Editors’ Note
It can be exhausting and depressing seeing everyday how AI has advanced yet again, how controlled we are by technology, how we ’ re in a constant push and pull over any real social change, and how any glimmers of hope are quickly overshadowed by another appalling headline. We hope this issue of Windowpanes provides some solace from this chaotic world with art ranging from paintings and photos to poetry and music, all made by students. And to further combat the lifelessness that seems to infect big corporations and long running franchises, the editing team has made a dynamically stylized issue guided by our central theme of “petrichor”, or nature over industrialism. Throughout the edition, we ’ ve done our best to tell this story through the selection of pieces as well as the decorative elements on the pages. Through a gradual transition of colors and shapes, the sense of life and nature will bloom as you travel through the issue.
None of this would have been possible without all of the submissions we ’ ve received from students. We are grateful for everyone ’ s contributions and we hope you enjoy the 55th edition of Windowpanes.
Petrichor (peh-truh-kor)
The distinct, earthy scent produced when rain falls on pavement or dry soil, releasing oils and compounds from the ground into the air.
Petrichor is the scent of rain meeting the earth, a collision of opposing forces. In this issue, it becomes a metaphor for the oppositional tension between nature and industrialization, between the organic and the constructed. Like rain on concrete or soil, these worlds do not exist separately; they interact, overlap, and transform one another.
This curated collection explores that ambiguous space where natural and urban landscapes blur and where beauty can be found in both decay and renewal. Just as petrichor lingers briefly after the rain, these works capture fleeting intersections of environment, memory, and change.
The Problem Brighton Patisaul ‘27
Intoxicating, is the thrill of first love
A new beginning, experiences now shared My heart beats, intertwined with heaven above
Then comes the doubt, forever is blared He looks at me with love, I look away Effort is needed, love is two-way
Principled, I know this cannot carry on Running back to myself, I discern Of course I once felt love, but I am a con Breaking news does make a stomach turn Leaving behind what could have been Emotionally charged, relations in the bin My love is not deserved, I am the problem
The Mirror and the Mask Agustya Karadkar ‘27
The steel is a cold mirror, reflecting not the man who wears it, but rather the weight of a name that belongs to history. A knight, a God that breathes, trapped within a cage of shiny and bloody armour. A cloak, wound tight around fingers of a dying code. Honor is their blindfold, a silk sash that keeps the eyes forward, while the boots sink deep into the mud and blood of righteous wars. The grass will wear under the horses' hooves, and the egoism of thrones. They called it bravery, a willingness to be a tool, sharp and precise, yet the chest-plate gongs hollow. True heroism was not the clash of iron, the people learned to love or fear, or the banner flying like a kite; it is the silence after the trumpets fail, when the visor lifts, that shows what has really become of this iron-born one.
In the thin light before morning, I sit, stare at my shadow, listening to the house breathe in. Out.
S l o w down. Waiting.
Small Hours Diego Pa-Ortiz
Some days I wake with the sense that the world slipped half an inch to the side. Nothing looks quite the same Is this the world I’ve always lived in? The horizon always slips out of reach. The sun seems so far.
I make coffee. I hold the cup. It warms my hands more than my spirit. Across the street, a porch light flickers, waiting.
Hours pass by but they seem so small. Walk forward anyway, I tell myself. But each step feels off, like stepping onto a page erased one too many times. Blurry, the lines are slipping.
Sometimes I wonder who I would be if the quiet was peace instead of unease, if the world wasn’t, if I wasn’t waiting for something to happen, for something to change, for something to ignite in me a candle I forgot was once lit. Hurry, my life is slipping.
Away, the porch light steadies. Maybe it can still glow.
I sit, see the small hours of myself, sifting through all the versions I might yet become, holding them gently, carefully, closely, as though one of them, in some uncounted tomorrow, might finally be able to glow.
The world used to be beautiful. I think maybe, it could still be.
Letter to My Grind
You pace the room at midnight knuckles cracked, eyes wired to tomorrow
Even when the lights go out you sketch plans on the back of receipts. You hate red lights. You cross anyway, trust your legs more than the rules.
Emil Mejia ‘26
I watch your hands shake when the room finally quiets You forget body keeps score.
Still, you get up after every fall, wipe blood into your sleeve, step forward again.
I won't take that from you. I'll just ask you learn when to sit.
A Black Man’s Dream
Robert Shaw ‘26
Son, you saw the box, and you did not pick it up C’mon, “ son, ” you saw the cross in the dirt, go lift it up Yo, “ son ” , laugh a little, it’s good for the soul.
Hey “ son ’’ , be a man or I’ll whoop you till you get old. My bad, son. Sorry that had to happen to you. It’s alright, son, God will see you through. Thank you, son, for choosing the right path to take. Love you, son, don’t forget you were never a mistake.
Hey, son, did you get the money I sent you for food I know you're tired of eating all that ramen. What's up, Son? Did you get the money that I sent you. The Ramen that you keep eating ain’t good, plus the tofu. Don’t worry about it, man Everyone gets a bad grade. Check my text, I'm trying to get you some work so you can get paid.
Congratulations on the house, boy. I knew you could do it. Give her a chance, don’t do her wrong, and try to see through it. Y'all kids are getting old on me. Everyone is getting married. Seems like yesterday when y'all were just 3 watching House on the Prairie. Welcome to married life. I could not wait for this day. You look around, and next thing you know, you have a kid on the way. (Make him the 4th) I know those late nights are hard, but that baby gon fall asleep I know those bills are getting rough, but time will eventually leap.
