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2024Polaris

Dear Reader, First of all: Thank you, truly, for taking a break from the hustle and bustle of life, sitting down for amoment, taking a deep breath, and picking up this newest issue of Polaris. We received an immensevariety of submissions this year, covering the painful realities of life and the astounding beauty of nature.In these pages, storms and specters walk alongside kittens and caterpillars. It may seem strange, andmaybe it is—but together, they create something stunning, and it’s our sincere hope that you think so,too.Secondly, on a personal note, I (Eli) am extremely grateful for my time as a Polaris editor these last fouryears. I’ve reviewed hundreds of beautiful submissions and worked with some amazing people. It’s beena real pleasure. But enough of that—enjoy the mag!With gratitude,The Polaris TeamEli BassettRachel PrattAviva LeWinterOwen HoneycuttHope CarterChris ShipmanCover: “Watercolor Flowers” by Ella WBack Cover: “Bug” by Finn W

1Table of Contents3 “Nature’s Fire” by R. K. P.3 “Let There Be...” by Madison Mass (11 years)4 “Untitled” by Ian Lambert5 “Shoes” by Wone ohencytut5 “Mouse” by Finn W6 “Loop on Call (From In Stars and Time)” by Palindrome7 “To the Stars: A Documentary Short Film” by Eli Bassett8 “Untitled” by Anna Little9 “August NSX” by Gray Roghelia10 “Untitled” by Anonymous11 “orange peel” by Virginia Roghelia11 “midnight collusion” by Virginia Roghelia12 “Light of Life” by Sheetal Piwalatkar12 “Dear Clouds” by Madison Mass (11 years)13 “Storm Photography” by Ayers14 “Hospital Time” by Evangeline Weiss15 “Necessary Separations” by Cary Bassett16 “Untitled" by Ian Lambert17 “The Lovely Caterpillar” by Jim Bassett18 “Untitled” by Hope Carter19 “On Hand” by Palindrome20 “Untitled” by manatee!!20 “Nonsense Poetry” by Mass21 “Untitled” by Rockness Momster (Teri Moser)22 “Untitled” by Anna Little23 “Wu-Wei” by Anonymous23 “Freshwater” by Hope Carter24 “Untitled” by Ian Lambert25 “My Will” by Hamlet 26 “A Shading Study in Monochrome Watercolor” by Palindrome27 “Something Magical” by Lisa Duck28 “Untitled” by manatee!!29 “Siffrin with Monacle (From In Stars and Time)” by Palindrome30 “Untitled” by Anna Little30 “a body made of oranges” by Hope Carter

231 “American Identity Project” by Avery Franko31 “Mountain View” by Ella W32 “My Little Town” by Anonymous33 “Untitled” by Ian Lambert34 “The First Shackle” by Jack Schoultz35 “Hoops” by Gray Roghelia36 “Love” by Anonymous37 “Butterfly” by SLW37 “Spring Lovers” by R.K.P.38 “Patchwork” by Anonymous38 “My Cats Then vs. Now” by Anonymous39 “Untitled” by Ian Lambert40 “Untitled” by Hope Carter41 “Cheeta” by R.K.P.42 “Untitled” by Hope Carter43 “Life is an Adventure” by Hugo Correa-Diaz44 “Untitled” by Hugo Correa-Diaz45 “Bawaji (The Old Man)” by Sheetal Piwalatkar46 “Untitled” by Rockness Momster (Teri Moser)46 “Eclipse” by R.K.P.47 “Clouded Eclipse” by R.K.P.47 “Ceilspe” by Wone ohencytut48 “Moonshade” by Palindrome49 “Storm Photography” by Ayers50 “Natural Beauty, Natural Disaster” by Joan Rathbone and Eli Bassett51 “Trust dies” by R.K.P.51 “Love” by Madison Mass (11 years)52 “Untitled” by Hope Carter

