The Tenth Muse

All chosen content represents the aesthetic of Spectrum staffers and not the opinion of Tenth Muse editors

Spring 2019

i am hello
Rhea Madhogarhia ‘22

acquaintance, stranger, friend
Whatever we could have become.
A warm, well meaning nod or smile,
Accompanied with my brevity of speech,
Just enough to mean,
You accepted my notions and took them
How you wanted. You thought thoughts
Of kindness and welcome, but something,
Wasn’t good enough for you.
Your mind may not race like mine does,
The fear of who we may be to each other,
Or not. Would you be subject to my friendly
Admiration, or just another face who’s forgotten
Mine. Never knowing what it’ll be
I take chances.
A deep rippling kick to the back of my mind
Says, I won’t suffice,
Says that you think I’m odd or unappealing,
Or uninteresting, but i’m still puzzled,
From a kind wave and a word spoken,
How do you see me? What did I do to you
That turned you away? How can you let me
Put myself at fault, and why do i question
Who I am because of you?
Why am I not good enough for you?
Chances must be taken, it’s how
I’m connected to my people today,
But you discourage me, you make
Me question myself, and if you are my
Lucky chance that asks my name in
Return, the odds may have raised.
But the kick will never cease to exist.
A dent has been made and no warmth
Can repair it.
Always thinking about the past
Dwelling on what never was,
Seeing you time and time again,
But only glancing- this time not a word.
Because this time is different,
Chances are low, because now I know
Hello would never be good enough for you. (page 41)
Izzy Welsh ’22
A Parrot 
Leo Saperstein ‘23

I think I must have lived another life.
A life in which I played the role not of a boy,
But of a curious parrot.
A parrot that flies away,
Is captured and its wings clipped.
It is caged.
And it cannot fly anymore.

I look at myself with high regard.
I know my capability, I know
My limits, I know my effort,
And I know what it will get me.
I could try harder,
Chat less, focus more. I could
But what’s the fun in that.

A parrot that’s vibrant in color,
Wings a damp red,
Like a freshly dipped paint brush.
Beak aggressively yellow,
Like a single light bulb in an otherwise dark room.

Vibrant in personality.
A parrot that does not as he is asked
But as he finds most amusing to himself.
A parrot that draws attention.
One unfamiliar to quiet.
Yet craves it.

Wings clipped, legs short,
It has little place to go.
Rocking on it’s insignificant plastic tube
Roped to the roof of a cage that
Remains it’s whole existence.

A parrot who is excellent
But unexpended in every manor.
He is clever enough to claw loose the clutches of his cage.
He could unhinge the lock and free himself to potential.
But then again,
How much effort would that take.
He captures himself and he clips his own wings. (page 38)
Alexa Druyanoff ‘22
Glory Ho ‘24

As the sun melts orange and pink hues
Into the baby blue sky, pastel clouds shift
And assume a million different identities.
Tall trees around me are growing
Into what they once were.

Yellow leaves dance to
The music of the breeze,
Thinly hanging on to thin branches.
A small brown bird flits down
And joins another on one of these branches.
They greet each other
With high pitched chirps.

Gray bushes start to regain their color.
Tiny weeds rest in the
Cracks of the pavement. I stroll

Towards the middle of the street
Where an island of clean cut grass
And flowers of gold begin to bloom. I lay down,
Breathe in, and grow along with them. (page 64)