The Emerald 2023-2024

Art Credit: Michael Wright ‘25

Art Credit: Layla Joseph ‘25

Special Thanks to:

THE CREATIVE WRITING CLUB

Moderator: Ms. Gina Bittinger

ART DEPARTMENT

Mrs. Mia DeCrescenzo

Ms. Mia Ippolito

Art Credit: Beatrice Daverso ‘24

“Girlhood:

A Comprehensive Recount”

Lily Patullo ‘25

Dollhouses

Belly laughs

Holding hands

Eyes full of promise

“What’s this?”

Singing in the shower

Sleepover secrets

Beating boys at kickball

Discovery of makeup

“Do you think he likes me?”

Professional gift giving

Weekend mall trips

Existential discourse

Screams muffled by pillows

“Can you check me?”

“I’m home” texts

Hugs that last a lifetime

Long winded rants

Incomprehensible rage

“Am I showing too much skin?”

Excessive amounts of photographs

Bathroom rendezvous

Tear tracks marked by mascara

Notes that say “I love you”

“Have you eaten today?”

Understanding.

Art Credit: Olivia McNamara ‘27

Art Credit: Olivia Pawela ‘25

“Losing Myself”

Jacob Michaud ‘24

He stole my friends and fame

He stole my reigning respect

Now I feel awfully ashamed

Trying to avoid this everlasting effect

He has overtaken my thoughts

Revenge was the one thing I sought I couldn’t bear it anymore

I just had to even the score

So I stole his handsome hairstyle I stole his praised personality

My peers said I’d gone wild

Because he is all I wished to be

It wasn’t ’til then I lost my friends and fame

It wasn’t ‘til then I lost my reigning respect

Now I feel absurdly ashamed

Hoping this is not an everlasting effect

He was simply sharing

He wasn’t strategically stealing

Our friends loved me for me and him for him

It was our differences that made us fit in

I realize now my loss is not his gain

Foolish how I changed to keep the fame

It was not my friends, not my respect at cost It was only myself that was lost.

“My

Grandmother”

Madison Gozdan ‘24

She’s lived many years yet we find things in common. Alike in our imperfections, a glass half empty we see; but positivity is all she preaches to me. As the days pass she looks back. Her heart is black, and it is up to me to make these years count.

I cherish our time and everything she’s taught me because I can’t imagine my life where it isn’t we. I just want to say I love my Grandma and can’t wait to make many more memories.

Art Credit: Brian Arnold ‘24

“Black Cat”

Katie Balint ‘24

I saw an old black cat today and watched him pass by a tree near my house. He stood there, staring at me. His plump body, warm and round, had a large pink scar running down his side. He was missing tufts of fur like a worn-out blanket. I thought of holding himwith his tough ancient skin against mine, soft and young. I looked into his eyes. They were big, like mine, and looked like they have seen more of the world than I have. He looked away uninterested and marched on with purpose. As he left, I wondered Will I ever see him again?

“The Bait”

Jack Tartamosa ‘24

I cast my line upon the tranquil lake, And patiently I sit, awaiting fate’s dictate. Yet in the stillness, I confront the stark truth, Loneliness echoes from the depths, uncouth.

Helpless, my bait suspends in the air, A silent plea for destiny to declare. The hook, a cruel pierce upon its frame, It feigns contentment, bearing silent shame.

An actor on life’s desolate stage, It dances with fate, a scripted cage. Then, in the distance, a shimmering wish, A fish approaches, a fleeting dish.

To end the torment, to close the strife, A fallen soldier, relinquishing life. With the catch secured, the bait is spent, Yet emptiness lingers, a hollow lament.

In the silence of victory, an echoing space, A soul adrift, a vacant place.

Art Credit: Harriet Faye ‘25

“Tulips”

Beatrice Daverso ‘24

In the brisk, numbness of dead winter

A hope springs out of the ground

Short green stems like a promise of serenity

A change among the stillness

The tulips are coming

As the quiet Earth begins its warm hug

Bright colors at the bulb hint at regeneration

The frozen soil begins to thaw

The sun begins its welcome

Green stems grow like skyscrapers in the city

The tulips are coming

All around sparks of bright pink

Orange like the sunset

And energized yellow spring from the Earth

Wave to the newly formed sweet springtime

While the long earthly stems sway in

The peaceful wind, promises of joy are fulfilled

The tulips are here.

“Rose”

Lila Kelleher ‘24

You planted a rose. Ascended under some soft grass. Up a fence, down the bend I remembered to pass.

I knew language was made of roses. I knew people were made of poses. What opposes roses? Nothing. I think. You planted a rose Red and wild Wunderkind. Unrest.

I pricked my finger That day I learned To forgive Fault—I’d decided to take hold, A rose has to protect itself Like a book by its prose That flower Was a beautiful rose.

Art Credit: Kayla Balzer ‘25

“Oliver”

Sophia Palumbo ‘24

My dog is a good friend he’s loyal and humble and adores his family with all his little heart, beating with care. He’s getting old. Older and older. I sit and stare, looking at his face. His gray and venerable face has watched me grow from Holy Communion to 8th grade graduation to my first date to my first prom to all these significant life events, he’s been there. Watching me cry while holding him Or when I’m smiling with good news, he has been there. His heart is so pure but getting slower

just like his legs as he struggles to run in the yard. As hard as he tries My good friend is tired. He’s getting older and older. I wish I could help as much as he’s helped me. He has eased my pain and calmed many storms in my mind. All I want is my friend to get better because there's so much more to share with him.