Natures’ FireR. K. P.Let There Be…Madison Mass (11 years)I sat on the Ring of the world with a straight face of boredom. My legs swung back and forth as theyhung as one little speck in the galaxy. There was nothing to do, nothing at all. The only thing I could dowas look at the white polka dot in the sky which had gotten kinda old. I thought and thought of what to do but the only words that came out of my mouth were “Let there be,”and then the silence continued on. I decided to let fate decide. “Let there be…Something,” I said.Suddenly a small piece of paper fell from the sky, floating gently down to eventually land on my lap. I sighed, “Let there be something better?”Then an even bigger piece of paper floated down onto my lap. I crumpled it up and threw it, but it didn’tgo anywhere because this was Saturn. I sat there very upset because there was nothing to do with thispaper. I couldn’t even write on it because I didn’t have a pen!3

UntitledIan Lambert4

MouseFinn WShoesWone ohencytut5

Loop on Call (From In Stars and Time)Palindrome6

EXT. DECK - NIGHT I lie still in my sleeping bag and listen. Cicadas blast their songs from the woods, drowning outthe Metallica playing in my head. An owl hoot echoes through the darkness. Leaves shiver in the windand faint rustles manifest as red-eyed monsters in my mind. It may be beautiful, I think, but it’s a ready-made soundtrack to a horror film, too. Suddenly Ifeel very small compared to the woods. Worse are the stars, trillions of them, and each one millions oftimes larger than my own planet. I stare wide-eyed into the sky, mind spinning, until the stars fade toblack.INT. DOORWAY - MORNING My hand hovers over the light switch, stuck. What’s my place in the universe? Humanity’s place inthe universe? Will turning off this light actually make a difference? Of course not, I answer. The universe istoo big for one little planet to matter. So why worry so much about turning off the lights? I leave the room, light switch untouched. INT. HALLWAY - AFTERNOON I stop and look back, annoyed—I’d turned the lights off again. This shouldn’t be a problem, Ithink. I’ve found the truth. It’s probably just a habit. But it’s been a week already… A novel thought suddenly whispers in the back of my head that I’m wrong, that really, somehow,turning off the lights does make a difference. That instead of habit, it’s really just the right thing to do.Could it be? I need a new frame of mind.EXT. DECK - EVENING I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. Earth is the one at stake, the whole reason we savepower—so why not ask the Earth about my dilemma? The obvious problem is not knowing how to ask,so I just stand on the deck, open my mind, and listen. Moss glows in the twilight sun. Birds chirp in the pine trees. A squirrel chatters and bounds across the lawn. At that moment, I realize that the millions of organisms in those woods are just like me, living andbreathing in a shared world. They’re companions, and I feel a moral duty to protect them. How can Inot help my friends? What I feel is Nature’s answer to my question: We matter. From then on, those lights are off. DISSOLVETo the Stars: A Documentary Short FilmEli Bassett7

MONTAGE Braiding Sweetgrass. Vesper Flights. Deer Man. With each devoured book I grow moreknowledgeable and passionate about humanity’s duty to protect the Earth. I write poems showcasingNature. I volunteer at a local earth sanctuary, work that eventually becomes my senior service project. I write my first screenplay and film it with a crew of friends. The short film follows the hero’sinteractions with a monster in the woods, a monster he later finds out is himself—a plot, I believe, thatclosely resembles my own inner journey towards climate action.INT. MIND - DAY Facts aren’t enough, I realize. A hundred-page report about climate change doesn’t inspireaction. To be inspired, people need to feel, and that’s where art, such as film, comes in. I imagine ways tocombine two seemingly different worlds, those of Nature and the technology-dominated genre of sciencefiction. Monsters created from mutated worms living near a polluted lake? Check. A planet consumed byinvasive weeds? Check. The possibilities, I’ve discovered, are endless. EPILOGUE: EXT. DECK - NIGHT Now, when I sleep outside, I hear the forest sounds differently. I imagine them in a film, creatingan atmosphere or symbolizing a character. Sometimes I just listen, too, because behind every hoot andrustle is an organism broadcasting its being to the world. I want to be like them, I think. Through film, Iwant my voice to be heard, and to show, in every scene, a message: We matter. UntitledAnna Little8

