The past can never be


Christina Marge

Artwork by Emma Barry ’22

Gathering dust, limply sitting here

I never thought this day would come

I guess I thought our bond was different

That the horror stories of neglect

Would simply pass our door

As the death angel during Passover


It was not to be.

She’s forgotten.

There will never be the magic of what was

The comfort I once provided her is no more

It cannot exist

And what terrible enemy must I face?



Growing Up.

I watch her as she paces around her room

The anxiety on her face that I was once able to pacify

No more can I wipe away her tears,

No more can I make her smile

I am useless

The more I sit here

The more I begin to believe

That I am just a bear

Not even real

No life is in me

Just a toy

A Thing

Fabric, cotton, a



by Elizabeth Barrett ’23, Staff Writer