Perspectives 2026 by Sacred Heart Greenwich

SACRED HEART VOL. 68 GREENWICH

PERSPECTIVES 2026

1177 King Street Greenwich, CT 06831 www.shgreenwich.org

perspectives@cshct.org

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Masthead » Perspectives 2026 SOCIAL ART COMMUNICATIONS FACULTY WRITING LAYOUT SPECIAL AND PHOTOGRAPHY MENTORS EDITORS EDITOR THANKS CO-EDITORS-IN-CHIEF MEDIAL STAFF TEAM

COORDINATOR CO-EDITORS Analyse Almonacy, Dr. Mr. Callie Arianna Cristina Jonathan Gabrielle Regnery Leila Baptista Chin Cortes, Peck Clara Arredondo, Bonomo Meghan Sarah and Dodman, Olivia Bellissimo, Figueiredo NidhiAbigail Motamarri Bremer, Xan Collins, Leila Cortes, Ms. Meghan Mr. Caroline Danielle Kevin Dodman, Gammon Williamson Gennaro Mary Ellen Dolan, Jenny Droscoski, Ariel Duncan, Carolina Catherine Ononye OIivia Figueiredo Figueiredo, Mrs. Elizabeth Marnie McLaughlin Galgano, Frankie Hinton, Dasha Holness, Clare Junius, Tori Kniffen, Miranda Zapata-Mardini Gia Lloyd, Dr.Aubrey WilliamLombardo, MottoleseVivianna Lostumbo, Carolyn McBreen, Lauren McCauley, Sophia Medel, Nidhi Motamarri, Amélie-Heidi Oddo, Maggie O’Hara, Maisie Pascal, Camilla Pazmino, Mikaela Pazmino, Carolyn Quill, Eloise Schultze, Annie Slocum, Estela Sosa, Caitlin Ungari, Sienna Vaccaro, Blaire Williamson, Lily Wise

Perspectives 2026 RECENT NATIONAL AWARDS

Recent National Awards

CSPA Silver Crown Award, 2024–2025 CSPA Gold Medal, 2024–2025, ”All-Columbian Honors“ for Essential, Verbal, and Visual categories CSPA Gold Circle Awards, 2024–2025, Experimental Fiction, Alternative Story Form, Design Multi-Page Presentation, Design Portfolio NSPA Pacemaker Award, 2024–2025 NSPA All-American with Five Marks of Distinction, 2024–2025 NCTE REALM First Class, 2024–2025 CSPA Gold Circle Awards, 2023–2024, Photo Illustration, Design Multi-Page Presentation, Portfolio Illustration NCTE REALM First Class, 2023–2024 ASPA First Place, 2023–2024 CSPA Silver Crown Award, 2022–2023 CSPA Gold Circle Awards, 2022–2023, Alternative Story Form, Humor, Photo Illustration, Design Multi-Page Presentation NCTE REALM First Class, 2022–2023 ASPA First Place, 2022–2023 ASPA Best Art, 2022–2023

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Table of Contents

Perspectives 2026

TABLE OF CONTENTS Fragments of Neon | Digital photography Recent National Awards Ghost Hall | Digital photography Circles | Digital photography Letter from the Editors Editorial Policies Colophon Orbit of Thought | Digital photography

Maggie O‘Hara Jaiden Vital Jaiden Vital

Catherine Tiedemann

Cover 3 5 6 8 10 11 11

Emma Beatty

Romani Dunkley Elle Corcoran Elle Corcoran Stephanie Stibler Olivia Figueiredo Olivia Morris Dalia Si-Ahmed Perspectives staff, et al. Hadley Brown Mya Gayle Leila Cortes Maggie O‘Hara Miranda Zapata-Mardini Mya Gayle Mya Gayle

14 15 15 16 17 18 18 20 21 22 23 24 26 27 28

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Table of Contents

MIRROR

Perspectives 2026

Genevieve Dimitri Giustina Lowenstine Abby Knox Kaitlyn Bentley Catherine Ononye Audrey Carcache Lucianna Parrotta Caroline Collins Stefania Dejanovic Maisie Pascal Michaela O‘Brien Abby Knox Ariel Duncan Dalia Si-Ahmed Jaiden Vital Ava Curto Charlie Caffray Addyson Flinchbaugh Maryn Borrelli

66 68 69 70 71 75 76 81 82 85 86 87 88 89 90 93 94 95 96

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Table of Contents

Maggie O‘Hara Mary Ellen Dolan Stephanie Stibler Maggie O‘Hara Sophia Berlingo Olivia Martinez Lulu Walker Miranda Zapata-Mardini

98 100 101 102 103 104 104 105

Alice Tucker Gabi Wright Vivi Bickmeyer Callie Regnery Alice Tucker Sara Zable Amélie-Heidi Oddo Catherine Tiedemann Olivia Figueiredo Miranda Zapata-Mardini Nóinín McNamara Vivianna Chin

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8 LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