Little man scored a touchdown in Pop Warner just like his grandpop Babygirl had her little recital, dancing like she was never going to stop You're the man I always dreamed of you becoming, son Just know that in my heart, you will always be #1.
Ode to the Kid Who Never Stops Loading
Jonathan Brown ‘26
you slam the alarm with the same tired thumb stumble to the shower, eyes half closed mutter deadlines like they can forgive you
you stack new planners like fragile towers each promise leaning on the next half truth your late work trailing you like loose laces
you call it laziness, i call it fear you stare down blank pages for long hours waiting for courage to finally boot up
but i’ve seen the golden feathers underneath the glowing sun when you forget to hate yourself a moment laugh too loud, hands flying as you explain a game
you think the complication is just you but it’s the weight you strap to your own back and still, somehow, you keep walking forward
this is how you celebrate escape not with a perfect version of yourself but with this flawed one, showing up again
Listen, you carry storms in your pockets, you call it drive, call it hunger, but sometimes it’s fear wearing a better name.
Fear is walking into school knowing you didn’t study, knowing something could go wrong and still having to decide what to do next.
It’s needles in your mind, piercing as time ticks toward 8:30, thoughts that don’t stop, that don’t slow down when you need them to.
Piercing.
Pulling.
Needing.
You tell yourself you ’ re fine, you tell yourself you ’ re ready, but your mind keeps asking questions you don’t want to answer.
I’m not ready, so what?
I’m not prepared, so what? I can’t control this, so what?
You try to be strong for everyone else, a roof that never lets rain through, but even roofs crack under weight no one else can see.
Still, you ’ ve been here before, and every time you didn’t fold, every time you pushed through, you came out stronger than before
So sit still for once, let yourself be unfinished, because even broken glass still catches the light.
Self-Portrait as the Boy Who Pushes Too Hard
Bryce Fralin
‘26
Shallow Stabs Never Make it
I die. So welcome me now.
Suvir Khanna ’27
The Giant Aiden Z. Willete ‘28
TheKaprewalkedthroughtheforestgreen Underneaththetreesandfoliageunseen.
Forhe’stravelingtoaplacethatmanyhaveseen Yetnooneseemstoknow.
Withhiscigar’ssmokefloatinguptothesky Andthebeginningsofwakingfireflies.
Thegiantfindshisfavoritespotup,upabove. Beneaththeshadeofathousandleaves, heclimbs. andclimbs andclimbs.
Branchafterbranch,vineaftervine Untilhefindsit.
TheKapresitsonthebranchoftheBateletree, Lookingouttoaworldthat'sbeautifulandfree.
Forhelooksoutintothedistanceovertheworldsforest,oceans,deserts Andrelaxesknowingthisiswhereheismeanttobe.
Letter to the Version of Me Who Keeps Showing Up
Jonathan Brown ‘26
dear you who drags yourself out of bed late shuffling to your desk with half shut eyes scrolling while the screen loads another day
I love the way you build whole worlds in code how you talk with your hands when games get deep forgetting to hide how much you care
i love that you still dream past your report card planning futures in tabs you never close even when doubt chews holes in your focus
i’ve seen the golden feathers underneath the glowing sun when your smile hits before your words arrive when you play the song that makes you feel alive
you call yourself too much, or not enough but i have watched you stay and try again picking up each small piece of yourself
so here is my letter, folded in your chest a reminder that you are worth this work signed with love, from the you who believes you
Umbilical Cords Luke Brady ‘26
Creamy coconut, pistachio, tuberose, ylang-ylang, and amber: familiar. Ingredients filling my memory with something so familiar.
Oh, so foreign your face becomes when I leave for Miami, in my dorm feeling like a pariah, wanting to feel familiar.
Just like you in Japan, alone in a crowd of millions, only looking for your family’s love, oh, so not familiar.
That tight San Francisco basement, your living quarters, then the NYU letter came, an unknown place now very familiar.
You then felt unbalanced, almost cut directly in half, do I act or paint, both are what I love, art is oh extremely familiar.
Death took life, but gave you poetry, feeling like dodrans, your memory of your mom ’ s face now you feel familiar.
The ink to the paper, the tears to the face, now you are complete, you gave it all for Luke Brady: our umbilical cord is familiar.
Built From Her Love Ghazal
You look at the clock twice, your mind speeding ahead of itself, sure sweetie Even tranquility feels momentary in your hands, always panicking, sure sweetie
The house smells like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on a Friday night Like Love Like safety, you made from nothing, something warm, sure sweetie
I see you vividly behind the wheel, two hands gripping the black leather wheel Hauling me to practice, music serenades us, not a moment of silence, sure sweetie
I have never lied to you, not once, not even when it may have been easier to, Truth fills the air between us, heavy but honest, scary but real, sure sweetie
I tried to tell you, my mind stacks stress like plates in a cupboard until they all shatter But your concern filled the space before I could explain this, sure sweetie
Still, you give without counting, time, love, money, whatever I need Sacrifice is a second nature, you dont keep score, sure sweetie
You flinch in terror when I fake throw anything in your direction, trauma. A childhood memory sewn into you like white on rice, sure sweetie
Your ginger hair dances in light like a treasure from a fairy tail, As if the light of the sun learned to move with you as one, sure sweetie
I picture you small, frail, quiet maybe uneasy, maybe watching more than interacting Not yet knowing the purpose you carry with each step, as it quietly unfolds, sure sweetie
Maybe you think, what could've been if you took that leap, watching it pass like a silent dream
As if regret was something you learned to carry, now light as air, sure sweetie
When you look at US, you see something completed, something done right, done with love Aidan and Jack, standing where your path has led you, sure sweetie
If I lost the light I call my mother, I think id lose direction, a blind sailor reading a map Like looking for something that you swear was always there, sure sweetie
Jack Nixon ‘26
Dear language, you live in my bones. English steady, Spanish warm like a grill, Portuguese moving like water crashing into the sides Of Dom Pedro's ship entering Guanabara Bay.
