FALL2





www.maristmosaic.wordpress.com
maristmosaic@gmail.com
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Poughkeepsie, NY 12601
Cover Design and Interior Layout by Raquel Lekic and Ethan Joy
Cover Image: l00's by Jennifer Coury
Opinions expressed in
Mosaic do not necessarily reflect the views
held by
Mosaic staff, students, faculty, or the administration of
Marist College.
©
Mosaic 2021







Mosaic
Editorial Board
Editor-In-Chief
Amanda Roberts
Art Editor
Heather Brody
Fiction Editor
Lindsey Dolan
Nonfiction Editor
Nicole Formisano
Poetry Editor
Tim Ganning
Design Editors
Raquel Lekic and Ethan Joyal
Copyeditor
D'Avion Middleton
Social Media Coordinators
Eve Fisher and Kirsten Mattern
Mosaic
Advisors
Mr. Robert Lynch and Dr. Moira Fitzgibbons









4
A Letter From The Editor
The Mosaic Editorial Board is proud to publish the fall 2021 Mosaic: a stu-
dent-run literary and art magazine highlighting the talented work of Marist Col-
lege students.
Mosaic submissions went through a rigorous blind peer review process in which
student section editors evaluated submissions for publication and ranking of 1st,
2nd and 3rd place in the categories of art, fiction, nonfiction and poetry.
The submissions we received this semester exceeded our expectations and the
pieces selected reflect a compilation of the most creative and ambitious work
entered.
The Editorial Board and I would like to extend our sincerest gratitude to Bob
Lynch for continuing to inspire and support Mosaic. We would also like to thank
Dr. Moira Fitzgibbons for her support and guidance throughout the publication
process.
Thank you to Alex Podmaniczky for helping us print Mosaic
.
Thank you to De
James Snyder, Dean Martin Shaffer, Dr. Carolyn Matheus, Professor Ed Smith,
Professor Jeff Bass, Dr. Eileen Curley, and the entire English and Art departmen
for helping us find the accomplished students that are featured in this semester's
edition of Mosaic.
And thank you to all of the students who submitted to Mosaic! We were over-
whelmed by your interest and are proud to publish your work
.
I would personally like to thank the entire Editorial Board for their continued d
ication and passion for Mosaic. This magazine is a product of all of your hardw
and I am so glad to have had the opportunity to work on this with all of you .
.
Finally, thank you to you, the reader, for opening this book and experiencing th
incredible work that Marist students have to offer. We hope you enjoy the fall
2021 edition of Mosaic.
Sincerely,
Amanda Roberts
Mosaic Editor-In-Chief














TABLE OF CONTENTS
Jennifer Coury
Cover
I ()()
'
s
Jessica Hawkins
8
Second Glance
Maddi Langweil
9
A Mirror Awaits
9:29 haiku
Jeremy Skeele
10
Still Life of a Scarf
Abby Koesterich
10
Angelina and Andrei
Julia Panas
11
Adjusted Smile
Kaitlyn Dugan
14
Requiem For a Redwood
Joe Tuosto
15
Times of Uncertainty; Times of Change
Angela Taggart
16
Luna Lobo
Malena Lopez
20
*** I 9th Century Lovin'
Cassandra Arencibia
21
Contact Correction
Kaitlyn Dugan
23
It
May Concern
Margaret Roach
24
Confused
Elizabeth Roberts
28
Casual
Kat Bilbija
29
A Rare Red Lady
Gabriella Amleto
30
A Sonnet by Half a Person
Alyssa Borelli
31
***A-Loud
Heather Millman
32
Go Off to Sleep in the Sunshine
Lily Jandrisevits
33
An Ode to Coronavirus University 2020
Shannon C. Connolly
34
Behind the Rainbow Flag
Santaliz Guale-Hilario
35
Light Within
Abby Koesterich
36
Chaos Theory
Blair Nackley
37
End of a Love Song
Lidija Slokenbergs
38
Betrayal
Mackenzie Weiss
39
For Rent
Lidija Slokenbergs
40
Untitled
Heather Brody
41
City Light
s
Claudia Molina
42
found
Katie Sailer
43
Tricks
Rachel Mittelman
43
Four Stages
.
***
_
Gabnella Amleto
44
- Content may contain themes of
abuse,
grief, death, mentall illness, and
body
image.
5










Four Words
August Boland
45
From the Sky Up and Down the Entire East Coast Ethan Maslyn
46
Front Seat Drivers
Julia Pana
s
47
how high
Hor Mahmoud
(H)
48
Afternoon Light
Sophia DelVecchio
48
Untitled
Emily Sumner
49
I Cannot Give You a Whirlwind
Romance
Heather Millman
50
***
i swear i am better
Kaylee Miller
51
Archangel
Megan Byrnes
53
It's a Show
,
It's a Show
Julianna
Buchmann
54
Castle Walls
Megan
Byrne
s
55
When You Enter a
Room
Julia Panas
56
Man Vs
.
Earth
Mackenzie Zeytoonjian
57
Little Bird
Sabrina Lemm
58
Distant
Brooke Wainwright
60
Love Languages
Cassandra Arencibia
61
Mind Over Matter
Greta Stuckey
62
Love Note Backstage
Lidija Slokenbergs
63
Dirty Harry
Natalie Garrison
64
Gustavo
Rachel
Mittelman
65
Sunday
Sara Rabinowitz
66
Intimacy vs. Isolation
Brooke Wainwright
67
The Passion of Sacco and Vanzetti
Jessica
Hawkins
68
A Memoir Night
Julianna Buchmann
69
My Imprisonment
August Boland
70
***
Mister Man
Nicole Formisano
71
My Friend Hudson
Gabriella Amleto
72
New York
Emma Isabel
73
A Response to Masculinity
Blair
Nackley
74
Simplicity
Miranda Santiago
75
***Ode
to Amethyst
Gabriela Maria Cunha
76
Sea Girt
Elizabeth Roberts
77
Ode To Claude
Michaela Ellison-Davidson
78
The Disappearance of Freddy Duvall
Michaela Ellison-Davidson
79
6










Picnic
Jamie Goodman
84
overload
Greta Stuckey
85
PartY
Central
Katie Sailer
86
Play
Julia Panas
87
[)ear
ENG
392
Monique Barrow
88
The
Throne
of the
Garnet Fairy
Olivia Myers
89
Villain
Carley Van Buiten
90
Please
leave
your
message
at
the
sound
of the tone.
Ethan Maslyn
92
Sometimes I
Forget
That You
Are
Gone
Anonymous
93
summer ritual
Ethan Maslyn
94
Tea
Party
Olyvia Renae Young
95
Neon
Giants
Alex
Deger
96
The
Broken
Environment
Julianna Buchmann
100
Sunset
Over Water
Emma Isabel
101
The Girl in the Moon
Natalie Garrison
102
The
Pagan's
Final Voyage
August
Boland
104
The
Power
of
Music
Emma
Isabel
105
The
Return
Kevin Pakrad
106
The Triumph
of Icarus
Gabriella Amleto
107
the
wonder
Hor Mahmoud
(H)
108
Trains
Hannah McMahon
109
The
Observers
Megan Byrnes
110
two
very
ill
foxes
Jeremy Skeele
111
ugly red
roses
Hor Mahmoud
(H)
112
Untitled
Untitled
Yvette Bien
-
Aime
113
Yvette
Bien-Aime
114
Silverware
Shower
Jamie Goodman
114
Water
Passing
Through
Lidija Slokenbergs
115
Words
on
a
Page
Shannon
C.
Connolly
117
Your
Private Shore
August
Boland
118
7




8
Second glanc
Jessica Hawkins '22















A Mirror Awaits
Maddi Langweil '22
Eyes
surround
me like a circadian clock
Glacial breaths form an uneasy lock
A
strength that feeds on the diffident
The
mirror awaits
No
creases form on my face
All
I want is an embrace
Dark
shadows
of the eyes are brighter than the skin
I'm not alone
A
depiction of beauty
I
see
Two
brown eyes stare through the glass
Soft
curls resist being tucked behind
Alone
I am, to appreciate the reflection
The
mirror cracks
Eyes
surround
me like a circadian clock
Glacial
breaths form an uneasy lock
A
strength that feeds on the diffident
The
mirror awaits
A
crease forms in the face
All
I
want is an embrace
.
Glowing
skin
meets the sun
I'm not alone
Warm
breaths and locked eyes intensify
Thed
·
·
epiction of beauty I
see
exists
A
broken mirror sits
9










10
i like to think of
sadness
as a setting sun
on a cloudy day
9:29 haiku
Jeremy Skeele
'23
Still Life of a
S
Abby Koesteric
h

















Angelina and Andrei
Julia Panas '
_
25
Lina's walking up to Andrei
h takes a bite of his New York
as
1.
e the translucent orange oil leak-
s~~
.
.
down his chin and threatening to
mg
drop
onto his black_ button-up befo~e
he
wipes it away with the hee
_
l of his
palm.
He hands her a plate with a
second slice, strings of cheese already
drying up and sticking to the paper.
"No thanks."
"Just hold it," he responds, not
feeling
like explaining that he didn't
want
to have to balance the plate on
his
knees or put it down on the brown-
stone
stair next to him. She steps
forward with a black stiletto to take
the
plate and holds it out to her side,
palm up, like a waiter, almost carica-
ture-like.
He looks at her. She looks
at him,
and considers sitting down on
the
dirt-stained stairs, or maybe she'll
just go
straight up to their apartment
and put the pizza in the fridge since
he'll
probably want to microwave it
in the
morning, knowing how much
~e l~es
his leftovers. Then again, the
hght
is fading and the days are getting
shorter
this time of year so she might
as well
stay outside a little longer. She
squats
down next to him on the stoop
maki
'
ng
sure to tuck her blue wool coat
h
u
nder
her legs and lifting her tote onto
er lap
And •
.
.
:
rei watches this proces-
sion,
his wi£
e now an odd shape, her
long legs making it so that her knees
point awkwardly towards the sky, one
arm extended straight out and resting
on her knee, holding the white paper
plate at the end of it.
"So how was your day?" Lina
says quickly and almost too cordially,
as if out of politeness
,
like the college
kids who talk to him while he's mak-
ing himself an espresso because they
know that he sits in an office.
She rearranges her bag with
her free hand, instinctively reach-
ing for her phone, turning it on, and
putting it down again as the screen
turns black. She wants to tell Andrei
about her day, about how she finally
convinced Marla to let her hire an
assistant and how an assistant always
leads to a promotion because other-
wise all the other editors would want
assistants too when they really didn't
deserve them. But he isn't even look-
ing at her; he's looking at a cluster of
flowers, weeds really, growing out of
the side of the stone staircase in a mir-
acle e
·
ffort against the asphalt which
overwhelms almost every square inch
of this city. Their stems are long and
close together
,
so that a child could
reach down and pluck the weeds all
at once and present the dog-pissed
bouquet to their mother or nanny or
whoever has the time to take care of
11








12
children these days.
"Andrei,
are you there?" she
says half-jokingly.
"Yeah yeah babe my day was
alright."
A pause. The road crew two
blocks over starts drilling again.
Finally, "how was yours?"
Lina starts talking and he
responds with the appropriate nods of
approval, his head leaning forward ev-
ery so often to take bites of the warm
salty pizza, gazing down at the yellow
dandelions. The bright color couldn't
help but remind him of their wedding,
a vibrant event dressed in the largest
variety of ribbons and table-runners.
He didn't even realize they had a color
theme until he walked into the church;
a shock really, he should've known,
since the bridesmaids dresses were all
yellow and the invitations had sung in
yellow script, "Angelina Woodshire
and Andrei Carros," and even the cake
had a big sunflower at the top instead
of the expected bride and groom fig-
urines. Of course he could never tell
Lina that the color didn't even cross
his mind because she'd become a slop-
py sobbing pile, but now that he thinks
of it maybe he did tell her some ran-
dom night when he was coming home
from an outing with his friends from
NYU and drunkenly slurred in her ear,
"I
ditsn't even realize our weddin was
yellow," because the next morning
her eyes were red and he had some
vague recollection of her shouting
that
"the
only reason it was so fucki
yellow was because you told me that
sunflowers are your favorite flower"
and
"I
do everything for you and you
never notice!" But of course he didn'
have the heart to tell her that they
were only his favorite flower becaus
they represented suicide, an event
he
sometimes fantasizes about when
he'
sure that no one can see his facial ex
pressions; and thank god he didn't t
her because then they would've had
to repaint the whole bedroom which
was also a pale perfect yellow and h
couldn't stand to have Lina asking ·
every weekend,
"when
are you gain
to paint the bedroom? You said you'
do it weeks ago!"
But how could she be sur-
prised he didn't know that their
wedding was yellow? She didn't ask
for his opinion on any of the weddi
details, and to be honest he barely
n
ticed the planning happening at all,
i
went by so quickly and was mostly
ported to Lina's wedding planner w
happened to be recently divorced; to
him it was just a flurry of magazines
and dresses and ridiculous amounts
of money. Not that he cared about
the money, since it wasn't his; Lina'
father, "William not Bill," was the o
who paid for the wedding, though
drei knows that the off er was meant
·
a sort of offense, like William didn't
think he could pay for it himself. Th
asshole, always pouring him half a
finger of whiskey when he came ov









d. er as if saying that he wasn't
for mn ,
.
Ough or American enough to
rnanen
drink
more ... never en~ugh. The truth
that William was nght, and An-
was
fi
·
h'
lf
drei
really couldn't pay or 1t 1mse ,
indeed he couldn't pay for most of the
things that would make Lina happy
but he tried his best anyway, hence the
35
carat rock on her ring finger. He
·ust hopes that she never finds out it's
~irconium and not diamond.
She's looking at him now, ex-
pectantly. Her story ended, something
about making her coworkers jealous.
"Congratulations baby," he says with
a truly sweet smile which he hopes
conveys that he's proud of her.
Andrei always tells her that
"you're going places," and out of an
expectation of humility she always re-
sponds
"
we
'
ll see," but she knows that
he's right; it's something that she's
known for a long time, though she has
no clue when or where this confidence
came from. She always reciprocates
of
course
,
saying, "you have so much
potential
,
" but the truth is that she
doesn
'
t really believe it, she's just
frustrated with his lack of ambition
and
desperately tries to motivate him
to reach for something better, to some
sort of personal fulfillment that he
can't
seem to find stuck in an office all
day just to go out with his friends and
~et stuck at a bar all night. It's amaz-
10g that· h ·
.
. .
in
t e1r
3
somethmg years
hving to
h
.
get er she still has no clue
What hew t • .
an s m hfe, or more likely
,
that he doesn't know what he wants,
and he's never bothered to figure it
out. It seems that the only plan he's
ever made for the future was her; in
fact, marrying her was probably the
most decisive action he's taken in his
entire life. She doesn't even know why
she said yes, probably because of the
shock or because he was a good guy
with a stable job and her mother loved
him and he made her laugh every
time they talked; but now he's still in
that same IT job which is apparently
so stable that he can't even manage a
promotion, except of course that one
time when she made him go for it and
finally after months of debating over
the dinner table he went up to his boss
and earned a
10%
raise, though he
probably could've gotten at least 20
if he took her advice, but then again
he never does, probably because of
some ingrained European sexism that
the opinions of women don't matter
because he really doesn't ask her
opinion on anything
,
and since she's
always been a believer of giving others
a taste of their own medicine she's
determined not to ask about his opin-
ions either. Which is probably why the
proposal came as such a surprise
.
It's just that they never really
talked about marriage back then;
children, yes, but what woman doesn't
have baby fever every so often? It
doesn't matter anyway because they
haven't gotten around to trying yet,
either because he can't get it up, or
13











