Anima: Literary & Art Magazine 2024

“Community Spirit”

by The Magnificat Art Club

Anima

Anima

Magazine Staff

Alyn Trotter

Nora Mooney

Kate Couls

Chloe Sweeney

Chloe Pisanelli

“Anima” is Latin for soul, or spirit. It is taken from the first line of the Magnificat: “Magnificat anima mea Dominum, ” which means “My soul glorifies the Lord.”

The name of our magazine reflects not only the Magnificat values, but also the idea that art speaks to and from the soul, or anima

Cover Art

Stoessel

"Community Spirit" created for the magazine by The Magnificat Art Club

Moderator

Mrs Hamm

Sarah

Ella Smith

Table of Contents

Abandoned Lines by Finley McNamee '24

a robin’s song by eliza gorek ‘25

Broken Pieces by Sarah Celestina ’24

Skate by Finley McNamee ’24

Disordered Color by Finley McNamee ’24

The Rain by Ella Sfeir ‘25

Cleveland, Ohio by Gwen Slabaugh ‘26

Waiting and Ghost King by Alyn Trotter ’26

Inside My Mind by Finley McNamee ‘24

A Fragile Heart by Julia Pashayan ’26

Untitled and Untitled by Olivia Brugnoni ’26

Untitled and Untitled by Olivia Brugnoni ’26

Vacation Story of the Artist Lillian Fitzgerald by Kate McDonough ’26

Histoire de Vacances de l’Artiste Lillian Fitzgerald by Kate McDonough ‘26

Cinnamon Roll by Yumna Alyamani ‘24

Corpse Bride by Yumna Alyamani ‘24

Still Human by Eliza Gorek ’25

Dear Laika by Chloe Pisanelli ‘25

When All Things Are Known by Violet Kubiak ’26

Pippi Longstocking by Grace Slabaugh ’24

Pink Flower by Emily Grubic ‘24

Indigo by Gwen Slabaugh ‘26

Clickers by Gwen Slabaugh ‘26

Untitled by Gwen Slabaugh ‘26

Night Drive by Angela D’Souza ’26

Love by Luqing Li ’24

Untitled by Dia Abuabsa ‘26

Oniruuru Jẹ Atilẹyin Lati ọdọ Mi by Cianna Bruister ‘25

The Rain by Remy Harding ‘26

Writing by Remy Harding ’26

Untitled by Jaliyah Johnson ’27

Abandoned Lines

by Finley McNamee ‘24

Poetry

a robin’s song

by eliza gorek ‘25 inspired by and written in the style of e.e. cummings

mortal cries on immortal ears

just roll’d awry and here be left (a fly’s buzzing is whispered away, not a thing, not a thing)

a whirl on side did not stop for a daze

for naught fortnight a cry beheld and whisked away chance serenity pieced with hands (never known, never shown, tis just round the corner) when have hurricanes stopped a wildfire?

feel a gust break through the looking glass the pokes are enough said (so close and so far lies the dead robin) who knows that chirp knows that breath

a life turned edge is the full lung turn face to side and spit the blood onto dirt – stomp, go, seek (mother nature hates and loves, but you must pick one) somewhere in the distance a robin sings another song

Broken Pieces

by Sarah Celestina ‘24

by Finley McNamee ‘24

Skate

Anima: The Magnificat Literary and

Disordered Color

by Finley McNamee

‘24

The Rain

by Ella Sfeir ‘25

Darkness captures every gleam of light, No where to stay, as a result of pure spite

A deafening sound approaches, the sound of war,

My ears ring, a sound of thunder as loud as a lions’ roar

Heartbroken, mournful, I recall that day,

When all was fine till they were taken away

They dropped and they fired with nothing but ignorance,

Because all they know is that war does not wait on the innocent

Do not hide your face, for your hands will always be stained

Do not hide your face, for I remember what you did that day

Less is more when an innocent life is spared,

In love and war, not all is fair

My mom, my dad, my sister are gone,

My neighbors and friends, taken away by another bomb

Why must the innocent suffer from others' deeds?

When will this wicked disease take its leave?