I sit and watch him, tired and gray, all I can do is cry watching my best friend in pain. He’s been with me through everything and I wish I could do the same of course, dogs don’t live forever, but all I want is for my good and humble and loyal Oliver to stay.

Art Credit: Maya DiCupe ‘24

Art Credit: Kayla Balzer ‘25

“The

Hydrangea Bush”

Charlotte Capie ‘24

There has always been a hydrangea bush in my backyard. It is my mother’s favorite flower, so I assume that’s why it's there. With its infinite petals and infinite shades of color. It is light green and blue and purple and magenta and every color in between.

I have never asked my mother why it's her favorite flower. Maybe it's the color, maybe it’s the shape. Maybe it's the scent. Maybe the flower is a bridge to a memory she does not want to forget.

She used to spend so much time in the garden in our backyard. When I was young she spent hours every weekend amongst the green leaves and sharp thorns and solid rocks and unending dirt. When my father was there and things were uneasy. When the kitchen was full of hushed disagreements. When our guest bedroom was always occupied. When the hydrangea bush was at its prime beauty. Pruned and strong and vivid.

I can’t remember exactly when she stopped tending to her garden. Maybe it was when she became the only one in the household to tend to me. But the hydrangea bush is overgrown now and its shades are less vibrant. She speaks about the garden less. And I wonder if this is good or bad. Was the garden merely a hobby? Or did the hydrangea bush’s infinite petals and infinite shades of color become the stepping stones of a trail she could follow out of the darkness? Even if only for a few hours.

There has always been a hydrangea bush in my backyard. And I have never asked my mother why it is her favorite flower.

“A New Painting Every Day”

Julia Prete ‘24

I opened the door and let salt air inside

There was a cool breeze along a silent and sleeping town

I look around and realize there’s something special

About the beach at sunrise

You’re alone, but never lonely

Tired, but never exhausted

And anything but lost

As I feel the sand beneath my feet,

I admire the beach’s versatility

The only people dotted along the sand at 5AM are fishers, town locals, and surfers

Yet in just a couple hours

There will be

Families

Partners

Best friends

Loners

Workers

Lifeguards

Vacationers

Rich

Poor

And so many more that transcend society’s standards

As the sun rises over the blue green ocean, Warmth begins to touch my skin

Seagulls roam around unknowingly

Without even realizing the beauty

They experience every single day like clockwork

The sunrise isn’t just the start of a new day

But it’s a time of renewal and continuation

That the only things available are thoughts, Dreams, aspirations, goals, and connections to oneself

Who would’ve thought that

A mere star in the sky could bring so much light

“Times when you’re alone

And all you do is think.”

Art Credit: Kayla Balzer ‘25

“The

Gate Between”

Sally Stavash ‘26

"Why are there gates if nothing is out there?" asked April Evans, standing in front of the rusted iron gates at the edge of the forest surrounding their small town. "What gate?" her friend, November Minison asked. "You don't see the rusted iron gates in front of us?" April asked her. November shook her head, her long brown curls swaying in the breeze. "I don't know April, you're seeing things." "No, I'm not," April protested, "See, I'll show you." With a slight bounce in her step, the redhead touched the iron gate. With a slight creak, the gates opened at her touch, and she felt a sense of curiosity, beckoning her to enter the gates and into the world beyond. "April?" November asked from behind her. But April paid no attention to her friend, and stepped over the gate. "APRIL!" November screamed, seeing her friend vanish into thin air. April blinked as she took in the new world around her, and realized that November was nowhere to be found.

“The

Storm” Eryn Williams ‘24

I stared out the window and watched the rain pour down. The storm sounded like an orchestra. Lightning crashed like cymbals and the rain thudded like drums. The trees swayed back and forth slowly. The sky was dark even though it was only mid-day and the street lights were on. The lights in my house went out and suddenly, I was surrounded by an eerie darkness.

Art Credit: Matthew Peralta ‘24

Art Credit: Nikolai Green ‘25

“Nine”

Averi

La Pata ‘24

“There’s another girl who’s nine!” said the child sitting next to me in the back of my mom’s shiny big black ford as we pulled into the parking lot of my new school. A month before I just turned nine and apparently nine was when the world was supposed to turn upside down.

All the other kids were eight, but this girl was nine just like me. The other girl of nine had big brown eyes and long dark hair just like me and an older sister of the same, just like me.

I didn’t know the girl of nine at the time, but now I know her better than I know myself.

I walked into a brightly colored third grade classroom one warm September morning.

The other girl of nine looked at me and told me her name was Mary.

She came in with a warm smile, hot pink headband, and navy blue Mary Janes.

That day we sat alone together at a gray cafeteria table and spent the whole time laughing.

She told me we had to become friends because she was nine just like me.

We sang Taylor Swift at the top the of our lungs like no one was watching and we still do the same now.

Except now we were no longer girls nine and no longer live life on an empty blacktop.

Blue plaid skirts, American girl dolls, and small voices might’ve gone away but unlike those things we never left.

