The Peak
PUBLICATION OF THE ST. JOSEPH HILL ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL
LITERARY CLUB
2023-2024
Isabella Ndokaj Editor-in-ChiefGiada Arciprete Literary Editor Grace Ruocco Art Editor
Arianna Nguyen Secretary
Cassandra Ampo and Mona Yeung Special Assistants to the Officers
Front Cover: Grace Ruocco
Back Cover: Grace Ruocco
Acknowledgements
The Literary Club would like to extend its sincerest gratitude to our supporters and contributors, who played a pivotal role in the publication of this year ’ s Peak. We would like to thank Ms. Campbell, Mrs. Mayrose, and Mrs. Holst for their continuing support of our literary endeavors, as well as our moderators, Ms. Naso and Ms. Guida, for their guidance and commitment to The Peak. We would also like to extend our gratitude to Sister Mary and the Daughters of Divine Charity for their support of The Peak and all other extracurricular programs that Hill has to offer. Last, but certainly not least, we would like to thank the student body for making The Peak possible. Without your support of art, literature, photography, and dedicated readership, The Peak would not be here to display the talents and passions of our classmates and peers. We thank all who have taken part in the production of The Peak and remind you all to allow your creativity to blossom.
Lost Things by V.
RepettoThere is this habit I have When I cannot sleep; I unravel myself from my sheets
And I look for lost Things
Last week it was a cheap pearl necklace
That my mom later found Nestled between the cushions Of our leather couch.
Last month it was my night light Which I use to heal my sight
In order to draw at Night.
I found the light today, Sprawled with all of my socks
Under my bed
Now it is my mind
As I slowly process all of the Things that I’ve worked so hard to forget.
Found Things by V. Repetto
There is this habit of mine: Looking for lost Things in the Night. I find, instead of former properties, New and old fascinations, never mine I feel victorious when my hand holds them; These trinkets, now mine They can only entertain me temporarily before the lost Things, again, come to mind.
Painting by Eva Tkachuk Photo by Arianna Nguyen Photo by Kasey GomezThe ghost in my kitchen
by Cassandra AmpoThere is a ghost within my kitchen
That always brews me a cup of hot tea
She sweeps the floor And polishes the doors
Though she was a roommate not meant to be
There is a ghost inside my kitchen
That makes a mess across my halls
With a paintbrush and an hour, Up sprout those bright red flowers
Her passion-filled strokes adorning the kitchen walls.
They’re scared of the ghost in my kitchen
When she sings her old-fashioned rhymes
Through the windows they peer
Their eyes glazed in fear
Like our house hosts the end of all times.
But the ghost living in my kitchen
Is as sweet as brioche bread.
Though my cupboards may creak
And my faucet may leak,
I’ve never met anyone more lively, yet dead
Than the ghost in my kitchen
Who haunts our little home
I’ve told her before,
I’ll tell her once more
That she’s always free to roam,
Yet that ghost won’t leave my kitchen–
Well, I’m more than happy to abide
I’ll have my tea
With this lady so dear to me
That ghost that’s always right by my side.
Painting by Eva Tkachuk
Photo by Kira Cruz
Platonic theories (and why I find them to be true) by Anonymous Plato wrote Humanity was once Entwined –A head with two faces, Four arms, Four legs. One heart –Always one heart, Shared, cherished
But, fearfully, They were separated With all the force and rumble Of thunder. And, so, We spend our lifetime, Wandering Wondering And longing for that –Literal –Missing half. I think
I have found it, In you, Steady, constant you. You, the musician, You, the performer, You, the artist.
Even if you slip away From me, Like grains of sand Through a sieve, It will be true That you found me And I Found you
Painting by Eva Tkachuk
Photo by Mia Chierchio
The Ballad of the Broken
by Kira CruzThe Story of Achilles & Patroclus
The golden child burns
The tired child cries
Together they will yearn
For a world free of lies
His hands are scarred from murder
His mind is scarred from war
But yet his love still carries him
And all the tears he bore
The golden child dulled
The tired child departs
Half of a soul
That are two worlds apart
Painting by Eva Tkachuk
Photo by Anonymous
Photo by Isabella Ndokaj
Warm Frost by
Cassandra AmpoSweet friend Winter, they see not your whole flurry
But only the hail that raps against their doors
And only hail the joy of your season
When they see some sort of sale to be made
But your white glow is no blank canvas for red or green or gold!
