Pierian Spring 2022

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PIERIAN SPRING Xavier College Preparatory Literary and Arts Magazine

Xavier College Preparatory 4710 N 5th Street Pheonix, AZ 85012 (602) 277-2772

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“What exactly is Pierian Spring?”

This question always gives me an opportunity to consider our mission.

The basic answer, the twenty-eighth-table-atClub-Fair answer, is that we are a literary and arts magazine. The footnote is that we aim to create a platform for the methods of expression that are extraordinary—for the art and writing that communicate something our everyday language cannot.

In that spirit, this year’s theme centers around a word that doesn’t have a perfect English translation: Komorebi, 木漏れ日, is a Japanese word that refers to the dappled effect of the sunlight streaming through the trees.

We’ve chosen this theme because it offers layers of metaphor that help illuminate the nature of Pierian Spring (and of literature and art in general).

First: unity and duality.

Our first metaphor is rooted in the pattern of interlocking light and dark on the forest floor. Before you stop reading, be assured that I won’t try to find a new way to muse about the contrast between darkness and light— about how we can’t see one without the other, and how we in turn can’t fully know joy without pain. I know you’ve heard that before.

So, putting contrast to the side, I would suggest that there is particular beauty in the ways light and shadow work together. This interplay is present in every work of art. In fact, whether in the simultaneously loving and mournful “Ode to Phoenix” (page 8) or in the masterful balance of negative space in “Rainforest Frog” (page 18), it is this union of light and dark that renders a work impactful. Tolstoy said it well in Anna Karenina: “All the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.”

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In other words, as life continually blends the joyful and painful, art helps us navigate that confusing duality. I hope this offers a lens through which to view the complexity and beauty of the pieces in this publication.

Second: the perseverance of our creative impulse.

If we can bear to consider a different symbolic meaning of komorebi, let us think of the light as fighting to make its way through the trees to our vision. The exceptional pieces we’ve received this year show that inspiration functions much in the same way: we tend to find it even when it seems obscured by the “trees” it encounters (obstacles ranging from the unending busyness of life to a post-heartbreak slump). Let the pages of this magazine serve as a reminder that our creativity is resilient.

Third and finally: perspective.

Subject to the wind, time of day, and trees’ structural differences, the patterns cast by the sunbeams are endlessly variable. No two people will see the same picture on the forest floor, nor will they describe the image the same way. Likewise, our experiences and the ways we go about expressing them are beautifully unique. Beyond your talent, it is this diversity that makes reading through your submissions (and honoring them in the form of a magazine) such an absolute joy.

So, in the end, the fullest definition of Pierian Spring is also the shortest: Pierian Spring is you. Whether you have submitted your work or are here just to enjoy the work of others, this magazine is a place to reconcile the light and dark, to recognize the resilience our creative endeavors represent, and to admire how others go about doing the same. We all find ourselves moving forward through our forests and, almost as a necessity, attempting to describe the experiences along the way. Thank you for allowing Pierian Spring to celebrate that journey with you.