Now about to be girls of nineteen, we’ve stayed together ever since the first day of third grade, and now it seems like we'll have to say goodbye for a little while sometime soon. but how could that be? We just turned nine in September.

Art Credit: Olivia Pawela ‘25

“Untitled”

Jacob Michaud… “You

can call me

Meesh” ‘24

Foggy, blurred, unfocused in the frame

Is this one character in my game

So much about him I didn’t know

But the sight of him makes my eyes glow

I feel the need to get him unlocked

Before his availability runs out of stock

Still, I don’t know why I’m invested

Now he gleams like a sour green

And feels like a shave without the cream

This must have been an overhyped mystery

For he is not nearly what I thought he’d be

So I’ll just store him in my collection

Doubtful that anyone would give him affection

I’ll leave him to rust as an old game collects dust

I might quit out of this stupid game

Because I do not understand why he has all this fame

Did I treat him too rough?

Or did he just get a deceitful buff?

The sour green looks much different now

Maybe it was me with a judgment so foul

My judgment may be a glitch

Now I’m seeing him under a new light

The sour green was actually a yellow oh-so-bright

I was deceived by the darkness of the evil night

How dare she make me view him with such fright

Yet the evil night lives inside of me

It’s just my pessimistic personality

“The

Beast”

Jacob Michaud ‘24

A fantastic Beast lives in me today

He reminds me He is the source of my decay

So beastly, He fills my system with devastation

Yet so fantastic, He serves as motivation

He makes my stomach scream

He intensifies my heart’s beat

He makes my mind run races

Especially in the worst of places

He is never welcomed, yet he lets himself in

Do we not know that He frankly helps us win?

When He visits, we initially want Him to go away

Only when He exits do we realize how much He’s helped us today

I don’t thank the Beast enough for all His done deeds

So fantastic— the thing I’ll never want, yet the thing I’ll always need

Art Credit: Minh Pham ‘24

“Sunlight”

Mary Picciano ‘24

The dark morning sky loomed While I waited for the sun to bloom. I saw the old man sitting alone

Waiting for a bus to take him to a place that to me was unknown.

His tired eyes staring into the distance As I watched and discerned his existence. His old and wrinkled skin Made him look as outdated as an ancient civilization.

His old and ragged clothes

Presented him like a dejected and wilted rose. His appearance may give some a bit of a fright Since he ceased to exhibit qualities of youth and bright

He pulled out a photo And admired a woman, illustrated whom I did not know Maybe behind his wrinkles and eyebags that gave some fear There were chronicles and recollections he held dear.

The bus arrived, and his journey would begin. I pondered if he was meeting the mystery woman or other kin. He smiled as he boarded the bus and disappeared from my sight And as the sun emerged, painting a beautiful sky, I hoped he would find his sunlight.

Art Credit: Ailish Eccleston ‘24

“Seasons”

Emma Shultz’24

When the winter rolls around, and the leaves fall down the trees strip bare and the sun disappears.

When the winter sets in the colors start to dim the sky turns gray and the grass turns brown.

When the winter begins, you say goodbye to the sun, and goodbye to the beach, and goodbye to the freedom that summer can bring.

When winter appears everything else seems to go away. the sand turns into snow, and the sun hides in fear.

When winter arrives, you pack your bags for school, and say goodbye to your friends, and wait for next summer to begin again.

“Pancreas

1 Gigi 0”

Grace LaCroix ‘24

3 AM. Night.

18-year-old girl sleeping peacefully. No noise, no sound.

Only light from Amazon Alexa and a geode plug-in light. Multiple beeps.

Now becoming louder, turning into sirens.

Something’s gone wrong.

She paws around. Frantically.

Her phone, her insulin pump, they’re somewhere. The things her dead pancreas needs to survive.

In the white glow of the phone screen lies

A pair of tired eyes.

Frustration and tears

Lots and lots of fears.

The number on the screen?

375. Not coming down

The yellow line on the pump, bad news

It’s been that way for a while.

And that can only mean one thing:

The pump site she just put on has breathed its last. Slowly, but surely, she stumbles

Down the stairs, into the kitchen

What to do, how to fix it

Out comes the site, gush, gush

All the blood has pooled at the entry point in a rush

Out comes the new supplies and ketone and blood sugar kit, plop, plop

Poke the finger, place a brand new site

An hour later all is quiet

Ketone and blood sugar levels? Still high

Thirst. Overwhelming thirst

Even lots of water and sleep can’t help her now.

“A

Happy Boy Made of Snow”

Citlalli Ramos ‘26

A happy boy made of snow

With red warm gloves, he kneaded some dough

The sugar in the cookies crystalize

A Christmas miracle before my eyes

Despite the oddity, he keeps on smiling

He puts them in the oven before dialing

Friends and family come over to see

And celebrate the holiday glee

And this little red snow boy?

He’s as happy as he could be

Art Credit: Natalie Gibison ‘27

“The

Stage: My Forever Home”

Gianna Lauria ‘24

I walk into the dark theatre.

Before me, a stage of bygone wood, creaking underfoot. 800 velvet seats waiting to be filled. I walk back to the dressing rooms where A breath of L’oreal hairspray fills my lungs.

The heat of every strand of luminous hair being curled and delicately pinned.