14
because she works too much so he
gets off before she gets home, or
because of her overwhelming fear of
getting pregnant
,
of being treated like
a precious fragile object yet simulta-
neously tossed to the side, discarded,
something weak and incapable. At
least by focusing on her career she's
useful, productive, a contribution to
society
.
She
'
s respected.
It's silent now save for the
cars and the wind and the construc
tion
crew tearing into the ground, and t
he
sunlight can only be seen on the si
des
of skyscrapers, having dipped below
the horizon. The windows blaze ye
l-
low.
She lets her head drop to
his
shou
l
der, and he twists his neck an
d
kisses the top of her forehead, leavi
ng
a faint stain of orange oil on her ski
n
.
Adjuste
d
Smile
Kaitlyn
D
ugan
•25











Requiem for a Redwood
Joe Tuosto '23
Her skin was fair yet freckled blotched with a few blemishes
,
yet I did not mind.
Her long and limber torso extended far beyond my reach, but I did not care.
Her feet were often tarnished and soiled which managed to always stay out of my sight, yet I
loved her
all
the same.
Her hair swayed in the breeze so effortlessly and her smile always put me at ease.
No matter where I was, I felt so safe, so secure wrapped under her tender arms
.
Even the burning blistering ball of sun in the sky couldn't ignite me when I was with her.
I loved every part of her.
J
wish I had seen them coming earlier, those men with their hardhats and vests.
Their weapons of carnage and homicide; blades and cleavers in hand, eyes bloodshot.
They hacked down my love without a shred of remorse.
I watched as she tumbled to the ground, lifeless as her long tufts of hair mixed with the mud
covered ground.
I screamed out but my cries were drowned by the man's machinations of death.
Loud whirrs and buzzes choked out my love's final words until there was silence.
So now, I stand here before the tomb of my love mourning her.
Standing before her decrepit and rotten remains, I try to intertwine my roots to hers.
Or
push the hair out of her face, or feel her smooth skin, or sit under the shade of her presence.
Withered and decrepit she rests with tom hair
,
splintered and cracked edges, and a bruised and
busted body.
Her lovely and lavish physique now lifeless, lacerated by a lawless legion of larceny
.
One
day when I die perhaps you and I
will
be the same, together once more, but until then I
will
be with her everyday.
15










16
Times of Uncertainty; Times of Change
Angela Taggart '22
First Place, Nonfiction
I have a confession to make:
I've never been much of a traveler.
New York City used to be
a labyrinth, a maze of unknowns
organized in chaos
.
It frightened and
excited me, even though it was less
than two hours away from my sub-
urban town. I'd only ever known its
tight streets from a child's perspective,
clutching my mother's coat while
the rest of my family led us through
the crowds to plans I didn't plan, to
places I didn't know existed. We'd
huddled together against the chill
air in Rockefeller Center, gazing up
at the twinkling Christmas tree, the
multicolored lights shining across our
faces. My parents, two older brothers,
and I turned our backs to the excite-
ment and asked a stranger to take a
photo. Five faces smiled stiffly against
the cold, mine barely visible through
the thin gap between my scarf and
hat. Only the pictures from that day
proved we'd gone; it was a memory
that had already frozen and splintered
beyond recognition. I'd been there, at
the center of Christmas time in New
York City, yet the pictures looked like
any other we'd taken at home. We
captured the moment we looked
away
from what we came for, but not the
brief moment we stopped to take it in.
So only the background in each pho
changed-nothing about our smiles
faces. The experience suggested that
travel was something that happened
around you, that only the scenery
would change like a film reel as you
drove by. It never occurred to me
th
it could change something from wi
too.
I had a similar experience
a few years later. When I was eight
years old, my family and I traveled
Italy to visit my mother's relatives.
Though southern Italian summers
are too hot for stuffy coats, I stayed
tucked behind my parents as they
led the way, viewing the scene ahe
through the small gap between the
We walked the unpaved street into
center of town, so unlike my first ·
away from home, silent aside from
heels clicking on rocks. Cities mel
into the suburbs in the weeks lead·
to Ferragosto. Businesses turned o
their lights while the towns turned
.
the stars, the workdays forgotten.
night of August 15th marks a traditi
that doesn't exist on the other side
the Atlantic. August in Avellino is
a
time when aprons are exchanged
fo
dresses, when sneakers are shoved
back into the closet in favor of
opened-toed shoes that are fancy ye


















. 1 always comfortable enough
pracuca,
.
.
be
danced in until sumise.
to
Ferragosto is meant to be a
f
C
elebration of family, of rest.
umeo
'
.
,
hen almost every Italian takes
Its
w
weeks off from work-everyone,
two
.
"
.
f
all
at
once. There
IS
~o passmg
_
o
h torch
"
like there
IS
on American
te
' b a k
holidays, when one persons re
becomes another's burden. Still, I'd
wondered what that meant for the
people seasoning freshly cut meat and
folding hot sandwiches into tinfoil,
why they
'
d been excluded from a
city-wide shutdown, why they were
still working while the others danced.
Something about their grinning faces
told me that cooking wasn't work to
them-the way it is often viewed in
America
.
Food wasn't an inconve-
nience, something to be consumed
and
quickly forgotten; it was an art, a
happiness
,
as essential as the air that
keeps them alive. Not to be inhaled,
but
breathed in slowly--experienced,
remembered.
I didn't realize then that food,
like travel, could change a person
either. So as I watched the locals mark
the true start of summer with the
drinks in their hands, I felt like I was
stuck in place. It was like I was sitting
back in a theatre seat while the film
played out in front of me. I made my
way thr0ugh the crowd as a spectator
not
·
·
•
'
qmte hvmg in the moment but
next
t
·
'
0
It.
I was on the outskirts of ad-
venture J.
t
l"k ,
'
us
I
e Id always preferred.
This far from the feast, it's
easier to experience what's so capti-
vating about summers
in
Italy. The
band's music softened; their fog
machines faded into a different sort
of smoke, the kind that expands with
flavor, full and indescribable at first
breath. We were pulled in on that
cloud, absorbed in the salty sting of
fresh cheese, the warm wind of soft
bread, the lingering smell of cooked
meats slipping away from where they
spin over a dancing flame. Each scent
overlapped like a feast in the air: food
turned to smoke that covered the small
town and drew everyone to its heart.
The locals and I sipped on the August
night, savoring all of its flavors just
like seated patrons do as they drink
their glasses of sweet purple wine.
It made no difference that this was
an annual feast; every person picked
up their glass like it was the first and
last time they'd see each other again,
like the festivities wouldn't continue
tomorrow, or the year after.
The band played on as if they
knew that someday the music through-
out the world would soften into
nothing. As if they'd looked ahead
to March
2020 when silence flooded
Times Square and Broadway theatres
went quiet. As if they peered across
the pond, along the streets of the West
End, where Her Majesty's Theatre
is silent too. The music has stopped,
the chandelier has been lowered to
the stage, and empty red seats wait in
17












18
anticipation for the overture to begin.
They've been waiting for eight months
already, along with the rest of us. With
my newfound time, I often find myself
daydreaming of places I still yearn to
explore. Though London has always
been at the top of my list, I especially
wonder what it will be like when the
world wakes up again. What it would
be like to explore part of the world I
don't know through the small piece of
it I do, to claim it as I'd claimed New
York-a place I never thought I'd
enjoy, let alone miss.
London is a place I've never
been, yet I can picture it: these are
streets that have seen a shutdown like
this before. In the 1600s, the Puritans
banned theatre for seventeen years.
Yet when it reopened soon after, it
thrived once more, grander than the
first time. One day, London will rise
again with tourists and music and
color-it's what this city is built to do.
Every building is carved out of stone,
chiseled out of history that stretches
farther back than the Romans, a city
that burned and rose again since. It is
a place defined by its malleability, the
perfect place for someone who has
spent so much time unwilling to be
changed.
There will be another show,
another story, to explore from behind
London
'
s curtains. I will go there in
my mind until I can see it in person;
I can learn all of its secrets so it can
teach me how to rise alongside it. I
could learn its superstitions too
:
c
ful not to mutter the name
"Macbeth
and awaken the infamous theatre
gh
or to disturb the spirit of composer
Ivor Novello, rumored to still watch
his shows from the shadows. It's a
less troubling thought now, after
all
the world has been through-now
that we
'
re all just ghosts roaming
th
streets of places we cannot go and
singing along to music we cannot
hear. So we step back into the shad
and wait, denying our wonder and
curiosity, waiting in empty red
seats
like Ivan Novello, for the show to
begin again. We hold our breaths
as
we wait for the doors to open in
the
atres and airports and homes, to
kn
how other countries lit up again
af
months-maybe years-in the
dark.
Back home, where there
ru,;
still no cities open to wander or sho
open to see, I dive into pages of the
story I love. Phantom of the Opera
ravels across a page instead of a st
as I read about a man who hides in
darkness, afraid to see and be seen.
Reading is the only form of travel I
can do now, the only means of ste
ping into a part of the world I've
ne
seen before. Though it creates a vi
image of a disfigured man who era
a young singer's affection-a girl
h
hopes can love him despite his hei-
nous actions and grave mistakes-i
also strips the story down to its bo
clearer than a spotlight or a thous
twinkling lights ever could. Alone













d·m lamp, there is no elaborate
neath a
i
h
r ornate costumes to res ape
scenery
0
Y within these words. When
the stor
.
the blinding bghts have gone da
1
rk,
1
_
phantom of the Opera
is about one
1-
strangeness exile. It's about be-
ness,
'
ing
cast out from the world you want
to
Jcnow-a world I want to know now
that it
has been taken from us. In these
ages
,
I can learn from a sinner's fate
~d glimpse into a place I don't want
to go: into hiding at the edge of the
theatre
,
watching the patrons enjoy
the
show instead of the show itself.
The
Phantom too found comfort at the
edge
of excitement, yet in his comfort
was
also a deep disconnect between
him
and the world he refused to know.
I didn't appreciate Italy's weeks of
designated rest until the world had
rested
too long, until I'd found a new
curiosity and need to explore it. I
hadn't thought to do so until I'd heard
the
world mourning closed borders
and
restricted travel; I hadn't thought
to
travel the world until the opportuni-
ty
was gone. I'm no longer afraid to be
a
traveler, but a phantom-someone
who
hides in the foggy air that covers
a foreign town instead of dancing in it.
It's unclear whether I've
noticed this too late or too early, now
that Ferragosto's weeks of rest has ex-
tended to an entire year, maybe longer.
Maybe forever.
And because I can't look for-
ward-I can't imagine the future when
it's proven itself to be so fragile-I
look to the past
,
the only certainty in
a world of the unprecedented. Though
the events are unchangeable, from this
distance they change me; instead of a
little girl looking up at the stars
,
I look
down from them, seeing the beauty I
should have seen then.
But for now, I stay inside,
counting the days until it's safe to
go outside without a mask
,
until this
foreign home becomes familiar again.
I quiet the need for adventure
,
even if
just for a short while, reading about
places I long to go and fates I hope
to avoid. I sink back into the shadows
and tell myself what I must, reluctant-
ly reminding myself what I've told
myself since March
:
I've never been
much of a traveler, anyway.
19






20
Luna Lobo
Malena Lopez '24
From the rising sun to the falling moon
A wolf never sleeps.
Little time for rest, little time for peace.
From the rising sun to the falling moon
A wolf never sleeps.
Plenty time to fight, plenty time to feast.
From the rising sun to the falling moon
A wolf never sleeps.
No time to play, no time to weep.
From the rising sun to the falling moon
The cycle repeats.
And when the wolf lies, the fox eats.


















19th Century Lovin'
Cassandra Arencibia '24
I deserve to be adored.
W
me in gauzy white dresses, and make me keep my hair down, and long.
rap
d
ti
d
·
Burn
the dresses you hate an ee me teaspoon servmgs
just
to
preserve my wispy figure.
AIi
to
please you.
But
you
could
guess that I like being in a bird cage.
Invite
guests over and instead of introducing them to me,
show
them the large, sweaty, oil painting of me in your dusty, dark drawing room.
Don't make
a
sound as they laugh nervously,
though they half expect the painting to wave a coy hello.
Drown
me in the latest powders and tinctures,
fuJI
of lead and cyanide.
Toxins
drawing my cheek bones out and making my eyes huge in my tiny skull.
Skeleton
wife.
Rouge
on my cheeks,
and
ribbons in my hair.
Pouty,
pink lips sewn up into a smile.
Do you even need to hear me talk?
No, you don't.
You just lie in my bed and pet my hair,
lulled to
sleep
by my shaky, nervous breaths.
Kill me.
Kill me on purpose, kill me by accident.
Just hold me while I die.
Say
sorry, and cry,
while guilt makes her home in the hollow of your breast.
PI.ace my corpse in the drawing room,
draw me
a
cup of tea won't you?
If
.
.
'
.
1 begm to stiffen and stink don't fret
bury me.
'
'
~tare at the small lump of dirt that is me,
tn
Your garden.
Notice that
fl
.
H
your owers are dymg.
ear me whisper in your ear
though
y
.
'
ou are alone m your black, blinding bedroom.
21





22
Watch me float down the steps.
Wave back when I wave to you,
when I beckon you to the garden.
Swear to your friends that the sticky, oily painting of me is breathing.
Pulsing.
Snap.
Snap sooner, snap later, I couldn't care less.
Let the guilt bleed into your blood like toxins, like cyanide, like death.
Grab fistsfuls of dirt, and find me.
Find me.
Skeleton wife.
Rip me from the earth, grab me by the root.
Wail and pluck the maggots from my eyes.
Hold me, hold me, hold me.
I deserve to be adored.
I deserve to be worshiped.
And you deserve a woman
_
who is stiff.