What once was my house, has turned into dust

Mixed with the rain, it turns into mud

I stir on this hospital bed, thoughts flood my brain, I pray to Him above, “please stop the rain”

Cleveland, Ohio

by Gwen Slabaugh ‘26

Waiting by Alyn Trotter '26

Anima: The Magnificat Literary and Art

Ghost King by Alyn Trotter '26

Inside My Mind

by Finley McNamee ‘24

A Fragile Heart

by Julie Pashayan ‘26

i was born with a fragile heart

its see through almost glass

which is why i can see every emotion on my face

no matter what angle you look at me

its shaped like a football

because it gets thrown around more than it can handle

and everytime its not caught it hits the floor

but it doesn’t break

a healing heart Poetry

it slightly cracks

the first time it happened it was such a minor detail i didn’t even notice

but each time it falls the crack grows larger

i quickly learned that there’s no phone screen repair shop for your heart

so when the crack got large enough i had to create a fortress around it

a glass castle with one thing inside

Untitled

by Olivia Brugnoni ‘26

Untitled by Olivia Brugnoni ‘26

Untitled by Olivia Brugnoni ‘26

Anima: The Magnificat

Untitled by Olivia Brugnoni ‘26

Vacation History of the Artist Lillian Fitzgerald

by Kate McDonough ‘26

In the busy London city, the artist Lillian Fitzgerald began her European vacation of London, Paris, and Rome Lillian, who had short blond hair and brown eyes, was hardworking, happy, and nervous to build a portfolio of work on her trip She had a large portfolio of paper, a soft backpack, and a green suitcase On the June day, the sun was inside, then returned from the clouds The people talked quickly, and the cars drove slowly She took a red bus to the hotel that she had reserved, where she left all her luggage in her pretty room With her portfolio and colored pencils in hand, she went to the Big Ben Clock Tower Lily was drawing, but it began to rain, so she ran to a telephone station When the rain stopped, she went back and finished the picture Then, on foot, she visited and drew St James Park It was beautiful with green trees, white flowers, and happy birds Afterward, she was hungry, so she went to eat a meal of fish with lemons, fries, and a small salad For some more days, she spent time visiting places such as the museum and others She drew a lot before packing her bags and taking a train under the English Channel to Paris

When in this city, she took a tourist riverboat and visited the Bastille, the Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle cathedrals, and some museums She loved all the exhibits in the Louvre Lily spent her time drawing, but she found an ice cream shop, so she stopped her picture and went to eat She had never tasted cherry ice cream so good At the end of the day, she returned to her hotel, took the elevator to the second floor, and fell into her bed The next day, she went to the Catacombs, the Eiffel Tower or the Iron Lady, and the Arc de Triomphe, which was very amusing At the Arc de Triomphe, she spent her time drawing, and she was looking in her backpack for a pencil when a red bird took her artwork The bird left and landed in a tree where three small birds lived Then, the mother placed the paper in their nest Lily was sorrowful about the paper that the bird took, but she smiled because the birds looked content, so she went to lunch She met a nice server with red hair and blue eyes who recommended some onion soup After she ate, Lily visited her final location the Basilique of the Sacred Heart Then, it was time to leave for Rome, so Lily said “Goodbye” to Paris and left on a plane

It was very hot but beautiful Like London, it was busy, but there were large trees and old buildings First, she took a taxi to the hotel, and then she went to eat Lily bought pasta with some tomatoes, cheese, and chicken She visited the Pantheon, Roman Forum, and Colosseum, then she bought a ticket to the Sistine Chapel She loved her time eating and drawing, but there was a huge problem It began to rain so much that there was a flood The water took everything, the cars, the buildings, and the subway She had to leave, so she took a boat and a plane to return home Lily was very sad to leave, but she was happy that she had the chance to visit Her vacation was twelve years ago, but Lily was glad to have her memories like they were yesterday