Sincerely, Helena Richardson Editor-in-Chief 2021-2022

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fine art Boots and Pearls on a Mirror | London Wood ’22 ........................................ 6 Little World | London Wood ’22 ............................................................... 7 Golden Prairie | Ari Swanson ’24 ......................................................... 7 Desert Fruit | Mary Virginia Vietor ’23 .............................................. 8 Lil’ Man | Virginia Brown ’22 .......................................................... 8 The Garden | Grace McClelland ’23 ............................................. 9 Self-Portrait | Grace McClelland ’23 .......................................... 9 Zion | Sophie Kolbe ’22 .......................................................... 11 Pastel Café | Kelsey Luke ’23 ................................................ 12 Man’s Best Friend | Kelsey Luke ’23 ................................... 13 Las Peras | Cara Schillinger ’24 ........................................... 16 Marbled Sea | Olivia Robinson ’24 .................................... 16 Untitled | Lila Mago ’22 ..................................................... 17 Rainforest Frog | Hope Smith ’24 ..................................... 18 Portraits | Anna Kolbe ’22 ................................................. 19 The Future | Chloe Chun ’24 ............................................ 20 Self-Portrait | Claire Zangerle ’22 ...................................... 23 Snowball on Scratch | Mackenzie Weston ’24 ................... 26 Worldly Jade | Virginia Brown ’22 ....................................... 26 Grayscale | Monica Nitu ’24 ................................................. 26 Rue du Gros Horloge | McKenna Boyer ’24 .......................... 27 Snail | Lily Londen ’22 ............................................................ 27 Untitled | London Wood ’22 ...................................................... 27 Memorabilia | Kathryn Nilssen ’23 .............................................. 30 Woman Through the Blinds | Monae Saia ’25 ............................... 30 Nana’s Hands | Sophia Baillie ’22 ...................................................... 31 Face | Sophie Kolbe ’22 .......................................................................... 32 Granada Park Duck | Emily Ingram ’22 ..................................................... 34 Grandiose Interiors | Olivia Robinson ’24 ..................................................... 35 Candy Sunset | Riley Dowdall ’23 .......................................................................... 38 Beaming Bliss | Waverly Bagley ’23 ................................................................................ 39 Slay of the Century | Caroline Wilmer ’22 ................................................................................... 39 Cass but Joker lol | Caroline Wilmer ’22 ...................................................................................... 39 Lain of the Wired | Maureen Trimino ’23 ..................................................................................... 40 Internal Scream | Cassandra Mancillas ’22 .................................................................................. 41 Restrictions | Cassandra Mancillas ’22 ......................................................................................... 41

features

Virginia Brown ’22 | Photographs of Nature .................................................................................... 14 Chloe Chun ’24 | Pastels of People at Work ...................................................................................... 36 Alex De León ’23 | Photographs of Chicago ..................................................................................... 37 4

poetry How do I Put it Nicely? | Lauren Kort ’22 ...................................................... 6 Cold Tea | Lilly Reaves ’23 .......................................................................... 7 Come With Me and Save the Stars | Xochitl Felix ’23 ....................... 10 Fire and Water | Karsen Turley-Izdepski ’23 .................................... 11 Hot Sauce | Ava Novack-Buckley ’23 ............................................. 12 Observative? | Gracie Garrett ’22 ............................................... 13 Orange Tree in Chinatown | Alanna Nowlen ’23 .................... 16 My Magic Pillow | Karsen Turley-Izdepski ’23 ....................... 17 One Less Child | Mikayla Osborne ’23 ................................. 20 I Hope You’re Well! | Helena Richardson ’22 ...................... 22 Vacant | Lila Freeland ’23 .................................................... 23 To Whom I Have Given Offense | Kelsey Cazabal ’23 ..... 24 Weeds | Norah O’Donnell ’23 ............................................ 25 Broken Clock | Emmy Losada ’23 ..................................... 30 Memory Stirs | Mary Virginia Vietor ’23 ........................... 31 I Want to Write Poetry | Maddy Jorgensen ’22 ................. 34 I Question if You Are Here | Nicolette Moyes ’23 ............ 38 The Boy in the Blue Shorts | Maria Wolowiecki ’23 ........ 39 Google | Sabrina Paz Gil ’23 ................................................ 40 Apologies | Emma Zorn ’22 ................................................. 41

prose

Ode to Pheonix | Ally Kauffman ’22 ......................................................... 8 Stargazing with No Stars | Ally Kauffman ’22 ............................................ 18 Questions | Hope Salinas ’25 ............................................................................. 29 A Game of Chance | Monica Nitu ’24 ....................................................................... 32

photography

Embers | Virginia Brown ’22 ......................................................................................................... 10 Underpass | Siena Magruder ’24 .................................................................................................. 22 Rae Street | Sophia Flores ’22 ....................................................................................................... 24 Day in the Life of an Ant | Virginia Brown ’22 ............................................................................. 25 ’52 | Olivia Robinson ’24 ............................................................................................................... 26 A Collage for Humanity | Alex De León ’23 ............................................................................... 28 A Beautiful Soul Appreciating a Beautiful World | Alex de León ’23 ........................................ 31 Force of Nature | Madigan Moran ’23 ........................................................................................... 35 Calle del Obispo | Olivia Robinson ’24 ......................................................................................... 35 Summer Day | Virginia Brown ’22 ................................................................................................ 38

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how do i put it nicely?