Contact Correction
Kaitlyn Dugan
'25
23















24
It May Concern
Margaret Roach '22
Second Place, Fiction
To
whom
it may
concern,
As a recent
graduate
of St. Corbinian's
College,
I
am
applying
for the position
of
You May Have A Deal? contestant.
I
heard about this opportunity through
the commercial that plays at the end of
each episode.
At St. Corbinian
's
,
I
did not have a
major in a traditional
sense.
There
,
we
were allowed to study what interested
us,
so
I took a variety of classes in
topics
such
as effective grocery
shop-
ping, beginners gym, and pyrokinesis.
However, my main focus in college
was on daytime television, which
I
feel makes me a competitive applicant.
In the past,
I
worked on campus as a
paper pusher. There,
I
spent
most of
my time in an office in the back of
the administration building moving
paper from one pile to another. Here
I
developed coordination
skills
that
would be useful on your show. During
school
I
was also an active member of
our radio
station.
I
hosted a show that
played only the sound of a doorbell
ringing; this means that
all
the noise
on set wouldn't bother me at all.
My main asset to your show would be
my personality, mainly
my
charm. I
am not the best at trivia, this is
true
can
smile
with my flesh filled chee
I
can wear a tight, yet-high necked
sweater,
because
I
have always
bee
good at being a paradox.
I
can lau
like a bell at all the host's jokes,
ev
when they are not funny.
I
can shi
next to the type of dull people that
usually on the
show.
I
swear
that
if
you give me this chance; I can shi
I
want to be someone more than
w
lam
.
I
look forward to hearing from you
My email is Bayleigh632834728@
hotmail.com. Please do not call.
To whom it may concern,
As a highly motivated professional
game-show model,
I
am writing
to
press interest in the Amish Roman
Cover Model position. The Wrinkl
Bonnet is one of my favorite publi
ing companies and
I
would love to
become the face of it.
Currently,
I am employed on NBC'
highly rated game show
Central























C h Carriage. On the show,
Park
as many roles which include
1
perform
.
.
. . ng myself as a d1sgustmg
disgu1s1
. .
ff
NYC
carriage driver then nppmg o
ak
eup to reveal a glamorous
rny rn
od
l smiling vacantly at the camera
rn
e,
d
telling the horses where they are
an
posed to go. This job is vital to the
sup
.
show
and is one of the mam reasons
that it is a success, even though the
host
insists I am a prop.
In
the past, I have appeared on mul
-
tiple
game shows such as: You May
Have
a Deal?, Celebrity DeathMatch,
Would
You Date Your Grandmother,
but Like When She Was Young?, and
·
Ellen's
Game of Games. Each of
these
jobs presented multiple unique
challenges, but each required level
headedness, the ability to work well
with
others even when they are mas-
terminds of psychological torture, and
extensive knowledge in how to stand
on
television.
I would love the opportunity to grow
in my career. The idea of standing still
on camera fascinates me and I would
like
to learn about its intricacies
.
The
camera is my friend. My face is one
th
at
can be molded into what you want
tob R
.
~-
ight now, 1t may be a beautiful
red
hpped vixen, but with makeup it
chan
become pale, moon faced and
c aste
u
t·1 h
.
,
n
I
t e weddmg at the end of
the third act.
You can do whatever you would like
witl). me. I can be who you want. I
don
'
t even know who I am anymore.
What is my name? I forget some days.
I am forgetting. I forget. I have forgot-
ten my name. Maybe it is Bayleigh,
but that does not feel concrete. It is
slipping. It is hiding underneath some-
thing in the corner of my mind and I
cannot reach it. This makes me perfect
for the job! I can be Clara, Sara, or
Lara if you give me this chance.
I look forward to hearing from you.
My email is Bayleigh632834728@
hotmail.com. My phone number is
999-000-1111. Please ask for Brit.
To Whom it May Concern,
Love,
Cslara ???
I was excited to discover that Billiam
Edgard Penvial Egerton is begin-
ning his search to find his fifth wife,
because I believe that I would be the
ideal fit for the job. It combines my
skills of looking beautiful, standing
next to shriveled men, and smiling
with all of my teeth.
Throughout my career, I have worked
in many forms of modeling which
include game show, romance cover,
and most recently stunt. Stunt model-
ing is a dangerous job; the mortality
rates are overwhelmingly high. I have
25











26
survived activities such as spelunking
,
cave leaping, and interning without a
scratch which would help in avoiding
the accidents that befell Mr. Egerton's
previous wives.
Being married is the natural next step
for me. There is no other place for me
to go in my career as a model unless
I
want to move into something like
daytime television hostess or murder
victim
.
Marriage to Mr. Ergeton aligns
with my personal goal of marrying
rich.
I
would be good at being a wife,
because
I
would not fall in love with
Mr. Egerton. He does not need some-
one to be in love with him
.
He has had
that before. What he needs is me.
I
do
not have a heart in the literal sense.
I
checked and all that is there is a plastic
pump that moves blood back and forth
in a way almost that resembles beat-
ing.
It
was not always like that, but it
is now. He does not need a heart.
At night,
I
will lay next to him in bed
and we will not touch, but the feeling
of a body sinking into the bed will be
enough to make Mr. Egerton feel less
lonely for that moment.
It
will not be
in love
,
because that is not what he
needs.
I
understand Mr. Egerton.
I
know exactly who he is and what he
needs from a wife even if he does not.
I look forward to hearing from you.
My email is Bayleigh632834728
hotmail.com.
If
you say my name
three times, I'll know that you
w
interview.
Professio
The Future Mrs. E
To Whom it May Concern,
As a recently murdered wife,
I
am
looking for a position as ghost.
H
ing has never been part of my c
path, but
I
believe that a lifetime
tragedy would make me suited to
either the open position in the t ·
floor attic or the servants
'
quarte
much. Maybe being divorced ten
times or smiling at a camera is
an
achievement to some, but it does
feel like that to me. This fills me
anger and spite; the core emotion
that a ghost needs. Due to my lac
achievements,
I
also feel sad,
lone
and hungry. Revenge has always
a passion of mine and what is
than haunting my husband's new
wife?
You read that correctly, I will ha
Alice instead of Jeff. Unique take
these are what will make me a
f
new face at your company. Obvi
ly, Jeff is the one who deserves to
haunted -- he
'
s a monster. But
I'V
decided that Alice should be the













l guilt and I have an action
wbofee
s
plan
to succeed.
. w,·u
remove all photos of me
A}ice
.
F
he moves into the mansion. or
onces
.
the
first couple weeks, I will make
.
that she
continues
to find them m
: g e places. In a few weeks, I will
be
everywhere. Soon, I will be in the
mifror
every time
she
looks, slowly
eclipsing
her face until she does not
tnow
her face
.
Alice
will
be me or maybe I have al-
ways
been Alice? Something about us
feels
familiar. The fleshy part of her
cheeks
is my cheek. Our plastic heart
will
beat in the same rhythm that it
always has - has Alice's heart always
be~t in that strange slowed rhythm?
We will sometimes find a tooth under-
neath a tongue in her mouth and it will
not be her tooth
.
When she lays next
to Jeffrey, he will be comforted by the
feeling of a body sinking into the bed
next to him. It will not matter which
body to him, but it will very much
matter to Alice.
To whom it may concern - I look for-
ward to hearing from you. My email
is Bayleigh632834 728@hotmail.com.
Please do not call.
Whom.
27







28
Confus
Elizabeth
Roberts
'
Second
Place, A
















Casual
Kat Bilbija
·
'24
ment on floating feelings; dizziness happens anyway
Agree
A
deck of cards on!y hearts face up
the
blood still rushmg after the relay
Energy of the moon in a laugh; to my crystals become prey
Eye
contact creates a frozen mome~t
An
April mind takes over my body m May
Dizziness happens with or without; no space or stars between
My
inspiration to find these words at all
Makes
my heart fly like caffeine
Body
closeness and verbal comfort; I didn't expect to deserve
Attention
shifts
that are almost magnetic
Fragile
eyes with a need to preserve
Affection fulfilled, language covered; beats
I
feel align
Deep words in mind and body
Mind
and body I wish deep in mine
Four letters too early to say; too early to even think
Though thoughts of an April mind
1 hope I can continue to drink
Enem
·1
Y nu es are the thesis· a harsh-to-cross blockade
Dizzin
·11
'
ess w1 lead the charge for fear
Of).
ettmg the faceup cards fade
29










,...
30
A Rare Red Lady
Gabriella Amleto '24
There is the Red Lady in the sky,
Have you seen her?
She brings about red sunsets,
The sunset's light reflects off her milky skin,
Making her look red too,
That's why they call her the Red Lady.
She wears a shroud,
That is almost like smoke around her,
It
'
s long,
Never ending almost,
As it trails behind her
,
Curling,
Flowing,
Concealing her well.
Sometimes only her lips can be seen
,
If
you are fortunate enough to see her at all.
Though she walks the same path,
Across our heavens,
·
She is a rare sight,
An oh-so rare sight,
She has a job-
What? You thought she was up there for fun?
That job involves her red sunsets,
And wispy shroud,
For,
Her appearance brings about those red sunsets,
her shroud behind her
,
Brings about dark clouds.
Perhaps,
If
you're lucky like me,
You'll see her,
And her fine handiwork,
transitioning sunsets into the night.












A Sonnet by Half of a Person
Alyssa Borelli '24
now I
still
see you in my dreams.
Even
,
1 cannot
sleep soundly
during the night.
1
am
haunted by your eyes, and it seems
that
I can
'
t find my way back to the light.
I would give
anything
to feel your touch
to
see you
smile
and to hear you laugh.
Time
has passed, but I still love you
so
much.
The
Greeks would say I lost my other half.
They
believed that soulmates shared one body
that
is, until the gods ripped them apart.
I know that pain now. I am a copy
of
those parted
souls
for I lost my heart.
When
you
said
goodbye, you took it with you.
I only hope you feel the way I do.
31





32
I can't cry aloud
Two days after your death
A-Loud
Heather Millman '23
They had your funeral and like
Every other funeral I ever attended
My eyes were never red
Never puffy
This time it was watching my
Cousins who you were a father to
Heave with the sobs wracking their bodies
That took several tissues boxes to
Absorb
It's different from the way my mom
Broke the moment the tail of my sister's graduation
Robe left the car
It was only a day or two later
But it was holding back sniffles until
The moment she left
It's not because of the degree that will grace
My sister's hands nor the plaque my sister
Never hung in her room
Mom cries because they had a misunderstanding
Before we all left
It's why we are late why dad speeds
5mph more than usual
There was screeching then crying on
My sister's part and I
Hid in my room fetal position
With my hands over my ears ready
For battle
And so when mom starts crying
Aloud












0
hidi
ng
not
£
ven
du
ring
3/4t
hs of
the
ceremon
y
even
th
ough
we
are
next to a
J(id I
use
d to
know
from
high
school
All
I
can
think
of
is
how
Privile
ged
she
is
to
be allowed to
Cry alou
d
And whe
n she
later
thanks me for
Being
kind
thro
ugh
the whole thing I accept
It
with
out
any
unde
rstanding
Go Off to Sleep in the Sunshine
Lily Jandrisevits
'25
33












34
An Ode to Coronavirus University 2020
Shannon C. Connolly '24
I want to
see
people smile at each other again and know that they are smiling at each
I want to see strangers become friends and seal it with a handshake.
I want to see old friends say hello and reunite in warm embrace
I'm sick of seeing people get kicked off of elevators because the capacity has been
I'm sick of seeing church doors locked and holidays cancelled because you have
to
stay
in
I'm sick of walking into a room and having to sit 6 feet apart from every
person
cause if we sat closer it'd be dangerous.
I'm sick of feeling guilty for needing to sneeze, or being sent to the equivalent
solitary confinement because I coughed too loud and it made people scared.
I'm sick of the fact that my family can't come visit me at college and see if
for
first time and see me play my first year of division 1 college water polo.
I'm sick of the fact that I can't be social and make mistakes- can't go to a party
be reckless and regret it all the next day.
Most of
all,
I'm tired because the instinct to love and be kind to one another has been
Tired because the instinct to love has become secondary to the instinct of survi
Tired because kindness to strangers
has
become less important
than
surviving just
to
live
Tired because after
all
this time, people would rather survive by themselves and not li
to live with those they love without constantly in fear of what might take them down.



































































Behind the Rainbow Flag
Santaliz Guale-Hilario '23
J
une afternoon, I walk through the streets of New York City
.
00
a
hot
. .
d
myself in quest10mng:
~y did the universe choose this life for me?
•
r
I
can feel the screams of agony
It's as
1
(roDl
every queer in the world as
I
cry;
Why
do
72
countries ~ate_me ~or being me?
.
Why
do the social institutions m _my country hate me for bemg me?
Why
does society hate me for bemg me?
No ...
why do I hate me for being me?
J
ask
the universe for a sign as
I
suddenly find myself
Walking
along Greenwich Village, then
I see a flag
Behind
that flag;
I
see r
ed
,
o
u
r
c
e
lebration of life and remembrance of those lost
I
see
o
ran
g
e
, our
p
romo
ti
o
n
o
f healing within the communit
y
I
e
yell
o~
. our
appreciation
for the sunlight in which our flag shines
I
see
gr
ee
n
, o
ur
c
on
nections with
nature
I
see blue
,
ou
r c
re
ativ
it
y
and expression through various forms of art
I see violet
,
ou
r c
o
lo
r
o
f spirit
~hind these colors, I see a community filled with pain,
With
tears, with joy, with pride, and with resilience.
1
bear
the screams of anger that remain within the bricks of stonewall
~~the shouts of joy and laughter at the parades
.
eel
the
fear
of those in the closet
I feel
the
·
f
pam o those who are not loved for who they are
~:~.s
r~n through my eyes,
I
look at the flag one more time
A-
t is time
,
I see myself.
,,.ud
I realize th
.
.
,
ese are the true colors behmd the rambow flag.
35







36
Light
Witbit
Abby
Koesterich
•
24








Chaos Th
_
eory
Blair Nackley '24
they tell me
to cultivate stability
strive for a life filled with health
and happiness
how do I tell them
I don't want security
I rebel against the fantasy of soft serenity
to overflow with chaos
veins that are rich with ecstasy
because life is a drug
I'm constantly in withdrawal
corroding my existence
to find my next hit of
sweet saccharine instability
and for a moment
I feel alive
I feel
human
but the aftermath reminds me
that I am an addict
and soon enough
my longing will ruin me
37