Every costume—both old and new, Being stitched and slipped into by us actors. I swiftly follow this routine.

I, too, powder rose-colored blush onto my smiling cheeks. I, too, apply a red, fiery lipstick onto my lips.

I make the finishing touches.

The heavy curtain awaits to rise.

As I take my place behind it, those hot lights that shine across my glassy face begin to dim.

The sound of the conductor’s stick taps three times against his metal music stand.

It all echoes straight into my eardrums. It is my cue. The percussion instruments and the tone of sleek, brass, golden horns fill the sound of the theatre.

The opening overture plays.

I am slowly transported to another world as I close my eyes and the show begins.

Chills run along my sweaty skin as my dry mouth, full of nerves, begins to open, move, and sing.

My heart beats out of my chest.

My character comes alive. I am home.

“The Poet”

Ryan McGettigan

‘24

Long, long ago I once was a poet, Though before I became one, I didn't even know it. Freshman year passed like the wind, sophomore and junior year too,

Only then did I realize my spewing talent, in writing about you. Not a caring family member, not the love of my life, But you mistakenly inspired my poetry, and I brought you vengeful strife.

A brisk winter school day is where I got my start, My raging piece was deemed offensive, but comedy is all I meant to impart.

Still yet to receive your rebuttal, whether it will happen I doubt, Considering all my talents, what is there to even write about? February just passed, and June will be here soon, Less and less time for a response, with every passing moon. "A poetic genius," is what I hear all the time, The result I never focus on, it's all about the climb. Room 124 with President Sawn is where poetry for me got its birth,

For my future plans, I desire to travel to all parts of the earth. Though not sure where my colorful talent will lead me, I will always remember that beautiful poem I wrote Ms. B.

Art Credit: Michael Wright ‘25

“Sight

and Sound”

Chris Freire ‘24

The sound of the ambulance grew louder as it approached, Like the unending cry of a baby at night.

Then, somewhat paradoxically, the sound began to diminish as I was carried towards it,

Like the dying applause of a massive audience.

The red and blue lights flashed persistently as I got closer, Alternating sides rapidly.

Then suddenly, it was all gone, The wailing sound of the siren, The flashing of lights Gone

And yet I was aware it was gone I couldn’t see or hear

All I could do was feel

As though I was floating in space

“The Window”

Lucas Tillman ‘24

A clear plane of glass

A clear beam of light

An optimistic opening of opportunity

A gateway of gumption

The rays shine through and remind of reminiscent times

Streams of shimmering light that signify those that have taken their bow too early

Too early to see the success that entices and entrances all of us

Though meant to be observed with a quiet reverence it is meant to be shattered

Not out of resentment, but with recollection

Not out of aggression but out of ambition

Art Credit: Tina Tran ‘27

“Maine”

Reagan Stauts ‘24

I went to Maine over the summer And discovered a world that I didn't know existed.

I sat staring at the glistening ocean, With the radiant sun reflecting off of the water as if it were a mirror.

I watched a distant sailboat slowly drift along, minute by minute. I felt the slippery, rigid rocks underneath me, as I pondered how I would need to climb over them all once again to get back to the walkway.

I heard the birds chirping and singing, mixed with the faint sound of waves crashing against the rocks.

With all of this, I felt a wave of tranquility and peace wash over me like they had the rocks in front of me.

I felt a sense of home that I had never felt so quickly in a new place.

I day-dreamed about what life would be like if I had lived here, in the hospitable and friendly small town along the coast of Maine. I quickly decided that at some point, although I was still unsure how or when, that enticing life would be mine, and I would undoubtedly be back in Maine.

“Nostalgia”

Lily Patullo ‘25

Someday

These fleeting moments

Will become fond memories, Will become old photographs,

And we’ll show them to our children and say, “Look at me, look at how alive I was.”

And we’ll give anything to go back.

“Mermaids”

Becky Ambrose ‘24

Soft and easy

The summer breeze blows

As she steps onto the beach

She feels the sand between her toes

Standing here at the edge of the water

She wonders what it’s like

To be the ocean’s daughter

She craves swimming among the crashing waves

And standing here now she enters a daze

In her fairytale land

she lives amongst the fish of the sea

Where she wiggles her pink tale back and forth

With glee

There is no stress - no problems

Just a girl free to explore

All the way down to the ocean floor

Imagining this life

While standing on the shore

She hopes that someday, when this disease ends

She will become a mermaid.

Art Credit: Morgan Haas ‘24

Collection

by Abigail Riley ‘26

Shakespearean sonnet titled "Summer Soulstice: A Sonnet":

I run with two legs, two feet, two shoes-and a mind like yours, dear friend, dear ghost-to go where shared breath may blow wishes to the wind, where shoe soles slip on rocks and souls catch soles.

Even if none can see you, I still run and sprint and skip and swim and spin and yell. Sunkissed skin from basking in our young fun, yet sunsets break upon our blissful spell.

I hear the calls of laughter fade away. I hear the calls on hold for much too long. I hear the calls to wake from dream of day. I hear no more the calls of “play along.”

I grasp the shadow of your mem’rys face. I wish to dream of our forgotten place.