From Mexico City I began, A city that taught me the rhythm of being lively, Warm, and having sway You helped me to listen in a concrete jungle
Of a fast-developing power, To find meaning and sanctuary in the countless Churches and cathedrals. French humming from far away
Like the Normans landing on England's south coast. Paris waits for me with open palms, Ready to shape how I speak. Arabic hums at the edge like a call to prayer
In a Marrakesh mosque, a promise not yet written. Language, you make me feel seen in fragments, A voice built from many homes. Through you, I carry every word I've learned.
1 Percent Ability
Daniel Horn ‘26
every now and then that stupid smile, the one that lights across your handsome face, slips into my thoughts. at 10 in the morning, or at 10 at night, when my day begins or when my day ends, you are always in me. like a disease that infects its host and never leaves until the final days. and when the weight of living presses onto my neck, i close my eyes and there lies, your stupid smile.
Your stupid smile
Benito Arias ‘28
Illusions
High above the men on the ground stands the flag fluttering like a hollow laugh. Underneath lie the soldiers gasping for breath, swords, and spears littered across the battlefield
Back home, the artists paint portraits and the court bards sing their praises. The children look to these heroes in awe just to line up–back on the battlefield.
As the years go by, the earth begins to fill with blood Its greed grows while the kings drink their red wine imported fresh from the battlefield. We record the king's glory, paint his portrait, his golden-tipped crown
Never sharper than the soldier's sword He speaks of chivalry, to stand up tall in the face of death, but he forgets the tallest throne seems to wobble the most.
We train day and night, the sounds of iron scream as they clash. Honor becomes the sword we use to protect those who do not protect us. As we pay the ultimate price, a price
Of death, they give us gold that we put our lives on the line for. They smelt it down, glaze our swords in it like a gilded anchor.
When it rains, we stand at ease. The people cheer as we rust. Ringing like hollow bells, the sounds bounce off our armor if only the sword did too. Our oh-so important honor is tragically left to decay.
Illusions
Ryan Deloach ‘27
You're Home
Elias Duran
‘26
I quietly moved through the hallways, as if I were a shadow avoiding light, as if belonging were a language
I hadn't yet learned to speak. Lockers slammed like thunderclaps, laughter spilled down the halls, I shrank beneath the noise, the world kept talking, and forgot to save me a line.
Then I founded the Center of Service and Justice. Its walls breathe differently Its inhabitants noticed me.
They said my name, as if it carried weight, as if it had always been woven into the fabric of the room. Laughter felt inclusive there, the air was thick with welcome.
Now I carry that feeling everywhere, it spills out into my world I hold doors open for longer, remember names, not out of duty, but memory.
I know what it's like to feel unseen, and the quiet miracle when someone decides to see you anyway.
I love that part of myself, the part that builds belonging, the part that says...
You're home here, too.
The Alien Industry
Jacob Uy ‘27
The land that man had journeyed on foot has become barren; Scarcely walked by rhymers and recorders throughout,
The shore has been stricken with a fearsome drought. That thing usurped its life, the industrial baron.
“Why go on foot when He can do it for you?”
Says such fools who are drunken with the fictitious dew; The land appears full, but that is mere stolen valor,
A mere imitation of man ’ s creative might
The industrial baron fails to reach thy primal light.
No machine can reach high enough upon its tower; That tower must fall for nature’s beauty to reign,
To revive thy lyricist ancestor’s sovereign.
The Pool
Joseph Pablo Hernandez Vidal ‘26
I remember loving the smell of wet pool bricks, and swimming with the bounce and hop of light
Surrounding me, but instead I close my eyes, curling into a ball, and sank and braced the concrete floor with my roughened heels.
Going to the beach, I'd always watch the rascals of tides and mist jumping and embracing with joy.
How I wished the ocean to invite me. I would annoy the sand and shores until they called over a wave to flip me over, sending water into my nostrils, but
I stay because I fear that cold breeze before my mom would wrap me
in towels. To the point where my hands wrinkled and my lips dimmed from their bright red
glare. It was no longer my sweet mom calling me out. Now, a man
had to jump in and push me against the rocks. Never realizing the ocean actually took me in. Never realizing as I was swimming back to shore, the rip current pulled me in.
Things I learned in Latin class
Calli Earley ‘26
Things I learned in Latin class
I. II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII. IX. X.
XI.
You were not the first to feel this way
Someone before you has burned with the same pains and loves you burn with
You can mourn for someone whose bones decayed centuries ago
The ablative of separation does not express the feeling of leaving new friends
The night is warmer when shared Days fly and hours are fleeting
You will never regret trying
There is somewhere you fit as seamlessly as ABC
Someone out there knows exactly what you ’ re talking about
Someone out there is looking for a person like you Non sola es
Alley Cat
Performed by
Chris
Rob Garland:
Andy Francis: Sax
Mr. Celenza: Drums
Mr. Celenza
Brad Bietry: Piano
Haller: Bass
Guitar
Written by
Performed at The Baked Potato jazz club
Farewell My Love 2
Kennedy Perez ‘28
I no longer see the difference between waiting and simply being. Do I choose to stay?