You’re a sensational slew across borders
And yet a slurry of sweet silence that tucks wake into slumber!
You hum lullabies to fauna and lull them off to sleep
The flora bowing drowsily to welcome your royal sweep
And flocks of clouds follow, tossing their wool through the skies
To celebrate the warmth your chill delivers as it flies!
Oh, how you drift through towns and forests with your gentle, cooling aid
Gifting wispy wondrous landscapes with just your flocks’ parade
Children sing and stamp their feet along
And when the night falls, drift to bed at your whistling song
You bring wakeful rest and restful wake
Helping bonfires strike ablaze in a gentle breezy shake
And when start comes to finish, when march steps back for March
You lead your sister hand in hand so the flora rise and arch
Fauna leap from dozy days, the earth rested from your nurse
Season to season, same to a same, neither less or worse
We shall meet you once again, entranced by your cold embrace
After blossoms waltz and sunbeams flare, when the brazen leaves have shown their grace
We’ll hear the fanfare of the whirling wind and see your lambs prance forth with pride
Bringing more wonder to our hearts that can ever wholly be described
Photo by Arianna Nguyen
Photo by Anissa Imran
A Blossom's Ballad by Kira Cruz
Deep within the eternal earth
The life within me fades
Seeping to rejoin the blossom's grace
That played through life as spades
From tears that one cried
And the laughs that someone made
Roots shall sprout like from a dream
And petals, the same as blades
For even like some cherry blossoms
Or the growth of love tonight
We will all die some night
And return to above while taking flight
On the Hilltop by Isabella Ndokaj
Blue velvet couches, koalas on the hilltop
How I’ll miss it so!
Painting by Eva Tkachuk Photo by Arianna NguyenBreathless by Anonymous
Inhale
Petals shift
Exhale
They float, flutter, fly
My lungs
Full of
Heliotrope and aster and gardenia and camellia
And carnations, hydrangea, baby’s breath
Which have taken root.
My breath smells of dew and petals
Soft and downy
A wheeze rattles free
Floral and beautiful
But deadly all the same.
Vines, leaves, roots, petals
Curl up, coat my throat
Lodge, stick
Burn
How it burns me so I sputter I choke
I cough
Petals fly about me
A dizzying array of colors
I smile, lips cracked
Petals on my bloody lips
It is a lovely end
Painting by Eva Tkachuk
Photo by Arianna Nguyen
Photo by Isabella Ndokaj
The Seamstress
by Kira CruzThe cloth was pure silk, dyed a deep midnight blue A blue that matched the sky outside The material sparkled next to the candlelight, burning like the stars I had seen the night I met you.
My fingers bleed as I sew, my own fingers littered in cuts like the ones that had littered your body the night we first met each other in the dark
That night, I collected your tear drops in a jar, as if they were rain drops falling from the clouds. Tonight, my thread follows the trail they paved when it was you who cried them.
When I first met you, I was the one who had found you crying, hidden in an alleyway, with mud on your overalls
When I first met you, I ignored the fact that you would turn into a memory That you would become a lonely story like that of time, or like that of all who came before you.
When I first met you, your voice tasted like a moonflower, jasmine and vanilla Like the summer midnight in which we met
When I first met you, you were in pain, your wounds deep and rooted
When I first met you, I dried your eyes and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. I had held you tight and called you precious, a flower blooming in the night We didn’t spend long together, not even a day, and so now, when you are dead, and I’ve returned to my own time of sorrow, I’ve morphed your scars and your mistakes into a lace finer than chantilly. A lace that you would have worn had you been here, one with grace and elegance to hide the fragile flaws.
You could have been mine, I think If it wasn’t for the thief that defeats even the strongest Because of time, you are back then, and I am back here Because of time, you left me quick, but I left you quicker, for you knew nothing about me, yet I knew all about you. The way you walked and sang, the way honey poured from your lips and stuck on your teeth I knew how your fingers moved and how you threw your head back when you laughed Yet the most you know is what I said, and how I pretended I sigh as I complete my stitches, this would fit no one This would fit no one, but you Each curve and each stitch was curated for you. From the trim on the pants to the volume of the sleeves, it was made for you. The golden tassels fall to a height that only you would like The golden buttons reflect in such a way that only you would appreciate The pattern replicates one that only you would care for This outfit was made for no one but you and yet, everyone but you would get to see it.