Histoire de Vacances de l’Artiste Lillian Fitzgerald

by Kate McDonough ‘26

Dans la ville occupée de Londres, l’artiste Lillian Fitzgerald a commencé ses vacances à Europe de Londres, Paris, et Rome. Lillian, qui avait les cheveux courts et blonds et les yeux marron, était travailleuse, contente, et nerveuse à construire un portefeuille de travail sur son séjour. Elle avait un grand portefeuille de papier, un sac à dos doux, et une valise verte. Sur le jour de Juin, le soleil est entré puis est revenu les nuages, les personnes parlaient rapides, et les voitures conduisaient lents. Elle a pris un bus rouge à l’hôtel qu’elle a reservé où elle a quitté toute ses bagages dans sa jolie chambre. Avec son portefeuille et ses crayons de couleur dans main, elle est allée à l’horloge grand Ben. Lily l’dessinait, mais il a commencé à pleuvoir, alors elle a couru à une station de téléphone. Quand la pluie a terminé, elle a repris et a fini la tableau puis, à pied, a visité et a dessiné le parc St. James. C’était beau avec des arbres verts, des fleurs blancs, et des oiseaux heaureaux. Après, elle a eu faim, alors elle est allée manger un repas de poisson avec des citrons, des frites, et une petite salade. Pour des jours plus elle a passé du temps à visiter des lieux, comme le musée et autours. Elle a dessiné beaucoup avant de faire ses valises et prendre en train sous la mer anglaise à Paris.

Quand dans cette ville elle a pris un bateau mouche et a visité la Place de la Bastille, les cathédrales Notre-Dame et Saint-Chapelle, et des musées. Elle a adoré toute les expositions dans le musée du Louvre. Lily a passé du temps à dessiner, mais elle a trouvé un magasin de la glace, alors elle a terminé son tableau et est allée manger. Elle n’a jamais goûté une glace de cerise si bonne. À la fin du jour, elle est revenue à l’hôtel, a pris l’ascenseur à la deuxième étage, et est tombée sur son lit. Le prochain jour, elle est allée aux Catacombs de Paris, de la Tour Eiffel ou La Dame de Fer, et au Arc de Triomphe, mais qui était très amusant. Au Arc de Triomphe, elle a passé du temps à dessiner, et elle cherchait dans son sac à dos pour un crayon, quand un oiseau rouge a pris son papier de travail. L’oiseau a décollé et a atterri dans un arbre où trois petits oiseaux ont habité. Puis, la mère a mis le papier dans leur nid. Lily a été triste environ le papier que l’oiseau a pris, mais elle a souri parce que les oiseaux a regardé contents, alors elle est allée déjeuner. Elle a rencontré un serveur gentil avec les cheveux roux et les yeux bleus, qui a conseillé la soupe du ognon. Après elle a mangé, Lily a visité sa fin lieu, la Basilique du Sacré-Coeur de Montmartre. Puis, le a été le temps quitter pour Rome, alors Lily a parlé, “Au revoir” à Paris et a décollé sur un avion. Il faisait très chaud, mais belle. Comme Londres, l’a été occupé, mais il y avait de grands arbres et de vieux bâtiments Premier, elle a pris un taxi à l’hôtel, et puis elle est allée manger Lily a acheté des pâtes avec des tomates, des fromages, et des poulets Elle a visité le Pathéon, le Forum Romain, et le Colosseo, et elle a acheté un billet à la Chapelle Sistine Elle a adoré son temps mangé et dessiné, mais il y a eu un grand problème Le a commencé pleuvoir beaucoup qu’il y avait une inondation L’eau a pris toute choses, les voitures, les bâtiments, et les métros Elle a quitter, alors elle a pris un bateau et un avion de rentrer Lily a été très triste à quitter, mais elle a été heureuse qu’elle a eu la chance de visiter Ses vacances il y a été douze ans, mais Lily a été contente d’avoir ses souvenirs comme ils ont eu hier

Cinnamon Roll

by Yumna Alyamani ‘24

Corpse Bride

by Yumna Alyamani ‘24

Anima: The Magnificat

Still Human

by Eliza Gorek ‘25

Poetry

Dear Laika

by Chloe Pisanelli ‘25

Laika, Laika

You were just a stray

They found you wandering the streets

And selected you one day

Laika, Laika

Did you ever know

Of the scientists’ plan for you

Of what you would undergo

Laika, Laika

All you had to give

Your quiet charm, your gentle strength

You were never meant to live

Laika, Laika

Just before your flight

A scientist took you to play

It was your very last night

Laika, Laika

You’re about to fly

They placed you in and kissed your nose

Did you know it was goodbye?