Lauren Kort ’22 I want to write you a letter But how do I put it nicely?

For my tenth birthday, I asked for a thesaurus.

Thesaurus rhymes with porous, which is a synonym for holey, which is a homophone for holy, Which is close to how I feel about you But not quite.

I want to write you a letter But how do I put this nicely?

I scanned the whole thesaurus, and every word was too small.

Love: verb or noun, (either way, too quaint) Reserved for a good book, a hug from my grandma, a tasty candy bar.

Tender: adjective, a near synonym of the previous Connotes a perfectly chewable chicken breast My thesaurus is 800 pages of such Which is half of what I could write to you.

I could pour pen onto paper perpetually But I want to put it nicely.

I want to write you a letter But how do I put it nicely When the thesaurus doesn’t have you Because for you there are no synonyms.

I suppose that this will be your letter I hope I put it nicely.

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Boots and Pearls on a Mirror | London Wood ’22 | Scratchboard

cold tea Lilly Reaves ’23 The sky breathes cold air, I make a cup of tea.

The leaves soak in hot water - pure, unadulterated.

But the water is too hot.

Color begins to seep out, staining the clear water.

The clean, delicate aroma of blackberry and jasmine drift into the air; leaf fragments speckle the bottom of the cup creating undecipherable figures.

A glimpse into the future.

But it is too late, For the sky has breathed and the once pure, warm water is left murky, cold, and forgotten.

Little World | London Wood ’22 Mixed Media Golden Prairie | Ari Swanson ’24 Watercolor

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ODE TO PHOENIX Ally Kauffman ’22

Phoenix, I have neglected you for too long.

Were your sunrises not enough for me? Perhaps I overlooked the sprawling mountains, crumbles of cinnamon splayed over the horizon. Golden threads of sunlight weaving through cotton clouds, slicing the myriad of pastel hues the sky adorns. Saguaro cacti extend their arms to the sky, reaching, reaching, always reaching. As the golden sun rose, the illustrious centerpiece of the sky, a cool breeze imbued the warm morning air.

Sunrise shifts to day; a romantic landscape to a bustling city. Was the change of scenery still not enough for me? I was bored by your asfalt, your concrete, your copper. I took no interest in streets clogged with cars or your square buildings and their earthy tones. The day was infected, especially, by a sweltering heat that clung to the skin. In my haste, I overlooked the splashes of culture. It was there, hidden in nooks and crannies, but undeniably there and

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palpable. You are more than buildings for business, you are museums, schools, and chapels.

The multicultural artwork, the architectural notoriety, the story of my city was all shaded by an industrial veneer.

It’s five P.M. The workers are fleeing. The streets go empty, as people file into their

homes. I never appreciated your duality: so warm and bright by day, cold and Tartarean by night. The sky bruises, turning blue, then black. The moon climbs over the horizon, haphazardly illuminating the night in streaks.

Jagged mountains, embroidered by silver, stand tall and proud as ever. The predators emerge, coyotes and bobcats and scorpions, poised to maim and bite and sting. They fight to live. Is it not admirable to fight to live?

How could I ignore the precious lessons woven into the night, teeming with life?

Phoenix, a painted portrait of my youth, a bastion of my childhood, why were you never enough for me?

Oil Paintings: Desert Fruit | Mary Virginia Vietor ’23 The Garden | Grace McClelland ’23 Self-Portrait | Grace McClelland ’23 Sculpture: Lil’ Man | Virginia Brown ’22

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come with me and save the stars Xochitl Felix ’23 Come with me to save the stars.

We’re running out of time, as an eclipse overshadows and tars.

Take my hand and learn to fly.

Don’t be afraid, look at my glistening odd eye.

Shining purple, red and blue, let’s make this an adventure of our own, illuminating all the lights for you.

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Embers | Virginia Brown ’22

Zion | Sophie Kolbe ’22 | Mixed Media

fire and water Karsen Turley-Izdepski ’23 i continue to light a fiery flame when someone I love does it better than me. i’ll create oceans out of tears and songs out of my silent screams, everything i can do you can always do better for once to be good at something would be just enough for me so strum your guitar and draw your picture but you can’t be as good at jealousy as i am.