The sun rises outside my window, but even the sun seems to be tired today. Tired sunrises and tried sunsets. Tired people and tired thoughts It takes us all a lifetime to die, and yet when we do, it takes nothing longer than a thought My body suddenly droops It feels as if someone had drained all life and energy from me No It wasn’t just that. From me, they have stolen everything.
In all the times I’ve visited, in all the people I’ve met No one had affected me like this From others I have stolen and called it my own But no one had ever stolen something back from me in return The deep midnight blue and the bright gold reflected in my firelight I sat in the warmth and stared at it from afar
From afar, I can see your heart. From afar I can see your hurt and the tears you ’ ve cried. From afar, I can see just how much I’ve stolen from you, but I do not need to look at you from afar to see just what you ’ ve stolen from me You’ve stolen the same, and I’ve never felt more hollow than as I do now I am not a person of much worth. I am nothing but a seamstress, but you…You were worth everything. You were worth everything I took, and yet you gained nothing from me. For I cannot repay you when I am hundreds of years into the future and you are still hundreds of years into the past
Mock
Me by
Giada ArcipreteI think your job is to prove me wrong
To call me out on my blissful fantasies
To make me feel useless and stupid
For having dreams
I think your whole job
Everything I dream,
Everything I want,
Everything I plead and sell fragments of myself for,
Just adds another target to my back.
Which, might I add, you ’ re quick to follow
With a piercing arrow
Is to keep dreamers in eternal damnation on this planet
Until they die and reach whatever’s next
With how you are,
Maybe it’ll be more eternal pain
Turmoil
Punishing the dreamers for living to their names.
But I’m not a dreamer,
I’m a wishful thinker.
But what stars do I wish on
When you hold them out in front of me
And crush them in your mighty grasp
While I watch the dust blow past me
And seep into the air I breathe
To live in me
In my lungs, In my heart
To further mock me for this title
I never chose,
But which was presented to me
As if it was a gift, A privilege, That I should be honored to receive,
But just makes me a target
For your ruthless games.
That goes in through my back
And out through my heart
I’m tired of your target practice, And tired of your stupid game,
But I’ll never call you out directly, By name,
Because I fear the power that you hold,
The power invoked by challenging your name.
I’ll only say it in a whispered hush, Or singing it out in praise of your favor,
Because you ’ re the mighty universe
And I am but a pawn in your game
Painting by V. Repetto
Galaxias
by Olivia DeeganMoonlight-drunk
The stars swirl behind my eyes
The stars
They sing about you
The cicadas,
The leaves, And, the poets too.
They sing,
Bright and joyous. They sing of you –Of stardust and magic
And feather-soft feelings.
The cosmos whispers of you
And I can do nothing
But listen
Butterflies by Anonymous
A flapping of wings
Rages inside me
Butterflies, I think, it's supposed to Feel like butterflies
It’s meant to feel like butterflies
Instead
There is only a riot
Snapping, snarling, scratching
Clawing, writhing, roaring
The many headed-hydra rears its multitude
Baring its teeth
Butterflies, they said, butterflies
So, why does it feel like a whole host of dragons trying to claw their way free?