Laika, Laika

Scared but staying strong

On the ground, unbeknownst to you

Something had gone very wrong

Laika, Laika

Please rest well, sweet pup

Inside the capsule, you’re alone

Everything is heating up

Laika, Laika

Many years they lied

We thought you lasted much longer

But you very quickly died

Laika, Laika

You run among stars I hope you’re chasing squirrels out there

Or barking at astral cars

Laika, Laika

Tiny, barking, tough

Your precious life was cut too short

But your legacy is enough

Laika, Laika

I think about you

I give my dogs more treats and walks

And I hold them closer too

When All Things Are Known

by Violet Kubiak ‘26

Part I

Murmurs of soft, old voices drift through billowing winds Long emerald grasses fan up and over themselves like a rolling wave Milky clouds float through deep velvet skies, filtering the shine of the moon and stars into an ethereal glow This is not a heavenly place of long forgotten past This is the long awaited future Many things have changed, but nature exists still, and humanity exists still It is, as it usually is, on the cusp of extinction, on the cusp of grand discovery, on the cusp of definition By the 23rd century, when technology had reached its apex, when all the unanswerable theories of math and science had been answered, many would think there would be a defined answer to the perpetual question The meaning of the existence of humanity Why do we live and die, only to struggle for no gain, to hope for no absolution?

Lying in the dark haven of overgrown grass in his front yard, pondering these very questions, the questions he made his life’s work to answer, James Harlow still had no idea His glistening copper eyes reached up and over the heavens into the expansive space of stars He believed the answer lie there, far out there If he could reach past the physical matter, if he could see something that has never been seen before, he could know

“Jim! Jim, what are you doing lyin’ there?” said the smooth, low voice weathered by years of womanly strength and endurance James said himself to only be mastered by the Universe, but even he was not immune to the power of a wife

“Just thinkin,’ Sharon ” He drawled through gritted teeth and a chewed blade of grass He closed his eyes on the stars and waited for that familiar vibration of Sharon sauntering towards him and laying by his side

Only when she slipped her worn sepia hand into his, did he open his eyes again And in hers he saw a rare thing, oceans of doubt welled up into single drops on her waterline

“You don’t have to go, you know ” She breathed It wasn’t a fact she was telling him, it was a question She was imploring him to say, I know, and to give up But in the reflection of her teary eyes he saw a world of stars His world to make sense of, to explore like no man had

“I’m going to space ” James confirmed Her hand fell limp on the grass as he stood

In the darkness he saw her soft eyes harden They had had this fight many times, it always went this way Every time she had begged him not to leave, every time he told the woman he loved no And every time she realized love would never be his priority The warden of his heart was curiosity, a desperate thirst for answers He would go to the ends of the known Universe, cross that invisible

border, travel to a place that even the best of modern technology had not returned from He would be a hero providing the answer to the only pragmatic question left Sharon could tell him it was not safe She could again tell him a defunded government space program from 200 odd years ago would not have precautions or regulations anymore But instead she sighed the same sigh that women have been heaving for hundreds upon hundreds of years, and decided to save this final last moment, not for argument, but for authenticity

She whispered into the silent darkness, “Jim, did I ever tell you why I named our daughter Vera?”

When James heard the name he hadn’t heard in so long, the sea of grief that had once receded washed over him again like a wave, drowning him so that he could only shake it his head, no

“Well,” She sighed, “I’ll tell you now, I think you need to hear it I picked the name Vera because it means faith When we had her, I had to lean on my faith harder than ever She was born different than all the rest, it was so hard And with all the continent starving, and you on your “astronaut” wages, I needed faith You needed faith ”

He interrupted her with a disdainful shake of his head and began to walk away whispering, “no, no”, but she grabbed his hand in the dark

“Can’t you see?! You’re still lookin’ for that faith!” She cried, her desperation violently breaking through her carefully constructed walls Sharon gestured up towards the stars, “You won’t find it up there! There’s nothin’ beyond the edge of the Universe! There’s nothin’ out there!”