Can a stone choose to remain a stone? Can the moth affect its trajectory toward the flame?
When I awoke, Vladimir was already talking. He is always talking. Words pour from him like blood from a deadly wound. and maybe that's what they are, these endless explanations, these theories about Godot.
Without me, who would he explain things to?
I am his audience and his proof that he exists. And he is mine. We are each other's only evidence that this is real.
Martin ‘26
Estragon Waiting Aydan
I am, therefore I suffer. The tree does not suffer. Only we do. Godot will not come. I have always known this. I think Vladimir knows it too, beneath the jibber jabber, beneath the certainty he carries like a bag of sand slowly weighing down his back.
We invented Godot the way a stranded pirate invents the shore he cannot see. just upon the horizon. a few more miles of sailing. a few more hours of waiting.
Mijo, you ’ ve always raced the clock. Even as a kid, you reached for tommorows to find the moment life where finally life felt clear. Patience was a coat that never fit you. I still see it, when I ride with you. My hand resting on the door, feeling the car rush forward, just like your thoughts. You chase time and answers down the road, eyes fixed on what’s next, as if speed could make things happen,
The Road
Elias Duran ‘26
before they’re ready. Mijo, you have to remember
Life doesn't listen, it moves to its own rhythm slow, stubborn, agonizing. You can’t push it faster.
Tapping the steering wheel at red lights, checking the time mid-conversation, trying to live tomorrow before today is done.
Everything happens for a reason, my love, even the waiting, even the stillness.
Breathe, my love…being on the road is more than enough.
He dwells upon the tray with buttered buns bright, A stack of sizzling scents in gentle light
Silent as a king, crowned in savory might.
The gasping fingers march across the throne, Ravenous he rises, a stomach’s groan, And leaves the table cold and burgerless, alone.
Gavin Stuckey ‘26
Halfway to the Threshold
Trajan Meyer ‘29
The man–an obvious foreigner to these parts–enters the saloon briskly. He places his dilapidated, black leather hat on the bar, and stands imposingly among the rows of tables, each with four chairs perched on top. The doors of the saloon clatter softly as a sandstorm rages its visceral battle against civilization.
"What can I do for you… mister?" I ask timidly.
He continues to stand stolidly. No one speaks. Silence.
"Have you seen this man?" His words dissect the gap of speechlessness; simultaneously, a strong gust of wind rattles the doors. I noticed a paper in his hand which I hadn't seen before: a bounty for a man with a rugged countenance and crystalline blue eyes. My tongue subconsciously moved over my parched, dry lips.
"I can't tell you I have," I responded.
I place my hands tentatively on the bar, mustering up the courage to address the man. Unperturbed by my deliberation, he resumes preparing his departure, unsatisfied. He tightly winds his paper, placing the archaic scroll into his sack as if it were a coveted religious text. I continued grasping at the words that I couldn't seem to find.
He started for the door as a gale of dislodged soil–carried by time itself–invaded the solemnity of the saloon. He was halfway to the threshold, and beginning to place his hat on his head when I said: "I can't fully recall," I mumbled, and the man turns to face me, "but I don't think the state offers bount… "
I was stopped by the man's rugged countenance and crystalline blue eyes.
He turns away as I broke off, positioning his worn, black leather hat on his head and stepping into the turbidity of the sandstorm as a final gust of wind draws the doors ajar, admitting him into the abyss.
Eroding Armour
Grant Hong ‘27
The chain mail soldier stood still, a structure made of muscle and silence. Honor was hard-fought, brought from the slash of swords on skin. Back then, the hero sailed on seas of songs. Bound by the code that kept them caged in compliance. Bravery was the bare minimum to have a bite with the barons.
The Iron began to ache and itch, tales are only told as tools to reflect time. Slowly, as a steady stream of change, rust began to form reeking on the once shiny raiment, turning away from the pride in power to the pound of the people. Learning the sharpest sword is not made in the forge, but in the mind that mulls over the weight of his hand. The haliberd did not just fall, but snapped into the sandstone floors where our cities rise.
Now, the man marches from behind, no longer hiding in his helm, but he wears the warm, welcoming coat for the kind. The new honor network of the numerous, dedicated to the dirt and dreams of all. Having the courage to stay kind when the world is cruel, with the bravery to build a bridge and not walls. Finding his glory to give back to the group, helping grow from the crumbs of his own crimes, and sharing a superior way for students to follow. The new honor of a hero who sheaths his sword, to unsheathe the next.
The Island
Liam White ’27
They called him The Island a name too big for a boy too small.
His real name was Hugo, but names don’t stick when no one really sees you.
He was the weakest kid in school, not by measure, but by silence.
Five shadows found him every day, pushed him, laughed a routine as ordinary as morning. And Hugo he did nothing. Not once did he rise like a wave, not once did he break.
He sat on the floor, always the floor, like gravity had chosen him and never let go.
People walked over him not just cruelly, but carelessly. Sometimes they didn’t even notice they had crossed a life.
Carson, I w and the pr
In a school of strange nicknames, his was the strangest: The Island.
Because he stayed still, cut off, surrounded yet alone, drifting somewhere far inside himself.
Years passed or maybe they didn’t, because nothing ever changed.
Until one day, at ninety-eight, fortune finally found him.
