THE EMERALD
SPECIAL
THANKS TO CHIEF EDITOR
Kuyill Ponnappan (‘26)
MANAGING EDITOR
Ms. Gina Bittinger
ARTS DEPARTMENT
Ms. Mia Ippolito
Ms. Nancy Davenport
Mrs. Annette Sanchirico
Art Credit: Richard Saenz
“The Fisher” Michael Wright ’25
He sits at peace, where the water runs, a body still, where the river is done. The rod in his hand, a long thin line, that drops to depths where the shadows lie.
The world around him moves and flows— the reeds, the birds, the wind that blows— but he remains, a silent stone, unmoved by all that isn’t his own.
The fish may come, or they may not; he measures time lost in thought: the run of waves, the sun’s slow way, the quiet rustle of the leaves that sway.
His thoughts, like hooks, sink deep and low, to places only he can go. They tug at memories, sharp and haute, or flow like weeds beneath his boat.
He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t call; The world’s loud voices seem so small. For here, by himself, he is free— a keeper of his own mental sea.
The fish, if caught, he’ll let them go, for what he seeks, only he will know. It’s not the catch, nor the fame, nor the fight— it’s the watching, the waiting, til the fade of light.
“The Daycare”
Samantha Kuchera ’25
Walking into the gym and turning the corner to the daycare
Are the last moments of freedom.
The blaring music grows quieter
as I walk into the bright, colorful room.
The clicking of the small, childproofed door unlocking
And the buzzing of the computer monitor
are the last whispering sounds I will experience for the next few hours.
Soon the sounds of laughter and screeching children will fill the room,
Marking the start of the chaos that will fill my night.
Art Credit: Madalyn O’Neill ’27
Art Credit: Lauren Hak ’26
“Ode to Babs”
Sean Tomczynski ’25
As we arrive to the fairway
In our pearly white cart
We unhook the bags
From their restraints to start
A day full of drives and putts
And birdies and eagles
Using drivers and irons
And our footwedge if we’re smart
Meticulously adjusting his cap
Intentional as he takes every step
The legend, the star
The myth, my heart
Ash Babs gets ready to hit under par
In the tee box he took his final stand
Breaking seventy was his only plan
With his Callaway and his Titleist firmly in hand
Ready to prove his success
Is no flash in the pan
“The Matcha”
Michele-Grace Haywood ’25
Green waterfalls pour onto the ice
A taste of nature springing on your taste buds
From the stone ground Japanese Green tea leaves
It is not everyone’s cup of tea
But a joy to many who partake in it
The delight from the grassy green powder
Left at the bottom of the cup
Matcha is consumed from the morning to night
Matcha is consumed hot or cold
In my matcha latte, I am at ease
In my warm matcha tea, I am comforted.
“The Bird”
Grace Martin ’25
Grandmother had a golden cage
That stood upon the sill.
A gleaming, wired, pompous tower,
A beautiful bastille.
Between the glinting bars of brass
Atop his tiny swing
A bird was perched delicately
A scene for him to sing.
He did not sing.
He never sang.
A model specimen of wealth.
His feathers lush and blue
That glistened with the window’s light
And tinged with purple hue.
Small but knowing midnight eyes,
Beak like grayish stone,
Slowing swinging back and forth
In there all alone.
He lived a life of luxury,
With a mirror and a bell,
All that he could ever want,
Within this noble cell.
A precious jewel to admire
Sapphire in a gold ring
A rarity to be displayed,
Awaiting for him to sing
He did not sing.
He never sang. Why?
Why do you not sing to me?
Why do you not fly?
Why do you not entertain?
Why do you not try?
Is your home not made of gold?
Is your bell not so in tune?
I’ll keep your secret, tell me why it is you will not croon.
Not dead but not quite living,
Trapped in this tableau,
Coal-like eyes reflected grief
Gazing at the window
Outside other birds swarmed in flight
Swooping through the trees
Outside a blur of red and black
And yellow and orange and green.
No shiny bell or crystal mirror
Would ever make it change
As gilded as it may be
A cage is still a cage.
The little bird stood lonely,
Amid the gawking stares,
And I saw that in his beating heart
He longed to be out there.
Sadness echoed in his wings
A deep and mournful blue
Looking at the tiny bird
I decided what to do.
