Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old

This week the young viking writers explored their place in the family of things. We discussed the importance of their voice as it is now and where they’re at. We read “Archery Lessons” by Maria Zoccola in conversation with “Ground Swell” by Mark Jarman. They brainstormed what historical events have happened in their lives and what they want to see in the future. I’m so proud of these talented teenagers.

Ms. Widman 11 & 12th Grade

18 Years Charlotte O.

October 19 2007
born a month and a half early
family now includes Brian, Aisling, David, Emily, Charlotte
my hair is cut into a bob with bangs
a haircut that will stay with me forever

I’m in elementary school now and I’m unsure
the girls look mean and math is hard
a few years pass and once again I
have a bob and bangs
only this time I”m wearing a mask
I feel cool
anxiety hits
I feel so uncool

I’m in high school now
anxiety lingers
the girls look nice and math is hard
maybe I am cool
October 19 2025 and I’m an adult

Sight Grey Z.

The soul of a camera
it will be both blessed and cursed
with a sense of hypervigilence
my camera lens won’t close
a very specific light dose
entering my field of view
inside is a painting of my mother grieving
holding a dead flower. Something familiar
yet so unhealing
she tells me not to leave her
thought it’s not up to me,
it’s up to my pervasive melancholy.
She tells me I am lucky,
but I loathe that,
I’d rather be blessed than be lucky.

But It's Foretold Jude L.

But it’s foretold
like looking through a glass case seeing what could be.
This tarpit of an institution extinguishes my flame.
Even in a prison, beauty can be born
and born again is immolating passion;
the passion of the phoenix soars.
My decomposing body will be puppeteered once again
if you don’t see ignited skies in the near future
consider me dead.

In A Hospital, On a Bed, A Small Girl Sitting There Della R.

In a hospital on a bed a small girl sitting there
too small too young for getting news that stabs her.
A life now chained, no joy, no freedom, stuck at home
seen as fine china ready to break. I look up
to see the endless sky, wanted to fly, but I was
chained, a curse given at birth, wings too tight
unable to flap them in the sky. I cry and cry. The sky
was high and I was in the ground. I will not stay
here chained. Work and work till I can’t move
no more, but I shall not give up. I won’t give up.
I will fly.
Seasons changed; I’m older now.
The chain is still there but light then stuck
in a tree is a ball. I can fly. It’s hard but I
can fly. I may not be high but I am in the sky.
I will keep training till I can fly high
in the endless sky.