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Pastel Café / Man’s Best Friend | Kelsey Luke ’23 | Digital

hot sauce Ava Novack-Buckley ’23

Mad Dog Three Fifty Seven, Might make you go to heaven.

The spicy sauce is so hot, You can only have one drop!

So take notice of your indiscretion.

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observative?

Gracie Garrett ’22

Anne Ellison Lisa Has a gap between her two front teetha.

I know this because I know, But not because her smiles I’ve ever been shown.

And yesterday I went to the grocer With my friend Lewis Osher.

Or at least I thought I did, Before I realized he was only pretending to be amid My stories and the kale salad.

Last Tuesday I had a nightmare About the time my feet cemented to the floor and words stumbled mid-air.

So many eyes blinking and hearts beating.

A few giggles giggling. No hands reaching.

Slowly, the continent separating.

Then, me, drifting.

On early weekend mornings I eat bagels alone and talk to people who are boring.

Sir. Lance Fred grew up in Maine.

Suzy Dale is about to lose a tooth… it’s in pain.

The cashier has a pet Great Dane.

Sometimes I have questions I must fight to contain

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VIRGINIA BROWN 14

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las peras | Cara Schillinger ’24 | Watercolor

orange tree in Chinatown Alanna Nowlen ’23 He grew the orange tree in Chinatown After stowing away on a coal ship It grew tall, the town

and the tree.

His restaurant on 2nd Street.

New Year and Lai Sees His children playing under the shade of the orange tree.

His sons and daughters memorizing Who What

Where

from the paper of the orange tree.

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Marbled Sea | Olivia Robin Oil Paint

“Did your house face the west?”

English classes and Angels and Acts The oranges dropped from the orange tree in Chinatown.

No gold within their color.

nson ’24

Untitled | Lila Mago ’22 | Charcoal

my magic pillow Karsen Turley-Izdepski ’23 i spend my nights laying on my magic, satin pillow that used to bring me a sort of comfort. it doesn't now, but i’d like to think that one day it might gain its power again.

when it would pull the anxiety away away

away

away

from my face until

i couldn't feel it anymore. i wish i still loved my magic pillow...

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Rainforest Frog | Hope Smith ’24 Scratchboard

STARGAZING WITH NO STARS Ally Kauffman ’22 “It doesn’t seem fair that you get to be the one to end the world,” “No,” My best friend laughed beside me, “No, it doesn’t.”

I sighed, sat on the roof of what was once my apartment complex, now half-crumbled, and set my head in my hands. I couldn’t stand the view anymore, of the oceans set aflame, of birds dropping from the sky, of the clouds circling angrily overhead. Going onto the roof used to be the highlight of my week.

I looked up at her, standing beside me on the rooftop. Her hair billowed in the harsh breeze, the black strands whipping wildly across her face as though a crow landed on her head.

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She looked the same. I wish she had turned into someone, something unrecognizable, so that I would have an excuse not to look at her.

She smiled down at me. I looked down into the city streets.

I wish I had something to be scared of, but it’s just the two of us on the roof.

I sigh again. “There’s really nothing I can do to stop you?”

She placed her hand on my shoulder. She felt warm and nearly human. I shrugged her off.

“I made my choice.” She said. I heard the assuredness in her voice.

I wanted to cry. My nose scrunched up in a way that was probably hideous, my tear ducts burned, and I felt my face grew hot in that way that it does when it gets red and splotchy.

“It’s okay,” She cooed, plopping down next to me as if she was still my friend. She wore the same faint smile she always does as she took my hand. “At least I’m here, right?”

She says it like it’s supposed to comfort me. I almost laugh, but then she brushes her hand over my knuckles like she would to comfort me when I was scared of the dark, or when we’d walk down the scary street to our houses after school, or when we’d sit on the roof together and watch the stars.

The last time I saw stars was days ago. Now, there’s just the sun and the moon plastered against an inky, black sky, dark and light fighting for dominance.

