Windowpanes
It Feels Cold
I Lay her favorite scarf on her grave, One her mother gave to her, One I couldn’t bear to wear, As the rain gently patters my dark black umbrella. They just finished burying her I just finished getting to know her Her in her beauty, skin so soft, even as her blood runs cold.
It’s cold out now.
Maybe I’ll go put on a jacket, If only I could hear her say it again, Maybe this time I’d listen
And I want to keep writing, so this’ll never end, But I can’t find the words,
So I pinch my candle, and sit in silence, doors creaking; Quiet steps, to leave me undisturbed I peer down to my page, grasping They say water has memory, but it doesn’t speak to me, Sitting on my page.
‘
y g
succumbs to rust, not trumpet of sun or the moon's iliac coin, not the dumb money spilling from my hands like wine, not water
ash or dust or cold or sweat or silk or god or earth not woodsmoke unfurling across a frozen expanse, a grubby little forest
on the edge of the cul-de-sac where tonight I from a distance watch a boy tiptoeing backwards through the snow
deleting his footprints with the sweep of a birch branch until he arrives at the origin of his conclusion, pausing to consider how with every step he vanishes, with every step he's born again
Nick Martino -
Blank Page
I write my feelings down
On a blank sheet of paper
Then watch as my writing slowly corrupts
The once blank page, now full of ink
Full of meaningless words, unable to be reused.
I feel like my feelings aren’t valid
Don’t cry now, the job isn’t done
But later I’d be too tired to cry
Too afraid to confront my problems
My mind full of useless
Thoughts that fill up the page.
I feel like I talk too much
I can’t say a lot when asked about my day
Because it’s my job to keep everyone happy
As I speak, the pen bleeds on the paper
What is ruined cannot be reused.
As my pen moves on the page
More ink is wasted on nothing
Neat handwriting to cover a cry for help
With every stroke a blotch of ink
Stains the page.
If You Were a Musical
You’d be a broadway hit
The passion and love
People can’t get enough of it
The costumes are on point, methodically sewn
The set is freshly painted, and each soliloquy is known
The choreography and dance have the audience’s minds’ blown
The staging draws eyes to the beautiful arrangement of the cast
And no one wants to think about which moment will be the last
If you were a musical
I’d know every song by heart
Every melody, every harmony
And when entering a song, I’d know exactly where to start
Every pitch that goes up and down
Every beautiful dynamic
I’d wade in the tunes of your harmonious sound
For their impact is gigantic
I’ve heard them so many times
I know them through and through
It’s familiar
It’s calming I know exactly what to do
I understand specific lyrics, and I get the history behind that one joke
And I’ll always remember that refrain that my favorite character spoke
If only life were a musical
Where the songs could be repeated
Where the story’s end was set
Where happy endings were commonplace
And all loose ends were met
But, there’s a beauty in uncertainty
It’s that first listen of the recording
That first watch of a show
The excitement you gain when the lights begin to glow
It’s exciting and wondrous this new experience is
It’s a feeling that is fleeting that you soon begin to miss
So, old and new
Is one better or less?
Each has their pros and cons that I should probably address
But a progression is necessary
You can’t have one without the other
Both are necessary to a story, both are true
In the middle, at intermission, you can’t just say, “adieu”
If you were a musical
Act I would be fun and bright and cheerful
The audience learns characters’ hopes and dreams
And sees if the story is more than it seems
There’s action, there’s love
But good stories have a conflict
And then some rising action
Maybe the protagonist assembles a team, but each member leaves to a different faction
So then there’s intermission
Sure it’s a break, but suspense is it’s truth
There’s that excitement again
That radiant warmth of an ending to sleuth
What will be the outcome?
Will the hero win the day?
Will love be superior?
Who will have the final say?
I guess we’ll have to find out I don’t have a clue
So if you were a musical, I’d gladly stay for Act II
Wong ‘26 four -
Brick House
The Brick House I see with my omn
Cleverly constructed with bricks co Extricated back in the hallowed yul
Before my sacred God was crucified Its walls are amorphous with a vapi Set to be constructed by an insidiou
A facade for Ego’s mischievous sch
To adulterate all that was held dear For here I am trapped, wrapped in Wires made out of regret and memo
A bittersweet-smelling scent laced w It was all for the sake of being like you. Jacob M Uy
CLOSE READING
I’m not one who enjoys annotating It pulls me away from the page, and feels artificial a facade I put on to get an A But an A isn't as important as the world of words wincing woefully under the touch of my sinful pen With every circle, square, and line, I can almost hear the paper cry out Even the trees themselves must hate me They hate all like me
Take a lemon baller to your eyes and present them to the world Then, with eyes wide shut, you see the world anew Look at your frozen gaze as millions tarnish your purity with their self-given impunity, directed by unseen directors This disdain isn't simply voiced by me, or even by the trees, but by anyone who loves literature I dream of becoming an author, but even now, I refuse to annotate Never by choice, but by obligation you see, or rather, you don’t Your eyes lay annotated in front of me
“What do you notice?” my mentor asks And honestly, I couldn’t tell you, because I was too busy focusing on the task at hand My page is filled with indentations of ink, yet my mind is blank I am nothing but a goldfish Words swim into my head, but within seven seconds, I get cold feet and forget they ever swam with me Why, I am so full of potential to understand these greater worlds worlds like Tolkien’s, Chaucer’s, too But with pen in hand, I have absolutely no clue
MATTHEW SASSO
Pedal down, the tires scream, Chasing fire, chasing dreams.
Wind is wild, the night is bright, Neon roads glow hot with light. Radio up, the speakers cry, V8 roars I'm flying high.
No set course, no place to be, Just the stars and open speed. City fades in rearview glass, Nowhere to call, I let it pass. Mustang runs, and so do I, Free as smoke against the sky.
Mace Barnes ‘25 -
Carson Kuritani ‘26
Francisco Tesen ‘26
Akshay Vishwanath ‘25
Emmett Ness ‘25
Suvir Khana ‘27
Muge Yuan ‘26
Matthew Baker ‘26
Nick Martino
Redmond Sklaver ‘26
Christian Turingan ‘27
Bradley Wong ‘26
Ian Hong ‘25
Mateo Parra ‘26
Ayden Blue ‘25
Jacob M. Uy ‘27
Lion Paulson ‘25
Mace Barnes ‘25
Matthew Sasso ‘25
Matthew Almendarez ‘26
Oliver Pederson ‘25
