Ravens were my favorite, with their midnight feathers full of mystery, dreams, and the whisper of age-old spirits. I loved the hummingbirds beating their wings at what seemed to be the speed of sound as they sipped sweet nectar, fast and free. Doves reminded me of all of my wishes, of peace and love, of a happy future that seemed so attainable. Even pigeons fascinated me, the way they thrived in public places, unwilling to back down, even to humans. Reality was a bright-blue sky. I floated on wings made of dreams. As I feel my dirty sneakers greet the pavement, I notice the people around me. Somehow the pigeons on the sidewalk are freer than I’ll ever feel. The people are a cage, and I am a pitiful bird, rocking back and forth, reaching out for the comfort of a bright-blue sky that never comes. Every step means suffocation. I am lost. The cage doesn’t notice. But I don’t notice the other lost souls either. The cold faces that make up the looming bars of my cage and block out all else feel like strangers. Even the ones I am oh-so-familiar with. My mother’s judging gaze, my peers who I know judge me, even my friends. They are all strangers, surrounding me. So I mumble “sorry” and move deeper into my cage. I prefer the meaningless excuse of “sorry” to voicing my own opinion. It is what people want to hear, Expect to hear. Saying it doesn’t mean I’m “too nice for my own good.” In fact, I’m selfish. So selfish I don’t even deserve to be writing a poem about birds in cages. Because I’ve never been caged. But some people have. This is for them. This is for the people who create the cages. This is because I want them to see that they’re hurting people. Don’t you understand how painful it is? With every action, you place another bar of abandonment in a cage big enough to house millions of hurt, lonely souls. I know you don’t mean to hurt people. I believe beings are good at heart. But we make a lot of really bad mistakes. We are terrible and wonderful, and these inconsistencies make up our being. I wish I could shed my skin and human doubts and become a flying, soaring spirit of song, joining the birds that made their true home in the sky. I would fly with wings made of songs that aren’t happy or sad, good or bad, but a hopeful sort of in-between. I would fly like the birds I admired so much, but on wings that remember I was once caged too. So I can fly over everyone who needs a little hope. So I can show them—you’re not alone. I’d fly over everyone Because maybe everyone has a cage of some sort. Naomi Angel Farkas, 12Los Angeles, CA
May 2020
The Witch
Cloth, paper, chalk Ava Shorten, 9Mallow, Ireland
Real Life Checkmate
Evelyn is teased for trying to join the Boys’ Chess Club Meet Evelyn Thompson. In kindergarten, she tore down the micro-soccer field in a dress and Mary Janes. By first grade, she could play Bach on the piano as smoothly as a river. During second grade, she smoked all the kids in her class playing checkers, and as she started sixth grade, she joined chess club. Evelyn walked confidently through the door of the Colorado Boys’ Chess Club. She didn’t mind the looks the nearby boys flashed at her. If it mattered to them that a girl was walking through the door, that was their problem, not hers. Once the boys saw her performance, they would forget about the dividing line that existed between genders. Evelyn soon found out she was in real-life checkmate. When she introduced herself, Logan, a tall boy with untidy, dull-blond hair shouted, “Evelyn—what type of pretty-girl name is that?” The other boys burst into laughter. Evelyn sat awkwardly and tried to laugh, but only a grunt escaped. These boys had a different sense of humor, a kind that stung your heart. Before the chess games began, Liam whispered to Evelyn, “Good luck, powerless pawn.” He then turned toward the boys and said, “Who’s going to teach Evelyn a lesson?” Logan, the team captain, stepped forward. “I will.” He mocked Evelyn by flipping his tiny strands of hair. She ignored him and made her first move: knight to c3. Logan moved his pawn to h4. The game went on and on, each grainy, wooden chess piece progressing slowly across the black-and-white board. Finally, Evelyn called out “checkmate,” certain she had proved her right to play in the chess club. Mason raced over to her. “You’re a cheater, Evelyn. Logan has never lost a game.” “Neither have I,” Evelyn replied nonchalantly. “She’s a cheater. I saw her,” Logan declared. * * * Later that day, Evelyn collapsed on her bed. No one had the right to accuse her of something she didn’t do. Chess was about strategy, and she had simply outplayed Logan. Evelyn did not want to go back to the club—she was treated like a mouse, and the boys were hungry cats. But, if she left this club now, these boys would know they could scare off other girls in the future. Evelyn wanted to change their minds. But how? Her eyes filled with tears, upset at the situation, and even more that these boys could make her feel this way. * * * When the time rolled around to go back to chess club, Evelyn skipped it. That afternoon, she headed out, her dog, Kaia, several steps ahead. They were walking to the park to play fetch and then to drop off a weekly meal— lasagna—for Mrs. Gates. As Evelyn was about to throw Kaia’s ball, she spotted that head of untidy, dull-blond hair. Uh-oh. Logan. Evelyn dropped the ball she was holding and pulled Kaia in the other direction, but it was too late. Kaia was already barking at Logan’s Labrador. Logan looked up and recognized Evelyn immediately. What bad luck. Logan waved—a surprising gesture given what he’d done to her in chess club. He started walking toward Evelyn, his Labrador now headed for Kaia, Kaia headed for his Labrador. Big mess. Dogs barking. Should Evelyn run? No. She wasn’t going to be intimidated. Should Evelyn run? No. She wasn’t going to be intimidated. “Hey,” Logan said. “Why weren’t you at chess club today?” The answer was so obvious—why didn’t he understand? “Why would I go to chess club and tolerate your awful behavior? I didn’t cheat, which you already know!” Evelyn shouted. “Uh . . .” Logan stammered. “Why did you treat me that way?” Evelyn snapped. “Look, I used to be a loner. No one liked me, so I started acting like the others. I don’t know how the boys would react if I stopped teasing you; they might kick me out of the club. I have to be like them,” Logan said. Evelyn looked Logan up and down. He seemed truthful. She was quiet for a moment before speaking. “It sounds like we’re both unhappy in chess club. But you can’t treat me like that, not even if all the other boys in that room will hate you.” She then tried a different move. “Maybe we can team up.” Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re crazy. How can we do that?” “We just have to think about this as a chess problem.” The two began to brainstorm. Evelyn was certain they would find a solution. On the way home, Evelyn was hopeful and even excited. She was so focused on chess club that she forgot to drop off the lasagna dinner—and received a phone call from a very unhappy Mrs. Gates. * * * It was time for chess club again, and Evelyn’s stomach was twisting harder than ever before. She looked at Logan. He looked at her and nodded. Her throat clenched. But then she imagined a new sign hanging above the chess club’s door that read: Colorado Boys’ and Girls’ Chess Club. Evelyn started: “I’m here to do the same thing as you, play chess. We all deserve to be on this team, but it doesn’t feel like a team . . .” “It isn’t a team, powerless pawn,” Liam interrupted. “We’re the kings, and we rule.” He cracked up, and Hugo high-fived him. Evelyn was about to continue when Logan jumped in. “What’s the problem with having Evelyn in our club?” “She belongs on a girls’ chess team; we don’t need her help,” Ben said. “Chess isn’t won just by a king or a queen. You have to use all of your pieces. Don’t we want to be the best team possible?” Evelyn shot back. Logan stepped to Evelyn’s side. Mason glared at