August NSXGray Roghelia9

UntitledAnonymous10

figments of star dusted skies superficial decay nothing of importance whispering through skulls on broken asphalt bald heads bowed vulture led wakes and seasons of griefmourning mismatched slabs of carrion nihilistic beauty dog-like love in the dark corners of the night devotion stronger than hunger yet an absence of shame ignorant patronage teeth bared at the desire to possess what is loved at the visceral need to consume to be closer a deficiency of wantyour orange peel shell citrus in your veins instead of blood grotesque neutrality leaden skin - quiet anger my devotion to something half alivebending to you in supplication bruised knees and closed eyes silence holding us together love me; love me not flowers in our hair - dusty daisies and wild onions grown from nothing eating apples - core and all the distention of your ribs holding me withinthe threat of amalgamation moths in the cage of my ribswing tips brushing against the soft tissue of your lungs orange peelVirginia Rogheliamidnight collusionVirginia Roghelia11

Dear CloudsMadison Mass (11 years)Dear Clouds, You connect the ends of the rainbows. You hold happiness together even though you are just a littlewater. You color in the sky’s blank, boring blue. You are my favorite weather. Whether or not you’re rainy or not you protect me from the sun. But you are also kind, you have toleave to help others. You’re the best,MadisonLight of LifeSheetal Piwalatkar12

Storm PhotographyAyers13

Hospital Time Evangeline WeissA hard rain tonight.My hands holding tight to each other The harmony of one pokes doubt in the isolation of the other.This hospital knows the night.One vigil after another,effort and resignation share a bench.Effort, wearing aqua green scrub suit,moves carefully through the clipboards of the present.Resignation, tastefully dressed in a fine tailored suit, burns his tongue on vending machine coffee.Time, come quickly now.Be my night nurse.Bring your salves and your bandages.My room is full of strangers;we throw off lousy sheets like death.Time, come massage my heart.You did not want to give me up to time;to the moment when fate would take your hand from mine.That dream last summer when I woke you expecting to break you out of jailbut my aim was off and the dream died with no sound in its throat.You watch me get smaller and disappearfrom the airportfrom the hospitalfrom our bed.For love to come to so alone,conscious only of the steel bed frame,the smell of sickness,a tender body for holding fear at bay.Voices bellow down, reverberate in the incinerator,one love letter after anotheran exodus of interrupted promises.14

Necessary SeparationsCary Bassett15

UntitledIan Lambert16

The Lovely CaterpillarJim BassettThe fuzzy little caterpillarsits expectantly on the tree I wonder what he could possibly wantfor he seems to be waiting for meHe looks straight into my eyes as if to sayI’ve eaten all of your melonsI ask as I peer into that baleful gaze“can caterpillars be felons”He saunters about quite insolentlyin the way arrogant caterpillars doPerhaps we’d all be better offIf he were on the wrong side of my shoeHe explains to me in his caterpillar waythat he is quite menacing and fiendishI fail to understand of coursefor he speaks not one word of EnglishHe carries on in his churlish mannerwith me uncertain as to what to sayI completely failed to anticipatethis caterpillar’s impact on my dayIt occurs to me as I look aboutthat this might all seem somewhat strangeMost caterpillars I know are not as a ruleso spectacularly derangedIn a moment of judgment quite questionableI decide to take him out for drinksThis proves to be the perfect occasionfor his caterpillarish hijinksHe persistently and without remorse insults each and all of my guestsWhen urged to behave he persists oninimical to all of my protestsThe unpleasant sting of his withering wordsbecomes much easier to bearWhen one is aware of the simple factthat nobody knows he is thereAlthough his behavior causes me some distressit simply seems to be in his essenceI am less disenchanted if I simply expecta paucity of acquiescenceIn my days of pondering during my youthwhich caterpillars would make a good friendIt seems unlikely that my chosen companionwould have been able to even contendWhen challenged with this he fails to showthe feeblest hint of remorseIf possible I would even sayhis parlance becomes ever more courseAs one would expect my caterpillar friendis a master at hide and seekThere was an occasion when he was hiddenfor upwards of more than a weekI think you’d agree that it’s quite uncommonto have even one friend who can flyAnd most would say it’s rare indeed to befrienda curiously villainous butterfly17