With the stance of a defeated giant he tossed his worn hand towards the ramshackle house and the deserted land for miles, and whispered, “Well, what’s here anyway?”

If James allowed himself, these words he had said could destroy him He stood his ground He gritted his teeth and held his face in a taut grimace He couldn’t look at her for fear of breaking, so he kept his piercing eyes fixated on the stars When Sharon finally sighed and went in, he was still staring James didn’t believe in God He didn’t believe in prayer He just gazed on and on into eons of light, his soul begging there to be something else beyond And when the blanket of darkness was drawn back, and his eyes teared at the brilliance of the sun, he finally went in

Part II

Deep obsidian space for miles upon months on end Distant stars and galaxies glint like the sharp edges of glassy rock in the moonlight The endless space is a soft embracing blanket of fine sunken velvet, slowly rocking the spacecraft to sleep In the inky infinity, its obtrusive angles and gleaming waterfalls of aluminum fall into a deep contrast with the alluring natural wonder of the onyx outskirts of the Universe

Within this metal monster, James Harlow was pacing the floor like a mad man. Months of infinity in this contraption funded by all the money a defunded government space program could muster, would certainly drive a man mad. James felt himself on the brink of this insanity, he could feel his worn hands traversing the edge of the cliff, just lingering before submitting to the dark pit of lunacy

When All Things Are Known,

below. More than anything, the question was what made him so uneasy. What would he find beyond the edge of the Universe? Something, he knew that much. An explanation. But what explanation? Would it be something he could guess? He had many guesses, after all, he had only been pondering it for eternity.

The feeling of nothing was so very slow. He dragged his hand down his unshaven face and groaned, “stop” to the voices that ran rampant in his mind. Something, anything to distract now. Once, he had thought that eons of space traveled in months could never be a sight he would look away from. He had pushed for more windows in the spacecraft, assuming he would be pressed to the glass to gaze. But each star in its brilliance seemed to taunt him, the twinkling was a chuckle flashed in his direction, mocking his newly developed dullness. He now picked up the well worn novel he had brought with him. An ancient text, something from the 1900’s. Steinbeck spoke to him though and quieted the screams of the emptiness around him. His eyes gazed over the familiar words until he came to a line, “A man, after he has brushed off the dust and chips of his life, will have left only the hard, clean questions: Was it good or was it evil? Have I done well or ill?” Somewhere in the Universe of himself, a supernova went off. The violent kind, not one of the awe-inspiring beautiful kind. A sky’s worth of voices seemed to be savagely screaming, “What are you doing with your life?”

Quick now, another distraction was necessary. He lunged for the life-saving journal across the spacecraft, and its milky pages shimmered in the eternal night as the white truce flags once did in smoky battlefields. The piercing tip of the pen drew inky blue blood of the enemy. He gazed out the windows and tried to find something to say His other journal entries had been pragmatic details and descriptions of the expedition The clock was ticking down, this was perhaps his last James Harlow was a man meant to make a mark on this world The stars out the window begged him to answer the question, “What is this mark you plan to make?”

His mind spun He didn’t know He used to know but the turn of the galaxies had swirled his mind into violet visions of fire and ice and rock The pen seemed to move on its own as he feverishly wrote, “I wish there was a name for what I’m chasing,”

Suddenly, clarity in confusion James stared at the blue on the white and found that he had peered into one of the deepest caverns of his enshrouded soul He didn’t know what he was chasing It was like a siren going off in his mind, the blaring obvious bounced from wall to wall Or was the sound only in his mind?