A simple latch undone, I craddled the tiny bird,
Holding him outside the sill
He perked up and stirred
Then with a jolt he took the leap
Wings spread out wide
Joining the swirling colors above
Dancing free throughout the sky.
And he began to sing.
“So Said The Earth Mother” Kuyill Ponnappan ’26
What more could I offer, When my heart is worn thin, When I’ve scattered my hopes As seeds in the wind?
I have left pieces Of myself in the rain, Watered the earth With my joy and my pain.
I’ve opened my hands, Let go of my pride, Gave the best of my fire To warm those inside.
Yet still, the world calls, With its endless demand. I ask,
What more could I offer From these emptying hands?
“The
First Fall”
Maxine Fisher ’25
Dustings of powder slipped from the sky, drifting, drooping, floating, falling–a blinding abyss of the end-less.
Flowers frosted over, memories encased until next time.
A warm beacon in the horizon, engulfed by the whirl of white. The smell of comfort, wafting up the smokey-channel.
A spotless sheet of snow to the entrance, wood neatly stacked in piles.
Tiny hands, noses pressed, marks left against the fogged windows. Uncontainable excitement potent, gloves and scarves strewn across the floor.
From end to end, fields of a whimsical winter, covered with the first fall.
“The Questions (and Their Answers)”
Kyle Aquino ’25
The Question: How can I get someone to like me?
The Answer:
Cut your left ear off with a razor Listen with the other one And paint them under mood lighting. Don’t give up, People are drawn to success.
The Question:
How can I try to learn new things?
The Answer:
Find your brain’s access port Plug in a microUSB cable And play a couple puzzle games. Don’t give up, Learning is better than knowing.
The Question: How can I live a healthier lifestyle?
The Answer:
Mix your heart with ibuprofen Dust with sugar and cocoa powder And start a Michelin Star restaurant. Don’t give up, Starting small is starting something.
The Question: How can I start writing poetry?
The Answer:
Glue your eyes to a screen Watch the entire Toei Animation library And comment about it on the internet. Don’t give up, Inspiration can be everywhere.
“Untitled”
Emily Mikkelson ’28
Tension in your shoulders starts to wane
The ache in your back starts to drain
Slow syrup of relief leaks through your brain
The comfort of home keeps you safe from the pain
Art Credit: Angelina Martinez ’26
“The Cello”
Grace Samuels ’25
A Vibrant Tone. A Loud Expression. The bow glides–With passion, strings sing with energy. Or with Staccato–Short– Short–It whispers. It cries. It hums.
A strong force–Bow hair slowly Slowly, fraying Stored away, it stops breathing–The neck reaches out The pegs, exhausted Until hands return–Rosin dust shaken, Strings woken, It whispers. It cries. It hums–Once more.
“The Light”
Ariana Moreno ’25
When the dust has settled down, When the pavement is free of blood, Where will I find you?
In an almost empty tavern?
In some lost, cold corner of the world? In some dusty and sun ridden town where tumbleweeds ride? Where can I rekindle the fire that burns? It was the type of fire that, When you even glanced at it, Your eyes would burn and tears would form and drop. At the mere glance of that ember, You and I,
Would stare at anything but the blinding light, till the night’s long end.
Now that I can’t find you, the world grows empty and cold. No life to be seen for miles and miles, It is just me. As I walk, waiting for you, I walk waiting for the once dreaded ember to light in feet long flames, So high the clouds will be erased, The sun will be lit again, What’s left of the birds will come flocking out, out of their nests, And you and I will be again.
“The Boredom Blur: A Burntout Sonnet”
Abigail Riley ’26
Scrawled alphabets riddle crumpled paperThe buzzing gone silent, the graphite dullGlossy nails comb for words in greasy hair, Atop my empty brain and brittle skull.
Grainy hands guide dusty records to spin Around and around, until the void sings Music of molasses and Vicodin It coats my throat to silence my protests
Insomnic Sleep melts me to my mattress -It is molded to my soul of clay bisquedOut, the candle in my ribcage it snuffsThe wick that moved my puppet, severed.
I clasp the pencil, graphite dull and dead And poke holes in my skin, to drink in lead.
Art Credit: Olivia Pawela ’25
“The
Course”
Ashton Babnew ’25
I step onto the course a wide stretch of green, fairways swaying in the breeze, sand traps still and smooth, waiting for a mistake.