38
End of a Love Song
Lidija Slokenbergs '22
We live together,
You and I,
One mind we represent;
And although we share this luxury,
I've never seen you spare a cent;
You watch me from your skeletal throne
Give in and pay the rent.
A houseguest,
That once filled the rooms
With fresh and new intrigue,
But houseguests tend to
Long extend their trip
And fail to leave.
A hypnotist,
You lock my eyes
And mesmerize my head.
Like an awning you disclose
The light the sapphire
Sun has shed.
A parasite,
You feed on specks
Of darkness in my brain,
And kill each cell of
Happiness, still fighting
To remain.
You've drawn me in,
I've hosted you,
A slave I've come to be
,
Now I am, too,
You parasite that feeds on
Misery.
















drug
I ee
is de
adly,
sut
by
co
mfort i
t
's
outweighed.
I 1ost
rny
sight to s
ee the price
Of
death
J
nearly
p
aid.
Ye.
you
,
The
illne
ss
killing
rne,
Return th
e
key
a
nd go
;
Your
poi
son has ex
pired
it
shou
ld have
Long ago
.
Betrayal
Inspired
by
Naruto
Mackenzie Weiss
'24
39








40
For Rent
Lidija Slokenbergs '22
Like a beautiful house
With a delicate frame
And a welcoming entrance,
No two rooms the
same,
With a spiritual aura,
A
safe,
shielding dome,
You, too, were the place
I once could call home.
A place I could turn to
For comfort and ease;
Your four walls,
They held me through
Painful memories;
But just like a house
When a storm hits the night,
You, too, lost your warmth
And electric burst of light.
And I tried to adjust to a world in the dark,
Seeing life through a melting candle's flame.
Though my vision went dim,
I could still clearly see
I'd become the pet, mistreated,
Blocked from freedom by a chain.
Locked to you, a house of
shadows,
Scared to howl, left alone.
Though you were standing right beside me,
I could feel your phantom roam.
For now it was a ghost town,
A place I
shouldn't
be,
But the dreamer
still
within me
Will never seize to
see
it as










1,eautiful
house
ith
a deli
cate
fra
me
nd a welco
ming
entra
nce,
:
0 1
wo room
s the
same;
A place
tha
t
will
fill
me with
nostalgic
sentiment·
Though
I
tho
ught
you'd
be
forever,
'
Time we had
was
just
for
rent.
Untitled
Heather Brody '22
41





42
City
LightS
Claudia Molina
'23













found
Katie Sailer
·
'23
i
want t
o beco
me
lost
in
dune
s and
docs
that
carry
me,
,vetland
s and
waves
that grow for miles,
seagull
songs
and cott
on ca
ndy sunsets,
runs tha
t neve
r suffocate,
in a tow
n that
knows
no tragedy.
in newb
orn ro
utines,
early m
orning
s and
blistering sunrises,
kayakin
g in u
ntamed
currents,
bike
rid
es to y
oga,
pruned
skin re
warded
from the ocean,
and
din
ner at
twilight.
Tricks
Rachel
Mittelman
'23
43






44
Four Stages
Gabriella Amleto '24
In the Spring
My limbs are new and shaky
I'm easily confused,
And naive
As I trust everyone and everything around me,
Even if they hurt me,
I give them,
A second chance.
In the Summer
I'm limber and strong,
I believe nothing can harm me,
As I run happily through fields
I understand more,
Using my energy and wit,
I'm still naive,
But less so
I don't interact with those who hurt me,
But I'm still willing to give second chances
In the Autumn
My body is starting to fail,
I cannot do the things I used to
I'm careful,
And wary
I know what I need to know,
And I don't want to learn more
I avoid those who hurt me,
I give no second chances.
In the Winter
I am the equivalent of glass
My limbs are delicate,
They crack with every movement
I know I can do nothing about my state
I learn as much as possible,
And pass on that knowledge whenever I can
I make peace,
With those who hurt me
I don't give second chances,
I give redemptions







Four Words
August Boland '24
I did not know
The effect that simply
Four words could have
On the human mind.
I want to cry
I want to scream
But both from joy
Both from a gladness.
Although I did suspect
Although I did believe
I feared to ask
From fear of denial.
I am ecstatic, yet
Shocked to hear them.
And those four words?
"
You are my friend."
45








46
From the Sky Up and Down the Entire
E
Coast
Ethan Maslyn '22
I'm
sure
most of you have been experiencing
The
same
weather as I have.
Maybe
some
of the
same
clouds
Have rained on the both of us
In the past couple of weeks.
Who knows how far they can travel
Before running out of
steam.
Or more literally, water, in this case.
But we have definitely been experiencing
The
same sun.
There's only one of those after all.
We all
sit
under the same burning
star
And live our life on this hunk
Of rock and dirt and life.
Remembering that fact
Is
something
that I've been trying
To do more lately.
We're all living life.
Everyone does it differently,
But we all do it perfectly.
Life can be
stressful
sometimes though,
I'm
sure
we can all agree. But you
Have to be like these rain clouds
That we've been
seeing
so much of lately.
You have to unburden yourself,
Rain it all out once in a while.
How else are you going to
Make it all the way up and down
The East coast?













Front Seat Drivers
Julia Panas
·
'25
t Seat Drivers
frOO
.
)
Slow
(for the stop_ s1g?
and
roll down thelf wmdows
as
I walk home.
They
stare
Blatantly.
with
a wife in the passenger seat.
Too
far in her own head to see
.
They
have no shame.
They
are articles of righteousness.
One
hand on the wheel
,
the
Other
s
troking their bottom lip.
Sometimes the car stops
and
I squeeze my hand around the straps of my bag
Tight-fisted manicure imprinting my palm
My
heart even faster than my pace.
47










48
how high
Hor Mahmoud (H) '24
you
say,
I do without a clue
you
say
jump i say how high
you
shut
me up & no asking why
you hide it all & for you i lie
you throw me against walls & for some reason
I'm the one to write the apology letters for breaking all these walls
but
who writes the
letter
for
breaking
into my innocence
Afternoon Light
Sophia
DelVecchio
'25





Untitled
Emily Sumner '25
Third Place, Art
49






50
I Cannot Give You a Whirlwind Romane
Heather Millman '23
I cannot give you a whirlwind romance
The thing of lavender fields and
Honeyed lips
I cannot serenade you with strings
And a strap across my back with
My mouth open
I cannot kiss you like the
Air you breathe tastes somehow
Sweeter
I cannot lift you and spin
You until we are breathless
And laughing
I cannot give you a home where
You want with the people
You want
I cannot smile when I wake
And be honest with you when you ask
Whether it's real
I cannot do anything for you no
Matter how much I wish to because I cannot
Give any of that to myself





























You look
Oh,
honey .
...
great
,
i
swear
i
am better
Kaylee Miller '22
weY
say
.
if
I
am perfectly fine now.
As
.
b
~
As
if
I
was nothmg e1ore.
I
an
still feel it raging in me at all hours -
C
. ,
fi
Toe
bird crowing to escape 1t s
cop
nes
,
Its
bony pri
s
on white and sharp.
It
eats away at everything that
I
want to be,
Like
a neon acid. And when
I
breathe
,
It is
as if
I inhale glass
And
nothing more.
It
makes me want to scream,
And
cry
,
and ruin
.
And
I
keep thinking,
thinking that change is the answer,
in
the form of evolution.
To
rip out each strand of my hair,
finding bloody roots,
And
replace it with something
that
will
make them notice.
Pee
_
l
back each layer of skin
,
until
there is nothing but raw meat,
And
have
s
omething grow anew
amongst the decay
.
Becaus
·
,
Wh
e It
s
only better when
I am not me.
8
en
I
can be somebody else .
. ecau
s
e an
y
thing
18
better th
h
'
.
.
lnh
an t 1s - this spiteful creature
abiting
51




52
me.
Better than
what is always lingering:
The dissatisfaction.
But no, no, I'm fine
I scream into the void.
I promise,
I
promise you,
This isn't me.
fuck. you.
it sneers.
A grating whisper
That lives in my bloodstream
And occupies each dream at night.
it doesn't get any better than this.





Archangel
Megan Byrnes
'24
53



54
It's a Show, It's a Show
Julianna Buchmann '23
It's 5 o'clock already?
It's time to go.
Turn on the hair curler,
Get your makeup brush,
Here we go.
Put on the tights,
Brush through the hair,
Whisper quietly your lines,
While you're practicing your stare.
Bring lots of water,
And
snacks
to chew,
Get in your car,
Bring your driving shoes.
Pull in to the parking lot,
And don't forget your bag,
Check off that you're here,
And make sure you're not acting
sad.
Turn on the dressing room light,
Put your costume on.
Warm up your voice,
Warm up your body,
Start thinking about the after party.
Say thank you ten,
And set your props,
Take one last sip,
It's 7 o'clock.
Walk to the backstage,
And see the lights,
Take one last deep breathe,
And step into the light.




Castle Walls
Megan
Byrnes
'24
55






56
When You Enter a Room
Julia Panas '25
When you enter a room it doesn't light up like all those songs say,
the dust doesn't magically turn to sparkles, no.
violins don't play sugar harmonies
and Angels
don't send their rays from heaven
.
When you walk into a room it goes completely
dark.
The World becomes a gradient of shadows,
pumping the hollows with ink, obscuring everything -
Except for you.
because when you enter a room,
You are the only thing
in that room.
Nothing else matters. it isn't big enough to compare
to your soft tongue and your crystal eyes.
Your energy takes over and controls all the bodies
Like puppets, pulling them
along their tracks and
pressing their lungs to
breathe
because suddenly they've forgotten how to
.
because they've all felt something change,
and because when you dictate
They listen.
Let me be your puppet.
Play with my strings. let yourself be the reason
i exist.
Make me walk, make me dance, make me cry make me sing
make me kiss you.
let me be yours and I
will be, because
baby-
i'd do anything for you.




Man Vs. Earth
Mackenzie Zeytoonjian '25
57






58
Little Bird
Sabrina Lemm '22
You were eight years old, curled up in your Ariel nightgown with yo
tattered stuffed dog clutched against your chest. Your mother's hand
warm on your back, warm like the sun that shone on your swing set ·
backyard. Warm like the sun that wasn
'
t there just a few hours agQ-.;
father had called it an eclipse. You'd never stared at the
s
un before
my and Daddy always told you not to). But when the sun disappear:
peered into the abyss it left in its wake
.
Somehow, the darkness hurt
than the light.
You were drawing in your coloring book
,
red crayon in hand as you
the cornflower blue Crayola sky with cardinals. You flipped to then
page
,
so devoid of color yet so exciting because of it. But paper is sh
than it looks, you learned, and when it sliced into your finger, the bl
trickled out onto the scuffed hardwood floor of the playroom. Under
new Scooby-Doo bandaid, the cut burned as hot as the sun. The scad
Crayola blood was beginning to seep through, and you
s
hielded your
from the sight.
You were mesmerized by the sun glinting off the water in fractals.
stench of chlorine didn't deter you from leaning in, and you tumbled
first, sinking like a skipped stone that had run out of momentum.
You
hadn't grown enough for your feet to touch the bottom-but, like al
your father was there to lift your thrashing body out of the water.
Yo
mother's lap had never looked so inviting, and you sat there shivering
the ache in your chest subsided. For a moment, you wondered if this
how your goldfish felt when he had floated to the tank
'
s surface, his ·
body finally giving in to the ever-flowing current.
You were standing at the top of the stairs when you saw red through
treetops
.
The sirens were stray arrows piercing your
s
kull, and you as
your mother if the fire was coming to your house. She glanced out
th~
dow and took your hand in hers
,
pulling you toward the kitchen for








,
,
she said
,
"we're far enough away." The bare branches of frostbitten
"filo,
framed the smoke rising into the sky, and you realized that everyone
~ s they're far enough away until they find themselves staring into the
eJllbefS.
•ned the day you found the little bird resting on the ground. He looked
!;aceful in his sl~ep, ey~s closed and feet_tucked into the d~wn _feath-
lining his body hke a rrutten. But somethmg was wrong. His wmg was
:isted, and you didn't know much about birds, but you knew his wing
wasn't
supposed to look like t~at. His tiny chest cavity was still, and you
waited
for him to take a breath
.
The breath never came. That night, you
prayed to God and asked Him to guide the little bird home.
59







60
Dis
ud
Brooke Wainwright
'21




















Love Languages
Cassandra Arencibia '24
(..allguage barrier.
Mother and daughter.
We
settle for charades and gestures
to
tell
each other goodnight.
1 show love
. an outpouring of words.
JD
.
Compliments and praise.
I would scream it on the highest hill,
but
you don't understand poetry.
Or
maybe you don't understand me.
Tightlipped grins.
You
say nothing of the sort.
I
feign
remembering kisses and hugs
that
imprinted their warmth upon my personality.
Reach
out and feel the empty spots.
But
on cold Sunday nights
I do remember.
Other
things.
My
mother pours love into making my bed.
Fold
and kiss, fold and kiss.
She
wishes me sweet dreams and baby's rest,
as she
fluffs my pillow and yanks my fitted sheet.
How
does
she
clean for me so tenderly?
1
c~
never make my room as clean as she does.
Things stay in place when she commands it.
let
there be order
and
there is
'
I
.
~most feel guilty, living in a space that she made so neat, so clean.
llr:ctations of motherhood built around her.
E.
'
but doesn't the house look wonderful?
rnbarras
.
Stra
·
sment at her fussmg hands.
•ghtening skirts and wiping spaghetti stains from my mouth.
61





62
I made myself messy on purpose
,
grinning as she frowned at my torn tights and lost earrings,
unknowingly rejecting her love
.
Tugging at braids she sewed and drawing on skin she made.
But now as life wears at my knees
and joints stay crooked at single digit degrees
,
I sink into bed
And let her hold me in the curves of my sheets
.
Unfold and hug, unfold and hug.
I let her wipe the stains from my face now
and sometimes I straighten her necklaces.


