UntitledHope Carter18

On HandPalindrome19

NONSENSE POETRYMass“If your world stops making sense, these might.”Untitledmanatee!!Will the Speakeasy return?Speak easy. Easy speak. A safe space forillicit words forbidden by the State ofConfusion. Each dark and quiet room isfilled with books that will soon be bannedfor protecting words and thoughts toobeautiful to be safe. Each visitor, quietlyafraid they will be caught and tried forhigh treason. Speak easy. Easy speak.ParentsA mom is good for other things too.She can hear you heart even when sheis not in the room. She can sew yourtears into a beautiful necklace thatyou can pass on to your youngestchild. And a dad? A dad can hold youin an acorn when you are too big for awalnut.Knock knockShe stood there like a little triangle.She wanted to return the warmthfrom the snow.She smiled sweetly.I waved.We knew we would have colorsagain soon.20

UntitledRockness Momster (Teri Moser)21

UntitledAnna Little22

Wu-WeiAnonymousToday I learned to read the other Like waterTo dance and disarm To ripple when disturbedTo channel around or through To swirl, puddle, and wait for levitation I see, now, how to erode the objects in my path To gather and allow myself to breakAnd change my stateHow to fall And flow How to wait until spring And how to revel in the stillnessWith the wisdom That change will always come FreshwaterHope CarterBlue steel, orphans fenced over. A typhoon as a mother, breath passed hand to hand. We give credence to dispossession. Cranium grows sideways, fragility is hereditary. I cannot move,they do not move me. Delicacy forces contemplation. Fake pearl purity, a lasso tightened on my sister's neck. She leaveswith eye incisions, her throat bare. My submission swaddles us, a pink helmet, limp fingers. Melding steel to sky, fingers circuits of aplea. They fold at crosswalks, bend to the crimson crescents of baby skin. These hands clasp together,dwarfed by crude cloth rope. I come from a pool of hundreds, a string of tadpoles rising during grey rain. Stagger, disable repeat.We grow legs but still are nameless, caught in slick nets where love rolls over welts, weeps likeconfessions down a blue steel sky. A splash of broken, salt spinning across the cries of infants, toddlers. We lay still. Denied by brackishscales, covered by sweet child hands. Together, we reach towards one window. I translate Vietnam to America, orphan to vagrant. To claim nothing is to look for love, freshwater. I am the same as hundreds, yet I stand on the other side of a sky steel fence, hands unbound andreaching for my sister’s pearls. Does she still swim? A token of forgiveness, cold between the bars. Lift a flag, we come home. 23

UntitledIan Lambert24

Sol-mōnaþ, þrēotīne, þūsend & fēoƿerhundtēontiġ & þrī & fīftiġ(February, 13, 1000 and 400 and 3 and 50 (1453))I have greeted the specter that dawns my father’s face. Be it a devil in disguise ormy post-mortem parent, I know not. He preaches to me a story of his murder. Hetells a tale of a greedful brother, who poisoned his brother, my father, to claim histhrone. A vial toxin drips down through the ear canal, afflicting his brain with rot. Imparted onto me, a will not of my own. My hands move to seek vengeance for aman now dead and rotting. Perhaps I am possessed. Perhaps that's the reason for mysanity slipping. I feel my mind growing distant each passing day. My mind craves theblood of a false king and I need not know why. He lies still in his tomb so what is thepurpose of filling one more grave? Is it that he cannot rest knowing his wife is inthe hands of a murderer, or is it just a vendetta? Regardless, his will is now in myhands and he calls me to act on his behalf, an agent of his rage. I weep for theturmoil my insanity will bring upon my family, but I am too far gone to recover.The only way to clear my mind would be through the cold embrace of death’s bonyhands. I'm sorry mother, to see your only son’s mind wither in front of your eyesmust break your heart. I'm sorry Rosencrantz, Laertes, and Guildenstern. I loveyou all as brothers and I feel you feel the same for me so for your brother to sinkdeeper into depravity without a way out must bring hopelessness. I'm sorry Ophelia.I foresaw a future with you at my side, the queen to my king but to think the oldking will strip that from me, it is almost humorous the irony at play. Father…no,my father is dead. Specter, I pray that you are a devil in disguise for the thoughtthat my own father robbing me of my future is almost too much to bear. This likelywill be the last record of me still within my mind. Tonight, I died and my maddenedcorpse now roams these halls and for that I'm sorry. My WillHamlet25

