heart to tell us.
32 o s a i c
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Perched at the table contemplating the state
Of political chaos
His glasses perch on his nose like a bird
Watching from above.
A blanket of beard and teeth crossing
Like fngers wishing for luck
He scrapes his chair against
The wood, a shriek of disagreement.
He hugs my mother and perches his chin on her head,
Weary from the day of suit and tie living.
The head of the table, the leader of
The pack of matches that he keeps from the restaurant
Saving for another day.
Conversations foat and tangle
Wrapping around the chandelier like snakes.
The nightly routine, running. He ticks like a clock
Rushing to get to the next number.

He takes of his glasses and puts them to rest. ff
Time to start all over again.
33 osaic M
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This was it. It was fnally over. All the struggle was coming to an end. It seemed like I had been running
for days. My friend John passed me seemingly hours ago saying, Pick up the pace, Benny Boy! This 5K was
no problem for him because he had been running for years. I, however, had not. I also was not particularly ft.
I was pretty obese. Like large and in charge Fat Albert size. Needless to say running was not my thing, but I
wanted to start changing things and losing weight so there you go.
None of that mattered then. I could see the bright white fnish line and I could not wait to go home
and collapse. Feeling each step against the hard cement, sweat rolling down my chubby chipmunk-like cheeks,
I could see victory lying just beyond this tree lined street. As I approached the fnish line, stepping on squishy
paper cups as I went, I felt so proud. Then it happened. Like cars moving fast on the road; it was all a blur. I
stepped into one of the holes on the path and immediately heard a loud snap. I fell to the ground a few feet
from the fnish and cried out in agony. The hot pangs of injury were flling my body as people approached
dressed in white and decorated with red crosses. The sounds of Johnny and the other runners screaming began
to fade as I fell out of consciousness.
When I woke up I was in a hospital room. The white paint hurt my eyes or maybe that was the glare
from the bright lights. I managed to see a blue cast on my right leg. I blinked a few times so I could see the
whole room and there I saw John sleeping in a chair. He must have been worried. I thought about what a great
friend he was trying to get me in shape and trying new things. Even though his presence was comforting all I
could think about was that everything was wasted. Afer all that work I couldnt fnish. I will never fnish.
34 o s a i c
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I remember the conversation I had with the trees.
I was lost and I wanted to know how it felt to be a leaf.
The leafs told me tales about how it felt to be free
But they warned me about what a trickster the wind
could be.
They told me that if I was not careful that I would
surely see,
that I too could be blown away by the breeze.
I had a conversation with the wind,
I kept the warning of the leafs in mind.
The wind told me he lived a fast life,
So I would need stability if I wanted to survive.
I took a chance and I went with the wind
And I found a new me,
I found the true me,
I found myself,
deep within.
35 osaic M
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Shiro Shiro Shiro
White White White
All I see is white
The walls are that horrid color
What happens when I close my eyes?
Kuro Kuro Kuro
Black Black Black
All I see is black
The space around me is that color
What do I see when I open my eyes?
Aka Aka Aka
Red Red Red
Red leaks from my body
Blooming like roses
What happened to me?
Sinking Sinking Sinking
Down Down Down
My breath leaves my pale lips
My head feels light
Where am I?
Clank Clank Clank
Pain Pain Pain
Weights carry me down
An eternal drop
Why cant I fee?
Mock Mock Mock
Trap Trap Trap
They laugh at me
A broken body
Why are they not helping?
Fear Fear Fear
Death Death Death
A cycle I will never leave
A cruel life
Why me?
36 o s a i c
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Ten years old with war paint on your face
bright red feathers in your headdress,
You held a toy gun, a boy and arrow.
In my handa sharp stone
together,
brother and sister or
Indian chief and his princess,
hand in hand
We found them in the backyard
on rocks by the lake
Slithering from their watery home,
stretched out and baking
in the July sun,
four feet of gray scales
We shot them
one by one.
We gripped them by the necks
and took them to the fames
You tied knots with their fesh,
laid them at bonfre stakes.
Strapped to sticks and peeling,
our captives
dead.
With a fume of smoke,
they were raptured
resurrected.
We sang chants
and danced in circles
and when we walked barefoot
into the lakes edge,
You said to me
Now we can go swimming together
every day and forever.
Happy with blood on our hands,
We thought the water snakes were gone.
Mr. Jerry Kerrigan
Mr. Christopher Rozanski
Mrs. Mary Gavan
Mrs. Lynn McConville
Friends of the Fine Arts Booster Club
Mrs. Lil Marx
Ideal Printing
Mr. John Schmit
Contributing Staf
Art Department
English Department
Acknowledgements
Mrs. Elizabeth Woodyatt
Mrs. Rebecca Pelley
Mrs. Carol Davies
Mrs. Breja Fink (Designer)
Mr. Tom Herrmann
Mr. Chris Mueller
Mrs. Barb Olsen
Ms. Jessica Olsen
Mrs. Nicole Ronan
Mrs. Tricia Rozanski
Mrs. Karyn Wilson
Mrs. Penny Yurkew
Boylan Catholic High School 4000 St. Francis Dr.
Rockford, IL 61103 www.boylan.org