The alarm It was time, the end of the Universe was arriving at light speed It was arriving faster than James had ever thought it would All of a sudden, the spacecraft had become a speeding prison, fast and furious into a brick wall suicide James swelled into a gargantuan dragon, trapped in a gilded cage meant for birds He had once dreamed of that triumphant feeling of elation, but now he could only feel the sick sinking feeling of the inevitable Moving closer and closer through the window was an electric amethyst mist that held all of the answers James had been looking for Amidst his fit he paused to look and became entranced by the folding and unfolding of the Universe out the window Its ripples and waves drew nearer and nearer, swimming before shining copper eyes

And now the eyes saw not the Universe before them, but haunting hallucinations that danced in the death of his dreams Beautiful bronze baby swaddling in Sharon’s loving arms A twirl and a dip in the kitchen strained moonlight Tenacious toddler taking small steps in overgrown grass Giggles and tickles and love for life Cool nights on frozen floorboards when his young wife could talk for hours Later on, lifetimes of grief shared in one hand and comforted in the other James suddenly saw what everything really was

Perhaps this was the grand discovery Perhaps this was how the Universe answered the question, “Well, what’s here anyway?”

Or perhaps it is only one man’s star-sick vision wrapped in magenta glow.

James’ lungs filled with silky violet starlight and he received his answer:

/////////

Pippi Longstocking

by Grace Slabaugh ‘24

Story

Pink Flower

by Emily Grubic ‘24

“You need to be strong Emily ”

I always knew I wanted to do art; my first memory of anything artistic was with my mother Before I learned that my mother had survived a genocide when I was younger, I never thought she knew how to draw No child should have to “learn” how to color that is a natural thing children do But with the circumstances my mother faced as a child, I knew she never had the chance to even go to school let alone have a pen and paper; she wasn't allowed to

I can't remember what I drew the first time I showed her, but I do remember what she drew; it is still a vivid memory I think of from time to time On a blue construction paper, she drew faces that were abstract I watch her stroke her pen, curves and lines coming together I was amazed at her I know art is what I will pursue for the rest of my life The passion she carries will be on my shoulders

The second memory I have with her with art is when I went to therapy, my therapist invited her to paint When she looked at the supplies she looked overwhelmed; but it was only water color and brushes Before she even touched them she explained she didn’t learn to paint, when there was a war in her country But my mother made a beautiful simple flower It had pink petals and a green center and stem Compared to mine well, there is no comparison she painted something she never did before She didn't think much about it, but for me I knew where she came from Two million people died, death surrounded her as a child No one wants to talk about such a horrific event, but it is critical This painting is a product of it It sits in my room as a reminder of strength, resilience and comfort

There is hope behind that flower, it can still bloom My heritage will continue to stay strong My mom tells me to be strong coming from her, I strive to have that strength She is the strongest person that I will ever know Her soldiery is what drives me today I learn everyday from her From our Cambodian cooking, language, and culture I am here to share her story because it is a part of mine

Although I will never have the first hand experience, I will tell you what I know and my experience. I am a first generation child of a parent who survived the Khmer Rouge, a citizen, and student. I will continue to embrace my mother, my family, and my Khmer culture with what I know best. Keep walking, Koun Khmer.

by Gwen Slabaugh

‘26

Story

Clickers

by Grace Slabaugh ‘24

We call them clickers in my family

My mother only allowed us to watch TV on the weekends, claiming homework was a priority Monday through Thursday So every Friday after dinner, I raced up 15 stairs, feet slapping against the wooden steps, skipping over the 7th because it made a horrid creaking noise After wasting 6 precious minutes brushing my teeth, taking a shower, and changing into my PJs, I scrambled down the stairs to my dad who was lounging on the couch watching the news “Hand over the clicker ” I would demand, sticking my left hand out at him with my right hand on my hip And with a sigh, he grudgingly gave it over

We had a total of 4 clickers The long black one was for switching HDMIs The sleek oval one with the purple buttons was for Roku The white one was for cable only, and the small black one with the green buttons was for the DVD player I had an endless amount of options right at my fingertips

Once my choice was made I turned off the lights, hopped onto the worn leather couch of my living room, criss-crossed my legs, and cranked up the volume despite the fact that my dad was slightly asleep From there, my 10 year old self opened the curtains of entertainment, with her old man dozing right next to her

Sometimes I wondered if my dad was really paying attention to what was on the screen On rare occasions he would be wide awake, but 98% of the time he snoozed through the heavy breathing of Darth Vader However, as the months of TV watching went by I noticed the little things At dinner he would tell me to take a quick shower,

saying he wanted to know if Harry Potter would discover the secret of the Chamber of Secrets. At Five-Below, he would spot a poster of Gandalf and the Fellowship remarking, “We’re watching this guy aren’t we?”