——Perspectives is Sacred Heart Greenwich’s annually-published literary and art magazine. Each week, our imaginative group of Upper School students gathers to read, evaluate, and organize anonymous submissions from our peers. Our year-long collaborative efforts in editing and arranging pieces in diverse media and styles have led us to ultimately produce this volume, which serves as an entryway into the artistic and thoughtful minds of our many student creators. In listening to the various ideas and constructive feedback of every team member, our robust and enthusiastic staff embodied our magazine’s name: Perspectives. ——This year’s theme of Portals pushes beyond the spiraling, glowing gateways to other planets seen in popular media and examines a more philosophical concept of where we are in relation to that which we perceive. The progression through our sub-themes serves as a journey that both bewilders and awakens, distorts and propels, and ultimately opens doors of creativity. ——Keyhole places us at the edge of our world, standing on tiptoes to peer into an undiscovered room with curious eyes, unlocking wonder and possibility. Keeping the future both distant and obstructed, it is a portal we cannot physically enter, but one that still provides a visual access to what is on the other side. Hatch explores the initial escape to new spaces and ambiguities as we take the first steps towards establishing our place in the world. Above and below, in climbing and in falling, we encounter parallel possibilities that force us to consider whether two things can be true at once. ——Mirror leaves us face-to-face with the challenge of change, uncertainty, and distortion. Prompting more than just self-reflection, we find ourselves questioning—perhaps for the first time—whether what we are seeing is light refracted, reality reversed. Window examines the ultimate contrast: clarity distinct from fog, and an open invitation distinct from closed isolation. It is a reminder and a warning that after a lifetime of journeys, a barrier can still stand before a clear view of a new world, and it invites us to discover how—and by whom— it can be opened.

Perspectives 2026is an « encounter Letter from the Editors » ——All in all, every work of art or writing in Perspectives with a force, a figure, or a story. Some works take us to the threshold of new thoughts and push us through unfamiliarity. Others bring us to the looking-glass to self-examine and self-confront. Still others make us hover in the doorway, wrestling with the uncertainty as to whether we are entering or exiting. ——As we stand on the precipice of our graduation, we look outward at what came before us and what is to come. By reconstructing the legacy of our predecessors and building upon that groundwork with new goals and ideas, we hope this collection serves as a bedrock that will be invaluable for future editors who take their next steps into the unknown. ——We are thrilled to invite you to explore these pieces and discover how your perspective shifts while passing through these portals. Please step into our world of wonder, mystery, amazement, and self-reflection. We hope you stay awhile.

Sincerely, Clara and Olivia Co-Editors-in-Chief Perspectives 2026

10 EDITORIAL POLICIES

——All Upper School students are encouraged to join the staff of Perspectives. The staff is helmed by a student editorial team that is selected by the faculty mentors from applicants who have already served the magazine. Early in the school year, the editors and staff discuss and select a theme for the new issue with four sub-sections. The theme is not communicated to the student body while the staff receives submissions so that art and writing pieces remain varied. This discretion gives the staff the ability to place selected works in categories for a collection of work that as a whole creatively conveys—rather than literally represents—the year’s theme. The art and writing pieces are generated by Upper School students through both individual creativity and assigned classwork. Student writers and artists submit their pieces to an email account monitored by the Editors-in-Chief, who remove all identifying information before storing each submission on Google Drive to be reviewed anonymously by the staff and section editors at weekly meetings. After discussion, pieces are moved to “yes,” “no,” and “maybe” folders to allow for a fluid selection process as newer pieces arrive. This is crucial to the curation process because, while the staff selects individual pieces based upon literary merit and creativity, the ultimate goal is the construction of a cohesive magazine with each piece of work supporting—and being supported by—the rest. Once the staff has completed its curation of pieces, editors ensure that the final collection is representative of the Upper School student body and does not feature more than three pieces by the same creator, the exception being for AP Art and Design students whose submissions represent a larger portfolio that works in conjunction with the theme. All staff members assist in proofreading, and editors share and delegate the tasks of contacting contributors regarding grammar, punctuation, titling, and clarification about artistic medium.

COLOPHON

Perspectives 2026

Colophon

——This book was self-published using BookSmart software on a Macbook Pro and produced via digital printing. 200 copies of this 126-page book were printed on 80 lb. semimatte photo paper by Blurb, Inc. in San Francisco, CA on May 19, 2026. All image files were formatted by staff using Adobe Photoshop CC 2026 and all text was set in Avenir. All content text ranges from 8–48pt, and contributor index and folios are 7pt. Books were distributed to editors, staff, contributors, and other members of the community free of charge at Sacred Heart Greenwich’s end-of-school celebration on May 29, 2026. Funding for Perspectives comes from a dedicated yearly budget and the Upper School English Department. Perspectives is a print magazine with digital versions for archival purposes and submission to contests and membership organizations. Perspectives is a member of the Columbia Scholastic Press Association (CSPA), the National Scholastic Press Association (NSPA), and the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE).

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2026 I »amPerspectives surprised to see that the ocean is still going on

KEYHOLE Emma Beatty | Digital photography

Perspectives 2026

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2026 I »amPerspectives surprised to see that the ocean is still going on

KEYHOLE Emma Beatty | Digital photography

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» Perspectives 2026 Beneath the Old Trees

Romani Dunkley | Poetry The great oak spreads its arms—a silent guard. Behind it, a brick school stands, as strong as steel. Windows reflect the azure sky and white clouds. Capturing the whole atmosphere. How I wish I could go back— The spring sun washes over the lavish school, leaving puddles of light over the pavement. The vast greenery spreads across the lawn— speckled with dandelions—sprinkles of yellow light. How I wish I could go back— The people and their laughter fill the air, like the whooshing of a wind. Conversations drift like the clouds above. What do they speak of? How I wish I could go back— Beneath the tall chimneys, the air dances. Like a bird stretching its wings. A long-lasting whisper of the afternoon sun. All remains a promise of what’s yet to come— How I wish I could go back—