An iambic tetrameter poem titled "From Jerusalem to Salem":

My guilt-ridden shackles root me to the rotting tree that bore me. Far from tree, my apple fallen into the Garden of Eden. To be plucked by sinners, hungry for flesh of curiosity. They dared to love, in their treason they beg “Kyrie Elesion.” The fruit of my womb rots the teeth of pastors, to me, they bequeath: Shackles, for my ripe sinful love, welded by the willow above.

A haiku titled "Seventeen measures of Rest":

Block chords long broken. Eighty-eight layers of dust. Pianissimo

And a free-verse poem titled "Gilded Lilly"

I polish my memories like gemstones.

Rubbing away the grime for hours in my mind, chiseling down the imperfections until I inspect a rainbow of relationships, Iridescent and evanescent as spirits beneath my magnifying glass.

A fools gold crown, adorns my head of rubble flaking with rusted emotions, glittering with crystallized tears, biting into my apathetic temple.

Blood drips from its stones, blinding my eyes and flooding my mouth with metallic regret for my inactivityinadequacyinabilityto be a human.

I polish my memories like gemstones until my reflection disappears.

“The Writers” Keira Shannon ‘24

Ink floods paper like steps on fresh fallen snow. Leaving a mark on a pristine surface. Pens and pencils scratch surfaces and pages. Sounds quiet yet ever present filling the air, joining together to form one. Breaths and sighs and sniffles come from every person. All contemplating the things they think and write. Erasers rub and hands brush away the shavings. Mistakes are made as we tell our stories. But we fix them, and move on, because that is all one can truly do.

Art Credit: Joselin Reyes-Villa ‘25

“Adoration in Indianapolis”

Gianna Giegerich ‘24

Glowing light streams through the darkness

Like the tears racing down my face.

I am alone, yet surrounded A wonderful silence hugs me

From my embrace, I reach out.

My hands, palms open, embracing the impact of His love. A surge more powerful than a car crash, Shatters through me in glorious wonder.

I’m not worthy of this wondrous love, And yet He places it within my heart.

Though noise around me reveals itself,

I’m still, I’m at peace.

A melody around me rings inward,

Rumbling in my stomach, reaching my throat, Then escaping in pleasant praise, The silence hugs me once more.

I’m still, I’m at peace.

Perfection beams from this sun I stare at.

Him at the center, Him in my heart

No thought breaks through, No insecurity gleams.

I’m still, I’m at peace.

Art Credit: Olivia Winkler ‘27

Untitled Miranda Marsan ‘24

My face met the thick night air With a warm, excited smile, As I stared at my bicycle I snuck out to ride. I glance over my shoulder, To ensure I’m not followed, Then I turn back And admire my crime.

She stood on her kickstand, Like a statue on a pedestal Regal and imposing –Yet kind, expectant. I lept on her back, like a jockey Leaping on her swiftest mare, Ready to tame her, once and for all, While summer wind whips in my hair

The sky calls my eye And I gaze back Into the depths of her stars Tense in waiting for my triumph. I focus, squinting ahead, Ready, down the dead-end street I see myself fly in my minds eye And I grip the handlebars tight. As I kick up the stand, Grinning and wild – gracelessly, I fall.

“Hunted”

Young Writers Contest Submission

Maya Mieles

‘26

"I still have nightmares about it," cried Albert. "We were pranking our town on Halloween night, and came up with the best Halloween prank ever!" exclaimed Duncan. "They put blood on me and we told the town that the Mayor had attacked me for no reason," groaned Dickie. "The Mayor was put on trial, found guilty, and was executed," explained Walter. "But at our sleepover, the Mayor appeared at our house alive!" exclaimed Albert. "No one had believed our story, and the town helped the mayor fake his death," complained Duncan. "The mayor killed us!" they shouted in Purgatory.

Art Credit: Olivia Pawela ‘25

“The Surfer” Briana Deiwert ‘24

Oh, purest bliss; I glide along the churning waves, Feeling the icy graze of seawater on my stomach As I paddle towards the orange horizon. A soft sea breeze gently kisses my face, Releasing me of my worries with its relaxing touch. Suddenly, a stillness overcomes the sea beneath me. I feel the water rush inwards; I let it guide me. A tremendous wave begins to form; Its peak reflects the warm hues of the sunset. My arms paddle with all their might, Propelling my board towards the sandy shore. Suddenly, white seafoam rushes beneath me; In one swift movement, I lift myself onto my feet, Gazing into the salmon-colored summer sky. The waves carry me to the land, Eventually setting me gently on the shore, Inviting me for another journey.

Art Credit: Madalyn O’Neill ‘27

“Graduation”

Hailey Luczak ‘24

I am faced with a time full of daunting tasks and decisions, Paving the way for my unknown future. It weighs heavy on my heart, To leave everything I know behind. Anxiety for what is to come, Pressured to plan my life perfectly at the age of 18.

Eager to spend more time with the things most familiar to me. I will miss these simple times

Visiting the ice cream parlor with my closest friends, And countless movie nights with my parents. I look toward my older friends for guidance, The ones who have already been forced to move on, And I am surprised to see their bright faces as they talk about “The best decision they’ve ever made.”

Will I be as certain a year from now?

I watch their varying new beginnings and Suddenly, a new emotion appears One of excitement and anticipation. This is not a time of pure conclusion, But that's a new opportunity. I feel comfort through the millions of teenagers before me, And with me,

Who also experiences this jolting change of course. As the months go on I begin to embrace the inevitability, And will allow myself to flourish in the unknown.