Butterflies
It’s never been just butterflies
Painting by Sophia Wright Photo by Kira Cruz Photo by Sarah Fong
“A
diary entry”
by AnonymousI wake up and follow the same routine every day I find it keeps me productive Busy girl like me, I need to keep my head on straight. With uncertain steps placed onto a cold floor, I walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth Something strikes me as strange Where is the jubilant young woman who usually returns my gaze? To whom do sunken eyes and untamed, dark tresses belong? Perhaps it is a trick of the light, or my just having woken up. I proceed as usual. Happy girl like me, this would never get me all broken up Into short and plump hands I take a toothbrush, adorning it with paste. As I begin to brush my teeth, something falls onto my tongue and I retch and I gag and I spit A clatter unto my sink and a taste of metal unto my mouth. The oxidizing iron taste revolts me anew and once more, I spit. I blanch my tongue in scalding faucet water like a hound thirsting for drink. Perplexing gaze meets mine in the mirror The unnamed woman I’ve come to know well mimics my face of disgust This never should’ve happened to a healthy girl like me! I stumble back for a moment and catch myself. Blood is gone in an instant and my mouth is cold I trace ugly fingers onto thin lips and see nothing wrong I see nothing wrong this time, but what I hear disturbs me The high-pitched hum of a lamp that once shone brilliantly. I pay it no mind. Come on, I don’t have time for games! Into pleats I tame my hair - hummm - into socks I place freezing feet - hummm - I zip a skirt halfway - hummm, this time louder - I rip a blouse and toss it aside - hummm! Indignant and undressed, I walk quite brutishly to the lamp and slap it aside with the power of my entire great frame - hummm no more? Once and for all I have dimmed her shine, killed her light, torn her lampshade to pieces, I think to myself. She is shattered in pieces on the ground and I smash her bulb into a million fragments that I cannot count She begins to bleed My pretty lamp who once shone is bleeding now I hurt her? Little girl like me, I would never do such a thing My pleats have come undone, so with trembling hand I stain my hair and tuck it behind my ears. I discover my fingers, my bit, ugly fingers are cut into pieces Cold at the tips and sweaty at the palms. Drops of red stream down and down my hands and all over my floor. I broke my lamp and she exacted her revenge on me. Hummm - I hear it again. She taunts me from beyond her grave, under my feet where she will never shine again I hated her in life and I hate her now in stillness. I pick up my weight and run cold water over my face and arms. Hummm - I hear it when I step outside Her sisters in the street scream for her - hummm, hummm, hummm! Tall girls, they are, on every last street corner In the end, my pretty lamp shines on
Yukon
by Adriana NdokajI was sitting in the parking lot on a clear spring day, in the old Yukon my father bought just before I was born. He stepped out to buy groceries and I chose to wait inside. The trees around me were vibrantly green, and the sun spilled in through the windows I watched little particles of dust dance in the air and ran my hands along the cool lightbrown leather of the seat. I allowed nostalgia to take me back to childhood road trips, and getting carried to bed after I inevitably fell asleep on the way home Just then, I noticed my father coming back to the car. He was older now, with hair more sparse and gray than the father I had just visited. Misty-eyed, I unlocked the door for him.
A Final Breath
by Isabella NdokajAnd so begins the summer seasonfresh flowers, fruit, and hot air. Stringed kites flown by linen-clad children, since the heat is too hot to bear
But heat must one day go cold, fairy fruits and flowers must rot. That gold kite-thread must be snapped with those scissors Atropos has got
All that you see, including yourself each time that you look in a mirror, will be reduced to nothingness, as the Unturnable draws nearer
Before you expel a final breath, and before you ’ re wrapped in a different linen, take a moment to “remember your death” and use wisely the time you ’ ve been given
Painting by Eva Tkachuk Photo by Kira Cruz Photo by Mia ChierchioIris by Anonymous Vibrancy
Brilliant shocks of color wink at me
From behind a dull, gray sky
The colors bleed and blend
Merging to create a new pantone, a new set of paints
A new rainbow-a true rainbow
A glorious euphoria engulfs me
Finally free
Words ablaze by Anonymous
Burning, blazing pages
Embers fly off of my fingertips
Gently flitting over
A bound tome
Aflame now
It continuously scorches
Leaving the edges of the pages to curl and crisp
Little wisps and licks of smoke
Rise away
Fanning out
I suppose it is a pleasure to burn
Photo by Anissa Imran Photo by Isabella Ndokaj Photo by Grace RuoccoThe Death of a Poet by Giada Arciprete
I don’t know what it is that makes me look forward to the end
I have no reason to, really What exactly is waiting for me?
I count down the days until I print my pages,
However many hundreds of them there will be, And sign my name as the final seal
To keeping these words permanently locked away,
Permanently framed in a time capsule
As a memento of all I had accomplished
I don’t know why I so highly anticipate that day,
Because I know deep within
That the day I sign my name on that little poetry book
Is the day I will have to attend
The funeral of my most dearly beloved, The centermost passion of my being
The casket will be open
For once in her existence,
All shall have the pleasure of viewing her
In her unadulterated beauty
Flowers of every kind
Cherry petals, lavender, roses
Will surround her crimson casket
The church will be filled with the most esteemed of guests
The cat,
The sun,
The paper.
The mother,
The lion,
The moon
And the child
The little girl.
She knows they are not mourning her,
But she knows she is the one they lost.