Versions Distance ofBetween Me Us ElleElle Corcoran Corcoran | Acrylic | Acrylic

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Perspectives 2026 They Were» Lonely, Not Alone

Stephanie Stibler | Sonnet I am a violet sprouting in the spring, past whispers of lost tales wither my roots. Though viewed as friends, to each other they cling. Violet—Oh sweet Violet—you are my truth. I am the colors of the setting sun; from orange to purple, relics they’ve forgot. In me you see the face of your loved one. Sunset—Oh sweet Sunset—you know my heart. I am a labrys, though known from Greece, since reclaimed in the name of feminine power. Heard in hushed voices planning resistance, Labrys—Oh sweet Labrys—you shall not cower. Symbols of love persist from times long past. Sappho, my sweet Sappho, you are not last.

17 Forgotten

Olivia Figueiredo | Acrylic

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«18 Keyhole 18 19 » Perspectives 2026 Day and Night

Whispering Shadows

Dalia | Digital photography OliviaSi-Ahmed Morris | Poetry Mumbling, you speak of death. Danger lurks in corners, gloomy and dire—hovering—somewhere in the distance lies a light. Somewhere out there is hope, you’ll just never know how to reach it. You, whispering shadows.

Perspectives 2026

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Whispering Shadows

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Quartet

Perspectives 2026

Clara Bonomo, Olivia Figueiredo, Caroline Gammon, Annie Slocum; compiled by the Perspectives staff | 6-word stories Compliance takes me further than conviction. Our masks are life’s necessary accessory. “I hate green,” said the frog. Still a mosaic, now finding individuality.

Line 1: Caroline Gammon Line 2: Olivia Figueiredo Line 3: Annie Slocum Line 4: Clara Bonomo

Time Four Time Hadley Brown | Charcoal

Perspectives 2026

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Perspectives 2026 Horizon Expanding

Mya Gayle | Digital photography

Bounded by History Leila Cortes | Personal essay ——A gold bangle, swinging like a pendulum on a grandfather clock, marks the relentless passage of time, granting everlasting comfort while binding the past and present. Its solid luster against my skin sends shivers along my arm. I fear growing old and the day it may no longer fit, yet I wear it, letting it record the passing years. Black letters engraved along its surface honor my ancestors, while plumarias symbolize new beginnings, and leaves represent the cycle of life. The natural glint of the gust’s ridges dances boundlessly like sea turtles in the vast ocean. Just as cycles repeat in nature, my bracelet reminds me of the ongoing struggle with aging. On my twenty-first birthday, it will officially become mine. My mother will surely give it to me, beams of light breaking through the window, casting a warm glow on her confident face. She will smile, her wrinkled eyes beaming with pride, and say, “This is yours now, just as I have my own. Your Nana and Papa gave me one so similar on my twenty-first. Treasure it. It holds our history and dreams for the future.” It is a connector between my heritage and me, as it was for my mother. Young girls always want shiny things, but as the days pass, my desire for them fades. Does that mean I am no longer young? But those very same girls I deem young see me as old. Ku’upōki’i: “My cherished little one,” it reads. I am my mother’s daughter. She cherishes me in my youth. In wearing her bracelet, I carry the enduring weight of memory, tradition, and the unbreakable bond between mother and daughter. ——To deepen my understanding of why it shapes me so significantly, I must look closely at the object itself. The bracelet gleams like warm sunlight made solid, its gold surface breathing with a soft molten glow that seems to ripple as it dances on my wrist. Intricate Hawaiian heirloom scrollwork unfurls across its band, curling vines and petals rendered with precision and delicacy, feeling alive, as each ridge was shaped by the careful, slow, and tender movement of a fingertip. Against this rich tapestry of floral engravings, bolded black Old English Script stands proudly. Each letter stands apart, its dark edges lifted slightly from AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAA

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Perspectives Crimson2026 Refraction

Maggie O‘Hara | Digital photography

2026 Keyholefrom » its the gold as if it holds its own ground, happily remainingPerspectives detached and «isolated nearby counterparts. Where the cuff meets my skin, the metal has thinned and softened, its once sharp gleam now carrying a faint, rubbed-down sheen of something handled year after year; the wheel-like band itself wears with each coming year like a cotton shirt worn countless times. Exteriors are almost all people often see, their eyes catching only the clean curve of gold, never the hidden message pressed close to my wrist. Inside lies a short yet thoughtful message: “Love Mom & Dad, February 2023.” No heavy ornamentation crowds the surface, yet the metal still holds an untouched clarity—embellishments do not yet ruin its purity. Along the band, the petals tilt outward at different angles, frozen as if caught while unfurling, their edges lifting like they’ve been brushed by the wind. Their long, slender shape tapering sharply and then releasing, echoing the quiet balance of growth and movement often found in nature. Shallow grooves and raised ridges catch the light differently with every shift of angle. As I run my fingers along the top, I feel a sense of relief. smooth curves, soft edges, and finely etched lines cradle my name at their center. I can only conclude that the forms surrounding the inscription are not merely decorative but protective, almost nurturing, binding the personal significance of my name to a larger, flowing rhythm of the design.