“The

Drink”

Caroline Gardner ‘24

I went to Starbucks today And saw a new drink on the menu. It’s not my usual latte, But I’ll be open to something new! It was a pretty pink color, With whipped cream and a cherry on top. I told myself, “that looks too sweet!” But I ordered the drink as soon as it dropped. The drink was not good, I knew from the first sip. It looked like Valentine’s day, But it tasted like...sugar! I saw all the kids on tiktok Lovin’ on this drink, And felt bad sending it back With it being Valentine’s day and oh so pink! But then I saw a Karen, Complain about this drink: She sent it back, got her cash back And got an iced tea in a blink! So I looked at this frappe, Toxically pink, And felt no remorse When I got a new drink.

“Glasses” Nick Liu ‘24

I have yet to lose vision, –Some objects in my world Have become unclear in my eyes–Similar to a phone camera, That has lost its focus, Only to gain clarity,

“The

Sasha

Gift of Piano”

Barnett ‘24

Piano, the most popular musical instrument. All 52 white keys are as colorless as snow, With the remaining 36 black keys as dark as coal. The hitting of keys mimics the sound of ringing bells. Playing the piano brightens one’s mood like sunshine after a thunderstorm.

Each distinct note is as unique as God has created human beings.

Art Credit: Nikolai Green ‘25

Art Credit: Caroline Gardner ‘24

“The Scarecrow”

Tristan Green ‘24

I couldn’t run for much longer. After turning a corner in the maze, I stopped to catch my breath, thinking how I got in this mess, and how to escape. I remember arriving at the cornfield with my friends. I remember pointing out the uncannily realistic scarecrow. I remember being laughed off by them, before the scarecrow croaked to life, swinging his scythe at each of us, narrowly missing me. I took off running, dashing through the maze’s turns. I now look up and realize I’ve reached a dead end. The scarecrow blocks my path, wearing a twisted stitched smile.

“When In Rome”

Aurelia Harp ‘24

I stepped out of the airport

And into the noisy, bustling sounds of Rome. The air was different here. The stony, narrow streets felt uneven Beneath my American feet.

The air was hot as a grill in the summertime. The people moved quickly, like they were always on their way to an important meeting.

At evening time, you could smell the savory aromas of the countless trattorias, serving the freshest foods. The food was always presented beautifully, like a colorful bouquet of flowers freshly plucked from the garden. Trying everything was a must. Even the dishes brought back to America were more exquisite than before.

You never know how much you missed something until you try it for the first time.

Experience new things. Try new food. Step onto the uneven ground that feels less secure than the flat, American pavement. When in Rome, experience the unknown.

“I Am The First and The Last”

Renae-Semone Williams

‘24

I am the first and the last I am the silence that you can’t understand I am the first and the last I am the definition that life doesn’t always go as planned

I am the first and the last My life is almost over, and theirs has just begun I am the first and the last The clock is ticking; there’s nothing left to be undone

I am the first and the last I put all those bad memories in a locked case I am the first and the last I have nothing left to embrace

I am the first and the last I went down many lonely roads in my life I am the first and the last Clearly, it all ended in strife

Art Credit: Tristyn McLaughlin ‘27

“Recollections in Polaroids”

Shane McKnight ‘25

Every picture we snap, we catch a memory

That memory holds on to us for dear life

The frames we take are stories to be told

So when we share these stories, they will be filled with laughter and surrounding beauty.

Photographs of memories are just like time machines

They are a key to the past to explore those “clicks”

Revisiting those memories from your polaroid snaps are forever treasured.

You may not live forever, but those memories you make on cameras do.

“The Sky is a Ceiling”

Sarah Bianco ‘26

It feels as though the sky is a ceiling

Like there are limits wherever I go

When all walls are finally torn down I build them back up

The sun is just a lamp

The grass is just a rug

But not in a way that feels like home

All doors are locked

All lights are off

But is it the fault of me

Or barriers that simply can't be broken I guess I'll never know

If I never get the courage to try

Because at the end of the day

I decide if it's a ceiling or a sky

Collection of Haiku

If you are able

To stop evil-but you don’t Evil is on you.

Patrick McInerney ‘24

While she reaches out

I grasp back shyly with tact; My growing flame roars. Nick Roser ‘24

Summertime sunshine

Crashing waves on sandthunder Rain washes away!

Natalie Dalaimo ‘24

Dogs are man’s best friend

Harper loves us endlessly She has saved my life. Jennifer Higgins ‘24

Art Credit: Michael Wright ‘25

Stirring, singing, sweet

Fifty thousand thoughts a day, Not just when I sleep

Lila

Kelleher ‘24

Rain makes me happy, It drips and drops all day, Rain turns me nappy.

Noah LaRosa ‘24

Lining up his shot He goes into his swing-bam! He misses the ball!

Casey Delles ‘24

Crackling, cozy, fire Shadows flickering-Crack! Pop!

Warmth wraps weary souls.

Erin Houlihan ‘24

“Sunrise”

Tony Rubino ‘27

“Only 30 seconds until the sunrise…” One vampire warned the other.