A winning ticket. A life suddenly heavy with possibility.
But even then, he sat still stranded, lost again in a sea of thoughts about what could be.
And before the tide could turn, before a single step inland he was gone.
The island remained, unchanged, forever unreached.
The old man was deaf, but he did not know it. The bell chimed. In his youth, he could hear. Ignorance was bliss. He saw the world, but did not know it. Nothing more, nothing less.
The bell chimed.
As he aged, the voices became louder; some screaming, some singing, all yearning for him.
The bell chimed.
The Voices Have Won
Then the voices came one after another. The man knew the voices were his sirens, his temptation. The voices knew him as well, and they told him stories:
One voice told the tale of Achilles.
Another, told of Hector and his armies.
Finally, the voices said: “You will become them.”
The man indulged in their promise.
Joaquin Reyes ‘28
But all the voices left out one thing, the end.
The bell chimed. After years of conformity and depression, The man asked one question: “What am I?”
The voices knew they had won. They had won the man in spirit and will. To answer the question, the voices answered for once, in unison.
The bells chimed a final time.
“You are Sisyphus, and we, your captor.”
The raven flew, the wind still blew, and the sun still rose.
A Knight Underneath Upton Ta-Beadle
THE KING
Embody this spirit that he has given me, because what am I without it, without the grace, oh grace and kindness too that so gently flattens, spreads the soul.
The Angel God, through him alone, has granted my deathbound will, driven to die for the king: Arthur, greater than myself.
THE QUEEN
Catch a body from the balcony: pink skin tense in the light, who waves and curtsies, her porcelain teeth, brittle and intact… her soft rejoinder to any man ’ s advances.
Someone so divine that to embody a body that she so sweetly admires is to shed this human aesthetic for rings, straps, and rivets.
THE BODY
I have become his trite prosthetic, corroded in the care of the crown. But is it not admirable? Is it not just and true that I am told it frees my human sin in ways no sermon or prayer could compare? A revelation is contracted by my sentient flesh, the brass weave, ensnarled, entangled, intertwined. Have you seen this skin through steel closure? Have you seen me disfigured into something transmuted and reformed, attaching and detaching a shield, a spear, and the armor I bear with its direction fixed in my heart; it runs my mind mad. So too it burns, charring an engraving on my skin yet my blood fuels it. Strip it in defiance of the honorific.
With this accursed breath, flesh and steel collide, ensnarled, entangled, intertwined, a muscular siege upon its birthwork, quivering, lurching. A terror that shivers; gut and sinew and skin and legs body and bone pearly gates of ribs, my impenetrable skin.
Yet Arthur’s belly swells under his chainmail bloating in his authority.
The Angel God does not love this man. And yet, the queen loves the chainmail, the surcoats, everything they stand for. Meeting my eyes with her subdued curiosity, staring down a knight with a bold curiosity, ever swelling, plumper at the sight; her voice stays with me; I am reminded that in the cold of a campaign
Guinevere wears my body, and she loves it, I believe.
Catch me: this thing I am become.
The Weight of Dust
Hunter Hayes ’27
Expectations of the land clash with the fluctuations in man.
He remains steadfast in his chivalric duties despite the contravention of his character, wishing for an almighty reputation, tempting surrender to martyrdom in the palms of his lord.
As he once read, God once breathed into dust and called it life.
‘Twas his greatest gift
Even still, his conscience weeps.
For he knows, his honor precedes his beating heart.
So he sets off into battle, a faithless loyalty to his will, seeking to settle his internal strife, and perform his final dance with life.
The field did not greet with glory. It screeched like a malicious hawk circling above.
Swords sing songs of steel and the wind carries the taste of blood. But silence interrupted the din of battle.
There his enemy knelt before him, bereft of banners and blades, sulking in surrender.
Honor spoke first–but fear was louder.
Steel pierced flesh, and his enemy fell to the dust.
Life runs its course, and the battle roars onward.
And in the distance played a song whose bow strummed an ending to him
The arrow pierced flesh and struck him down just as it had his enemy before him.
Before his last breath, his cries were soothed, for his reputation is enough, his story shall be sung aloud, and his nation will build a stone in his honor.
So he too fell to the dust the dust of enemies, the dust of kings, the dust of heroes, the dust of cowards
It is this very dust, that plants the seeds of reputation
for honorable heroes and foolish cowards alike.
Yet when a man returns to the dust, his name echoes among the living while his soul kneels before God.
Bops for Braun
A Note from Mr. F. Douglas Brown:
Dear Readers,
Most in the Loyola family and beyond know the events from last year that took the beloved Braun Levi from us, too soon. Even though I never had the pleasure of teaching Braun, many of his best friends, Cubs he considered Brothers, took my African American Poetry course. The following poems are a compilation of “bops,” a form invented by the poet Afaa Weaver. The form is three stanzas long, and borrows a line from a song as a refrain, which drops in between every stanza. The refrain deepens the poem's sentiment, while also situating it in the real, present world surrounding the poet.
Long before Braun’s death, the class centered our discussions on three areas:
1. How African Americans have used poetry as a means to pinpoint how they were feeling in any given era or moment
2. How the blues is a creative wail that holds mourning and recovery
3.The necessity to find joy in written expression
You will find in the twelve bop poems these young men wrote for their brother, Braun, display the best articulation of curricular comprehension I have experienced in my thirty-plus years of teaching. These poems testify and hold Braun’s memory They tell the world it is ok to be sad, and that it might take a while, but they’ll be ok These poems express the complexity of brotherhood and the way a relationship lasts long after we say goodbye.