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Perspectives 2026 Daggers, »Wax, and Christmas Trees

Miranda Zapata-Mardini | Poetry Dripping like a reddish hue sliding off the page, a rose— though beautiful in the moment, time melted its beauty, but amplified its influence. A reminder of the fickle nature of peace, a lack of care walking through controlled wilderness plucked and pruned into an inevitable distant perfection. Fourth grade, losing sight, staring at crisp daggers of a titan’s blade, pine trees, mathematical by all means, angled right to the complemental. “I want to see clearly,” she complains. I complain. “I already scheduled your appointment.” Mom replies, I know now that life is best left blurry. It‘s less complicated. A palace of Versailles with fountains that spout a mirror-like goo into the air. Water, I know. The lights in the greenhouse seem like bulbs. Playfully willing the sparkle to grow bigger and bigger with a strain. Mediocre closeness to a superheroine, part of Avatar: The Last Airbender, long obsessed about.

27 Connected to the effervescent greens Dripping Bouquet

spoiling in the snow media globe, Mya Gayle | Mixed roots reaching down into the metallic plates barred from the truly untouched soil of the ancestors, forced for a moment of eternity to rest underneath the man’s ambition. Perfection of the natural order. “O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree” thy tendrils excavate the strings of a nostalgic heart. Medusa’s petrifying gaze warps the monochrome. Frozen in the colossal hand of the reminiscent. A past admirer and a present worshipper of a beauty once at peace, now an untapped pleasure.

Perspectives 2026

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«28 Keyhole 28 Perspectives 2026 2026 « Flora spirals halls of the king‘s castle, Seeing Pink»the Perspectives

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drugging mindless into a catalyst of elation, Mya Gaylethe | Digital photography undoing the camisole of the humble button by button trickling down to display suppressed desires of grandeur. Beating in my trembling heart the same desire. Hypocritically, bouncing, as though to burst melodramatically from my chest. Suppress it, suppress it. Thy secret feeling of superiority must not escape into a grin. Burnt rose, wax dripping on the perfect scene, toxified by the splashes of blood, horrified by a realization of a commonality, a lack of uniqueness. A world is best left blurry.

« 28 Keyhole Perspectives 2026 2026 « Flora spirals halls of the king‘s castle, Seeing Pink»the Perspectives

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Maggie O‘Hara | Digital photography

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Maggie O‘Hara | Digital photography

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» Perspectives 2026 Time’s Final Dance

Vivianna Chin | Poetry The hour of time is fading. Attacked, broken, unfixed. Those creatures, as bright as light took the pure delight. The purity of time becomes polluted by what we call the beautiful end. Then, I sit and ponder: what were the means for all these mends? As soon as time cracks, it falls apart. While the creatures dance in lavish joy, eyes fixed on broken glass. Too cold to rejoice with them, too confused with time. Should I cry with joy? When time meets end, no one will be there. All will be silent and still. Except for those creatures, who dance upon the cracks. The sand will pour out each hour. Just like the flood of crimson gore.

33 The Evolution of Time

Reagan Martinic | Photogram

Perspectives 2026

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«Depths 34 35 34 Hatch of» the Perspectives 2026 Forgotten

The Ocean

Maisie Pascal | | Poetry Watercolor Ella Bacallao The ocean, miles below what we know, all we know are predators and prey so different, yet the same, made from the same pigments, existing through reliance on harmony, acceptance of the way, unchanging, an ecosystem sees, knows only desire. The shark, hidden, lurking, lives amongst who he must hunt to survive, and he must survive. Surrounded, waiting for the right moment to strike as the rest of them watch, unable to save a victim of the system. Feasting from the bottom, the shark, never eaten or conquered, never a victim of circumstance never once facing a consequence.

Perspectives 2026

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«Depths 34 35 Hatch of» the Perspectives 2026 Forgotten

The Ocean

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«36 Hatch 37 » Perspectives 2026Was Silenced Reﬂection of What

Spiraling in the Eye of Chaos

Estelapoetry Sosa | Photography Olivia Morris | Visual God’s mighty hand controlling what’s unseen the elements of nature— the eye of the storm passing over twisting over the land God’s great contortionist in the midst of a season— a hurricane writhing and churning with power and for some reason I’m spiraling My family, so distant, so far away— all I can do from here is hope and pray how can I numb the pain? No way to reach out no way to communicate but I need to help trapped in spinning thoughts roundabouting through the eye of the chaos spiraling

Perspectives 2026

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Hatch » 2026Was Silenced Reﬂection What Spiraling inPerspectives theofEye of Chaos

Perspectives 2026

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«38 Hatch I wasn’t 38 » Perspectives 2026 Though born there

I feel a connection to home and worry about the future of my family’s country this place that raised them now razed disbelief surrounds citizens how will they recover? How will they move on from the unknown—the abyss? They’re spiraling But in time they will move on strong and united— out of many, one people someday it will become whole again no bruises no separate jigsaw pieces yes, at once they will reach a time of no more spiraling

Perspectives 2026

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» Perspectives 2026 Intertwined

Celia Blechinger | Play excerpts Act I Scene 3 (SIMEON enters the forest. The lighting is distorted, with certain arrangements of different colors. There is a tree in the background with a color-matched face inside the hole of the tree. SIMEON starts exploring, noticing the face in the tree. Momentary blackout. The face in the tree is gone.) EXECUTIVE #3 (Voiceover.) Simeon. SIMEON (Looks up, around the stage.) What? Hello? Who is that? (It suddenly gets windy, with the wind continuing to crescendo.)