Her pencil and crayons and wads of paper
Lie in the casket
Wrapped in silk,
Begging to be preserved
But forced to decompose.
She is the true one that they are losing,
Because at least her in the casket will be allowed a final rest, But she will forever remain
Sitting in that church,
Her heart begging to be allowed to grow up, Her dream echoing to the pleas of the universe.
The universe hears her It really, truly does,
No matter how much later on She thinks it never did. But it hears her, It just cannot help her,
Because the world is so much crueler
Than the universe ever was,
And it knew very well that on this day, That casket would be the final home
Of all the little girl wished to be
I watch her from a distance
And know this is my fault
Pushed by the will of the world
And the inability for me to color within its lines,
I am the reason she sits among the crowd And feels a piece of herself
Being ripped from her soul
And left to rot
The funeral is beautiful. I pay my respects
The church slowly empties, Save for the little girl,
And I feel the weight of what I have done .
I know that I have chosen the path that wants nothing to do with my words.
I know that I have chosen the path that will never refill my jar of ink
I know that I have chosen the path that will serve everyone but myself
I want to take the life I was given, The life bestowed upon me and her in the casket, And accomplish more than a book I want to feel as if I can take the weight off the shoulder of another,
And poetry will never get me there It just adds more fuel to the fire, Burning brighter off all that goes wrong I cannot subside on flame alone
If I know no shelter while my heart knows no rest And while I will find comfort in being something more important than an observer, I know she in the casket will never return to me
My word will never be quite as beautiful, My stories never as meaningful to tell. She will rest in that crimson casket
My inspiration, my grace, my most beloved pen And I will move on to much greater things Than my few hundred pages of heart between covers
But I will ask the little girl, Who seems to know me all too well, To pray for me, And for my spark, That one day when, the world is less cruel, It will return to me
And shine just as bright As it did in me
And did in her.
I ask her to pray For a lost little writer
With a mind much too much
For her own good I ask her to pray
That the universe is still listening, Still holding onto our dream, Our destiny,
For when the time comes We are able to accept it.
I ask her to write one last eulogy For the death of a poet
And what she could have become
Photo by Kira Cruz
Digital Painting by V. Repetto
Mother Nature Wants Me Home
by Anonymous
I clutch at my heart And collapse to the ground.
When I look up, you're standing there,
A somber look on your face.
I’m thankful you ’ re there for me,
But I wonder about if you weren’t
I can get up on my own,
But I’ll never deny your hand, Even just to feel the touch.
But as soon as you leave,
Because I know that you will,
I’ll slip back to the ground,
Letting the dirt bite at my knees, And allowing the Earth to swallow me whole
Because Mother wants me home. She can feel every crack in my heart
And the bittersweet dew in my eyes.
Mother wants me mended
Mother wants me whole
And I know she’s not very fond of you. She’s blessed you with her beauty
And graced you with her talents,
But she knows I’d give up anything for you
And begs me home when you ’ re gone
But do you ever wonder why
She keeps you tied so close to her
And regards you with such reverence?
Because she knows without you
Her child would leave her home
A little too soon
Before she was supposed to go
Just to chase your stardust
And what good would it do
To tie the sun so close to the moon
To ignite its blaze with the fuel of the night’s beacon
To change the world’s orbit so the light follows the dark
Just to let the sun go
And find herself a new home with the stars
Where maybe she can find
A place for her love
To be cherished
And wanted.
Photo by Sarah Fong
Photo by Adriana Ndokaj
Photo by Giada Arciprete
Tragedies by Kira Cruz
Why must you look at me like that?
With a pitiful gaze and glassy eyes?
Is all that I am to you a tragedy?
One that sits numb as you walk by, taking the broken promises of forever with you Stop it. Stop it Stop it
Do not look at me any longer.
Not in that way I hate this feeling. I despise it.
The need to cry
The desire to cry, but even then, no matter how much I try I cannot
It’s as if physically I am here, but mentally, in every other way, I am not.
I hate feeling like somewhere in this world, someone cares, even if it is obvious that nobody does.
I hate feeling broken because you were.
I was not human when you had left me, and I have a hard time believing that I even was one when you were here
I do not know when I stopped being human, but if there is one thing that I do know, it is that I had never been the tragedy It had always been you.
