A Little Bit of Everything

by Lola Cooke, 12th grade

Haddonfield Memorial High School



I’ve been a nomad

wandering between my new home

and my old one

the Future

cupping the promise

of a new home

in its soft hands

the Past

offering a shoulder to lean on

holding the home that has always been mine


in the moments that I understand it most

home is the front seat

windows down

music pumping through our blood

shaking the car

rattling the breath through our lungs

announcing our presence unapologetically

we roar through the quiet streets

convinced we are the only ones who understand

what it means to be alive


home is the feeling of being young

of dancing in the kitchen with the people I love

cooking terrible food

choking on laughter

the understanding that these are moments now

but they will be memories soon


home is a place I am unafraid to be reckless

she offers me a future I am unafraid to take hold of

she is a lighthouse

guiding me to safety

reminding me

that I will always have a place

in her arms



KoreaTown Drive

by Mia Swiecicki, 9th grade

Haddonfield Memorial High School


In the kitchen, where each symmetrical checkered tile is illuminated by the vivid sun.

On the pale blue splintered deck, where dewy vines climb longing for light.

In the room with the small bed, draped in a quilt of one thousand shades of pink.

At the round table draped in lace where miyeok guk is slurped.

At the piano, which whispers an angelic melody as we glide our fingers across the slim tiles.

In the weary brown chair which is older than time itself.

Under the long branches of the chandelier which casts warmth on the room.

Hearing the sound of Go game pieces clash with the board.

On the delicate white couch where steamy ginger tea is sipped out of gold rimmed glasses.

At the kitchen counter, where a rainbow of vegetables are transformed into sheets of paper.

Rooms filled with plants make even the coldest days feel like summer.

At my Halmeoni’s house.

Where I feel protected.

Where I feel loved.

Where I feel at home.



Storage Unit

by Keagan Blake, 12th grade

Haddonfield Memorial High School


Our homes aren’t our street addresses

They aren’t our bedrooms, living rooms, or bathrooms

Our homes are the cracks in the wall

The chipped paint on the railings from too many visitors’ wandering hands

The brown rings on the windowsill from failed attempts at raising plants

Those unexplainable stains on the couch from what you can only hope was the dogs

muddy paws or kids

The discoloration on their walls from years of wiping off childhood “art”

Our homes aren’t the foundation of shelter in which we live

But the floors dusted in hair reminding us of beloved pets

Our homes are filled with broken appliances we insist are still good for use

As well as physical reminders of items once sworn to be necessities

When you think of home,

Don’t think simply of your living room

But of the castle you and your siblings lived in as you ruled other kingdoms

Or your bedroom, that houses secrets of its own from years of teenage gossip

Our homes are our own personal storage units

Housing thousands upon thousands of memories of the past and what’s to come

So next time you think of home, think of the home that raised your siblings,

Your parents

The home that raised you.




by Emilie Perray, 11th grade

Clearview Regional High School


The evenings save their touch for me,

Because they know that no one else

Can feel it quite as well as I can.

When the sky entangles its cotton breath with mine

And wraps its lips around my eyes, I say–

“Swallow me whole,

I’ve seen everything there is to see, here.”

But it laughs at me,

Smiling with the soul of my mother

Cradling the heart of my sister,

And it says–

You’re smaller than you think.


I can see the airplanes from my window at night,

Igniting sparks across a raven sea.

The moon watches them with me every now and again.

It takes my arms and pulls me closer.

“I’ve seen this all before,”

I whisper beneath its light.

But you remember me more than I remember you,

It tells me.

If you’d lived a full life, that wouldn’t be so.


I took the bus home from school, today.

I sit in seat eleven.

A girl looked at me strangely,

And I wanted to hold her hand.

She looks just like her brother.

Fluttering green tapped at the window

From behind me and stole my attention away.

“I’ve seen you before,” I said to the leaves.

“I dipped my finger into the sound of your melancholy months ago,

And the feeling has yet to leave me.

It goes wherever I go.”


I walked from the bus to my backyard

And greeted every blade of grass on the way.


I’ve cried with them before,

And I’ve eaten with them before;

But it’s been so long that they sputtered my name

Like gasping infants,

Unsure of who I’ve become since then.

“I’ve broken up with my boyfriend,” I say.

“My heart is still his, but this home is only mine, again.

Can’t you feel how soft the air has become?”

It takes me back…

The sheer vividity of my breath could paint the thoughts of a child.


Here, I learned that coffee smells better than it tastes.

My father said that good relationships always go bad;

I thought, then, that life must feel better in memories

Than it does in the moment.


When the soles of my bliss are worn through,

I’m only motivated to run farther

And farther away from this place.

We know each other too well, I think.

But on my way out the door,

I smell it from the kitchen,

The same as it’s always been–

A caramel ocean boiling at its edges,

Panting its warm breath.

Smells better than it tastes, she warns me,

And I take another sip, anyway,

Because I’m too sure that I’ll grow to like it one day.

I’m addicted to the potential of my reality

And the sweet aftertaste of even its most bitter moments,,,

I ought to be, for each day

It’s proven to me that familiar things can be discovered again.


I poured my heart into the mold of this life;

It came out in the shape of adoration,

And I’ve carved into it

The silhouette of my home.



My Own Home

by Julia Bono, 12th grade

Haddonfield Memorial High School


I have been waiting patiently for years

Building my temple.

In the deep recesses of my mind

I’ve slipped her on like velvet gloves

The versions of me I want to be and will never be.


When the noise rises from the first floor

When she storms into my room and the world is collapsing in on itself

I crawl back into the cave

And in the home

that is



In four months I’m going to college.

And I’ll finally be alone.

Maybe one day I’ll light a candle

Go to the grocery store and make myself dinner

And no one will even know.



Out on the Rocks

by Michelle Goodman, 11th grade

Williamstown High School


out on the rocks

away from the sickening yellow interior

the warmth of house

house, not home

reaching out to the sky, the sea

the blurring line between

swirling chaos, moonlight bounding through the air

bouncing off of the sky, the sea

the freezing sea

cold, but not harsh

uninviting, but not unwelcoming

untouched by the world, still as glass, so easily shattered at the lightest touch

a delicate sheet stretching out to the horizon

meeting the sky

the unworldly

the distant

infinitely far, infinitely vast

yet met by the sea

an intangible, unthinkable boundary between

a line so blurred it may as well not exist

it seems almost possible to swim out, touch the sea, touch the sky

to cross the boundary

and take flight


out on the rocks

i look out as far as i can see

that vast, unending, unwavering void

an empty bliss beyond this world

i can escape myself

and see the world from the other side

from the sky, from the sea

from the dreams of mine

from the dreams of the well-adjusted

from the dreams of the astronomer

from the dreams of all who dream

from my perch upon the border of nothing and everything

the collapse of reality


the world stares back at me, beckoning me

knowing i don’t want to come back

but knowing i need to

unending beauty

eternal cold

perfect silence

i get lost in the world

in the dream

in the unreality

in reality


i feel it calling again

my perch shakes



careening down from the aether

i fall back into myself


out on the rocks

i can’t look out anymore

the sky, the sea

all lost something beautiful

something magical, ethereal

only the raw nature left

it hurts now

more than i can imagine

so i turn the other way

i know my fate

i know what it means to dream

i get off the rocks

and head to where i know i’m safe

to that magical yellow glow

the warmth of home