Illustration by Katharina Davoudian

Forgetting

Polina Karpenko

November 18, 2024

       The park feels different. I don’t immediately recognize that it’s the same place I often visited. Even I, knowing every stone here, feel like I’m here for the first time.

       If you look closely, you can see familiar outlines of trees merging with the dark sky. The moon is hidden behind the clouds, giving off no light. Streetlights are the only ones illuminating the park. I know that many scary stories are associated with darkness or desolate parks, but I don’t feel afraid of this place. I feel a strange calmness again.

       Looking at the well-worn paths, I imagine the people who walked along them. There is a young couple sitting and perhaps planning their future together, there are seniors feeding pigeons with bread, a man walking his dog. They are all ghosts of the past, strangers who remain in my subconscious.

       I notice a pond, so familiar, so painfully familiar. As I get closer to it, old, long-forgotten memories come flooding back to my mind…

       It was an ordinary summer day.

       “Kate, be careful! There’s a bee near you!” a familiar voice called out.

       I turned my head sharply to the right, then to the left, but there was no insect. I felt dizzy.

       “She’s joking,” said another voice.

       I looked at Melanie, who was smiling smugly because I had fallen for her silly joke.

       “Now you’re going to set the picnic up yourself,” I told Melanie.

       Her face turned gloomy, “It’s not fair! Everyone has to help!”

       Melanie looked at Anna for support, although all that was left to do was lay out the picnic blanket.

       “The first one there gets to rest!” Anna exclaimed.

       Picking up our things, we ran laughing to the tree where we had planned our picnic.

       I look again at the pond, which seems like a swamp in the lack of light. I feel an emptiness. It sucks all the energy out of me, but my legs lead me deeper into the park. Now I see three schoolgirls picking berries from the bushes. From bushes that had just been without leaves. The schoolgirls have already rushed to the garden and are mimicking statues. It makes them laugh.

       Suddenly, they notice a squirrel, and the schoolgirls bait it with nuts, but being frightened by it, they run away.

       Trees. Trees suddenly grow around me. I have a feeling that I lost something, lost it a long time ago. These girls will never meet again, smile at each other, or invent different adventures together. They remain only in my memories. These ghosts will forever haunt me in this park. I will become a prisoner of these memories until they swallow me alive.

       What is it? Is it a bird? Why is it chirping in the night? Some kind of sign? I look around. The bird pulls me out of my thoughts and makes me realize something. A few minutes later, I walk out of the park, leaving the laughter of my friends behind. I walk out of the park without looking back.


Polina Karpenko is a high school student in Toronto. Polina was born in Kyiv, Ukraine. She moved to Canada in 2022 because of the war. She likes to read books, most of them psychological and detective stories. She also likes to write stories and “Forgetting” is her debut story.

Illustration by Katharina Davoudian and Sandro Spagnolo

“Night Hiking by Simcoe County” (After Robert Frost)

Vera Nekrasovsky

June 2, 2024

 

The difference I never understood
To be so vast and startlingly stark
Between the darkness of an older wood,
And lazy shadows of a tame, worn city park.
The last like sleepy spectres seem to drift
Yielding to headlights of each quickly passing car;
They are the sparser sort that shyly aside shift
Upon the lighting of a small cigar.

The first and foremost is a different matter;
It puts to shame the feeble efforts of the last
My lamp could easily bend and twist and shatter,
For this one pools around the golden ring we cast
As oceans cross their arms round bubbles of air:
By fractions of a second kept at bay,
Before the fragile membranes cannot bear
How much the tons of water on them weigh
And burst and let them fill their pockets in.

 

 

Vera Nekrasovsky is a Canadian student of English and History who was born in Israel but grew up in Canada. Previously, her poem “Sweets for the Starving Sparrow” was published in the Trinity Review in January 2021. She likes writing nature poems with a surreal twist.

Illustration by Jaynielyn dela Paz

Ode to Earth

Aasfi Sadeque

April 22, 2021

 

Dear Earth,

We are never taught to love you. Instead, we are born with that love deep within us: with every wish made on a dandelion, every skipped stone across an endless lake, every dewdrop nestled in the morning haze as you house us in the infinite void we call the universe.

Since the dawn of time, you have been our muse. Countless bards ruminate on your marvel. In the presence of your wonder, we are but mere shadows and dust, yet you shower us with a warmth that rivals that of the sun. And the scent of your roses, well, they’re as intoxicating as the moonlight. It’s hard not to be enamoured by your beauty.

Our lives, its noise, are so entangled in the roots of your being. With each breath, you sustain us.

Why are we so hellbent on destroying you? Soon we will be seas apart from the streets that raised us, displaced by a monster of our own creation.

I apologize that we don’t care. We don’t care to give our children a chance at the childhood you gave us, a childhood where we climb trees, breathe air unencumbered by pollutants, and see lush valleys rather than seas of smog.

I apologize that we’re so passive in your destruction. So adamant about trying to convince ourselves that climate change isn’t real when the proof is clearly in front of us. With veins alive, eyes alight, we are overwhelmingly oblivious to this heaven presented before us.

Each generation that you create is an exemplification of your beauty, each mountain an homage to your strength. Yet we squander it, all of it. All of you.

The good in you radiates. Manifested by sunrises, fireflies, and the lone patches of daisies in an asphalt crack. While the bad in us percolates into indigenous lands, melting ice caps, and now uninhabitable ecosystems.

I wonder if the tenderness of the sunset air is your attempt to comfort us in this time of grave urgency. After all, false hope is better than drowning.

Dear Earth, please inhale our chaos and exhale your beauty that we all take for granted.

In the end, as waves sway softly to a gentle percussion, minute wildflowers grow in unkept yards, and sunlight shines on our fragile skin, the melody of Earth is one that we cannot let end.

Dear Earth,

The Flora, the Fauna, and the Finite

 

 

 

Aasfi Sadeque is a first year Social Sciences student at the University of Toronto.

Jaynielyn dela Paz is currently a third-year student at the University of Toronto studying a degree in Life Sciences. When she’s not studying, she’s busy as a co-owner for an Etsy shop which she produces art for. In her free time, she also loves to draw and write calligraphy.