The air is fresh, smelling of cut grass and morning mist. Footprints fade in the soft ground, left by players before me, gone like they were never there.
The ball flies, a small white dot against the sky, then lands, rolls, stops, waiting for the next shot.
The course doesn’t rush, doesn’t fight back. It just waits, steady and quiet, as I take another shot.
Art Credit: Michael Crouse ’26
“Bring Me a Dream”
Kuyill Ponnappan ’26
I don’t ask for a dream of gold or glittering seas, or a palace spun from the threads of dawn: I ask for the quiet of rain on forgotten leaves, for the echo of your voice, distant but whole.
I ask for the dream that waits in the hollows, secretly, between the breath and the stars, where time folds in on itself like petals in dusk, and your shadow stretches to meet mine.
I ask without knowing why, or if it will come, I ask as one asks the ocean to carry them: not to arrive, but to float endlessly toward.
Bring me a dream so close that it unravels me, so close that I awake wearing its weightless wings.
“The Toast”
Ryan
Mullin ’25
In the darkness of my kitchen, I stand Before the toaster, a fire at hand
I scorch the toast, the scent so vile A horrendous mistake, a culinary trial
The smoke fills the air, a ghastly haze As I watch, in horror, my breakfast ablaze
I pinch the toast, now black as night And toss it aside, with all my might
I yell and scream, my anger stirred As I start anew, my toast to be purged
But alas, it is to no avail For I burn the toast once more, without fail
“The Orchid”
Emily O’Donnell ’25
An Orchid grew
Through a cracked wall emerged
Beautiful—
Blossoming—
Brilliant
Onlookers glimpsed
Peering over the gate
Years and years
Once onlooked–
Now overlooked—
Undervalued—
Unseen
As petals began to droop
Others too late came back
Darker shadows overtook it
Sun dried
Soon became withered
One after one
Swoosh—
Swoosh— Swoosh
They fell to Mother Earth
The resting place of all
Almost nothing left
A small shriveled leaf
Remained
A once exquisite plant—
Unrecognizable
Its greatness gone
Treasured only by some
Until the sun shone no more
Upon it
“Dreams
and Nightmares”
Sally Stavash ’26
Dreams are for lovers, Filled with bright colors and shooting stars, And overflowing with joy and affection.
People dream of things that they keep dear to their heart, They see the one they love hand in hand with them, Or a lost family member or friend hugging them once again.
A dream is a vision, A chance for something more, A vision we don’t want to end.
But on the edge of dreams, Exists the dark side, Known by many names; the nightmares.
Nightmares are for the fearful, Filled with darkness and monsters, And overflowing with fear and pain.
People have nightmares filled with phobias, They see their darkest secrets exposed like an angry wound, Or seeing themselves or others die over and over again.
A nightmare is a terror, A chance for the worse, A terror we want to end.
But what correlates these two together? They’re both figments of the imagination, That might, one day, come true.
“Evening Serenity” Finley Green ’28
“The Number”
Emma Crisci ’25
I am nameless
A face is all they’ll go by And number pinned to my chest
That is what they’ll call me Its just a number, it means nothing But the weight it holds is so much more They never repeat it’s always different Today it’s #21, lucky me
I’m surrounded by hundreds of different faces
I have no idea who they are They are only a number to me unless I want to know more As I wait patiently for my turn I practice the steps
The music’s pumping through my system
Mixing with my heartbeat
The moves are memorized to a T
Will see if they are in 10 minutes “Numbers 20- 30 to the stage!”, well my turn
As I get in the first pose, The lights blinding my eyes I can’t see the three people in the table in front of me
There judging me and I haven’t even moved #21; what will they say about me
The music begins “5, 6, 7, 8……”
Time to make them know my name
“The Shoe”
Keely McAteer ’25
My journeys are woven In your leather creases, Weathered by age And tumultuous seasons. Your skin takes the brunt When I choose a new path Scuffed, faded, and tornIt reads like a map.
Infinite faces, you mold to fit me Different shapes That each hold the same history. While I know the truth, You are no match for time,
I’ll still wear your sole as you’ve worn mine.
“Hold my hand when my heart drops”
Abigail Riley ’26
You’re everything i want To be
I am the empty cup Pertho, Raise me to your lips Expel
Wine richer than blood Prick
Your lips on my splinters Drop Me on the wood Grain
Running against your heart Scrrrt
Of a record on repeat Im sorry im sorry im sorry “I love i love i love you” r empty cup.