“...Are you sure about this?” He asked. “I'm tired old friend.” The other finally speaks, his voice almost a whisper amidst the crashing waves. “Immortality has given me long enough to decide.”

“Goodbye Icarus,” The other begins to pick up speed. Chasing the little darkness left. Sunlight nipped at his heels, singing the pale skin. “Enjoy it for me!” He jumps… And flies away.

The sun began to rise, but Icarus did not run. He embraced his murderer, taking her in. Enjoying every painful second, finally being repaid for all those years he missed out on it. Being reminded of his human childhood, and how the sun didn’t pierce him, but hugged him back. If only he could share this with the others.

“Finally. My sunrise...” he says.

And fades.

Art Credit: Reilly Czop ‘25

“The

Rain”

Tony Rubino

‘27

Five days ago, the rain started. The radio kept blaring a government made announcement. It kept droning on, "Attention all citizens of Fieldview, please do not go outside, there has been flash flooding in your area." And then it would repeat. The rain hasn't stopped yet. I'd give anything for it to stop. I fear it will begin to drive me insane. But I don't want to go outside. I kept hearing knocks on my door. But yesterday, while upstairs, I heard my window break. Now I'm locked in my room and something is knocking on my room door now...

Art Credit: Noah Colon ‘24

“Falling

Behind”

Owen Callinan ‘26

Life is precious in its own way Goals and ambitions being set every day.

You wonder if you'll fall behind But then realize it's all in your mind.

No limits held, no walls to bind. You are the author to your own story the director and actor striving for glory.

In echoes of others, people find their own voice

For what you bring to this world, is of your own choice.

“Bicycle”

Miranda Marsan ‘24

My face met the thick night air With a warm, excited smile, As I stared at my bicycle I snuck out to ride. I glance over my shoulder, To ensure I’m not followed, Then I turn back And admire my crime. She stood on her kickstand, Like a statue on a pedestal Regal and imposing Yet kind, expectant. I jumped on her back, like a jockey Leaping on her swiftest mare, Ready to tame her, once and for all, While summer wind whips in my hair.

The sky calls my eye And I gaze back Into the depths of her stars Tense in waiting for my triumph. I focus, squinting ahead, Ready, down the dead-end street I see myself fly in my mind’s eye And I grip the handlebars tight. As I kick up the stand, Grinning and wild---gracelessly, I fall.

Art Credit: Maya DiCupe ‘24

“THE song” Christian Sawn ‘24

The first time I heard it, My eyes were shut, And yet I was awake, And found myself dreaming. The song was playing, My mind was resting My body was relaxed, My soul was still. My dream moved my resting body, My dream moved by relaxed body, My dream moved my still soul, My dream moved me to the shore. Alone, walking by the ocean, Gazing out into the unknown. Alone, with my own thoughts, Freeing them from their captivity in my head. Alone, the wing blowing firmly, Sand flying through the air. Alone, the waves crashed, Peace fills the salty air. Alone, I continued to walk, Until “the” song stops. I am quickly reminded of reality, I was no longer on the shore, I was laying still in my bed, Alone.

“Masquerade”

Mia Martinez ‘24

It’s enchanting.

People line the room like buildings

Slightly too tall to oversee, Just as dense as the city, Full, flickering, fashionable.

It’s captivating.

Each raiment offers its own qualities, Bejeweled and sown to hug each body

Like gold leaf molded onto wood in the chambers of Versailles, Grand, gleaming, glamorous.

It’s alluring.

Visages clouded but unveiled through auras, Spirits high exposing charms implicitly, The talisman of intuition, the master of explicitly. Romantic, revealing, rare.

Like a scene in a snow globe, Transfixed on design.

Art Credit: Ella Lyras ‘25

“Hunted”

Young Writers Contest Submission

Tristan Green ‘24

"I still have nightmares about it," cried Albert. "We were pranking our town on Halloween night, and came up with the best Halloween prank ever!" exclaimed Duncan. "They put blood on me and we told the town that the Mayor had attacked me for no reason," groaned Dickie. "The Mayor was put on trial, found guilty, and was executed," explained Walter. "But at our sleepover, the Mayor appeared at our house alive!" exclaimed Albert. "No one had believed our story, and the town helped the mayor fake his death," complained Duncan. "The mayor killed us!" they shouted in Purgatory.

Art Credit: Yovela Mesdien ‘25

Art Credit: Khannitha Nguyen ‘24

“The

Bus Ride”

Trish Escarrilla ‘24

First, there’s a clunky right turn to exit the school parking lot. As we cross the bridge I see the foreboding church–its tall stained glass puzzled an eye looking over the gravestones speckling the grass. Names blur with license plate numbers like a bowl of alphabet soup as we speed by a lot filled with cars. The unbought cars have always had the same numbers written onto their windshields, the bold liquid chalk pen prices persisting through the seasons. Soon we’re following the river, like a fish gliding along the current of water. The trees of the park we pass are bare right now, and I can hear the branches brashly brush the roof of our bus. They cast shadows through my window while I watch the setting sun play peek-a-boo.

