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2 poems

by Julia Beck

Julia Beck is entering her senior year at Buffalo Seminary and was born and raised in Buffalo, New York. She loves poetry, knitting, and doing the most. Her greatest weakness is not being able to say no, which has led her to be president of Buffalo Seminary's Model UN club, Donate Life club, and National Honor Society, as well as captain of her squash and sailing teams. Now she's a Peach Seed! She views poetry as creative catharsis, and is partial to a cheesy limerick. Julia’s most famous poem was a piece written in second grade titled “Heather’s into Leather,” which her mom shared with all of her friends, much to Julia’s dismay (and embarrassment).


A perfectionist like myself,

We both cared about the subtleties,

The small nuances hidden in our appearances.


Your dedication to a crisply ironed shirt,

And shoes that shined so brightly,

Mirrored my dedication to perfect penmanship,

And a room lacking anything out of place.


The same subtleties,

The small nuances in your expression,

Were conveyed in your smirk.


The hollow smile

Began to define you,

And the hollowed feeling I now felt,

When looking at you.


The small sparkle in your eyes,

Became maniacal,

As you no longer laughed along with me,

But rather at me.


In the same way that your smile had lifted me,

Your smirk began to crush me.


It became a mask,

A deceitful appearance,

Hiding your lies and your schemes behind it.


I think that you became so lost in your reflection,

That you forgot it was even there.


And one day,

I stopped swimming in the shining pools of your eyes,

While you dove further into the deep end,


Pushing me out from under the surface

Where once again I could breath freely

Without the pressing weight of your judgements

And without your smirk.

Dear Olive Garden

In a seventh grade science class

In a room that smelled like dirty water from turtles

With ten other middle schoolers melting in the early summer heat

My teacher told me anything could be infinitely divided in half

On and on and on

Forever and ever and ever


She told me the universe will expand

Beyond our world

Beyond our solar system

Into other galaxies

That will divide into other galaxies

Into a forever

That will expand on and on and on

Forever and ever and ever


Confident in my reasoning

I argued that if I stood by the wall

Reaching my hand out

And I began dividing that space

By a half and a half and half

On and on and on


I would touch the wall.


So if there was an infinite half

That could be divided

For ever and ever and ever


Why could I feel the wall beneath my hand?


She looked at me,

Puzzled for a moment,

Considering an answer to defeat my arrogance

That would dare challenge the idea of infinity


Water she said.


If she dumped water between my hand and the wall

It would start to drip

Because that half could be divided between my hand and the wall

On and on and on

Forever and ever and ever


I challenged infinity and lost.


And to this end I ask,

How can you ever make breadsticks truly endless?

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