“The Sound Before the Silence” (after Alison Tafel’s “The View From Halfway Down”)
Kuyill Ponnappan ’26
The room is dim, the air sits still, The weight is in my palm.
A hollow breath, a finger tense, A moment stretched too long. The metal cold against my skin, A whisper in my ear.
A final thought, a fleeting doubt, Then silence swallows fear.
The clock hands twitch, the barrel lifts, The world reduced to now.
A pull, a flash, a ringing bright— Too late to wonder how.
The noise erupts, the air stands still, A shock I didn’t brace. It should be done, it would be done, Were I not left in this place.
The burning sting, the shaking hands, A mind that screams to stay. I swore I’d go, I swore I’d leave, But no, please—not this way.
A pool too red, a breath too short, A wish upon the floor. All I’d give to stand again, To walk back through that door.
But this is it, the line is crossed, No time to turn around.
I should have seen what happens next, Before the sound gave way to silence.
I should have stopped to think about The sound before the silence.
I wish I had just known about The sound before the silence.
“The Photo Booth”
Angelina Le ’25
A pinky promise
We made at heart.
Two fingers intertwined, Two smiles shone bright. Each time we saw
A cramped room
With a tiny seat
With a single camera
With a dusty curtain
With a chance
To capture us once more.
Four eyes that twinkled, Four feet that ran Towards the photo booth
That keeps us eternal. We would sit down. We would plan—
A heart
A peace
A wink
A smile
Would fill the booth
With laughs and giggles.
Two strips, please! Are you ready?
3, 2, 1
A heart—
Flash!
3, 2, 1
A peace—
Flash!
3, 2, 1
A wink—
Flash!
3, 2, 1
A smile—
Flash!
The cramped room Became filled With light and laughter. Each flash
Came with its Panics and giggles. Two people With a promise, Two people With a memory, Now immortalized With their heart and life
In two strips Of four photos
From every Photo booth.
I, TOO, COLLECTION
“I, Too, am Here”
Valeria Atenco ’27
I, too, am here
My face blurs in a sea of students
No one knows my name, no one knows my face. I am just a name, but I am here, and always will be
There is nothing ahead for a dying star Well, I’m not a star, not even a dying one
But I am here, and always will be
When my time burns out I hope to cause a supernova So they can see
I was always here
“I, Too, am An Artist”
Tony Rubino ’27
I make your entertainment. but when tech appears, you choose it over me. But we leave and practice and boycott. And hope for change.
Tomorrow,
The creatives will overpower “AI” and the people will accept the soul in art, and the minds behind it. We will have had our victory. After all, It’s only a matter of time before real art prevails.
We, too, are the art.
I, TOO, COLLECTION
“I, Too, am Kind”
Cynthia Rojas ’27
I, too, am kind
I try to be kind with everyone My moments of being kind to people help me make new friends. I laugh with them and play with them and keep them company
For the next day, I will still choose to be kind. Whether if its my friends or even strangers, I will still choose to be kind. It is my choice and one of my goals.
Although some rude people exist, there are still some kind people in this world. So-
I, too, am kind
“I, Too, am ‘Student’” Christopher Basso ’27
I, too, write school
I am the smarter brother They send me to write and wither When teacher comes But I cry I write well I grow swell Monday I’ll be in class When principal comes everyone scared say to me “be prepared” Then Besides They’ll see how smart I am and be ashamed
I, too, am student.
I, TOO, COLLECTION
“Powerful” Tyler Davis ’27
I, too, am powerful. I am an African American woman. They overlook me. When the time comes, I prove them wrong. Focus on my goals, And become my own person.
Today is a new day. They still overlook me in the same way. Is it because I am black? Is it because I am a female? I overlook them. I am myself.
Now Besides They will see me for me. And we’ll become the best of friends I, too, am powerful.
I, TOO, COLLECTION
“I, Too, am Human”
Addison Crotta ’27
I, too, am human.
I am the one they do not always notice, The quiet voice that gets lost in the crowd. I am the dream that they sometimes doubt, The hope that is pushed aside. I am the strength that rises quietly. The fight that will be ignored.
Tomorrow,
I will stand a little taller, and speak with more force, They will not be able to overlook me. I will sit at the lunch table, Not as an outsider, but as one of them. They will see me for who I am. I will belong just as much as anyone else.
