Two Souhegan Students Accepted to Prestigious Writing Program
March 31, 2016
Kira Coleman, a junior at Souhegan High School, and sophomore Lucas Henry were both recently accepted to the New England Young Writers’ Conference at the Bread Loaf Campus of Middlebury College. Fewer than half the students who applied across New England and the country are accepted into the program. Kira, a student in Gavin Sturges’ AP Literature and Steve Dreher’s AP Composition courses was accepted to the poetry track, while Lucas Henry, a student in Kim Paniagua’s English class was accepted for creative non-fiction. The conference also hosts a fiction track.
The conference includes professional authors reading from their works, writing workshops which bring together small groups of students for extended sessions with a single author, and one-on-one conferences with authors. Students are also afforded time to work on their own manuscripts in an isolated, natural setting where writers since Robert Frost’s time have gathered to be part of a literary community.
Rain falls on lichen-spotted rooftops and
pollen-coated leaves — Water falling victim to
gravity. Trees stand their ground in the
storm: because that’s what it means
to sit, to wait, to breathe, to listen
to have a real conversation
in this cardboard cut-out village world
where headlights come and tail lights go
and the air is still still — still like we’re
not even real.
The sky breathes in neon grey
makes a moment
in slow motion: because that’s who we are
to wander talking on wonder under open
open sky. Pastel letter shops empty
trash cans, abandoned seats
closet lights left on and streets still dim —
we pass them and doors and doors
and doors. It doesn’t matter so
much where we had
or had not parked before.
By Kira Coleman
The Sound of Snowflakes
Snow immediately settled around my head, shoulders and back. The concave walls of my snow chair made it sheltered and warm, cozy even, until my warmth began to trickle away, so that soon I lay in a cold silence, just like the snow. Despite the cold I was very comfortable, and it was not long before my mind began to wander.
The trees did not move. The wind did not blow. The only noises were that of snow toppling off of laden branches and the occasional crack of a frozen limb.
Then I heard it; drifting snowflakes started to greet my face with pinpricks of cold. The silence was vast, insurmountable, it was the kind of silence in which you lose your grasp of time. The dappled sunlight, the brittle cold, the snow covered pines, the drifting snowflakes, it all seemed to add up to something–something that was intangible, fleeting. I did not try to grab onto it, somehow I knew it was not something that I was meant to hold onto. Rather I sat and listened. I could say that time had stopped altogether in those moments, but in that instant it didn’t matter because no one was counting. There wasn’t any room for hurt or worry. Instead a great sense of peace drifted around inside me like snowflakes alighting on my face. A profound silence filled my conscience.
By Lucas Henry