Digital Painting by V. Repetto Painting by V RepettoLavender
by Kira CruzMy fingers run through your soft locks as you cry into my chest Lavender softens anxiety, or so I heard Day after day, I wonder if things would be better if I was able to plant a garden of lavender in your mind
If I was only able to unravel the knots and pains that lie hidden in your heart
If I were one day able to paint you in purple, and let the flowers grow in such a way where each small thing did not lead you into a spiral, doubting your worth and work
If I were one day able to, I would do it without thinking twice.
★
You are always thinking of lavender plants They fill our rooms and gardens.
Your fingers that lie in my hair plant seeds that grow tall and thick until I am overflowing with serenity
But it poisons me.
I am poisoned by the smell, which is nauseating and fear inducing.
Refrain from lying what is calm in my mind, for if that is what ‘calm’ is supposed to be, I’d rather do without, for it cannot truly be called that.
The only thing that I can truthfully call my own is what you are trying so desperately to rid me of What you attempt to ‘relieve’ me of. The roots attempt to ground me, but they sink too deep into my mind and cause more damage than relief You attempt to sooth my wild thoughts, but you do not succeed. You will not succeed. It has already taken control of me
My love, I will think of you through times of trouble, and I will thank you for your efforts even after years have already passed by, but dear, there will be no flower to ever bloom that can restrain a decomposing soul such as my own.
Photo by Giada Arciprete
Photo by Anonymous
A Garden of Dreams
by Kira CruzIn my dreams, I have a garden.
Moss clings to rock arches and fish swim in serene ponds, shades of orange, greens, and golds reflecting on the surface
The skies are blue, but not always clear. The weather is perfect, like a simple summer's day
Millions of flowers decorate the ground, like a sunset I can touch A sea of my love for you.
Each one is a time when I thought of you
You take over my mind and override my thoughts
The sound of the rain soothes me. It is not one of anger and hate. It is one to calm, a simple rain, a perfect rain
The dew drops are fresh and perfect on the bright leaves. I wish to stay here forever, where the memories of you are still strong and clear I wish that I was here with you by my side instead of me by a grave
But my eyes open soon after daybreak, my heart mourning greatly for something I have already lost but cannot find
After all, what will life be without the dreams and hopes that we know will never come true for us sinners and dreamers?
Photo by Anonymous
Photo by Kira Cruz
Blooming Myrtles
by Anonymous
The barest glance,
The mere meeting of eyes, Sends electricity through me, Ricocheting in my bones
It is a lightning storm in my veins
Explosive, destructive, palpable
And terrifyingly beautiful
I taste it on my tongue, bittersweet, familiar. I can hear it, the buzzing in my ears, The pounding of my heart
It has become me and I have become it.
And, for once,
I understand the plight of Paris, The path of Odysseus, The yearning of Dido, and
The powers of Aphrodite, Of the sheer force of feeling Suddenly,
The heroes become more human Than ever
Driven by emotions so strong, They could bring Achilles, Aristos achaion, To his very knees
The words echo in my head, A mantra, a motto – a comfort. I understand I know. I know How it feels to long So utterly, That you would fly towards the sun, That you would journey the sea for decades, That you would risk the wrath of the gods themselves. heroes are just As human, as mortal As the rest of us
And, lovely Aphrodite
Guides our paths forward
Lined with myrtles in full bloom, Blood red, dove white, blush pink
As they guided heroes of old, So too will they guide me.
For that, I am thankful.
Photo by Giada Arciprete
Blue on Blue by Anonymous
Most wait busily for the warmth of the sun and the opportunity for fun with family or friends but some find it with books and pens on beaches alone they write dazzled and grown they lay and ponder while their eyes wander
following the flight of gulls that travel beneath the clouds that mirror their shape the clouds that sit beneath the Carolina blue sky gazing down, the eyes of most view where the sky and the sea meet and form a blue on blue.
Burn, Burn, Burn
by Kira CruzChild of gold, what is it like to conquer?
Golden child, how is it you laugh and fearlessly love?
You aim to be lighthearted and strong, but your hands shake and your voice trembles as the hero becomes the victim.
Broken child, one of the night, tell me, how does it feel to burn?
You exist to bleed You exist because you were born to die
You defy the stars, the laws of the world, you turn away to save the golden one
Broken child, golden child, you will burn, burn, burn
Love and desire cannot save you now.