One time, at a sleepover with my friends, we all sat down to watch a movie and I asked, “Where’s the clicker? Turn up the volume!” They gave me a funny look, asking me what a clicker was I later asked my dad why it was called a clicker He simply stated that back in his day it made a clicking sound when the buttons were being pressed

And I then realized that my dad and I had something special, that the word clicker was our word for TV remote

From ages 10-13, every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night I would sit down on the couch with my dad and watch TV Eventually, I received my own computer for the start of high school So, instead of running down the stairs after changing into my PJs, I stayed in my room, laid on my bed, and abandoned the leather couch of my younger self

Throughout high school I walked the streets of Birmingham with the Peaky Blinders, learned that when you play the Game of Thrones you win or you die, and fought the monsters of the Continent with The Witcher I was slowly expanding my options of entertainment, leaving the clickers behind

Today my dad and I continue to connect, despite us being 15 wooden stairs apart If he has nothing to watch, I recommend something on Netflix At breakfast we discuss The Queen’s Gambit or The Batman When my dad went to Ireland, he returned home with tales of how he saw the scenes from Vikings, filling me with awe and a tinge of jealousy

On rare occasions, I still go to the library and pluck a DVD from the shelf Then that night I walk down the stairs and watch the movie, reminiscing in the nostalgia of the TV screen

And as the years go by, we still call them clickers in my family

by Grace Slabaugh ‘24

Untitled

Night Drive

by Angela D’Souza ‘26

Anima: The Magnificat

by Luqing Li ‘24

Poetry

Untitled

by Diaa Abuabsa ‘26

i wanna see peace in the Middle East

but that can all go to hell and the children in Gaza know this well

nothing to life but war makes them a little bored

the bombs fall like water on them said a girl with a nice face to adore

they don’t know what peace is maybe they never will but a child so sweet doesn’t deserve to be beat with war but the children in Gaza know this well

there can be no peace in the Middle East

unless the children of Gaza are given hell

by Cianna Brusiter ‘25

(Diversity

by Cianna Brusiter ‘25

by Cianna Brusiter ‘25

The Rain

by Remy Harding ‘26

I fell asleep listening to the rain last night. Most would say that that was sad. The rain relating to their sorrows, the tears they’ve cried.

But for me the nights where it rains are the nights I sleep the best. The comforting lull of rain sometimes drizzling sometimes pounding down on my roof. I am safe and I am warm in the comfort of my bed.

I believe that the rain symbolizes the world. Many look and see only the hurt and the pain. They strain their eyes looking for the bad. In our world we focus too much on what horrible things happen.

But like the rain this world is so much more than pain.

There is joy

Joy in life

Joy in the whispering winds

Joy in our households

Joy even in our strife

We must take the pounding rains of this world and listen to the harmonic melodies it holds

Find the rhythm Find the beat

Make your chorus the lull of rain on your roof and let the bridge be full of joy

Poetry

Writing

by Remy Harding ‘26

Writing is not something that can be forced. It is not something that just comes out whenever you want it to or when you're told to.

It is a thought. Formulated over time. It is an idea, sparked by a word or a phrase.

A song reminding you of an event.

A strong feeling you just can’t seem to let go of.

A person you have strong love or emotion for. It comes out when you least expect it and even when you’re not even thinking about it. It cannot be forced.

If you force it, it is unreadable.

The meaning is corrupted with so many small fragments shattered into millions of shards.

Something about writing always came easily to me.

It was a release, something I could use to escape, something I could pour myself into and relate to others with.

When I didn’t have spoken words, I had written ones.

And that was simply enough

Jaliyah Johnson ‘27

Untitled by

Anima: The Magnificat