(Serious.) Simeon. You have to stop.

EXECUTIVE #3

Perspectives 2026 SIMEON (Covering his head from the strong wind.) What? Stop what? What are you talking about? Who are you?

EXECUTIVE #3 You have achieved something you should not have achieved. SIMEON What does that even mean? EXECUTIVE #3 I got signals from you. You are pushing the limits. SIMEON Who are you? Why am I here? Where am I? EXECUTIVE #3 Listen. Stop talking. SIMEON (Stressed.) Where is my friend? Where’s Dustin? EXECUTIVE #3 I think it’s better if you stop talking; you are not listening to me.

Hatch

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Perspectives 2026 Hydrangea Cubed

Angelina Clear | Colored pencil

Perspectives 2026 and « listen.) Hatch » (SIMEON tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s forced to stand

EXECUTIVE #3 Why are you, out of everyone, acting like this? The fact that you can even talk to me right now is unthinkable. (Silence.) Dustin is not coming back, Simeon. He never even existed. (Blackout.)

Act I Scene 5 (EXECUTIVE #9 enters. The set contains simple shaded colors. The walls are lined with drawers and numbers. He opens one with the number 9 on it, retrieving a small black book from inside. The circular set spins as he walks down the hallway, revealing small rooms belonging to different EXECUTIVES. He enters a small room labeled 9 and stares at a computer.) EXECUTIVE #9 (Mumbling to himself, typing loudly on the computer.) He was spotted in world 129651251919. The unstable world... He found out about the real house. He knows too much. We aren’t sure how to stop him; we might need you to intervene before it gets too far. (Blackout.)

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Perspectives 2026

Act I Scene 6 (Simeon stands at a door, hand on the doorknob, waiting to open it.)

SIMEON (Mumbling to himself, hyping himself up.) All I need to do is go back to that unstable world. I think I remember those numbers. 129651251919. (Sighing, he opens the door to reveal the darkness, but walks through confidently this time. The circular stage turns, lights flickering. The stage is now at a 45-degree angle to the right. SIMEON walks through the same hallway EXECUTIVE #9 went through, back to DUSTIN’s apartment. This time, the room contains an oddly placed kitchen drawer that’s painted bright red. He opens the drawer, picking up a note inside.) SIMEON Stored vessel information? (SIMEON takes out four books, then places them onto the dining table.) June… July… August…September…? (Pointing at each book by title.) These are… journals? (Opening the first page of the first journal.) Written by D? Who is that? (SIMEON sits down, opening the first journal.) June 2nd, 2017…

(The lights fade to a muted color as DUSTIN enters, wearing a boring-colored outfit. A soft spotlight on him.)

Perspectives 2026

DUSTIN I can’t believe I’m almost 17 now. Life is moving so quickly. Soon, I will have to move out and actually live life; this is so weird just to think about. (The lights change to refocus back on SIMEON. DUSTIN stands still. SIMEON flips to the next page.) SIMEON June 7th, 2017. (The lights fade to a muted color. A soft spotlight returns on DUSTIN. ) DUSTIN I’m so excited about this new Minecraft update coming out! I feel like a kid again, just being able to watch the news and explore the updates myself. Although, I stress about school. Will I be able to have enough time to play this game? I guess for now, I will just focus on one day at a time.

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Perspectives 2026

Arrows

Courtney Evers | Charcoal

Perspectives 2026The « lights Hatch » (The lights change to refocus back on SIMEON. DUSTIN stands still. continue to move between SIMEON and DUSTIN as each speaks. SIMEON flips to the next page.)

SIMEON June 21st, 2017. DUSTIN Turns out I did better than expected on that test! I hope my parents are proud of how hard I worked. I really want to play Minecraft with my friend Simeon. I should go ask him! SIMEON (SIMEON flips to the next page.) June 29th, 2017. DUSTIN He said yes! I’m so excited—we are going to make the world today! Starting a server with my best friend, honestly. What could be better than this? SIMEON (SIMEON closes the book shut.) What the hell? What is this? This feels… familiar. (Hesitates, before picking up the next book titled July.) July 1st, 2017.

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» Perspectives 2026 DUSTIN I’ve been feeling kind of sick for the past few days. Nothing that bad, maybe the flu or something? I’ve been trying to play Minecraft with Simeon for the past few days. But I did see a weird person standing outside my house while I was playing with Simeon. I think it’s just me being paranoid. I know Simeon and I are both fans of something creepy, but we know that they are fake. But this is really starting to creep me out.

SIMEON (SIMEON flips to the next page.) July 4th, 2017. DUSTIN I still suck at Minecraft. My headache is starting to hurt a lot more. We got Felix to come join us. I’ve been hearing some weird sounds lately as well. I haven’t seen that weird person outside my house, but I’m still not totally sure what’s happening. It’s probably nothing. Felix and Simeon think I’m overthinking, but there’s something in my gut telling me that something is wrong. What am I thinking? I live in a neighborhood, of course it isn’t creepy. People are allowed to walk outside. Whatever. It’s nothing.

(SIMEON flips to the next page.) July 10th, 2017.

SIMEON

Perspectives 2026 « Hatch » DUSTIN Felix and Simeon just came up with such an awesome idea! We can all move in together! But there is a little problem: my health isn’t improving. My head hurts, and my hands are constantly shaking. (Lifts hands, noticeable shaking. Quickly hides hands behind his back.) If this keeps getting worse, I would probably have to take a break from playing with them. I don’t know what’s causing this, but I’m scared it’s not the flu. It’s going on longer than it should have.