I rest my head on her shoulder, forcing myself to enjoy the moment. It’d be the last time we sat on the roof together.

Portraits | Anna Kolbe ’22 | Mixed Media

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one less child Mikayla Osborne ’23 first tooth gone!... training wheels off.. birthday candles out.

A distant time At present with Pressure Now controlled by Thoughts Gripped by Responsibility Now in an incessant cycle of worry until .

The Future | Chloe Chun ’24 | Pastel

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i hope you’re well! or, i miss you Helena Richardson ’22 hardly-half-truth messages which eventually cease, a jigsaw of assumptions with an out-of-place piece; discomfort at the thought of your life moving without me and the fact you’re older than you are in my memory; familiarity with the falling-out-of-touch cycle, with the inevitable failure to endure the miles yet none can keep away my memories of our times, nor my hope that you’ll be bold enough to read between my lines; for the thing i’m struggling to say - the fully-full-truth is that i miss you - (and am hoping you miss me, too).

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Underpass | Siena Magruder ’24

Self-Portrait | Claire Zangerle ’22 | Pen

vacant Lila Freeland ’23

as i look upon the great valley ahead, i see no end. i see the sun the moon and the stars but, i cannot pretend . to not be dying . to see the . end

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to whom have i given offense to Kelsey Cazabal ’23

That warmth embodies the soul but The seeping darkness fills the cage And unable to take control It takes a toll To whom have I given offense to the day we meet to walk

by side side the darkness shall subside, but, if not, shall you pray for my demise to whom have I given offense to Is it the color of my feathers or the sound of my cry I reckon I’ll wait until the stars fall from the sky 24

Rae Street | Sophia Flores ’22

weeds Norah O’Donnell ’23 Malicious green thieves Twisting and tangling Choke the tiny seed, Oak tree destined indeed.

Dreams are dangling Can she believe In order to achieve Despite the weeds?

Day in the Life of an Ant Virginia Brown ’22

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Worldly Jade | Virginia Brown ’22 Metal and Stones

Snowball on Scratch Mackenzie Weston ’24 Scratchboard ’52 | Olivia Robinson ’24

Grayscale | Monica Nitu ’24 | Digital 26

Rue du Gros Horloge | McKenna Boyer ’24 | Marker

Untitled London Wood ’22 | Digital

Snail | Lily Londen ’22 | Ceramic 27

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A Collage for Humanity | Alex De León ’23

QUESTIONS Hope Salinas ’25 One of the first questions we are asked is what our favorite color is. Juvenile inquiries that are simple enough for our young minds to comprehend and answer. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and pink. Sometimes someone would say colors like gold and silver, and the occasional kid who always had a weird obsession with morbid things felt drawn to black. Societal gender norms would have girls say pink and boys say blue, but no one listened to those dumb rules anyways; after all we were only kids. As time progressed we were asked even more questions. “What do you want to be when you’re older?”

“What’s 6 times 3?” A little more complicated but simple enough to answer.

Doctors, firefighters, zookeepers, vets, a grown-up and 18 were common answers to those questions, but soon we would see how hard it is to truly be what you want when you’re older. That brings us to what some might call the rock bottom of their lives, middle school. Questions start to get even more intense. “What’s the value of y?” “What boys do you like?”

“What girls do you like?” “What schools do you want to go to?” Most answers portrayed an unrealistic beauty standard none of us fit while other answers didn’t even involve the opposite gender. When it came to schools everyone went with the safe choice which was whatever school

their friends went to. Most answers were the schools like “Xavier,” “Brophy,” “St. Mary’s,” “Sunnyslope.” Naturally there were always outliers of students who were alone and had to face the struggles of high school on their own; whether it’s a large or small school there are always going to be loners. Maybe they prefer it that way, or maybe they’re waiting for someone to ask them a question or start a conversation. That brings us to our next and final stage so far, high school, which has been notorious for housing people’s most horrid and happiest memories. Questions never end and turn into a circle of eternal thinking far beyond our once simple minds. “What college are you going to” “How are you going to make money” “What do you REALLY want to be when you’re older” questions, questions, questions, and questions yet somehow no answers. The lists of answers, the things to say are gone. Once we think we find an answer another question comes up. Once we think we know something we change our mind or learn something else. This generation and even the generations of our family and peers had these struggles. Sometimes I wonder how they answered these questions and dealt with the never-ending things asked of us. For now I just want someone to ask me what my favorite color is.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU’RE OLDER?”