Besides,
I have a right to be seen, And I am enough. I, too, am human.
“I, Too, am a Fighter”
Josh Hernandez ’27
I make sure to train everyday So that my name will forever stay I say a prayer then look to the sky I step on the mat, look him in the eye I shake his hand, with no fear Because I know victory is near
I fight this man until he taps And then I know that it is wraps I stand up now, tall and proud I hear my family cheer so loud
I now thank God for this chance I walk to my corner and take a glance I see my coach and thank him too I love to hear him say “I’m proud of you”
I, too, am a fighter
I, TOO, COLLECTION
“I, Too, am an Athlete”
Tristyn McLaughlin ’27
I may play a different sport, And be told I can’t do skills others can do, But I put in the time, And the practice, Until I physically can’t anymore Tomorrow, Others will see that time, And that practice. No one will dare Say to me “Anyone can do what you do” Then. Besides, They’ll see the Technique, Mental and physical, And be ashamed.
I, too, am and athlete
“I, too, am Ghanaian”
Nana Adwoa Damoah ’27
I am the proud child They send me to the back
When guests arrive I smile, And cherish my heritage And grow strong Tomorrow I’ll stand at the forefront
When guests arrive Nobody’ll dare
Say to me “Go to the back,” Then. Besides,
They’ll see my culture’s beauty And be inspired —
I, too, am a proud Ghanaian.
I, TOO, COLLECTION
“Mwen se ayisyen”
Max Romain ’27
Mwen se frè ayisyen an
Yo di mwen pa kapab grandi cheve m anba do kay sa a, men mwen pa enkyete paske mwen ri, epi manje byen, epi grandi fò
Demen, mwen pral grandi cheve mwen.
Lè sa a,
yo pap di m koupe l
Anplis,
Yo pral wè ki jan bon li sanble epi yo pral sezi
mwen se ayisyen
“An Open Book”
Karen Medina ’28
“Winter Wonderland”
Isabel Hertline ’27
Wind blows cold during December Icicles hang from the tops of the houses
Nativity scene waits for Jesus to be born
Twinkling lights glisten on the tree
Elf hides every day till Santa comes around Red, white, and green are colors for all to see
Art Credit: Madalyn O’Neill ’27
“The Revenger”
Liam Lyons ’25
“Tua, you’re in” Nick Saban said Sophomore year
All the work had been for nothing I revenged
Oklahoma. A Sooner. Couldn’t have come sooner.
2nd in the Heisman I revenged
The combine
The rest of my life. One day. Ran 4.59 seconds. I revenged NFL Draft
Philadelphia Eagles
“I really don’t like this pick”
Brandon Lee Gowton I revenged
Carson Wentz goes down I am in I take his job I revenged
Super Bowl LVII Game of my life
Confetti falls in Red and Yellow I revenged
Had a purpose before anyone had an opinion
Be humble in everything The media still talks I revenged
2025 Super Bowl LIX
Green and white confetti falls I am content.
“The Sea”
Lily Patullo
’25
Sunlight bathes the waves in a golden shimmer, Melting into the rippling blue.
I feel the warmth of the sun on my face, Coloring my cheeks rosy.
The tide hums a rhythm I know well.
Lingering salt water curls ringlets in my hair, Which dance in the gentle breeze. I close my eyes, Inhaling the familiar scent of the sea.
The wind carries with it faint laughter of children, Their bare feet chasing the tide, And tiny hands building castles That will not last the night.
Like all the summers before, I press my fingers into the sand, Grasping tightly to the moment Until it becomes a memory.
“The Happiest”
Shane McKnight
’26
Whenever I think about summer, I think about the tenderness of the Wildwood boardwalk
The summer nights of doing nothing but going on amusement rides
And the radiant sun shining on my face while I sit and relax pondering about being in this exact place forever.
I sit back and wonder, why can’t summer remain everlasting? I would do absolutely anything to go back to this place in time when my only focus was enjoying life at the shore I had zero thoughts about school The dread of work, judgment, and deadlines didn’t matter to me.
My past self never realized how much I’d miss this time I was so happy doing the stuff I never thought I’d miss so much Like waking up to the bright sunrise and the seagulls chirping Feeling the breeze of the ocean on the boardwalk And putting my hands up in the air on my favorite rides.