A Shading Study in Monochrome WatercolorPalindrome26

Something MagicalLisa DuckJust minutes after casting his first fishing line into the salt water of the Mt. Pleasant Pier in SouthCarolina, something magical happened: Nathaniel Duck reeled in the catch of the day! The fishing rodwas bending from the weight, water was splashing here and there, and folks gathered to see what thecommotion was on the pier. Nathaniel ended up catching an 18-inch spotted sea trout weighing over 181/2 pounds with shrimp as bait. The Mt. Pleasant Manager shared that the event would be on ESPNRadio and featured in the Low Country Edition of the Coastal Angler for April 2024. This catch iscelebrated as Nathaniel's first time fishing in saltwater, as he had only fished in the local freshwater piersaround Greensboro. 27

Untitledmanatee!!28

Siffrin with Monocle (From In Stars and Time)Palindrome29

UntitledAnna Littlea body made of orangesHope Carterto retch is a metal bowl of fruit in my throat. bare. rot. spilling into the roots of lungs, throats, wovenlike a basket to swaddle debauched oranges. they come up again, again, acid latched to a tongue. mydispleasure is the juice my grandmother drinks for breakfast--orange juice for Christmas--for crucifixion,a secular plea. zest flirts with an insistence of song, hymns demand radio space. the static of my belly.blaring into the echoes of the white walls and a porcelain bowl. spitting and singing are the same. stickyis this hunger. snagging, skinny. I pretend to be the netting, red in the bright of the grocery store, liftinga swarm of sweet clementines to act as a body. the mesh snips like love, dizzy. garish. the fragile underbucking teeth. flesh is forked bowl to bowl, song roused from the silence of my lip, a pit of growls pulledback. I waste the orange my grandmother begged for as a girl, for I am made of waste, docile. the shapeof bodies do not come in oranges, yet mine has burst, the sweet fisted into mere strands, gouged into awaning blade. dissection of delusion, how the fruit flies will feast.30CONTENT WARNING: The following poem contains some unsettling imagery and diction that might not besuitable for all readers.

AmericanIdentityProjectAvery FrankoMountain ViewElla W31

My Little TownAnonymous32

UntitledIan Lambert33

The First ShackleJack SchoultzInterlocking chains bind my hands, a cuff for my fingers. Imprisoned within them are the tools of endlesscreation. More shackles will fall off and be added as my time continues to wear thin, yet the first bindingwon't be forgotten. A relic of the past, forever interwoven not just within itself but me as well. It neitherbegins nor ends, its metal threads intertwining so much so that you could never keep track of where itstarted. Time has worn away at it, the blacks now speckled with white. It has lingered to the point ofimprinting, where to be without feels off-putting. An empty vessel of meaning, no point to its existence,yet so much meaning to myself. 34

HoopsGray Roghelia35

LoveAnonymous36

Spring LoversR. K. P.ButterflySLW37

Patchwork AnonymousLayers on layers Some holding values, some holding memoriesPieces that come from different generations Pieces that come from my own Patched together The different colors would normally clash But together they seem unified Creating a beautiful design Blue pieces full of hurt Yellow pieces full of joyPurple pieces full of dreamsEach color representing layers of my life And the ones that came before me My Cats Then vs. NowAnonymous38

