Lauren Kim '27 small like your hand fits around my wrist is proof i exist. delicate, exotic, no, you mean less. less voice. less eyes that look back so you touch. Easy. & i learned early to make myself smaller mother’s hands on my shoulders, pressing down, keep your head down, lower your eyes. my smallness was currency. i agreed. i shrunk. but you hated me too. that’s what no one tells you. you loved the fantasy & hated the girl. touchable & despised that i was there in the f

Lauren Kim '27 I wait for you on platform three where the spring air catches  …everything your smile, my breath the promises we never kept The station smells like rain and earthlike something that might bloom if we stayed. if you stayed. Remember when we spun in circles in the damp grass until the world became just us and dizzy? This liminal space between now and nowhere holds us for one more moment. 7:15 pulls in Steam rises Your suitcase waits I watch your silhouette blur b

Arden Silver '27 The strange little teapot says: he’s not truly like this, that there’s beauty                              underneath. She must see deeper than I.  For who finds beauty in whetted claws, bristled fur, pointed fangs? Beauty, is in the books in the grandiose library the beast hides away. Beauty,  is in the ethereal rose bushes confined in the      walls      of the castle gardens.  Beauty is my name.  The beast perplexes me. Invites, no– demands me to dinner, a

Arden Silver '27 I take in the little brick house, with its little flower garden in the back, where little butterflies of white, gold, and orange flit past the little bumble bees zipping between the lengthy stalks of sunflowers and bushels of zinnias, their little vibrant petals painted magenta, fuschia, and tangerine, standing out against the sea of green. A warm breeze dances through the little garden, caressing its gentle hands on the little buds and leaves of its neighbor

Sylvie Harrington '26 I skipped  across the terse grass, tossed myself over the cold stone. That quiet was  an exhale, that wiry midnight gate curling open,  its familiar squeak a greeting, the trimmed hill ahead a comfortable challenge. I’d twirl myself in hurricanes  around those firm white pillars,  those sturdy tree trunks.  The quiet is a stern appraisal.  The house stares, hangs, like a plain linen dress collecting dust in a wooden closet.  The slivers between the might

Sylvie Harrington '26 I am unbeaten in the game of watching.  Judging, more like,  quipping, tight-lipped,  head high, dress fine silk, the angle of my jaw set straight against the  jealous green of cloth, but I am not      carefree.  Will never be, as she tracks mud into my sitting room,  hair in an absentminded knot she does not  tend or preen or give a thought to anything but her impulse.  And why? do the corners of  his mouth turn up ever so slightly at her flushed face,

Maggie Salerno '26 After Amy Winehouse From “Tears Dry On Their Own” (“ All I can ever be to you is a darkness that we knew and this regret, I've got accustomed to. ”)   I was tricked, deceived, preyed upon, the Narcissus his accomplice. All It is to him is a mere game. And I Tell him exactly that. “Love is a losing game”. Can I ever have what was once mine? Ever Haunting dreams of what if. What would be If I never succumbed to those six seeds. To Eat them was to be chained.

Xavier Tubio '28 The solar system’s true center has been found, And so I deem the Church doctrine to be flawed For it is not the Earth that the planets revolve around Because my claim in the present only confounds, They have labeled me a fraud But I remain confident in this knowledge, newfound They tell me heliocentrism is heresy, hellbound Their inquisitions and trials strike like claws But I know my luminosity will one day be renowned Although at the present I am hounded By

Emma Paulus '26 Think of the boat rocking less now,  Its ropes learning to obey again. Think of the water forgetting its fury, Loosening its grip on the stern. Think of Him still there, a hand open, Breathing into the wood of the bow, The storm slipping off His shoulders Like a coat that's no longer needed. Think of the oars resting on their palms, Their fear settling back. Think of the lake smoothening its face, Still wearing the shape of the wind, now quieted. Think of the

Lauren Kim '27 Rock is not an object  but time to time when  one sees the layers and experiences the fruits of labor Giving water to the rock giving sunlight to the rock giving air to the rock and eventually the rock shows its inner skin and releases All the waves in its chest the sound of the wind  not just in a day or two not twenty or thousands  Fallen out of the depths of the maze, all the years and time of water and wind rinse and return back to the dirt  shake off the c