At this moment in time, my current self is eager to go back to Wildwood, the place where I felt truly free My excitement grows once warmer weather comes by That’s a sign that summer is just around the corner And I finally get to embody ‘The Happiest’ version of myself once summer approaches.
“The Ocean”
Morgan Marsan ’25
From the shallow shoreline
With scorching hot and sticky white sand
That makes me turn green with disgust
To the torrid trenches
With freezing cot and pitch-black cliffs of rocks
That makes me turn blue with fear.
The treacherous beast that people call the ocean
And visit on vacation for “relaxation.”
Houses countless ancient creatures better kept below The waves that attack people, like battering rams.
From the squirming schools of slimy grey fish
With their harmless demeanor
That nose by your leg when you intrude into their home
To the sleek sharks and wrathful whales
With malice and hunger in their tiny hearts
That whip their tails and fins menacingly just out of sight.
The bright, green land above the dull water gives us
A gift of safety and familiarity. It makes me believe that The ocean is better left alone.
“When
The Stars Took Me”
Kuyill Ponnappan ’26
I am floating, and I remember.
I once had a dream, in which I asked you, What would you do if I ceased to live? You pondered, (for far too long) and (rather happily regarding my query) you chirped limitless tears shed until eyes run dry, neverending screams torn until throat fails, a ceaseless void filled with the lingering presence of me.
And so I pondered, (for far too long) and (rather snarkily regarding your answer) I asked you how say do your tears run dry if limitless?
how can screams never end if a throat fails?
and, my dear sweet angel, a void filled is no longer a void, but a feeling of plenitude.
If it had been your wish, to know what I would do, had you ceased to live, I would have remarked then,
I would bring down the stars, glaring into the fiery blinding light unflinchingly, unaffected, undettered, shouting, “Bring me mine back, You cannot have my beloved.”
You are the brightest shining heavenly gift bestowed upon me You are my beloved.
I would have remarked then, I would pick the farthest flower, sing the loudest song, plead the longest case, to get back you, roaring, “They cannot take my beloved, and not take me as well.”
But alas, you never wished to know, and I am now left alone (although hopefully not forever) waiting, having stuck to my word.
When the stars took you, I whispered, “They cannot take my beloved, and not take me as well.”
The stars sung, in agreement, gliding
n, and so, I started to float. And I remembered.
“The Wave”
Patrick Kelly ’25
Floating peacefully on the Wildwood shore
I sit there on my 6ft board
Swells rising around as I sit above the sandbar I think of nothing as I wait for the wave
Feelings of peace while watching the birds fly
I see the swell building Rising high above the sea I know this is the wave
I start to paddle through the murky salt water
Turning the front of my board toward the distant shore I feel the power of the wave approaching It lifts me up upon its crest
I stand on my board as the wave begins to break And feel the drop as it crashes
Sending sea spray across the water I have caught the wave
Moving down the line
Following the break It carries me closer to home I have beat the wave
“The Room of 235” Maya Mieles ’26
235 smells nice,
A smell with no price. It is the smell of pastry, Made fresh from a bakery. It is the smell of fuzziness, It is complete without messiness, While some classrooms smell rather plain, The smell of 235 makes you feel sane. It is relaxing and calm, As we write words with our palms. It is the smell of happiness, A room without stress.
A smell that doesn’t make you fight, That is what 235 is like.