I hope you enjoy these as much as I have. More importantly, I hope they inspire you to see Braun and brotherhood in the beautiful facets of these poets’ eyes. LLB. f db
The shoes stayed by the door for weeks after he left. Still tied the way he kicked them off after practice. His voice lived in the walls like the last echo of music. We were just starting to get close again, Talking about real things, not just games or chores
Then one phone call, one crash, and no goodbye
“No such thing as a life that’s better than yours… ”
I see him in dreams, sometimes Laughing the way he used to, head thrown back. Or standing at the fridge drinking orange juice straight from the carton. Mom still sets a plate for him on holidays. I still blame myself for the fight we had two days before. He told me to shut up. I told him I hated him. I didn’t mean it. He knew that, right? I hope he knew that.
“No such thing as a life that’s better than yours… ”
There’s a dent in the wall from when he punched it
A rip in his hoodie I still wear to bed
Sometimes I talk to him in my head Sometimes I think he hears I still walk like him Breathe like him
Even when I try to forget, I carry him forward. And maybe that’s how we keep loving someone after they’re gone.
“No such thing as a life that’s better than yours… ”
After He Left
Edward Kim ‘25
Thoughts, mood, and words, I know something is there
A fish, a swan, a brown grizzly bear?
No, it’s something way more
A presence that widens my eyes, and opens doors
It’s the little tendencies
I will always carry with me
But don’t think twice, it’s alright
Without fail you seem to get under my skin
Letting out a little confirmation grin
You vanish just before the praise
But leave behind your clever ways
You taught me silence can be loud
That stubbornness can make you proud
I wear your habits like a second skin
Unnoticed until I let them win
But don’t think twice, it’s alright
I see you in the choices I don’t name
In the small victories, the unplayed game
You are the pause before I speak to fast
The laugh I hold, the questions I don’t ask
Not gone, just now a part of me
You live beneath the surface, shaping who I came to be
But don’t think twice, it’s alright
Within Me
Dashel Petranek ‘25 after Bob Dylan
My brother,
Known by many as “The Dude”
You shined a bright light
On everything and everyone you met Vibes were peak, your presence felt instantly
You always brought the energy to everyone
Lean on me when you ’ re not strong, And I’ll be your friend
A void is felt now without you
That same golden ray doesn’t appear Physically, yet spiritually, you are felt every day
Your spirit lives through each and every one of us
For the rest of our lives, we will lean on
Each other to feel your presence and support one another
You would’ve lifted each one of us up and not wanted us to be sad
We will keep smiling and laughing just as you did
Lean on me when you ’ re not strong, And I’ll be your friend
Your connection to me was a strong one
The Dude: Lean On Me
Dominic Mitchell ‘25
A force to be reckoned with, from the gym, the mountains, to random hallways
Always loved a dap hug on any given morning from you, I miss your energy, your competitive nature, it was all pure
It doesn’t feel real. Thank you for being in my life
Until we meet again, brother, the bond of brotherhood will never be broken
Lean on me when you ’ re not strong, And I’ll be your friend
after Bill Withers
Living the same life, yet growing apart
Two brothers, two perspectives, different from the start
One holding talent in both school and sports, with ease
One holding potential no one can see
Always standing behind, stuck, outshinned by his glow After all, who pays attention to their shadow?
Here I lie in a lost and lonely part of town, Held in time, in a world of tears, I slowly drown.
As a child, I mocked Peter Pan's shadow–Now I’m the shadow, fading away in this empty meadow.
To see my other half lead all to Neverland, I thought I’d never land a chance, my mind feels like a wasteland
Invisible, unnoticed, fading in his glow, After all, who pays attention to their shadow?
Here I lie in a lost and lonely part of town, Held in time, in a world of tears, I slowly drown.
Healing takes root where faith is sown, I’ve learned that never once was I walking alone. Praying never ceases. He molds me into a beacon I stride with confidence, nothing can ever weaken me.
Forgetting the past, I step into our glow, After all, who pays attention to their shadow?
Here I lie in a lost and lonely part of town, Held in time, in a world of tears, I slowly drown.
Tragedy of Brotherhood Roman Medina ‘25 after the Bee Gees
Micah McCoy ‘25 Someday after Sugar Ray
We were halfway up the hill, and I felt fully done.
Shoes heavy with dust, legs begging me to quit.
Shaeffer’s hike is more than a trail, more of a personal challenge amongst men
One by one, people fell behind, swallowed by the trees
My breath thinned out, heart pounded louder than my will to finish I wondered if I’d fall next, another personal challenge I had failed
Someday, when my life has passed me by
I remember the look on Braun’s face as he looked behind his smile was better than any motivational video in that moment
“Let’s go, Micah,” in that recognizable Braun voice, like it wasn’t even a question, he’d already decided I belonged at the top before I even knew I could
Those words served as a reminder for the whole Junior year; he didn’t even know And just like that, I believed again.
We moved, stride for stride, like the mountain wasn’t winning.
And when we made it to the top, I knew I could too…Live Like Braun
Someday, when my life has passed me by
The photos caught my smile mid-flash grin wide, eyes lit, shoulders taller His words turned from strength in the moment to permission during reflection
To show up, to try again, to make it all the way I still climb with his voice tucked inside my ribs. Not every mountain needs to be feared.