Love Note Backstage
Lidija Slokenbergs '22
y
ou
have my admiration
,
.
pectation
s
keep me far,
~
not suppo
s
ed to walk the stage
'Jb8l
leads to where you are,
And
I can
'
t admit my love
For
this life ha
s
~e, outpl~yed
,
Bu
t
I won
'
t adrmt I m crymg-
rn
put on the ma
s
querade.
J
don't posse
ss
the power to make
Qan
ges to this show;
1be
people,
s
cenes and setting
W'
dl
determine where I go;
Just
like the
s
tunning costumes,
My
heart has been displayed;
Bu
t
let's go on denying
1ba
t
for you that heart was made.
Its
getting late,
1be
house mu
s
t now be packed
But
to the brim
·
They
're
here
fo~
entertainment
Ov
erjoyed when things get gri~
;
For
all the famous dramas that
1be
people p
a
y to see
:
of sorrow that we
'
re chasing,
tbe love that can not be.
63







64
She lets her hair down
Out of that
Ponytail
Tied
tight
She reaches for her phone
Her friends
Can't
Tonight
Are they even her friends?
That depends.
No point in feeling sad
Dirty Harry never
Feels
bad
She acts like she doesn't try
was it
Six
or five
Because she's
Old
Shots
Dirty
Dirty Harry
Natalie Garrison
'22
Harry
She beats to her own drum
She
Stares
Down
Her camera lens
Do
you
feel
Lucky
Punk? Hell yes.





Gustavo
Rachel Mittelman
'
23
65















66
Sunday
Sara Rabinowitz '24
Third Place, Fiction
The black velvet dress lay
always quite particular about
w
spread out on the bed. I knew that
she sat at church. She said
that
in my sister
'
s room
,
the same dress
Haverford breathes so loudly
would be lying in almost the exact
his mouth that she can't hear
same position on her bed, though
My mother is also very
hers would be purple, while mine
particular about what we wear
is black. Both dresses have a round
church. My sister is fourteen,
neckline with puffy cinched up
ing she was at least given a
ch
sleeves. Both dresses would fall
dress color. My mother had
pi
only slightly above our knees. And
out a dress that she deemed
a
both dresses would be tied with a
priate, and my sister chose
the
large bow that rests on the back of
that she wanted. My mother
th
the dress, right under our shoulder
bought the same dress for me,
blades.
a different color.
I knew that in the room next
My mother says I am n
to mine, my sister would already be
mature enough yet to pick out
putting her dress on, or maybe she
'
s
own church dress. Her eviden
already done and is instead work-
this is based on the fact that I
ing on fixing the buckle on her new
to wear a yellow dress. My m
black shoes. She would not stare at
says yellow is not a church col
the dress in the way that I do. She
She also says yellow does not
does not stand on the other side of
with purple. This is why I am
the room and hope that if she waits
ing black.
long enough, the dress will disap-
The fact that black
goes
pear
.
well with purple is precisely
th
I knew that if I did not get
reason why I did not want to
dressed soon, my mother would
black. Standing next to my sis
eventually end up knocking on my
identical clothes only accentua
door, yelling about how if they didn
'
t
our differences even more.
At
leave soon they would have to sit
teen years old
,
my sister is
bea
next to the Haverfords, something
And at ten years old, I am eve
that my mother would rather give
but. I do not think that it has
Ill
up her life than do. My mother was
do with my age though. I think


















}
w
ays
be
en quite
u
g
l
y, a
nd I
I
have a
.
d
.
t t
h
at
I a
lw
ays wi
ll be
.
Pre
JC
.
h
.
A
dorn
e
d wi
th mate mg
S
m
y sis
te
r a
nd I will look like
c1resse,
.
.
r
fec
t
pair
.
Bu
t I will
s
imply
the
p
e
1
lik
e th
e o
utc
ome
of my parent
s
fee
_
0
t
o
make
a
co
p
y
of her
.
She i
s
trY
IO
o
.
the
o
n
e w
earing
the
dre
ss.
I am Just
the
J
ess fo
rtuna
te
clo
ne.
N
o
ma
tte
r
how much I stare
o
r p
o
w much I hop
e, t
he dre
ss w
ould
not be going away. Thi
s
i
s
wh
a
t
I thought to my
s
elf a
s
I pulled it
over my head, rolled up my stock-
ings
,
and
s
lipped on my
s
hoe
s
. As I
opened my door to meet my family
in the hall
,
I thought about stealing
a glance in my mirror before I went
,
but I knew it would be easier if I
didn't.
Intimacy vs. Isolation
Brooke Wainwright
'
21
6
7













68
Th
e
P
ass
i
o
n
o
f S
ac
co
a
nd Vanzetti
Inspired by The Passion
of Sacco and
Vanzetti by Be
n
ShahD
©
Estate of
Ben Shahn
/
Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society
(ARS),
New
York
J
essica
H
aw
kins '22
































A Memoir Night
Julianna Buchmann
'
23
Second Place, Nonfiction
r forget that night. The night after my 11th birthday. It feels like it
rnneve
_.s
yesterday
,
so vivid
in my brain
.
'J:
27
AM
11
·
Th fi
d
.
.
M
Dad open
s
my door, te mg me to get up.
e re epartment Is on Its
y
I
get
out of bed, and hurry over to the window, to
see
our detached
fllY·
W h d
.
d . h
.
h
.
garage,
up in flames.
e
_a
_Just move mt e prev10u~ mont , meam~g
most
of our things were still m the garage. All of my childhood memones,
from
my
umbilical cord, to my halloween costumes. The carousel head-
1,oard
my
grandparents
had designed for me. My baptismal dress. All of
iL
I
sat there,
waiting
for the fire department, hoping in my heart that it
could
somehow be
solved,
somehow be saved. Before the fire department
got
there, our house windows
started
to melt, our grass was burning, my
llampoline was
up in flames. When the fire department finally arrived, the
fire
was put out. Our windows were falling off of our house, the walls bub-
bling,
the grass
smoking.
My Dad's car was melting into our driveway.
4:38AM
Interrogated. My 11 year old
self,
interrogated,
seeing
if I caused the fire.
Probably
the most traumatizing part. Sitting at my dining room table, with
1
bunch
of
strangers
around asking insane questions. My parents were
halting
out. The
strangers
were saying it was protocol. Later they discov-
ered
it
was
an
electrical fire, finally leaving me alone.
11AM
~~
.. st00
d in the rubble
,
seeing if we could find anything, anything at all.
naau
there it
was
'1
.
~
P~ents
'
wedding
cake topper, sitting amongst the soot, fully intact,
~
httle burnt. Although we had a great deal of loss, that wedding cake
r somehow gave a little hope that we could heal from this. And we did.
69



70
My Imprisonment
August Boland '24
I wish to swim
In a rainstorm
To feel the rain wash over me
A faint gust
Compared to the tornado
Of the water
'
s waves
I long to smell the mingling
Of the freshness of the rain
With the salty air of the water
And feel truly alive
I desire to feel cooled
Submerged in the water below
With a faint sprinkling of water above
And know that this moment
Like the rain rolling down my face
Is temporary, and will never come again










Mister Man
Nicole Formisano '22
A
white-knuckled grip on her bare _wrist,
be
holds her like he holds the
steermg
wheel.
H
will
decide where and when the car moves,
~d
should
he
~eer
o~ the cliff
side,
00
some impassioned impulse,
he'll
buy a new one later.
Hot
little thing to ride or die
,
makes him Mister Man
Mister
love mad
Mister
crash the car
Deep
and hard.
Later,
when
she's
in the ER,
and
I'm setting her broken bones
like
last time and the time before,
I'll
study the delicate flowers of purple and yellow on her skin
and
wonder why I'm not good enough to ruin.
71





72
My Friend Hudson
Gabriella Amleto '24
I have a friend named Hudson,
I try to visit them often
But life distracts my want to visit.
My friend Hudson is a quick walk,
But when I visit
I stay for hours
My friend Hudson does not have a house,
At least not a traditional one
They are bare to the elements,
So I visit when it's warm.
My friend Hudson doesn't mind,
They enjoy my visits,
Or at least,
I hope they do.
When I go to my friend Hudson,
I bring my work during my stay,
Sometimes maybe poetry,
I rarely ever look at Hudson.
My friend Hudson doesn't mind,
They have plenty of visitors,
So they are never lonely,
Except for nights,
For my friend Hudson never sleeps,
Despite them having a bed.
My friend Hudson entertains me,
Whether I'm doing work or poetry,






From the gurgle of their laugh,
To the babble of their words.
My friend Hudson is popular,
They're
beloved by all and tamed by none,
People
drive to specifically meet Hudson,
But they always make time for me.
My friend Hudson is odd,
But I will miss them when I leave,
For they bring a
sense
of peace
,
When peace is hard to grasp.
New York
Emma Isabel
'
25
73












74
A Response to Masculinity
Blair Nackley '24
Third Place, Nonfiction
The institutions that define our everyday lives are poisoned
b
a syndrome that preys on the weakest of us: the single mothers,
thee
tranged daughters, and the naive little girls. Every day, the
vulnerab·
the female sex is exposed in such subtle ways; our minds become u
the nauseating side effects. Through this
sickness,
a community was
and the patriarchy has become our way of existing.
Yet, inequality is not the only force that keeps us oppressed
.
anger, irate and violent, a rage so intense that the idea of female em
erment sparks a wildfire. However, society prefers to turn a blind ey,
tragedy or distance themselves from it. We have repackaged this an
"culture"
and said the words,
-
"boys will be boys" too many times
to
Why are phrases like this acceptable to say when girls are
n
allowed to be girls? The concept of femininity is an orchestrated
n
Our desires, beliefs, and personalities are dependent on the male
in
tation of them. Nevertheless, those who claim it is "not all men"
are
no means absolved of emotional responsibility. This weight rests
on
single human being's
shoulders.
Therefore, it should be carried
by
just felt by those who are crushed by it.





Simplicity
Miranda Santiago
'23
7:










76
Ode to Amethyst
Gabriela Maria Cunha '22
My favorite color is Barney the dinosaur. My favorite color is the
fl •
purple people eater. You are the purple motif portrayed in Disney v·
feared by all, but loved by me. You are dark and mysterious, yet
J
am
intrigued by you. You are the color of my
snuggie,
physically wrap
your warmth and enveloped in comfort. I
see
darkness and enlighte
I feel intuitive and transformed. You are the color of my hair sopho
year of high
school.
Dark and plum, confident
and
bold
.
You are ch
and you are beautiful. I remember the day I bought you in the Aw
Shop, my
sacred
amethyst crystal. I did not pick you, you chose me.
bring me protection from evil thoughts, and promote mindfulness-
others
see
you as grief and despair, you rid my anxieties leaving
way
awareness and
serenity.
When you are near me, I dream. I feel peace.
are divine. You are Royalty. Regal. Rare. I feel noble when I weary
I
see
your beauty, I
see
your light. You are the flowers that blossom
·
Springtime, bringing life to where there was death
.
Many see your
ence as mourning, filled to the brim with
sorrow
and suffering.
But
not. Charlotte Perkins Gilman used you as a representation of life
in
Giant Wisteria." You concealed a dead body, the pain of what used
be. But your beautiful wisteria flowers and your presence demonstr
the contrary. While you represent pain, death and loss to many, I see
for what you truly are. You are light, love, warmth. You are life.
You
haunting but alluring. You remind me of the giant purple knife in o
kitchen drawer. You are pastel and delicate, yet you can end me in o
tal
swipe.
You hid your innocence
so
well. You are bewitching- I
in you. My nails are decorated in your beautiful hue. The amethyst
love so dearly.
If
looks could kill, my manicure would waste no
time
ing
so.
You hold my life in your hands, and I do not worry. I
feel
P
tranquility at the thought of being with you.
If
I were to die today, I
want to be buried in you. I would not be feared by you, I would gla
my own grave just to be near you. My death would give way to new
and transform my decaying flesh into a field of lavender and amethY


Sea Girt
Elizabeth Roberts '24
77










78
Ode To Claude
Michaela Ellison-Davidson '23
All the plants in my room are plastic. All but Claude.
I don't know why I admit this. I suppose I want
someone
to know.
Those plastic plants like memento mori in Dutch
still
lifes:
A rootless shell; artificial green; soil that holds no nutrients.
Is this the transience of life?
And then there is Claude.
There on the window
sill
he sits. No sun for days.
I have forgotten to water him; forgotten to care for
him
as I attempt to care
for
I treat him as if he is some obscure thing: alive, but
self sufficient.
But here we both are: lacking.
He is no longer outdoors. I am no longer at home.
His leaves turn brown; my hair falls out. He outgrows his pot; I change
my
I did not get my mother's green thumb, her ability to care for things.
I do think
:
here I am, meant to keep him alive.
A promise somewhat unkempt, but not broken.
As I read him poems from a book for class. As I run his pot under a
faucet.
As I move him out into the light of the living room.
He will be alright.
So will
I.





























