Twilight

by Annie Howard '25

I have the hands of an old man, the eyes of an infant looking about the world for the first time. All is wonderful as it is terrible. I move without thinking

Knowing Feeling

I weave a web of contradictions Trapping regret and pride and Guilt.

I am a tipping boulder, A fragile fortress, A yard of fraying string, A bird that has hatched but cannot fly The wrinkles on my face number the stars in the sky.