Melt
Kyla Wilson, ’24. Poetry. I’ve watched the snow melt Every fall or winter day, I’ve watched the snow melt Till my hair starts to fray I’ve watched the snow melt Like I’m a cigarette on an ashtray. Now you will watch me melt, As I start to melt away.
I hate being called a snowflake
Anonymous, ’24. Poetry. Snow It’s white, fluffy, and fun Each snowflake is content with its individuality, Its strength grows as many just like it unite, And suddenly, they become snow. a mountain Towering above the neighborhood People stare With disgust Disdain Despair, even. They see the manual labor it takes to Clean out their driveways…
Caramel Leaves
Anonymous, ’24. Poetry. A lonesome palm tree with caramel leaves a sky descends from blue to white not a cloud in sight. Prickly pears, Golden barrels, and San Pedros emerge from amber sand. The sand sees the sea slice the sky in half Close your eyes Crashing waves let out a constant hum Flapping wings…
I went swimming
Ena, ’24. Poetry. I open my eyes. I am in the open ocean. I can swim, sure, but I am not scared of drowning. I look down, into the murky void below me. I begin to panic. I fear what is down there, a stingray? a whale? something even worse? I fear what I am…
Early Application
Nick Nicolazzo, ’24. Poetry. How is it that I’m always pulled by waves? I can’t tell which direction I’m going The same voices push and pull day and day. I’m not able to be free and flowing. It’s rare when the waves tell me a story Calm or powerful they are always there Making decisions…
What She Told Me
By Asia Foland ’25. Poetry. She crawls out of her bathroom windowand onto her asphalt roof It’s quiet there, except for her jagged sobssevering moonlight into onyx strips like the dark salty ribbons crawling down the cuffs of hercoarse polyester sweater, it’s dirty now and soon she will unravel her parts as fluorescent lighttaunts her…
I Went Swimming
Ena Edmonds, ’24. Poetry. I open my eyes. I am in the open ocean. I can swim, sure, but I am not scared of drowning. I look down, into the murky void below me. I begin to panic. I fear what is down there, a stingray? a whale? something even worse? I fear what I…
A PHANTASIA
By Anson Richman, ’25 Do you see it? Silver towers rising like upturned nails,no, like vines climbing stakes,on an endless quest for the sun, whose light makes them shine brighter.Below them, an endless pool of emerald green. Not just grass, but shrubs,moss that caresses your feet,vines you once were so sure were weeds,and flowers everywhere.…
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