Someday, when my life has passed me by,
I’ll sit around and wonder why you were always there for me
Role Model and Light Akshay
Vishwanath ‘25
after Earl Sweatshirt and Mavi
Looking up to you.
I met you in middle school,
Someone I was never close to but strived to be like Your happiness and friendship are infectious
I was always met with friendliness and advice
Brightness is overwhelming from afar
“I was gifted with words… ”
Reconnected on the summer school bus, Memories I won’t forget
Joking our nervousness away
Caring for those who were lost
Smiled at whoever was fortunate enough to interact with you
Role model to the eldest, even at the youngest age
“I was gifted with words… ”
Even though our lives burned to flames, You supported me at my toughest times
Laughs, sweets, and frisbees being thrown around the fire at the retreat You were going through it
Still finding a way to include me, checking in I’m forever grateful for knowing you
Braun, you changed my life, whether you knew or not
“I was gifted with words ”
Brotherhood Bop
Luke Tamaki ‘25
He always knocked once, never twice, Never asked to come in, never waited for yes.
We shared a room like a border same floor, split land.
He taught me silence could be loud, Like fists in drywall, like a slammed fridge. We loved each other best by leaving space
“I miss the days when I was godless, just a child afraid of sin”
The football trophy still shines on his shelf
Like it's a middle finger to my poetry.
We stopped talking after Mom left for the second time. I think he blamed me for crying in front of Dad.
I think I blamed him for not crying at all.
We learned to talk in nods and jabs,
Played catch like it was a truce, Each throw, an apology we didn’t say.
“I miss the days when I was godless, just a child afraid of sin.”
He hugged me once the day I left for college
Tight like he was anchoring a ghost.
I almost told him I looked up to him
But it caught in my throat like a prayer
He just said, “Drive safe”
And that was enough to carry everything
“I miss the days when I was godless, just a child afraid of sin.”
Brothers Always
Brandon Park ‘25
We weren't born brothers, But something about third-perio And after school, arguments ove Turned us all into ones. You passed me the answer, I covered for you when you were We traded clothes, advice, and st Like it was a sacred currency. Even when we fought I knew where you’d stand if it ca
“I’ll be there for you… ”
We don't say deep things out lou We roast each other instead
You call me “clown,” and I call yo
But we both know what that real You’ve seen me fail and struggle
And you held space for me when When life hit hard, You didn't lecture
You sat there, breathing beside m
Real friends don't have to ask wh They just have to be there
“I’ll be there for you… ”
Soon we’ll graduate Go our separate ways
Meet new people and find new p
But our bond will never wear out
I'll remember who everyone was
Everyone who stood beside me, a Don’t hesitate
As even from miles away
You will never stand alone
“I’ll be there for you… ”
Opening the Methodist doors, his white hair caught the morning light
Just another kid until I blinked, and somehow, I had another brother.
But outside those walls, the world was harsh and cold.
Whenever you call me, I'll be there.
He never made fun when others did, stood by me when I was bullied for my weight maybe the only one who did. From tank tops and beverages at eight, to Tate’s cookies and Corpus games under the lights, we lived it all, laughter and chaos, scars and strength
Brotherhood Blues
Patrick “Good Time Charlie”
Even then, he carried himself like someone older, like he’d already lived a lifetime spitting wisdom that kept me whole
Whenever you call me, I'll be there.
How lucky am I to have grown beside him, through every phase, every mess, every joy. He made me feel like I belonged, like I was enough. From block towers to cold ones in Palm Desert, with scraped knees and inside jokes, I wouldn’t have traded a single second of it.
Whenever you call me, I'll be there.
Ashby ‘25 after The Spinners; for Adelle, Jen Jen, & Dr Dan
You weren't just my friend You were my brother, always there, Talking me out of stupid things, Instilling in my mind that I got this even when I thought I didn’t Now you ’ re gone, and it’s quiet It all feels wrong without you
And I would have stayed up with you all night - Had I known how to save a life
We weren’t always perfect. We joked too much, Argued over silly little things, and laughed minutes later. You never judged, only listened. You knew when something wasn’t right, Even when I swore to you that everything was okay Always there That is who you were You kept me going And now I’m trying to do the same, but it’s hard without you
And I would have stayed up with you all night - Had I known how to save a life It still feels like you ’ re around sometimes, Like if I turn the corner, you’ll be there. I don’t really know how to do this without you, But I’m going to keep your legacy going, Keep doing everything we talked about, And keep showing up for our brothers. You will always be my brother. That is something that will never change.
And I would have stayed up with you all night - Had I known how to save a life
The Court Between Us
Mateo Prestine ‘25 after Wiz Khalifa
We met in preschool before we even knew what friends were. Traded toy trucks and fruit snacks, then backpacks and sneakers, then game day texts and Kairos notes. I watched you grow into someone who made people feel seen just by standing next to them.
“It’s been a long day without you, my friend ”
We played different sports, ran different lanes, but I always knew you were in mine. You were the kind of guy who showed up without being asked, who smiled like there was no weight in the world and still carried others on your back. I still look for you in the crowd still expect the laugh, still feel the silence when I don’t hear it.
“It’s been a long day without you, my friend ”
Now I walk the halls we once did together, but they don’t echo the same. I try to fill the space with stories, but even the best ones end too soon Still, I carry you–in the way I shake a hand, in the way I show up, in the way I try to live like you.
“It’s been a long day without you, my friend ”
Absence in the halls
Footsteps faintly fade
Away just as smiles are.