Photo by Megan Jansky Photo by Isabella Ndokaj
sunlight, come back by Anonymous
I’ll never get back
That chilly summer morning
I guess I should’ve guessed Progress would be a warning I wish I could regress To that early sun adoring, And now I must confess, That its vacancy means mourning.
Now what I want is the only thing I lack
can we play again? by Anonymous
I want to fly my kite again Wherever did it go?
I swear I saw it yesterday When I was playing in my home It was big and bright and beautiful When we flew it in the field And as we crossed the street together, I watched as the cars would yield. I want to fly my kite again, Though the sun has gone away.
Cause even though it’s dark out now, I still would love to play
Photo by Anissa Imran
Photo by Anissa Imran
Photo by Anissa Imran
Seasons by Isabella Ndokaj
Another leaf falls and a raindrop stains,
Once more I can hear Mother Nature’s refrain.
Roots have been dried and my hands frozen over, Winter’s cast her grip upon snow-covered clover.
The air begins to warm and flowers bloom anew, I never would have thought such beauty to be true.
A blazing sun cuts my gaze, Trickling through the treetops
Amid the heavy summer haze, I think, “How glad to live in these backdrops!”
Upon the Tainted Sorrow by Kira Cruz
We taint this world
With each step we take
We cause sorrow
With each breath of fate
When the string of life, comes to an end
We blame above, instead of our ‘love’
For them there are flowers, that we send
Because our regrets are deeper
When the life we shared will end
Photo by Giada Arciprete
Photo by Sarah Fong
Other
by Anonymous
I will always be something to you, But never someone.
From the moment I waddled into the little blue classroom
And was directed to a cubby to hang my coat, I have always been a something Odd Different.
Other I have always been an other.
I don’t know who decided to put everyone into groups,
Either other or not
With a few toeing the line between But that separation is one that bonds to you And will determine more than the next decade of your life
And that’s what happened to me.
The lotto was drawn and my name was chosen And they rushed me to the corner with all the other oddities
And instructed me that this was now my group, These were my friends, “And you’d be smart to stick with them
In case a bully would happen to walk by You need someone to have your back, And god knows that won't be us ” I never really meshed that well with them
As I inched my way to and through middle school. The crybaby, The psycho, The gross, The idiot, The obnoxious, The loner, The tagalong, The liar, The innocent, And me.
I don't know what quality was the one that othered me,
And I don’t think I really want to know.
(I mean, whatever it was couldn’t have been that bad I was the last one still getting birthday party invites.)
But from the day I entered that room, I became something
An other. It’s quite a unique label, I’ll admit It’s like you have a sign taped to your back constantly
That only you can never see
With a notice for all else that you were selected
To be a curiosity for the rest of the world
It wasn’t always awful, really
Some others will have it much, much worse than I did
And it gets to the point where you can feel people reading the sign on your back
And decide you and your other little freaks
Should embrace what you were given
Make the most of a title we hoped one day would fade.
So what did we do?
Wore cat ears to school,
Roleplayed super hero stories at recess
Well past the acceptable age to play pretend,
Reluctantly accepted the kids who no one else liked, Brought our manga to school, Begged the gym teacher to sit out of the game, Played Undertale and Minecraft,
Dressed like we were just ripped from 2014 tumblr, Made horrific faces in every picture we took
To avoid the faces we were taught to hate;
We reveled in the laughs thrown our way,
Embraced the fact no other than our own wanted to come within a foot of us, And used the line drawn for division
As the path marker for our grand parade
I can’t say we didn’t probably make things worse in all that we did,
But there’s no turning back when you ’ ve lived like this for so long.
I took those laughs, Those comments,
Those snide looks thrown my way, And let it fuel a spirit within To do whatever the hell I pleased
With my odd little life
Though none of this was without hardships
The rest of our peers never had to face, And wishing, even if for a moment, That we could trade in our titles
For ones without red marks next to our names
Because, well, in the end, Our friendship was formed because we were all rejected
By the poster kids and pretty faces
That owned the hearts of everyone they met, Not because we truly all got along. There was resentment, There were bitter feelings
Sometimes there was even outright betrayal.
It has now been more than six years since my original group of others were all amicably together in a single room
I went to high school with the expectation of finding a new label for myself, To finally not be an other.
But what I found was a new degree of separation.