UntitledIan Lambert39

UntitledHope Carter40

CheetaR. K. P. 41

UntitledHope Carter42

How it started When I was a little kid, technology wasn't really that popular. I would only use my iPad to lookat Google Maps to places I would want to see in real life. When I would finish my homework every day Iwould go outside and ride my bike or take a nice walk. I lived in a rural neighborhood where there was alot of woods. I was curious enough to go to them but my parents wouldn't let me because I would getlost. I also wasn't allowed to ride my bike outside my neighborhood. But I understood that later on inmy life. I wanted to do all that because I love exploring new places. I love to get out there and see all thisamazing scenery and capture the views of what I think is beautiful. Nature is the main thing I love aboutit. I like doing this on my bike or walking because it involves leg work and I think that is a good way tokeep yourself actively moving. The bike rides In the past two summer breaks, when I would get bored I would just get my gear to go for a rideon my bike and think of where in my city I should go. But then I’d tell myself, “I'll just go where mymind takes me.” So sometimes I'd go to the community parks, Target, or sometimes just ride my bike forhours and not stop until I got home. But when something good or bad happens to me, that is when Iplan on going to my destination, no matter how far it is. I'm always up to ride my bike no matter howhot or cold it is. I have even been on rainy rides, but that's okay because I always feel like I havedetermination when I'm riding. The walks When it comes to walking, I never hesitate. Usually when my mom would take me pretty muchanywhere, I would get bored very easily so I would walk to a store, restaurant, garden or park that wasnear where my mother was, only if you measured in driving distance. Walking is when I feel peaceful, I'mnot worried about anything. This summer I mainly went into the woods and saw amazing views ofnature. Just trees, grass, leaves and gardens. What I love most is where I can see the sun shine behind thetrees or when you look up and see a clear blue sky. The way I think it is that nature is mostly beautiful inthe summer.The future All the rides, the walks that I have taken, I have never recorded the time or distance in milesbecause I don't do this to see how far I can go, I do it because it is my passion and determination. I alsodo this because I can't drive yet, but riding and walking is more relaxing and whenever I see somethingthat turns my eyes on, I capture the view with my phone camera and save it. Before I had a phone, Iwould capture the scenery in my head and imagine “what nature would look like at night?” I’ve been going everywhere around my city since 2021 and nothing has gotten in my way since. Ifeel like an 80s person because that is what I think people did for entertainment back then, sincetechnology was less popular. In the summer of 2023, I rode my bike across my city without planning and without stopping tocheck the route because it was all in my head. One thing I have planned for the future is to go toReidsville and explore the center because it’s a very rural, outdated city where my church is located. It isa long way, but anything is possible if you believe in yourself.Life is an AdventureHugo Correa-Diaz43

UntitledHugo Correa-Diaz44

Bawaji (The Old Man)Sheetal Piwalatkar45

UntitledRockness Momster (Teri Moser)EclipseR .K. P.46

Clouded EclipseR. K. P.Ceilspe Wone ohencytut47

MoonshadePalindrome48

Storm PhotographyAyers49

What is it about the Morning sun On the hills That lifts my tender heartHope, maybe…Fingers of pink-orange Touching earth, So different From the red fury of firesRaging this yearSo different from the red Light that hovers Over the earth Before a storm, a warningOf disaster soon to comeOur stunning world, striving For balance How it was meant to be As are we,Before we are convincedThat having the best of everything makes The best people. Or having the most Of everythingMakes us happy…But we can change. When the sun Rises in the morning, We can look. We can feel.We can hope…If only we knew What our priorities were. Then we might avoid The fire and the floodsThat rage among us.Natural Beauty, Natural DisasterJoan Rathbone and Eli Bassett50

Trust diesR.K.PTrust is something that can be won, but not bought.It can be given but not taken.It is a beautiful thing that can cause so much pain;And you are the only one to blame if it is harmed orbroken, because only you had the choice to give itaway. I give my trust sparingly, and yet I still suffer. So I nowgive my trust freely, expecting to be disappointed.When I am not disappointed, I give more trust. People who realize how special trust is won’t kill it orharm it, with themTrust Dies Of Natural Causes.It’s easy to come acrossSo what does it mean to usIt’s no four leaf cloverIt’s more of a threeSo I don’t understandWhat it should mean to meIt’s normal. It’s averageIt’s easy to fall intoJust a trip of the shoelaceIt could even happen to youLoveMadison Mass (11 years)51

UntitledHope Carter52

— P O L A R I S — 2024