SIMEON (SIMEON flips to the next page.) July 17th, 2017. DUSTIN Something is going on. I saw that same person outside my house again. I saw him before. He looks unnatural, like he isn’t supposed to be here. Strangely enough, he had a number on the back of his shirt that I was able to note. 03. I’ve been trying to tell Felix and Simeon, but they don’t know what I’m talking about. They think I’m going crazy. What’s even worse are these weird red spots that are appearing on my skin. Something is definitely wrong. My mom has started to notice, and we are going to the doctor on Saturday to get to the bottom of this. Hopefully, Felix and Simeon can make some progress on the world as I get checked out. They are also concerned about my health and becoming sick as well. A small headache. Is there something going on?

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Perspectives 2026 The Endless Tower

Ellie O‘Hara | Charcoal

SIMEON

Perspectives 2026

Hatch

(SIMEON flips to the next page.) July 22nd, 2017. DUSTIN The doctors have no idea what’s happening. I’m scared. Really scared. My friends are feeling the same headache I had experienced two weeks ago. I’ve been watching the news, and it seems like other teenagers are catching this “disease” too. What is happening? I don’t even want to play Minecraft anymore. I just want to lie in my bed. My parents are beyond worried. (Pause.) I’m scared. SIMEON (SIMEON flips to the next page.) July 26th, 2017. DUSTIN I decided to play some more Minecraft with them, but I wish I hadn’t. I can barely get up, barely move. Even after a few minutes of playing, I saw that same man outside my house, just standing and staring, unmoving. He wasn’t speaking, but I felt as if he was trying to talk to me. Telepathically. But that’s when I realized something. This man has to know what’s happening to me; he knows. I think the disease spread through my entire friend group. But the fact that he just stands there. (Pause.) He knows. I have to tell my friends. I will shut down the Minecraft server.

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» Perspectives 2026 SIMEON (SIMEON puts the book down, a confused look on his face, before picking up the next book titled August.) August 2nd, 2017.

DUSTIN I don’t want to play Minecraft ever again. I feel like I’m going insane. I can’t feel my hands anymore. I have problems breathing, and I feel like I need to vomit all the time. Then, I feel as if I can barely get out of my bed. My parents are more worried about me than anything. But deep down, for some reason, I don’t care about them. I don’t want to talk to them or listen to them. I want to. But my body refuses. I just feel pain. SIMEON (SIMEON flips to the next page.) August 29th, 2017. DUSTIN Beg farewell to shattered bones. Bones that shape your interior. Bones that make you who you are. Bones like the water of a river, flowing towards destiny. SIMEON (SIMEON puts the book down, a sad and perplexed look on his face, before picking up the next book titled September.) September 8th, 2017.

Perspectives 2026 « Hatch » DUSTIN It’s pulling me. It wants me to touch it. I don’t feel my interior emptiness anymore. I don’t feel anything anymore. My entire computer draws me in. He is. He is calling me. Whoever he is. In a few seconds, you may find yourself falling into the abyss, screaming to escape. But the inevitable things come and go as they choose, and in the end, you will always lose. Sit back, relax, as death swoops you down.

SIMEON (SIMEON flips to the next page.) September 13th, 2017. DUSTIN Now and forever, I will be part of attempting to run from what I can’t escape. I can never outrun it; the purgatory I will be stuck in is a part of me now. One hour, ten hours, ten days, ten years, ten decades, ten centuries, tens of billions of years. Forever. I am part of it. It has always been this way, from the very beginning. (The lights change to refocus back on SIMEON. DUSTIN exits silently as SIMEON closes the book, then piles them and puts them back into the drawer. The lights flicker. Turning around, he sees DUSTIN sitting on the dining room chair he once was in. But there is something immediately wrong with DUSTIN.)

Hey, dude.

DUSTIN (fake)

«54 Hatch 55

Perspectives 2026

Hollow SIMEON

Perspectives 2026

(Startled.) Anheiya Gentles | Charcoal Dustin, what are you doing here? DUSTIN (fake) (Relaxed, but sort of tense.) I was looking for you. I don’t think we should be here. SIMEON You’re acting weird. Dude, what is happening? DUSTIN (fake) (Stands up from the chair. Slowly makes his way towards SIMEON.) Can we please go back? SIMEON Get away from me! you aren’t Dustin. DUSTIN (fake) Simeon.

(Backs away.) Leave me alone. You aren’t Dustin.

SIMEON

Hatch

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Hollow SIMEON

Perspectives 2026

(Backs away.) Leave me alone. You aren’t Dustin.

SIMEON

Hatch

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» DUSTIN Perspectives 2026 (fake) No, Simeon. Come back. We can talk about this, like friends?

(SIMEON exits.) DUSTIN (fake) You will regret this. You will always be known as the mistake for ruining everything. (Blackout.)

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Hatch » DUSTIN Perspectives 2026 (fake) No, Simeon. Come back. We can talk about this, like friends?

(SIMEON exits.) DUSTIN (fake) You will regret this. You will always be known as the mistake for ruining everything. (Blackout.)