The Disappearance of Freddy Duvall
Michaela Ellison-Davidson
'23
First Place, Fiction
July
Fourth,
nineteen and
~
~-nine when
Otis, Jonah, and
eigh
1.
ved
that my brother Freddy
Jbe
1e
.
bad
t,een
abducted
by ahens. Fred-
dy
was
home
from
college, the two
ofus
not
speaking
much and when
1 invited
him to the fireworks
show
11
Ebenezer Baptist Church he de-
clined,
saying, "You
know, Francis
,
Jbave
friend
s.
Adult ones."
"I
reckon, Freddy,"
said
my moth-
er,
"you
don't
see
anything of your
sister
anymore. The least you can
do
is
drive her and her friends to
die
church barbecue."
Freddy
shot
me a look.
It
almost
seemed
apologetic. "Look-" he
lbrugged-
"I just
can't. You can
bike
over."
1be
truth
was
that Freddy hadn't
10
much as
forgotten
about me but
Dloved
on. He'd gone to college
i>r
a
year,
coming
back home with
lbe
.
Ion
notion that he was an adult, no
ger
wishing to be a part of my
: : en
ct
adventures, car rides for
lbe
~akes-
always strawberry-
or
11...._animated
films in the drive-in
""ICclter.
If
I dared to ask him to hang out
with me he would
sit
up in bed,
remove one of his headphones
from his Walkman, and say,
"Fran-
cis, if you don't quit bothering me I
swear
to God."
"What
about tonight, then?" I'd
ask,
hovering between the frame of
his bedroom door
.
"Magnum
P
.
I. 's
on the television."
Freddy
would shake
his head. "I'm
going over to Harper's place."
"Maybe
I can come."
"I don
'
t think that's a good plan
;"
he'd said. "You're only eleven. You
wouldn't have any fun."
The next morning when Harper
showed up at our door for Freddy,
Freddy wasn't there.
"He's
not here."
It
seemed she was
convincing herself.
I told her, for what had to be the
hundredth time, that no, Freddy
was not here.
We thought nothing of this until





80
two days passed and Freddy hadn't
called. We filed a police report,
Sheriff Dobbins not believing a
word we had to say.
"Your son," he said to my mother,
"was he caught up in anything?
You know, drugs, that sort of funny
business?"
My mother had no idea.
"And Freddy's father, what about
him?"
This was unapproachable territory.
"Disappeared when Francis was
two."
"Well," said the Sheriff. "You
know how it is around here. Boys
always end up like their daddies."
We were walking along the old
train tracks when Jonah said his
mother Loretta saw a UFO over the
old meat packaging plant.
"Lies," said Otis. "Your mother's
messed up."
Jonah hopped across the tracks,
reaching for Otis's collar. I grabbed
him by the arm and shoved him
to the ground. He was no g
fighting and Otis- bless
him.
no good at taking a punch.
"Look," said Jonah,
swatting
dust off his pants. "Loretta
saying that some of the
peop
the packaging plant have s
same thing. What I'm thi ·
I'm thinking Bryant might
aliens."
Otis squinted in the sunlight,
glasses slipping down his n
"What in the Sam Hill?"
I turned to Jonah. "Bryant
disappearances for decades.
father, for example, and
Jon
daddy.-" I motioned for
Otis
silent- "Our dads wouldn't
like they did. There's some
else going on. Just like with
disappearing."
It was a dreadful thing-
that
an eyesore, smelling like
the
nards of roadkill. We
walked
the tracks to the building,
pl
an improvised nightwatch
~
terrestrial activity.
"Well well well," said Jo
ing himself onto the grass.
looks two steps away from






















red we'd lost our marbles,
ug that Freddy was kid-
by little green men
.
,
t,ecau
s
e his life's damn near
"ft
S
·
J
h "H d
't
ect
,"
said ona .
e o~sn
:!
anything out of the ordmary
can
happen
,
because it
'
s never hap-
pen
ed
to him.
"
,
-H
e
believe
s
in Jesus," I said, "And
J
"
s'
s
never seen esus.
-It'
s
different.
"
Jonah picked at his
lhoe
lace.
"
My dad- why would
lie
just
up and leave? Why would
yours
?
You
se
e, everyone's got
IODl
eone mi
s
sing without any ex-
plan
ation
."
He gestured randomly
wi
th
a hand
. "
Aliens, Francis. The
ilea
's got more sense than God
pv
e
a rock.
"
Otis
stood up and said, "I'm going
hom
e.
I'm fr
e
ezing and if aliens
Titre
even real- which they are
: ;
Why in their right minds would
land here
,
in Bryant, Alabama,
Ill
absolute
s
hit hole.
"
~
Wa
s
a
s
udden flash of light
d the barn
.
I grabbed Otis by the arm and
P,ulled him down. "Stop pitching a
fit."
We waited in silence, not breath-
ing, our hearts pulsing violently in
our throats. The light grew bright-
er, blinding, like the headlights of a
car. Out of fear or impulse, we got
to our feet and bolted.
There was nothing to say. I was a
believer
.
The next weekend we agreed to
meet behind the meat packaging
plant.
The night was cool, damp
.
I rode
my bike along the train tracks and
imagined the future events of my
life: Freddy returning home, spend-
ing nights with him playing back-
gammon, him letting me smoke his
cigarettes behind his pickup truck
with the chipped paint.
I missed him, I thought, I missed
him something awful.
At the barn, the three of us were
scrambling for the door, running
into the light- a tunnel to the gates
of Heaven- pausing with open
8






82
mouths as we entered. The first
thing that hit me was the smell-
the sickly-sweet scent of pickled
vegetables.
Freddy's girlfriend, Harper,
dressed in a flannel coat, stood
slack with one hand hovering over
her lips, eyes darting between us
and the floor. Beside her were two
boys. No one was speaking. Every-
one was completely white in the
face.
I gazed down, finding my brother's
bloated, decaying body at their
feet.
This was the explanation:
Two weeks earlier, around eight
o'clock on Saturday, July fourth,
Freddy met Harper, Zach, and
Luke behind the Ingles grocery
store. Me, Otis, and Jonah were at
the firework show. Freddy told my
mother he was meeting us there af-
ter a change of heart. He had lied.
·
Luke had these acid dipped ciga-
rettes- it was going to be a good
time- Freddy ended up falling
through the barn roof instead,
spooked by the noise of the fire-
works.
"There's no aliens," I said.
words were hardly audible. ,
were searching for aliens."
It
was easier to think Freddy
been abducted by aliens
then
thought of his girlfriend
hi ·
his body. I'd wanted some ·
blame, something to protect
brother, something to bring
back, but he was gone, and I
been a fool.
I biked home by myself
that
hoping to God Harper woul
the right thing.
My mother was sitting at
the
en table. She didn't glance
I walked through the door.
"Mama."
"Let's do this in the mornin
said, but I shouted her
name
my anger boiling over like
a
egg on summer pavement.
"Whatever happened to my
ther?" I asked. "You've go
know."
"He left. He left because
th
way to get over yourself is




























.
what's holding you down.
g
Francis-"
she
sighed-
see,
"
h"
was nothing here 1or 1m.
re
d that packaging plant, and
bate
that Freddy would end up
~
He
couldn't
stand
it and he
tere·
h
.
,,
-n•t
brave enough to c ange 1t.
I
didn't
speak
for a long time.
'frallcis,"
she said, "there's noth-
ing
left
to
say
about it._ You didn't
do
anything
to
make him leave. We
loved
him the best we could. He
just
didn't return the favor."
I
let
my head
fall
over my folded
arms.
"Why'd
you never tell me?"
in
never did
say a
word about it,
lben
I
wasn't
lying,
and
not
saying
lllything
at
all
is a whole lot better
lhan
breaking
your
heart."
"Did
Freddy know?"
"Yes."
She
gave
me a furtive look.
'11e
knew."
~cw
then
she
hadn't expected
ed~o
come
home,
she'd
accept-
lece
m
to be
gone
just like
she'd
heidpted
my
father's
absence. I'd
out
h
c
...,_
ope 1or
so
long and there
..
q
noth·
Ing to
show
for it.
The July we
searched
for aliens
would later be regarded as the end
of our
innocence.
Harper, Zach,
and Luke came clean to the police,
offering over Freddy's body so we
could bury him the proper way in
the family plot.
My mother and
I
went down to
Trenton a few days later to col-
lect Freddy's things from college.
There was an unmailed letter on his
desk. He'd addressed it to me.
"Francis,"
it
said, "Forgive
me for
the silence. There are some things
too big for you to understand just
yet.
I
hope to God you never will.
When
I
come home, we'll go get
ice cream
strawberry
milkshakes.
Alright?"
s:







84
Pic
nic
Jamie Goo
dman
'23







Overload
Greta Stuckey '23
Walk slowly, rest assured
Move quickly, stress endured
Dim madness, can't be cured
Lights flickering, parts moving within
Feel so close, hear the drop of a pin
Try to mov~, but I have become too thin
Take a deep breathe, let go of the air
Heart thumping, the sound of a snare
Need to find a seat, but I wouldn't dare
Waiting inside, panic fills the mind
Many people, the crowd is not kind
Swallowed up
,
I retire just in time
85



86
Party Central
Katie Sailer '23
When we are greeted by the moon,
And are collected in the cramped kitchen
Of the second-floor condo,
rockets seem to go off.
Chairs and stools bracelet the table,
Holding the tired, tipsy, and talkative.
Cards are dealt
And time becomes lost.
Talking becomes yelling,
Laughter is on loop,
Flailing arms mask the battlefield,
And drinks pray not to be spilt
Through the pandemonium.
When our war dies down,
Our glasses tapped
,
And the clock claims morning,
We surrender then
And wait till dusk
For our party is neverending.














Play
Julia Panas '25
Jafll
a doll.
I
afll
a doll. This body
is
a
doll.
i
(iress
her up and paint her eyes blue and pink and black black black
.
make her walk
1
from the cupboard to the coffee maker to the sink to the
cupboard agafo to the door to the stairs to the street.
I play
with her
give
her ridiculously tall shoes and match her up in relationships (because
be
"seems
interesting").
but
sometimes she gets entangled
and
he steals some of my strings
and
he plays with her, too.
I
hear the whispers
all
all
the time
but
it doesn't matter what they
say
about me because
I
chose her.
I
am
the one who drinks her coffee
I
am the one who manufactures her
beauty/ am the one who tears up her values
I
am the one who is intoxicat-
ed
with
sticky
pink love pumping in my veins
I am the one who suffers her consequences.
but
really_
I'm just playing.
8'.













88
Dear ENG 392
Monique Barrow '22
Dear, ENG 392 Class,
I hope everyone is doing
well. I am writing from Kyoto, Japan,
where every time you walk in this
city, it feels like you are going back
to ancient times. How many of you
knew that Kyoto was the capital of the
rising sun country from 794 to 1868?
Not many know this fact as many are
familiar with Japan's "new" capital
,
the modern Tokyo. There is something
so special about Kyoto that it's no
wonder why it is such a popular city
for tourists and travelers
.
Perhaps it
must have to do with the fact that in a
country where most cities are starting
to modernize, Kyoto seems to not only
be struggling, but also flat out reject-
ing the modern and rather embracing
the ancient? Or perhaps because
Kyoto is home to Nintendo, the video
game company that is responsible for
giving us beloved game franchises
such as Super Mario, The Legend of
Zelda
,
and Metroid. Or perhaps it
'
s
because Kyoto is home to five Geisha
districts, Gian being the most popular
one because you have a chance to see
maybe one of three hundred remaining
geishas? Some of you may think you
know what a geisha is but just in case,
I will make it very clear
:
Geisha are
NOT prostitutes! They are dancers
and entertainers that mainly entertain
in traditional Japanese restaurants and
cha-ya (tea houses) for elites.
participate in traditional Japan
tivals as well. However, despite
books
,
movies, and rumors
mi
told you, they are NOT prostitu
Call them that and they will
not
pleased.
Before I went to Kyoto,
traveled to Nara, which might
be
favorite city in all of Japan.
Nara
a small city that is squished
be
popular cities of Kyoto and To
Nara served as the first capital
o
Japan
,
from 710 when it was
fo
'till it was eventually moved
to
in 794. However, what I loved
Nara the most is that they are
h
about 1,500 free-roaming deer.
there is a city in Japan where
humans and deer roam freely t
and it has been like that for ceo
They mainly roam around
Nara
which is Japan
'
s largest city
p
also contains many of Nara's
treasures
.
However, it is very
cl
the city's greatest treasure are
deer. And just when you thou
could not get any better
,
it
does.
can feed the deer. There are
ve
in the park that sell shika semb
crackers) and you give to the
and befriend them and feel
like
are in a Disney Princess
Movie!
though these deer are cute and
i
cool that you can feed these
d























.
nd th
em, t
ake
note: They are
t,ef
ne
e
deer.
They are still
wild
·of
tam
·11
.bl
. .
1
an
d the
y can stl
poss1 y
aJ!lflla S
,
.
or
atta
ck yo
u
.
tnte
I
c
an go
on
and on about how
h I
ha
ve see
n so
far on my two-
muck
•ourn
ey t
hrough
Japan, but
I
do
,,ee
J
·11
.
h
ve
ti
me as
I
am stl expenenc-
not a
.
.
.
0
muc
h in t
his amazmg
country.
mgS
.
.
~
au
take
away
one
thmg from my
It
y
h.
J
.
letter,
plea
se tak
e away
t 1s: apan 1s
uch
a beau
tifu
l
,
vast
country that has
a rich history and culture. I encourage
everyone to visit Japan at least once
and experience what the country has
to offer and not just the cherry blos-
soms and anime that Japan is known
for, though by all means experience
that if you wish. Until my next letter
from Japan,
I
will talk to you all later!
Arigato
,
Monique Barrow
The Throne of the Garnet Fairy
Olivia
Myers
'25









90
Villain
Carley Van Buiten '23
I pull out of your driveway
,
the image of you crying, head in your
hands, getting smaller and smaller in
my rearview mirror
.
My body shakes
as I drive, from the uneven road or
the anxiety of leaving you: I can't tell.
Our whole relationship flashes before
my eyes as someone's life does when
they are about to die
.
The good, the
bad, I want to remember it all. My
mind stops like a stuck record on the
memory of you driving me home from
our first date. Our bodies shook then
as mine does now, from the uneven
road or our excited nerves: I couldn't
tell. I remember you dropping me off
and waiting until you saw me disap-
pear behind my front door, knowing I
was safe, to pull off and drive yourself
home. That overwhelming feeling of
being loved drapes over me the way
a warm hug does on a hot day when
it all feels too much, too suffocating.
You loved me in that all consuming
way that I could never return. I tried
to love you in the way you loved me.
I thought if I wanted it bad enough I
eventually would. But that's not how
love works
.
I'm driving away from you
now, the street lights illuminating the
wet road in tints of white, green, and
red, I don't wait to watch you make it
inside the way you did for me. I feel
my face twisting as I start to cry in
that ugly way you can't control. I
ugly. Not in a superficial egotisti
way. In a deeper, more painful
that makes you question your c
acter. I don't understand how I
have been loved so fully and
not
loved back. My brain flips to us
in
Virginia Beach. Me, you, your
m
are all floating in the pool togeth
You hold me as your mom holds
She looks right at me and says,
'
you two get married .... " I don't
b
the end of the sentence. Only
that
word, "married". My head is
abo
water but I imagine this is what it
like to drown. Drowning victims
always bring the person trying
to
them down with them. People ·
anything to survive.
Just ten minutes ago
wh
ended things with you on your
in the middle of your cool kitch-
en tiles, you looked up at me
wi
tear streaked cheeks
,
and said, "
grandma told me I can't lose
you.
drilled in my head that you are
m
endgame." At this point you
had
your hands up for me to hold.
felt heavy and wet and I couldn't
to hold them anymore
.
I let theID
and watched them swing down
to
side as you hung your head. I
from you, the words won't reach
tongue. I walk out as a villain
wo
leaving behind the chaos they
had




















d I 1cnow at this moment I am
ensue .
.
·
uain
m
your story.
(he
VI
.
"
11 .
E
v
eryone can picture a vi am
the
y
hear the word. Whether it
when
.
he Joker, Cruella De Vil, or Darth
t,e
t
.
·1
1
·
.
V
der
,
th
ey
all share simi ar qua ities.
; can
s
ee that narcissistic smirk,
he~
the h
a
r
s
h cackle, picture the
confident
w
alk
.
We all know the way
the
y
thri
ve
off of chaos and share no
empathy
.
Am
I this type of villain in
your
stor
y?
You believe me to relish in
the
chao
s
I cause but my heart breaks
for
it. My
h
eart breaks for you
.
What
if
not ever
y
villain reli
s
hes in the cha-
os
they en
s
ue, but rather has no choice
in
the matter? Would I have been more
of
a villain in your eyes if I had stayed
without l
ov
ing you or left because of
that
fact
?
It
's
been two years since that
day.
I've
s
tayed away from opportuni-
tie
s
that would allow me to hurt any-
one
the w
a
y I hurt you. I seek out love
unrecipro
c
ated because it is safer than
the
all en
c
ompassing kind I had with
you.
I promi
s
ed myself I would never
love
again in honor of you. But years
allow
the
s
cars to fade and the weight
of
the guilt to lessen and I refuse to
:hrink
my
s
elf to give you more space
.
have come to terms with being the
Villian of
yo
ur story
.
I have come to
0nd
er
s
tand that no matter what you
dlo
everyone i
s
the villain of someone
e
s
'
'Y.(
e
s s
tor
y
at least once in their life.
"
·
he
all ne
e
d a villain that explains
,. ere th
'
in
g
s went wrong so we don't
have to be left in the dark with our
-
selves as the only one to blame. I am
willing to be that buff er for you but I
cannot live the rest of my life in fear
of being the villain in someone else'
s
story
.
I would rather make the mistake
of loving too hard, too much, than not
loving at all.
I'm walking down the side-
walk in my new life, apart from you.
That fall smell of decaying leaves
and cold night air makes me wrap my
arms around myself. The thoughts of
you have begun to fade and distort.
I'm trying to remember a specific
one when he walks by
.
All he says is
"Hi
,
" with a smile and a wave
,
but I no
longer think of you.
I have accepted the role I play
in your story but that does not define
the role I play within my own. You
deserve to be loved by someone fully
just as I deserve to love fully. One day
you will wake up next to the person
who loves you in the way I couldn't
and be thankful I am the villain of
your story
.
91