“A Seaside Sonnet”
Lucy Bielicki
’27
The crashing of the waves welcomes me home
Skies of daring reds and blazing yellows
A dazzling water’s edge laced with pale foam
Rich sights to which only my heart mellows
Forceful gusts mingle with dashes of sand
My footsteps vanish as I forge ahead
Neither gull nor bird can be found at hand And to think I believed peace long dead
Cold creeps in as my fingers start to burn
Vibrant horizons dive into the sea
Like Selkies returning to homes they yearn Sorely stricken, I turn to make my flee
Finding jovial family await I sprint and scurry to quicken my gait
“Incandescence”
Brad Porter ’25
Isolated pawn lonesome in the land
Aimlessly traveling through dead of night in desolate desert
Waterless and weary, he wallows in the wastes
Finding respite in slumber, surrounded by snowy sands
A snake slithers over a dune, dancing to his stride
It feignedly follows in friendly fashion
As pawn progresses over rolling oceans of dead desert
Starless skies of eternal night succumb to the will of stone
An Ivory and onyx queen caked in a coat of luminescent brilliance
The pawn awakens to lustrous light and gorgeous greenery
Palatial thicket of pearly palms surround diaphanous waters
Together tumbling into tireless merriment
Their skins smoldering from frictional sunlight
In rosy pools steaming with their precious presences
Cares evaporating with the water in complimentary company
The snake seeks regal attention
Claiming her curiosity for just a moment
Unending day soon ceases and dreaded darkness returns
Illumination beckons the pawn in the abhorred absence of light
Into the dunes he turns his back on the luminous lake
Scintillant stones covered below the sands
Like a locust he leaps into the dust
Digging a divot for the coruscating stones
Shining stops as sand engulfs him
Under the erosion arms and legs fatigue
In agonizing cries his wails become winds
Blowing the dust from the dunetops
Crests caressed to fill the trough of water
His body stuffed and slathered in sand
Solidifying into stones, a sarcophagus of shale and ruby
Wrapped by tears, tomb emerges from the desert abyss
Spectral sunlight’s searing signature strikes the shale
Unmistakable ruby hieroglyph reads her clear contour
Withering while tethered to the tomb
Eyes unable to elude the scarlet stamp
Tormented to torchlight as time marches on
Winds and sands halting to the silence of restless incapacitation
Monarch of mineral forlorn finds desert once more
Throwing herself on the tombstone, she contritely caresses her craftsmanship
Regretfully lamenting, she fervently feels the red, reaching for his remnant
Brilliance blitzes into the stone, red refractions shining to recall his reinvigoration
Raised again from wallowing in withering sorrow by the ruby reminder of the tomb
Diamond-glass spirit frisks to reinfect with plague of rapturous happiness
Patient zero awoken from his undying longing in deserted slumber
Pink gusts blow over the dunes to cradle dust from the crests
Red rivers rising and expanding as dams of sand are swept away
Her sunlight shines into his crypt with reanimating rejuvenation
The doors to light open as sand is exorcized from inside with exalting exodus
Tombstone tossed away and wrappings wrathfully removed by the revenant
He climbs from the crypt as corporeal halves reunite as one
Unwithered hands reach out and are met with blazing gems, clasping one another
Supporting each other’s frames, the two share the moment
Tumbling in tandem back into the tomb with a smoldering smile
Jade and clover cover the coffin with eternal morn’s rise
“The Beach”
Mila Haddock
’25 Waves roll in, silver-edged, pulling threads of seaweed behind them. Broken shells, pink and smooth, scatter like forgotten coins.
A gull glides, wings sharp, its cry lost in the wind. Driftwood, pale and splintered, sleeps in the sand like old bones. The sun melts into the water, gold fading into blue. Salt lingers on my skin, the ocean’s last touch.
AAquino, Kyle 17
Atenco, Valeria 38
B
Babnew, Ashton 24
Basso, Christopher 41
Bielicki, Lucy 59
Brown, Siyah 34
C
Crisci, Emma 32
Crotta, Addison 44
Crouse, Michael 14, 25
Culbertson, Brianna 13
D
Damoah, Nana Adwoa 47
Davis, Tyler 42
F
Fisher, Maxine 16
G
Green, Finley 31
H
Haddock, Mila 62
Hak, Lauren 9
Haywood, Michele-Grace 11
Hernandez, Josh 45
Hertline, Isabel 51
K
Kelly, Patrick 57
Kuchera, Samantha 8
L
Le, Angelina 37
Liu, Edward 49
Lyons, Liam 52
M
Marsan, Morgan 55
Martin, Grace 12
McAteer, Keely 33
McKnight, Shane 54
McLaughlin, Tristyn 46
Medina, Karen 50
Mieles, Maya 58
Mikkelson, Emily 18
Moreno, Ariana 20
Mullin, Ryan 27
O
O’Donnell, Emily 28
O’Neill, Madalyn 9, 51
PPatullo, Lily 53
Pawela, Olivia 23, 39
Ponnappan, Kuyill 15, 26, 36, 56
Porter, Brad 60
R
Riley, Abigail 22, 35
Rojas, Cynthia 40
Romain, Max 48
Rubino, Tony 39
S
Saenz, Richard 4, 6, 63
Samuels, Grace 19
Stavash, Sally 30
T
Thach, Chanthavy 21
Tomczynski, Sean 10
W
Wright, Michael 7
Index