Perspectives 2026

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» Perspectives 2026 Still Swimming

Maria Walsh | Poetry They chose a name rooted in prayers because they said I was loved, even before my first breath. A miracle with hospital-banded wrists, ripple formed before the wave. A wish sent upwards, outwards into the hearts of blue. A child shaped by hope, before she could shape herself. They said I was the answer to a question asked on their knees. But every answer has its cost. Every calm has its storm, every current, its pull. The waves keep coming, in teasing shifts. Soft one moment, fierce the next. I tread water like my life depends on it. I build boats out of faith, rafts from small dreams. I try to sail steady on my way to finding myself. The restless blue may be dark with expectations, but stars glisten like tear-washed eyes. From the dreams I chase, of hope and fear, a balanced path becomes so clear.

Perspectives 2026

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«60 Hatch 60 » the Perspectives 2026 Aha! Maybe sea in my name Ceramic Scales

was a warning, Frankie Hinton | Digital art not tragic, just true. I am still learning how to swim in the rough, without drowning in it— learning how to find peace in the pull of the tide.

Perspectives 2026

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« 60 Hatch » the Perspectives 2026 Aha! Maybe sea in my name Ceramic Scales

was a warning, Frankie Hinton | Digital art not tragic, just true. I am still learning how to swim in the rough, without drowning in it— learning how to find peace in the pull of the tide.

Perspectives 2026

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«Shifting 63 62 62 Hatch Identity » Perspectives 2026

Ghosts Might Enter Here

Perspectives 2026

Mya | Digital photography OliviaGayle Franco | Poetry Looming in the corner: a ghost. I don’t know where she came from yet i think she’s always been there sitting in the corner of my room. Sometimes she comes asking to play, as i try hard to push her away. Weeks where she comes with me to school, waiting with her backpack on before i’m even out of bed. She walks behind me in the hall, waits for me after that test i failed or jokes in the hallway with a friend, willingly ready to greet me again. She covers my shoulders with a blanket so that we match in our shared white facade. Tired, i struggle to get out— a dog stuck.

Hatch

«Shifting 63 62 Hatch Identity » Perspectives 2026

Ghosts Might Enter Here

Perspectives 2026

Hatch

«Or 65 64 64 Hatch i’m » Perspectives 2026 maybe scared Petals and Thorns

Perspectives 2026

« Hatch » No. Leave me be. I have things to do, people to see

to take Madeline it off. Heissan | Digital photography The blanket is warm, a coat left in the snow. A cold comfort. Then again, i have the choice I’m needed here. whether to let you roam free. My smile. My laugh. I take off that numbing blanket. I shove it in my backpack— now’s not the time. I’m in control. But—I still feel

a ghost looming in the corner I don’t know where she came from but i think she’ll always be here. And when it’s late, and i’m tired and in need, i know i’ll put on that cold white blanket again.

«Or 64 65 Hatch i’m » Perspectives 2026 maybe scared Petals and Thorns

Perspectives 2026

« Hatch » No. Leave me be. I have things to do, people to see

«66 66 67 Mirror

PerspectivesThe 2026Looking-Glass

Genevieve Dimitri | Photography

MIRROR

Perspectives 2026

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PerspectivesThe 2026Looking-Glass

Genevieve Dimitri | Photography

MIRROR

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» Perspectives 2026 of Wi-Fi The Mother A Woman of Unseen Work

Abby Knox | Watercolor Giustina Lowenstine | Poetry A moment to rest the hoax on her face. The lady, concealed by her fellow mother: leaves protect her, hiding her from admirable creations. Her hands dirty with the work her consort delegates onto her! But she doesn’t dare to depart. Her face, full of scorn towards the daily mischief. Those big gates to the soul, empty and numb. Her scowl blends into her face: the sentiment behind her composure. But she doesn’t dare depart. One hand anchors her hip—a quiet claim to the space she endures. Not surrender, but stance. Her body speaks what her lips withhold: I am seen, but not known. Still, she doesn’t dare. She is both root and branch. Bound to earth, yet longing for sun. Her stillness deceives; inside, she stirs. Pomona rests, but she is not at rest. She does not dare depart.

Perspectives 2026

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I Don’t Look Like Him

Perspectives 2026

Mirror

Catherine Ononye | Play Scene 1 (Lights up on a warmly-lit living room. Afternoon sun filters through the curtains. YOUNG JAMIE, around five, is on the floor playing with plastic army figures. His DAD—in partial uniform, off-duty—sits beside him. MOM watches from the couch, smiling, folding laundry.) YOUNG JAMIE This one’s the boss! He tells everyone where to go! DAD (Laughing.) That’s a captain. But close enough. Where’s he sending them? YOUNG JAMIE To the kitchen! Gotta rescue the cookies. MOM They’d better be careful. That’s enemy territory. (YOUNG JAMIE crawls behind the couch, army men in hand. DAD reaches out, pretending to radio in support.) DAD This is Echo Unit—Captain Cookie is in position.

«72 Mirror

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YOUNG JAMIE

Sir, yes, sir! (They laugh. MOM sets down the laundry and picks up a toy helmet, placing it gently on JAMIE’s head.) MOM Look at you. Just like your dad. DAD (Still smiling, but quieter.) He’s got his own mission, though. Always will. (Lights fade slowly as the three of them remain in the warm light—YOUNG JAMIE in between them, safe.)

Morning, love.