Then, we reach the next turn onto another bridge. I can count one, two, three, four diners as we continue through suburbia, their classic light fixtures illuminating the slouching customers’ silhouettes–I can only see them for a second. Rows of houses–with sunken roofs lined by slanted gutters, lawn decorations from two holiday seasons ago trying to distract from the ivy crawling up the old pastel walls–suddenly line both sides of the road. We silently intrude on the years of life lived with each mailbox number. I wonder once in a few bus rides how old the small businesses our bus route grazes are. I’ve read their

Art Credit: Kevin Ellis ‘24

signs hundreds of times, with their pictures of pizza and their corners yellowed in time like golden vignettes and typefaces that were probably all the rage back in the 1950’s but fail to entice me into their establishments any time soon.

Finally, the bus is slowing down to a stop. I feel my body wanting to continue with the forward momentum of driving down our normal bus route, yet the bus moves no longer. The subtle cold draft of the window can no longer reach my cheek as I move to gather my things. Gripping the weathered leather of the seat in front of mine, I get up. The material under my fingertips, flaked away by time, my body’s frame cracks before my feet shuffle into the middle aisle. I look back to see the rows of seats, dimly lit and shaded by the rusty metal roof of the bus. I look forward out the windshield and see the sunlight illuminating where I get off this bus. I move towards the doors, I wave to my bus driver, and as step off the bus I say, “Bye! Thank you!”

Art Credit: Joselin Reyes-Villa ‘25

“The Blue Jay” Erin Burns ‘24

I wake in the early morning when the summer shadows are cool and quiet and the early blue of the sky is soft and drowsy as it awaits the blazing sun. In the stillness of the secluded hour, I wrap myself in a blanket of serene azures and greens as I too await its coming, out on the back porch. The first rays of dawn slip in almost unnoticed. But slowly and surely they arrive, with slender radiance as they turn the wooden beams warm, and the cool shadows gold. And with that turn of season, I hear a new sound and turn myself to see a most marvelous creature: A blue Jay perched pertly on the birdbath, brilliant sapphire hues alighting on alabaster white, lit with still-rising sun. It flaps its wings smartly as it bends down to drink, its feathers jewel-like and full of vibrance. The hour has yet to fully wake, but it seems to me the midday sky has come early.

Art Credit: Brianna Culberston ‘27

Art Credit: Finn Mazzola ‘27

“Coney

Island”

Maya Mieles ‘26

Puerto Rico celebrates Flag Day, A big parade is always there. My family and I take a trip towards the beach and bay, And to Coney Island, that’s where! Seagulls creep me out, But the games are fun; As long as my brother does not pout, And we have burgers on a fresh hot bun. We dance with our family members and friends, And watch the boats sail on the glimmering sea; We never want this day to end!

Even if our feet hurt, from our toes to our knees, Everything stands out, from the parachute to the wonder wheel; And we can see N.Y.C, with the Statue of Liberty having the color of teal.

Ambrose, Becky 39

B

Balint, Katie 11

Balzer, Kayla 15, 18, 21

Barnett, Sasha 52

Bianco, Sarah 57

Burns, Erin 71

C

Callinan, Owen 62

Capie, Charlotte 19

Colon, Noah 61

Culberston, Brianna 71, 75

Czop, Reilly 57, 60

D

Dalaimo, Natalie 58

Daverso, Beatrice 4, 6, 14

Deiwert, Briana 48

Delles, Casey 59

DiCupe, Maya 17, 63

E

Eccleston, Ailish 29

Ellis, Kevin 68

Escarrilla, Trish 68

F

Faye, Harriet 13

Freire, Chris 35

G

Gardner, Caroline 50, 53

Gibison, Natalie 32

Giegerich, Gianna 44

Gora, Emilia 75

Gozdan, Madison 10

Green, Nikolai 23, 52

Green, Tristan 53, 66

H

Haas, Morgan 39

Harp, Aurelia 54

Higgins, Jennifer 58

Houlihan, Erin 59

JJoseph, Layla 4

KKelleher, Lila 15, 59

LLaCroix, Grace 31

La Pata, Averi 24

LaRosa, Noah 59

Lauria, Gianna 33

Liu, Nick 51

Luczak, Hailey 49

Lyras, Ella 65

M

Marsan, Miranda 45, 63

Martinez, Mia 65

Mazzola, Finn 72

McGettigan, Ryan 34

McInerney, Patrick 58

McKnight, Shane 56

McLaughlin, Tristyn 55

McNamara, Olivia 7

Mesdien, Yovela 66

Michaud, Jacob 9, 26, 27

Mieles, Maya 47, 73

N

Nguyen, Khannitha 67

O’Neill, Madalyn 48

P

Palumbo, Sophia 16

Patullo, Lily 7, 39

Pawela, Olivia 8, 25, 47

Peralta, Matthew 23

Pham, Minh 27

Picciano, Mary 28

Prete, Julia 20

R

Ramos, Citlalli 32

Reyes-Villa, Joselin 43, 70, 72

Riley, Abigail 40

Roser, Nick 58

Rubino, Tony 60, 61

S

Sawn, Christian 37, 64

Shannon, Keira 42

Shultz, Emma 30

Stauts, Reagan 38

Stavash, Sally 22

T

Tartamosa, Jack 12

Tillman, Lucas 36

Tran, Tina 37

W

Williams, Eryn 23

Williams, Renae-Semone 55

Winkler, Olivia 44

Wright, Michael 1, 34, 58

Art Credit: Emilia Gora ‘27