92
Please leave your message at the sound of
tone.
Ethan Maslyn
'22
Hey.
I've been putting this off for months
Just like every other goddamn thing between us,
But I can't do this anymore.
I just need
a
break from you
And I know our relationship is all
about
breaks
But I mean a real break.
I need to work on myself, get things done
Be who I want to be.
And while I love
staying
inside on my phone with you
It's all hollow.
It's an echo of time well
spent.
Sure, in the moment it feels great
But what do we ever accomplish with each other?
I want to be pushed to be better,
All you do is make me comfortable
With my own mediocrity.
I try to get you to do things with me,
Fun things that we would love!
Only for you to leave me waiting
Like something you never checked off your to-do list.
Anyway,
I'm done dragging my feet.
Goodbye.







sometimes I Forget That You Are Gone
Anonymous
Sometimes I forget that you are gone,
But other time
s
it hit me like a runaway train
It makes my heart hurt and I feel an emptiness in my chest
Sometimes I forget that you are gone
,
The world does not seem so dark and the sun seems to shine
But then I remember and it makes my eyes rain
,
And I wonder if this pain will ever go away.
Sometimes I forget that you are gone,
And I can hear music and feel its sound
But then I remember your kind words
,
your soft hands
,
the
sound of your voice was like a lullaby before bed, calm and soothing.
Your beautiful face, and kind eyes
the way your hugs were my paradise.
Sometimes I forget that you are gone
it hurts,
I hate it
I hate that sometimes I forget that you are gone,
for I cannot bare the emptiness within me left by your departure
it either forget that you are gone or accepting that you are no longer
In my life






94
summer ritual
Ethan Maslyn '22
We
sat
outside and watched the trees dance in the wind
And wondered what kind of music they listened to.
Bending back and forth, looking like they might break, but laughing the
entire
What would it take for us
to
be like them?
To dance and be free.
I decide to join them in their reveling and they teach me to move as they
do
.
I hear the rustling of their branches alongside my footsteps
And I feel the dewy,
soft
grass beneath my feet.
Mixed in, I can see the sounds of our dancing drifting
Almost like I am Usher at a dance club in Los Angeles
And the music is rattling the drink in my hand,
I've never been to LA though.
The moon
stares
down at us from its perch in the sky
And thinks:
"All
of these kids are cracked"
Just because we
'
re not afraid of the newspaper boys
.
I can taste the sweat dripping down my face and I wonder
What will the world look like by the time we're done?
Will we still be dancing in this club, this electric forest?
We walk the streets in a daze,
Coming down from the high of pulsing music
And flashing neon lights that tell us who we are.
I wonder what the trees are listening to tonight.




































Tea Pa
.
rty
Olyvia Renae Young '25
Second Place, Poetry
ain w
as
a cold, wet blanket
'fbe
~e bir
ds
were drinking their tea.
~
d wa
s
h
owling and ringing in my ears,
"
Ill
d
.
.
and
wate
r
blurre my v1s1on
.
tdY
clothe
s
burned my skin,
bUJ11
idity filled my
_
taste buds,
.
and
the herbs brewmg smelled hke home.
To
be
over
st
imulated would be an understatement
t,ec
ause
,
h
ear
ing color and seeing sound
lifts
you up and drops you to the ground.
M
ary
Jane
o
f Boston Proper wore a glittery
robe
and
s
hined and sparkled.
She
drank
c
offee with the birds
.
Th
e
rain fo
rg
ed and poured and ruined the land,
all
with the
s
lightest of hands
.
Th
e
drops
fe
ll to the ground with ample swagger,
boy
do the
y
have the moves like Jagger.
Wh
en
the b
i
rds refused more of Mary Jane's coffee,
She
threw out all their tea.
"Wh
y
wou
l
d you fear the known?"
The
rushin
g
water felt the sadness
,
but
it
appeared to be beaming with joy.
Mary
Jane began to fly away
15
Mi
ss
O
w
rote this script,
lbe
was torn apart to depart.
Tho
ugh
now
s
he's living her dream
~
she
'
s w
a
tching the city gleam.
~
rything turned out okay, and as the clothes
'l1ie
g styled
s
tart to sing, she wipes a tear away.
"II
8
tear leaves her cheeks purple
An
allo D
e
lla Vita" they weep.
L._
td th
e rain
s
till fell in blankets,
uu
the b
.
ird
s
had finished their tea
.
95









96
Neon Giants
Alex Deger '22
Billy covered his eyes with a
blanket, acutely aware of every shad-
ow that moved around his bedroom.
His desk lamp lit the room in a haze
of orange that comforted him from
what unknown terrors lurked in the
hidden corners of his room. Moon-
light peeked through his window,
but this offered him no comfort, this
was a light of the night and couldn't
be trusted. Everything about night
terrified him, but all he could do was
hide under the covers until exhaustion
would finally take his anxieties away.
This wasn't one of those
nights. He heard an unfamiliar knock
on his wooden door that was neither
the stern echoing knock of his mother
or the soft careful knock of his father.
This knock had a musical rhythm that
seemed to wait for a response. The
boy gave no response but clung to his
blankets tighter. The door opened a
crack and a gray eye peered into the
room.
"Billy. It's grandpa. You still
awake?" Said the grandfather, already
knowing the answer
.
The blanket blob moved
slightly and made a small eye hole
so he could return his grandfather's
gaze. He obviously had to make sure
it wasn't a monster using his grand-
father's voice to deceive him. Billy
finally lowered his blankets enough to
make a hole to peer out of.
Billy
his grandpa well enough; they
li
an hour away from each other.
It
enough distance to keep them
re
strangers that saw each other se~
times a year
.
"I just talked to your
m
She's upset you're still sleeping
light on. I tried to talk to her,
but
know how she is. I told her she
one when she was eight too, but
said it's different with you. She
that you're scared of everything.
cially the dark.
If
you'd like, I
you a story. A story about why
wrong and you're right. A story
why you should be very scared
of
dark
.
"
Billy saw an opportunity
have his fears that everyone
wro
as irrational to be rationalized.
secretly always wanted a
monster
jump out of his closet and
drag ·
away as he screamed to his
pare
(especially his mom) "I told
you
He nodded his head with trepi
and the grandfather's story
com-
menced.
"Alright, Billy. This
t
place years before your mom
was
born. I had just proposed to g
and was across the country
trying
make a buck to give her the
w
she deserved. I quit my job as
an
trician and tried to make my fo


























avel
i
ng salesman. God, the junk
.ca
tr
..,
d
to
h
a
ve to try to sell out of
1use
.
V
.
OJdsrnobile. acuums, magazme
111~scriptions, all sorts of stuff. I'd like
: think
J
was pretty good at my job,
blJI
it bec
a
me much easier when
I
got
the
perfect product. Encyclopedias.
l)o
you know what Encyclopedias
are
,
Billy
?
They are these s~t of books
dial
contain knowledge on Just about
everythin
g.
Everything from aardvark
to
zyzzyv
a.
Do you know how easy it
is
to sell knowledge?
If
you ask just
about any person if they want to be
smarter
,
n
i
ne times out of ten you'll
get
a ye
s a
nd that tenth person is
probably not someone worth having
around
_;
,
So
,
there I was in my Old-
smobile with a trunk full of sample
encyclopedias. Every night I would
fall
a
s
leep reading them. The one big
problem with reading them every
night
is th
a
t it gave me quite the ego,
I'
m
not proud to say. I thought I knew
everythin
g
. I was wrong.
I
w
as on the edge of the
Rocky
M
o
untains out in Colorado, it
l'as
late
,
a
nd my eyes were heavy with
the
Weight of the day
.
Those days I
~ve unt
i
l I couldn't. There was noth-
lllg
on that highway but power lines
~d
tree
s
. To my surprise I saw a light
Ill
th
·
'
e di
s
t
a
nce that looked like the sun
Peeki
"1ar
ng o
v
er the horizon. I drove to-
bri
ds it and the light got brighter and
It
ghter. The source began to emerge
.
Wa
s
a
town lit up like the Christmas
tree we had last year
.
I was drawn to it; your
grandma always
s
ay
s
that my curi-
osity will get me in trouble and here
she was especially right. As I drove
closer to the town, a sign appeared;
"Welcome to Little Falls: Town of a
Million Lights." Now I'd come across
quite the large amount of tourist traps
driving across the country. I've seen
them advertising the world's biggest
hairball or actual pictures of Bigfoot
,
but I'd never seen anything like this.
I parked the car and began to explore.
All these lights on and I didn't spot a
single person but every light you could
imagine. Lamps, neon signs, candles
,
lanterns. I've never felt something so
bright and yet so empty.
I stood there alone until I
heard music muffled in the distance. I
trudged on towards it. I recognized the
tune as something my grandparents
used to listen to. It
'
s a classical song
called
Ride of the Valkyries. It
'
s sup-
posed to be about some gods leading
men to heaven or something like that.
I learned that from one of those ency-
clopedias
.
I followed the loud crescen-
dos to the town welcome center. The
s
ign said welcome, but the building
said everything but. I knocked on the
door and a squeaky voice responded,
"
Come on in."
Inside the welcome center was
a short man with glasses, he was bald
on the top, and on the side of his head
were brown and gray hairs fighting for
9'i







98
...
control. A heavy mustache weighed on
his mouth and made you question if a
top lip existed under there.
"Welcome to Little Falls, how
can we help you?" he asked.
He stared with blue icy eyes
that I don't remember ever blinking.
I told him I was an encyclopedia
salesman and was curious about all
the lights. I was also curious about the
lack of other people but was unsure I
wanted an answer to that question.
What he said to me I' 11 never forget.
"We keep all these lights on to
keep the giants away."
I was
stunned.
Before I could
ask more, the man in the welcome
center asked me questions about the
encyclopedias. I went into salesman
mode and told him how much better
his life could be with more knowledge.
The whole time I was thinking about
these giants. After I was done, the
man told me he wanted fifty sets. He
was so curious about everything I had
to say
.
Now, usually I sold one or two,
maybe five, but never fifty. I wrote
him up a slip, he gave me a check, and
told him I'd be back in a few months.
I'm riding the high of my big-
gest sale while driving away from Lit-
tle Falls. I had not forgotten about the
giants though. I had read every line
of the encyclopedias multiple times
including the section on giants. They
weren't real. Giants were not real.
If
they were, it made these books in the
back useless and by association, made
me useless
.
That didn't just
mad, it made me furious. So
ly, I hit the brakes and looked
at the faint glow that was the
I was ready to drive back and
that little guy right in his mus
I was young and flailing against
unknown. I had a foul idea,
one
I've regretted ever since. I
drove
the power line that went
directly
to the town. I grabbed my
tool
from the trunk and climbed
the
like I did back in my electrician
I hacked the wires to shreds,
th
and sparks shot all over the
gro
As I began to climb down, I co
Little Falls in the distance as
all
lights shut off all at once
.
I drove away from the
of my crime as quickly as possi
didn't need to be calling your
from a Colorado p
_
rison telling
cut down power lines to prove
a
As I got further away, I saw so
thing I hadn't seen in quite aw
was another pair of headlights.
headlights were coming behind
shining with the purest white
I'd
seen. Maybe I was sleep-depri
maybe the words of the caret
playing with my head. Some
stories can do that. At that mo
the headlights blinked. Just
like
I was obviously startled; I
could
at this point they were eyes to
a
black mass. It rose about fifty
the
sky
just about as tall as the
looked like the stretched-out sh




































n
It
began to
r
each towards
3iJla
.
Old
s
m
o
bile. I thought of the
tbC
taJcer
's
words about light keeping
r;lfC
.
ant
s aw
ay and I turned the car
tbC
gi
d and shone my headlights right
,ro
un
.
'
h
. .
d
. It
co
ve
red 1t
s
s mmg eyes an
~
\nto th
e
woods
.
I could still see its
dark
head
o
ver the trees as I turned the
around
a
nd drove faster than I ever
:
in my
l
ife
.
I u
s
ually slept in my car:
,
but I
geed
ed
th
e s
ecurity of a bed that night.
H
ound
a
m
otel with a lit-up neon
vac
ancy
sig
n about thirty mile
s
away
fro
m
the i
nc
ident. I locked my room
tigh
t
and buried myself in a mountain
of
blanket
s
like you are right now
Th
e
next day
,
I asked the mo-
lel
manag
er
about Little Falls. He said
it
w
as
an odd town, but it was a real
sham
e
wh
a
t happened to it. I asked
him
to explain and he
s
aid he heard
fro
m
the p
o
lice that a freak
s
torm
came
throu
g
h last night and destroyed
iL
I knew
it
was no storm. A monster
was
respo
ns
ible, and it was me.
A
ft
er the Little Falls incident
,
I
gave
up l
i
fe on the road and begged
~
my
s
te
a
dy job back. I
s
ettled back
in
to
life wi
t
h your grandma. I didn't
:
h that
c
heck and still have it at
me
to r
e
mind me what happened
;
~en
!
thought I knew everything that
e
s
in
th
e
dark
.
horr·
Billy wa
s
both comforted and
lfe
~fied b
y
hi
s
grandfather
'
s story
.
act
s
lo
w
ly unraveled his blanket
cocoon as the
s
tory went on. He patted
his grand
s
on
'
s
s
houlder and began to
leave the room
.
"I never told anyone that story
before
,"
said The Grandfather with
a wink as he shut the boy's bedroom
door.
There he was again
,
alone
with the story going through his head.
He thought to himself that this was
just his grandpa mes
s
ing with him.
That story couldn't be real. There
was no way. In an act of both bravery
and defiance, he got up and shut off
his bedroom light. Thi
s
was the first
time darkne
s
s gave him any comfort.
He got up and walked around with
nothing but
·
moonlight shining his
way. He looked out his window to
s
ee
this world of the night clearly for the
first time. Two lights in the distance
got his attention. They shone brighter
than moonlight with the pure
s
t white
·
he'd ever seen
.
As he stared at them
with curiosity in his eye
s
, the lights
blinked.
95










100
The Broken Environment
Julianna Buchmann '23
Green grass, pastel pink roses, blue delphinium, and yellow posies.
Crystal clear water, four seasons, decent weather, and happy
reaso
Icebergs floating, forests growing, the sun is glowing, but not
over
8
Bees buzzing, polar bears plunging, water flowing, and children
kn
Forest fires, dry grass, losing grip, and burning gas.
Dying bears, dying bees, dying people, dying trees.
We fall into a pit of fire
When using gases not
Good for the environment.
If we keep on this way
Of usage, we'll be
Lucky if we make
It past this large
Nuisance.
Or soon
We will
Be
gone.