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broken clock Emmy Losada ’23 A broken clock on the wall, Time stops in the old man’s view, There is nothing left to do but stall, Yet he can’t tell if this is true.

He wanders through the open room, To find the clock so lifeless and tranquil, Trying to escape from the afternoon, There is nothing left but to stay still.

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Memorabilia Kathryn Nilssen ’23 | Pencil Woman Through the Blinds Monae Saia ’25 | Acrylic Paint Nana’s Hands Sophia Baillie ’22 | Scratchboard A Beautiful Soul Appreciating a Beautiful World | Alex de León ’23

memory stirs Mary Virginia Vietor ’23 at the lightest touch, breath moves upon the waters: hovering, trembling among the shadows that hang on the face of the deep. sometimes it can be useful to see sunlight creep across the tiles and watch the face of the clock change and the streetlamps blink on in the dusk.

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A GAME OF CHANCE Monica Nitu ’24

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“Who are you?” I said, my voice soundless as if resounding only within my mind.

I felt my heart start to beat steadily faster, louder in my ears with each pump of blood.

The young man sitting across from me spread a deck of cards across the table in one swift flourish of his long, pale fingers. “Who am I? Surely you should have some idea,” he grinned a toothy smile, his sharp face vulpine in nature.

“Is this a dream?” I pressed.

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t even know where I am, how I got here.” Confusion set in, followed by panic. Something much like adrenaline rushed through me and

“Who are you?” I repeated myself.

Face | Sophie Kolbe ’22 | Ceramic

“A dream? Perhaps, you may call it that.”

Finally, he answered a question.

“We are one and the same.”

I didn’t understand what he meant by that.

He dealt me a card. Silence. Everywhere around me was voided, a blackness that ate at the corners of my vision.

“Who are you, should I ask?” He reciprocated the inquiry.

“I’m…” My mind came up empty.

“What do they mean?”

“Tsk-tsk, I’m not supposed to tell you that.” He brushed his fingers through his dark, neatly-combed hair. “That would ruin the game.”

“WE ARE ONE AND THE SAME.”

He smiled again, his brown eyes morphed into sly crescents pushed up by the corners of his mouth.

“Now that is why you’re here,” He leaned in, the soft noise of his red silk suit against the leather chair and walnut table the only ambient noise in the vacuum.

“Everyone needs an identity, a purpose, do they not? What is life without either of those things?” He dealt me another card. “Can you really call yourself a complete human being if you go through life without giving it a meaning?”

He dealt me the third card.

“Flip them over,” He ordered me.

A diamond, a club, and a heart.

I looked back up at him, questioning him wordlessly.

“Take your pick,” He tilted his head, looking up at me through his eyelashes. “You’re only choosing your destiny.”

“Game?”

“The game of chance.

What are you besides a steady accumulation of random events, all based on luck? This is but one of those events.”

He sounded nonsensical, but nevertheless, I looked down at the three choices.

“We don’t have all day, you know.” I felt the air around me shift as a slight edge slid into his velvety voice.

I slowly moved my hand to the club, grasping the thin sheet gently.

“Are you sure?” He asked in a low voice.

“Your choice is permanent.”

I hesitated before saying, “Yes.” He stared at me intently before plucking the card from my fingers.

“Alright then,” He brought the card up to his lips, covering the lower half of his face. “Your decision is respected.”

With his left hand, he snapped, the tension created between his thumb and middle finger eliciting a loud noise that was immediately absorbed by the abyss.

Everything faded to black.

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i want to write poetry Maddy Jorgensen ’22 Oh, to be sitting in a velvet chair in a stone castle looping large letters together with a quill on a scroll.

Or standing in front of a pond, in the woods, like the Greats, jotting down lines in a weathered leather journal.

To be leaning against the railing of a Harlem balcony, conjuring up rhymes to the tune of a distant trumpet.