Though the detachment now might be less physical
No more skipping seats so they could avoid us
It registers as a lot more mental
When I listened to their stories
And got a glimpse into their lives for a short while,
I don’t think I had ever really felt my title more in my life
They were all pleasant people,
And we certainly got along,
But they will never know me beyond a surface level (Though I suppose I only know them the same.)
They live lives much different than mine, And I won’t experience half of what they do
Because they had a privilege of choosing their titles, Which, yes, will follow them for a good long while too,
But will never alter the course of their lives,
Will never automatically define what spaces they can exist freely and comfortably in, And will never be broadcasted for all to see
As something you may want to observe once in your life,
Because when you are othered from your first day of school,
You will never truly feel at peace with people who didn’t live like you
Once you become an other, There is simply nothing else really left for you to be
Photo by Anonymous
I I am the Magician. Self-confidence is key
My will is the way I am diplomatic and skilful, And pain and disaster will befall those who disagree. -
I am the Magician
I am a physician for the masses, But I myself am sick of mind I may be great, But I am disgraced.
XV
I am the Devil I ravage and pillage. Fatality is not below me I am force with all my effort, But I have never declared myself evil. -
I am the Devil. I bring weakness in heart and mind. People are petty, And that’s not my fault. They are blind and flock to the evil I display
VI
I am the Lover. Beauty is within me Love is what I give, And love is what I get. There is nothing my love Cannot overcome.
-
I am the Lover
I am made of foolish design. I cannot love When failure befalls me I am made
XIII I am Death. The end is growing ever-near, And destruction always follows Everyone is mortal, As all will soon knowI am Death. With me, nothing changes Energy is dead And you will never know You are dreaming, But I am sleepwalking. From the Deck by Anonymous
Of what I cannot have
XVI
I am the Tower
A sure sign of misery. Life would not be life If there was no adversity, And peace means nothing Without calamity
-
I am the Tower. Life remains two-fold, But you’d be lucky to know Anything but my fist And my end-all will
0 I am the Fool I live for pleasure. I am manic I am fun I am guiltless joy. I am quite a lot, But I am everything you are not.
-
I am the Fool
Everything I knew is a lie. I am vain
I am null and apathetic I am careless. I am absent I am negligent. And I am everything you are not.
Knock a Little Harder by Anonymous Heart to heart,
But the walls won't come down. I knock and I knock, But you still won't reply I haven't seen you in months, And I miss what we had I knock and I knock, But then I hear the click of a lock, Echoing softly from your side, And it hits me that this i real, And the last sight I'll see of you, Is a gray, stone brick wall. I knock one last time, But the silence is too heavy
So I raise my hand to the handle, And enter my own home, That I can promise will always be Right across the way.
Photo by Sarah Fong
Untitled by
Grace RuoccoI am so close yet so far Unsure of what’s ahead
Yearning to stay behind knowing I must move along
But I am afraid
But I am prepared. And I am not alone in this uncertainty I find comfort in that thought You are never alone. How could something so quickly pass me by? I will never understand
But I am so thankful I long to stay
But now I know I must carry on
With the knowledge
With the confidence
With the love
I will always hold it dearly in my heart
A special place
With it’s moments of joy and sorrow laughter and tears
It has changed me for the better
And for that I am forever grateful.
Photo by Megan Jansky
Graduation
by Amma TreskaWe never thought the day would come, In the blink of an eye there it all went.
4 years
48 months
209 weeks
1460 days
We patiently waited counting the days until we realized the years had gone by. We’ve laughed, we’ve cried, trust me we’ve stressed— And boy do you believe we’ve studied. At the end of the day, we’ve spent countless hours together the class of 2024 as we all begin to go our separate ways. We’ll grow our wings and fly, going on to become doctors, lawyers, engineers, designers, business women, and more.
Life won’t be easy: we’ll grow close, grow apart, and face challenges but we’ll always be able to look back at the memories we’ve made at Saint Joseph Hill, and maybe we’ll realize it wasn’t so bad because we won’t remember the dreaded tests. But we will remember the way our hearts felt complete as we walked up that hill one last time.
Club Members 2023-2024
Giada Arciprete Cassandra Ampo
Isabella Ndokaj Mona Yeung
Arianna Nguyen Kira Cruz
Grace Ruocco Sophia Wright
Anissa Imran Valen Repetto
Adriana Ndokaj Claire Colandrea
Olivia Deegan Lucia Ferlazzo
Rosemarie LoBasso Emily Walsh