Sunset Over Water
Emma Isabel '25
IC






102
The Girl in the Moon
Natalie Garrison '22
She stays awake all night
Staring out the window at the sky
Wondering why
She can't close her eyes
She's lost
And she's lonely
But she finds comfort
In the moon and it's glowing
People ask her
How's it going?
She tells them she's fine
Most of the time
Sometimes she lets herself
Pour out her soul
An ocean
That's harsh and cold
She finds control in certain things
She needs it or outward she bleeds
But something tells her to
Just
Let
Go
It's the moon's lesson
To the lonely
lost girl
To loosen her hold















5a
ys
the moon to the girl
J
will
command the sea
f
o
brin
g
y
ou home
s
afely
1be
girl
clo
s
es her eyes
Un
til
it
i
s
s
unrise
No
longe
r
does she cry
1(







104
The Pagan's Final Voyage
August Boland '24
I
shivered
in the cold
As the wind assailed my cheeks
And drew on my beard
I waited on the shoal
As the moon light leaked
Through the clouds it did leer
I awaited a black boat
While the far ferryman meek
Gazed upon me weird.














The Power of Music
Emma Isabel '25
i
arn mu
sic
.
a
s
bo
rn
a long time ago
,
but I am immortal.
:
:n
g
le
w
ith tho
s
e who intersect my path
,
and
I
Po
ss
e
ss a
power that no one else has.
iw
as bo
rn
a long time ago
,
but I am immorta
l.
(
make p
e
ople laugh or cry at a moment's notice.
I
Pos
s
e
ss a
power that no one else has.
l
guide m
y
followers through the good and the bad.
I
make p
e
ople laugh or cry at a moment
'
s notice.
I
fa
s
ten
m
elodies and harmonies and lyrics together.
l
guide m
y
followers through the good and the bad.
I
take pe
o
ple from all walks of life
a
nd unite them as one.
l
am
the
u
niversal language
.
I
mingle
w
ith those who intersect my path, and
l
am
the
n
eedle that mend
s
the fabrics of the world.
l
am
mu
si
c.
1
0







106
The Return
Kevin Pakrad '23
It's cold. The wind that touches my face is unkind.
I'm not where I'm
supposed
to be. Where--
Am I supposed to be?
My room awaits-- something warm, cozy --yet, I cannot--
The lie is gone. A lie that I loved. That warmth is a lie.
LED bullshit.
I cannot
Return.
I miss love.
It's the warm sound I hear every time I
Turn on the TV. Listen to music.
Forever
..
.In love ..
.
In love-- I know when something fits right.
You can't convince me otherwise. My jacket
Fits right. Not only the stitching, but it belongs
A part ofme.
Where have I walked? The city is frozen. No one knows I'm here
Except for the sidewalk. Don't tell them. I'm tired.
The wind tried to stop me and still, I made it this far. Maybe
I should listen
To the blows
For when it's time
To Return.








The Triump~ of Icarus
Gabriella Amleto '24
Icarus never
screamed,
He howled
Icarus howled with the upmost excitement
Icarus never feared
He was comforted
Icarus found the wind a thrill
Icarus never listened
He wanted to learn
Ic
a
rus
wanted his final moments to be
something
worth telling
Icarus never
intended
to fly
He intended to fall
Icarus knew falling was the experience he wanted out of life
The feathers flew around him
A beautiful final
sight
His skin felt on fire
A beautiful final feeling
His voice was hoarse, but he continued to howl,
A beautiful final note
All at once, he was absorbed into the frigid ocean
A beautiful finale.
1(









108
the wonder
Hor Mahmoud (H)
'24
This is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart.
The wonder that is keeping peace from touching my mind.
you have never been honest and you never will
just like I've never questioned you and I never will
so with all of your wondering words - that you call honesty
tell me, dear.
look me in my eyes: the ones you once described as heaven.
look me in my eyes: the ones now full of heavenly swords.
tell me, did you ever love me
?
or was it my incapability of rejecting you?
tell me, dear
,
on a scale of IO to I
Do you love who I've become?
cause I hate who I've become
trying to separate my feelings from my thoughts
Tell me, dear,
on a scale of I to _IO
Do you like the new me?
Cause I hate the new me
.
with all your hurtful words
-
that you call being candor -
Tell me
,
love.
Did you ever love me
?
Me
The "me" that wanted to fix you
The
"
me" that wanted to leave you in peace.
you embraced my pain when no one else was around.
then said goodbye not knowing I find comfort in the sound.
believe me, you
'
re not the first nor the last one to be gone.
and that is the wonder that is keeping me up until dawn.
this is the wonder that is keeping my nightmares awake.
What if I'm the monster that's been here all along
?








Trains
Hannah McMahon '24
fof
a while I've had thi
s
fixation with trains
.
N
ot like
t
he infra
s
tructure or how they work or where they go, but the people who
oc
cupy them.
trepeat
e
dly have this fantasy where
I
see someone
I
know on a train and every-
o
ne el
s
e
o
n it ha
s
no choice but to watch the interaction between u
s
unfold.
It
'
s like
t
his subconscious obsession of how
I
exist or who
I
could be in someone
else'
s
m
i
nd. Like what story they could create from the interaction between me
and thi
s o
ther person
.
what clues would be revealed as the conversation between
us unfold
s
. and if these clues support their original suspicions or not.
I think i
t'
s because I'm normally on the other end of it.
I
have very few hobbies,
but if you looked at the list you'd see "eavesdropping" scribbled somewhere on it.
N
aturall
y
I wonder about the reversal. Who eave
s
drops on the eavesdropper?
I have this memory of myself a few years back, sitting on my radiator, staring out
the
win
d
ow and just wishing
I
could be invisible, simply so
I
could listen to the
convers
a
tions that would take place seconds before my presence was known
.
This
thought
c
aught me off guard, and it bothered me that my initial wish was to be a
fty
on th
e
wall rather than to have a place within the conversation.
It
'
s like
t
his fear that my being there would disrupt the conversation altogether.
Change it. Dilute it. Make it less interesting. And at the same time,
I
know that
t
hat
I
r
e
ally fear, is that if
I
was there as an equal member of the conversation,
lmay di
s
cove~ that what they're talking about, is really not that interesting after
ail.
Tha
t
the thing that made it interesting, was only knowing bits and pieces and
not the full story.
~
rather
,
the thing that made it interesting is filling in the spaces between the
~
~
s
and pieces of the story.
I
am what makes it interesting. My imagination is
at rn
a
kes it interesting
.
but that
's
also why
I
want the reverse.
1(
















110
I
guess
I romanticize the idea that
someone
could have a perception of
me b
on a half-solved riddle
.. and
how the picture that gets created can be more
b::~
~
ful than the reality.
h-
I guess I just want to be
seen
in the light that I
see
others in. but the idea
that
someone
could see me in that way only works if it's
someone
I don't know in
.
.
.
re
al
hfe. Just
someone,
say on a tram, who
sees
one fragment of my existence and n
the multifaceted entity that is me.
01
The
Observe
rs
·24
Megan
Byrnes












two very ill foxes
Jeremy Skeele '23
pair
o
f
them
,
a
ch at the end of their journey
:arvel
e
d at the land of lights
50
new
for
cre
a
tures from a
world
s
o old
they
s
a
w
all the beauty
we had created
and th
e
pain that came with it
they sa
w
we had
made them into idols
withou
t
inviting them in
one stray muttered
about the wish
to
awake under the
electric current of the sky
the oth
e
r comforted
"
i'd rather be dying
Under the
s
tars
~an tr
a
pped
s
afe
ID
a World of light"
atid the two creatures
found
s
olace
agreein
g
on final thoughts
before
r
e
s
t
11





112
ugly red roses
Hor Mahmoud (H) '24
ugly
i sit with those gold rings on my fingers
and think about all the happiness drugs hold over us
and how much we forbid every source of happiness we have access
to
we throw our emotions down on a piece of paper
and we look at them, name them, edit them, perfect them
as if making the words pretty will make the emotions any less ugly
ugly
what life can do to you
what your mind can bring to the table
what drugs can't fix about you
what insecure people are capable of -
red roses in a clear vase
standing tall
lasting for months and months
and i wonder if they
'
re aware of their fakeness
that they're only here to make our living rooms a little more lively
and when we turn to
lifeless, breathless entities
to bring life to our empty homes
that's when you know it's the end of the tunnel











Untitled
Yvette Bien-Aime
'24
1
think
I
am a monster
cursed to forever foster
vnrivaled
chaos and animosity
fhese
demons
that live inside of me
pjque
a
morbid curiosity
In
which
i will falter
Becoming the embodiment of toxic waters,
I
think
i
am a monster
My
kis
s
a lethal poison from which lovers will choke
me,myself, my future,
An
everlasting joke
But who am I to cry tears of the unwoken
In
fear
I'
11 be forever broken
My
pain to go unspoken, a blood riddled token of my
shame
An
all
too
familiar representation of the pain
flowing through my veins
I
promise you I'm not insane ... no, merely
Untamed
11










114
Untitled
Yvette
Bien-Aime
'24
I am chaos incarnate
Agony my varnish
Cut from stone, frozen cold
Marbled with pain and tarnished
With imperfections
I
am garnished
Served on a platter,
Bruised
and battered
It
'
s no wonder I
am
frostbit
But
this internal hell will melt me well
And soon
I
will reign
Carnage
Silverware
Shower
Jamie
Goodman
'23










Waters Passing Through
Lidija Slokenbergs '22
First Place, Poetry
She c
a
n't seem to realize
'fhey
'r
e on the same battered track;
she just polished off some rust, but see
,
'fhe r
i
ng's already black;
she tries to tell herself there
'
s hope,
she t
ri
es to stall;
But h
e
no longer wears his wedding ring at all.
Hand
i
n hand by the Venice waters
,
When life possessed such ease
,
Wand
e
ring tourists, drunk and lost,
That'
s
the vision she still sees;
They
'r
e still wandering,
But n
o
longer hand in hand-
They
'
r
e tourists in the spaces
That
t
hey used to understand.
They
l
ive together in a lonely existence,
Her e
y
es swim in daydreams,
Hi
s
ti
e
smells of shame;
Days pass by in the window reflection
,
Days
t
hat once were but can't remain;
And though she loves him deeply,
She
'
s
s
till stuck in '93
,
Waiting for that rustle of the door,
Waiting for the man she knew before
.
And
s
ometimes she will say to him
"
Let'
s
go back to Venice,
In
Ve
n
ice life is easier,
~ere
'
s
time for you and me";
1 don
'
t have time for Venice",
~~t'
s
the answer he will give;
Its
a
place that's slowly sinking,
1




116
Slowly sinking, so are we
"
.
Still she can't seem to realize
They're on the same battered track,
There's a life
s
he knew before,
She
's
set her mind to win it back;
But a ship that's going down
Just can't be saved;
The captain's left his post and
Sent his darling to the grave.
And quietly she says to him,
"Let's go back to Venice,
In Venice life is easier,
There's time for me and you";
He laughs
,
"Do you really think that Venice will remember?
Venice doesn
'
t care about old
Waters passing through".
They live together
,
but they're keeping a distance;
What point is there now of a household to share?
He's found someone else
And she too loves another-
A soul that's escaped, but its shell is still there;
She's packed her bags for Venice,
One-way ticket now in hand;
She'll search the narrow streets forever-more
;
Still searching for the man she knew before.








Words on a Page
Shannon C. Connolly '24
I wa
n
na live on a page forever.
(.,ivi
n
g in the minds, mouths, and movements-
of
those who have gazed upon my residence.
I wa
n
na live on and sit on in the schoolhouses
,
In
th
e
bookshelves, on the chalkboards,
on
the tongues of those who chose to learn, so that later, they could teach.
J
wa
n
na live on as the reason someone finally decides to be inspired.
Live on as the reason someone woke up and chose to be courageous,
To d
o
something I could never do.
I wanna live on like all the rest before me, but to live on-
Nothing like them at all.
I wanna live on like the Hemmingways, the Poes, and the Brontes.
I wa
n
na live on like the ones who inspired me to live on.
1







118
Your Private Shore
August Boland '24
Third Place, Poetry
I saw from afar
A man in black
With eyes of gold
And hair of scarlet
He stood with a lady
Dressed in green
And a person of God
Dressed in blue
They walked to the shore
Aside the foam
Where the blue lapped yellow
And spoke of times ago
When the time was
Before the colors
And they spoke of the past
Immemorial were they
We spoke while the moon
Hung high in the sky
And spoke until it met the sea
And the ocean birthed a globe
A globe of gold
In the morning they vanished
And I stood alone
On an abandoned shore
I stared where they stood
Their presence gone
Their footprints vanished
Their words hanging
As I thought of them
And I shivered in the breeze
My breath a fog before me
The water lapping at my feet.






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