Anaya Chambliss '28 I was born at a locked window I’d watch the wind dance with the maple leaves I’d try to touch it, but my fingers would press against glass I was born at a locked window Yet, my family were in that breeze They were the maple leaves swirling in the wind I’d try to follow but I could only stare through my window I lived at a locked window Although, I was just the same I was a maple leaf too, but I’ve known since birth I was not made for the wind  I was not ma

Emma Paulus '26 The field is full of them Grazing, grateful, glazed in the gold of early morning. They follow the One ahead, because following is the only map they carry. They do not question the vivid green pastures, They do not ask why the grass is sweet here,  They only lower their heads and eat, Trusting the ground and its roots beneath them The way the innocent always do; Completely Unwaveringly But one has wandered. Past the blackened tree line, past the familiar smells

Mallory Hersh '26 Most people find me plain and dry Packaged in a simple box, living a simple life, Mistaken for a simple cracker   I may seem as plain as a blank sheet of paper, but I speak the urgency of ancient times Born out of a mixture of failure, I am a symbol of tenacity I may have failed in my ability to become bread, but I succeeded in giving hope to my people I inspire perseverance and strength to everyone I serve   On the day that remembers, I lay proudly in the c

By Emma Paulus '26 I did not choose this road. Something divine knew where It was leading. My feet simply followed you, Naomi, as a river follows stones. Should I go Back? I will not. I cannot. Something in me, Something I Cannot name, Someone, would not lose me. Call it Will, Call it God, I felt His sovereign hand. I would go Through the specter of famine, through foreign fields, and  Glean after the weight of barley; my knees knowing where To bend before I did. What promise

Emerson Choudry '27 By the doorway to my house sits the grand piano   well the not so grand piano as it waits there collecting dust and disappointment. A shame, it really is after all it was promised to my aunt but promise broken because of me and the aspiring dreams and expectations. cliché I know The Asian girl playing the piano Expected to balance it all. I mean,  what can be more stereotypical than playing Carnegie at ten but   the roar of the crowd is now drown

Giah Sharf '26 Not beauty as in an exclamation from the man on the other side of the street,  As in the illumination of my sister’s eyes while she shares about her day.  As in joy. As in walking through a gallery the bright light creating a piercing contrast between the work and the pristine white walls. Not as in the low chatter from others,  discussing how beautiful ,  as in the way the colors interact,  as in the heart, weighed down  with rocks and boulders of sentiment, 

Angie Li '27 People say that i can be a fuyu or a hachiya Eat me and i might be firm and crunchy or soft and ready to burst at the first bite Really, i am delicious Some people associate me with luck and  I’m even called the “food of the gods” Moreover, i’m an excellent source of vitamins A and C Minerals, antioxidants, and fiber Orange, pumpkin, tomato, confuse me not No, but then what am i?

Emmeline Chiang '26 The gates creak open with dusty fervor, stale earth wafting from scrawling, sprawling lines. You touch fingers to your lips and breathe the rustling paper of once-crisp leaves. Forty two sentences seated you fall is like a flaming mockingjay perched atop its green pining for a green light across the bay window. Beware, it says, a shadow runs this gladed maze not unlike the buzzing  whisper of indolent horseflies— all those who wander are lost. You, however

Sylvie Harrington '26 Guitar, its skin scarred with paperclip cuts,  that hole of soft darkness in the center beckoning warmth like a nest.  Birds sing there, ringing out their tunes from the hollow.  They grow in volume, their sweetness a crescendo.  Stoic white daylight invades this room and I hear  Folsom Prison Blues, smell cream chipped beef and coffee. Guitar, its long dark neck etched with flaxen gold bands, shining  bangles on someone’s tan arm. Hair flips and spins,

Nicholas Lieu '28 I probably made it wrong.  Probably spent too much time away from it  and too little time kneading it. I let soft dough stand out by itself, So I probably shouldn’t be shocked that it fell.  I thought of you.  How you stiffened dough  with rough smacks of flour.  How day after day, you pressed and hammered. until it could stand alone. I probably could do that; I remember your recipe’s etching. Then again, it probably hurt a little. Standing on raw legs, shap