I want to reside in the California canyons, collaborating with companions to write The Greatest Hit. I want to write poetry.

Warhol told us that anything could be art– He had never read one of my poems.

So I am scribbling these words into the margins of my notebook: I want to write poetry.

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Granada Park Duck | Emily Ingram ’22 Oil Paint

Force of Nature | Madigan Moran ’23

Calle del Obispo | Olivia Robinson ’24

Grandiose Interiors | Olivia Robinson ’24 | Collage

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Pastels of People At Work: Chloe Chun ’24 (Left) | Photos of Chicago: Alex De León ’23 (Right)

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i question if you are here Nicolette Moyes ’23 my dear dandelion the wind is

picking up

my knuckles grow white

my dear the wind is too rough my hands hold just a Stem

Summer Day | Virginia Brown ’22 Candy Sunset | Riley Dowdall ’23 Colored Pencil Beaming Bliss | Waverly Bagley ’23 Oil Paint Slay of the Century / Cass but Joker lol Caroline Wilmer ’22 | Digital

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the boy in the blue shorts Maria Wolowiecki ’23

Walks along the ocean, He finds a shell And picks it up.

The boy goes back the next day, He finds another shell And picks it up.

He goes back day, After day, After day.

Until one day, He finds a shell And steps over it.

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GOOGLE Sabrina Paz Gil ’23

You may search my engine For something you seek After all, My algorithm was made for others to see You may hit that backspace button To rephrase your questions After all, The keyboard is simple and provides you suggestions You may think you’re safe With the choices you make Don’t think that your wellbeing Is something I’m guaranteeing 40

Lain of the Wired | Maureen Trimino ’23 | Mixed Media

APOLOGIES Emma Zorn ’22

Biting down hard The grief on my tongue deserves more Than these unbloodied lips

Internal Scream / Restrictions | Cassandra Mancillas ’22 | Charcoal

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PHILOSOPHY Pierian Spring is a student-run literary and artistic publication dedicated to displaying the creative talents of the students of Xavier College Preparatory. The Pierian Spring staff is devoted to promoting student expression and works together to produce a printed magazine for the enjoyment of the community.

POLICIES Pierian Spring solicits art and writing submissions over the course of the academic year via contests, public announcements, promotional flyers, and class assignments. Submissions are accepted via Google Forms until mid-March, at which point the evaluation process begins. Pieces are evaluated for the contests and magazine based on a rubric encompassing visual and literary technique, originality, and overall appeal.

Pierian Spring reserves the right to edit content for appropriateness and pledges to address any changes with the original author.

COLOPHON Adobe InDesign CC was used to create the 2022 print issue of Xavier College Preparatory’s Pierian Spring literary and arts magazine. The dimensions are 8.5 inches by 11 inches. The cover art was created by Anna Kolbe. The body copy and attribution font is Iowan Old Style in 12 pt. The title fonts are Almaq and Fraunces. Printed by James Palmer and Daughter Printing. ©️ 2022 by Xavier College Preparatory’s Pierian Spring. 4710 N Fifth Street, Phoenix, AZ 85012.

All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced in any manner without permission. All images and literary works are property of the respective artists, reproduced with the permission of the student.

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MANY THANKS TO...

Moderator

Dr. Clayton Zuba

Editor-In-Chief Publication Editor Publication Editor Head of Design Head of Art Head of Writing

Helena Richardson ’22 Maddy Jorgensen ’22 Sabrina Le ’22 Anna Kolbe ’22 Sophia Kolbe ’22 Tatum Goforth ’22

Xavier English Kate Boehm Teachers: Shannon Donaldson Elizabeth Galbreath Kelly Hubbard Alison Mead

Brian Mostoller Dani Richter

Xavier Art Alison Dunn Teachers: Shannon Donaldson Catherine Robbins

Julianne Averbuck Zachary Carlson Nissa Kubly Special thanks to: Sister Joan Fitzgerald, BVM

Sister Joan Nuckols, BVM

Sister Lynn Winsor, BVM

Lisa Zuba Jennifer Tesdall

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vier College Prepa

Roman Catholic High Sc

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