The weight of the world
Placed upon the heavy hearts
Of a community, broken
You may say I’m a dreamer, But I’m not the only one
Time moves quicker than Raindrops pattering down on a windshield
While freezing at a standstill
Where disbelief strives
And a next move is clouded
By emotions and impossible tasks
That are necessary to move
Towards a united future
You may say I’m a dreamer, But I’m not the only one
It might be too much to dream
Of a reachable reality
That many spend their lives
Fighting for, working for, hoping for The absence is felt while determination
Fills the empty halls and cements the footsteps of leaders
You may say I’m a dreamer, But I’m not the only one
Editorial Staff
Lead
Bradley Wong ‘26
Carson Kuritani ‘26
Mateo Parra ‘26
Muge (Jerry) Yuan ‘26
Suvir Khanna ‘27
Contributing
Alfredo Graciano ‘28
Cameron Tom ‘28
Grant Hong ‘27
Jacob M. Uy ‘27
Luke Walter ‘27
Noah Fox ‘27
Michael Volmert-Underbrink ‘27
SYMBIOTIC*
Luke Walter ‘27 pg 2
Untitled Andrew Hilton ‘26 pg 3
Looking Over Downtown Ryan Ruud ‘28 pg 2
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28 pg 1
Untitled Andrew Hilton ‘26 pg. 4
Sun Over the Hills Marco Ames ‘27 pg. 6
Cool Andrew Hilton ‘26 pg. 7
Untitled Mauricio Ruiz ‘28 pg. 6
Redlining Muge Yuan ‘26
Cold Alley
Andrew Altoon ‘27 pg 10
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28
8
Space
Oliver Jimenez ‘28
Civilization's Radiance
Noah Holmes ‘28
Making Bootcut Cameron Tom ‘28
pg. 14
Caballo Cameron Tom ‘28 pg. 14
Subway Dane Fix ‘27
pg. 13
Chromakopia
Untitled Luke Walter ‘27 pg. 17
Jeremiah Cobb-Phillips ‘28 pg. 16
Niko Bootcut
Cameron Tom ‘28 pg 15
Lucas Almanzan Hunter 28
Enjoy Yourself Luke Walter ‘27 pg. 21
Hawaii Luke Walter ‘27 pg 18
Crash The Party
Michael Volmert-Underbrink ‘27
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28 pg.
Sí, se puede Kurt Romero ‘26 pg 32
g y Muge Yuan ‘26 pg 32
Someone’s Mansion Christian Williamson ‘27 pg 31
Untitled
Carson Kuritani ‘26 pg. 33
Half-Life
Francisco Tesen ‘26 pg. 37
8 Ball Bradley Wong ‘26 pg. 37
Hugo Pacheco 27 pg. 35
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28
Untitled Andrew Hilton ‘26
Untitled Mauricio Ruiz ‘28
Untitled Christian Williamson ‘27
Melting
Michael Volmert-Underbrink ‘27
Dylan Zoolalian 28
Jeremiah Cobb-Phillips 28
Ruins Hugo Pacheco ‘27
Beacon of Hope Rocco Caruso ‘28 pg 48
Scratch Lucas Canley ‘27 pgs 49-50 pg 47
Color POP!
E Jayden Duran 28
Above the Clouds Jack Newall ‘26 pg. 52
Untitled N h G i ‘
Untitled Mauricio Ruiz ‘28 pg 51 pg 56
Max Burk ‘26 pg 54
Andrew Sweeney 27 pg 53
Untitled Kurt Romero ‘26 pg. 57
Untitled Max Burk ‘26 pg. 58
Many Hands Make Light Work Bradley Wong ‘26 pg. 58
model 2 Kurt Romero ‘26 pg. 57
pgs 63-64
pg 66
pg 62
Koa Melvin ‘28 pg 60
Carter Gaede ‘26 pg 59
Sunset, Interrupted Reagan Lantin ‘27
Stuck Dario Covarrubias ‘26 pg 68
Got any Grapes? Mauricio Ruiz ‘28 pg 69-70
Untitled Cashton Ziebarth ‘28
Blueberries Bradley Wong ‘26 p
Untitled L p
Carson Kuritani 26 pgs 79-80
Puka Mai Ka La Sean Gilhooly ‘28 pg 81
Untitled Carson Kuritani ‘26 pg 78
Gilbert the Axolotl Bradley Wong ‘26 pg. 74
Pressure Declan Siegrist ‘27 pg 77
Untitled Upton Ta-Beadle ‘27 pg 84
Evening Glow Luke Connon ‘26 pg 86
Luke Connon ‘26 pg. 83
Sea Beans
Upton Ta-Beadle ‘27 pg 82
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28 pg 91
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28 pg 92 pgs 89-90
Gate to Oceania Jacob Boyle ‘26 pg 96
Untitled Josue Villalobos ‘27 pg 97
Untitled Cameron Tom ‘28 pg 95
N ( )
Aaden Bendel ‘28 pg. 98
Ka Lua Pele Aaden Bendel ‘28 pg. 100
Untitled Lucas Vasquez ‘28 pg. 101
Beyond Roy’s Peak Jacob Boyle ‘26 pg. 99
Ka Wai Lele Aaden Bendel ‘28 pg 102
Untitled Josue Villalobos ‘27 pg 103
Balance
Luke Connon ‘26 pgs 107-108
Seaside Spray Omar Ismail ‘28 pg 104
Home Francisco Tesen ‘26 Credits
Snow in LA Spencer Horstman ‘27 Bookends
L WINDOWPANES V