Scene 2 (A modest kitchen. Morning light. JAMIE, now a teenager, eats cereal alone at the table. The radio plays softly in the background—a local news report, then jazz. The chair across from him is empty. MOM enters, dressed for work, coffee in hand.) MOM

JAMIE

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Morning. (MOM kisses the top of his head in passing. He keeps eating. A small army figurine sits on the windowsill—dusty.) MOM You sleep okay? JAMIE Yeah. Fine. (She nods. Packs her bag. Looks like she wants to say more but doesn’t.) MOM I’ll be late tonight. Left some leftovers in the fridge. JAMIE Cool. (She exits. JAMIE keeps eating. After a moment, he stands, washes his bowl, and opens the fridge. He stares for a beat, then closes it again without taking anything. He glances at the figurine, then turns off the radio. Lights begin to dim as he exits the kitchen. A faint military breathing rhythm begins—brief—and cuts off quickly.)

«74 Mirror

Perspectives 2026 Spinning Gilded

Scene 3 (A cluttered bedroom. Audrey Carcache | Ink Evening. A dim lamp glows. JAMIE stands over the old trunk, open. He pulls out a small item—a watch, or perhaps a letter— then puts it back quickly. Paces. He opens a drawer. Pulls out an old drawing—childish scribbles of a man in uniform and a boy holding hands. The paper is crinkled and torn at the edges. He stares at it. Then rips it in half. Throws it away. Sits on the bed, fists clenched.)

JAMIE (Quietly, to himself.) I know you loved me. I know you did. But it’s like… I can’t feel it. I don’t remember what it felt like. (He covers his face. A soft knock. TYLER enters, casual.) TYLER Hey. Your mom said I could come up. You good? JAMIE Yeah. Just tired. TYLER You always say that. (JAMIE shrugs. TYLER notices the torn drawing in the trash. Doesn’t say anything. Just sits on the floor.)

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Perspectives 2026 City Motion

Lucianna Parrotta | Photography

Perspectives 2026 « Mirror » TYLER I had this dream once. I was five, and my dad showed up at school in a stupid green jacket. Sat in the back like it was normal. (Pause.) I woke up crying and didn’t know why. He didn’t even talk in the dream. Just sat there.

(JAMIE says nothing. Just listens.) TYLER Sometimes not remembering is worse than remembering the bad stuff. (A long beat. JAMIE stands. Crosses to the trash. Pulls out the torn drawing. Slowly, quietly, tries to piece it back together. Lights dim slightly. The sound of a soft heartbeat begins—subtle, steady, human.)

Scene 4 (Late at night. The room is dim. JAMIE lies awake in bed, eyes open. The room is quiet except for the faint ticking of a clock. He sits up, goes to the trunk again. This time, he doesn’t open it. He just sits in front of it. A pause. Then he speaks into the silence, unsure who he’s talking to.) JAMIE I used to think I was fine. That you being gone didn’t change much... (Pause.) But maybe it did. Maybe more than I wanted to admit.

«78 Mirror » Perspectives 2026 (He looks around the room. His eyes land on the mirror. He walks to it. Stares.)

JAMIE Everyone says I have your eyes. Your mouth. Even your walk. (Chuckles, a little bitter.) You left... and I kept walking anyway. Just didn’t know where I was going. (He takes a hat from the trunk and holds it.) JAMIE Did you ever feel like you were just... pretending to be strong? Because I do. Every day. (Beat. He sets the hat on the trunk, careful. Breathing starts faintly again—not ominous this time, but steady. Background fades into quiet. Lights dim slowly, leaving JAMIE sitting on the floor, still and thoughtful.)

Final Scene (Scene opens with JAMIE sitting on his bed. TYLER is on the floor playing with a Rubik’s Cube.)

So you’re really not going to the bonfire?

TYLER

JAMIE

Perspectives 2026

(Nods.) Yeah. Not feeling it. TYLER You never go anymore. You used to love setting stuff on fire. JAMIE I still do. Just not in public. (TYLER chuckles, then looks at the trunk.) TYLER (Indicating the hat from the previous scene.) That your dad’s old army stuff? JAMIE Yeah. Mom wanted to throw it out. I said no. TYLER You ever wear the hat?

Tried once. Felt like it didn’t fit.

JAMIE

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TYLER

Maybe it’s not supposed to. (Pause. MOM knocks lightly, opens the door halfway.) MOM Jamie? You okay? JAMIE Yeah, Mom. I’m fine. MOM Did you eat? JAMIE Not hungry. MOM Okay. I’m just down the hall. Don’t stay up too late. (She closes the door. JAMIE opens the trunk, takes out dog tags and a photo.) TYLER I don’t think I even remember my dad’s voice, and he’s alive. Somewhere in Florida, I think. Yours was... what, a sergeant?

Bright Light Caroline Collins | Ink

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Perspectives 2026 Birds of Manhattan

JAMIE

Master Sergeant. Second| Battalion. Stefania Dejanovic Photography TYLER Sounds serious. JAMIE Yeah. (Pause. Army breathing begins faintly in the background. TYLER doesn’t react. JAMIE looks up, suddenly alert.) TYLER You good? JAMIE (Shaking it off.) Yeah. Just tired. (TYLER stands.)

TYLER

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I should head out. You sure you’re okay? JAMIE I’m good. Thanks. (TYLER exits. JAMIE closes the door. Breathing grows louder. GHOST appears, faintly lit, standing near the trunk. JAMIE does not look at him directly.)

GHOST You’re still holding on to the medals.

JAMIE I don’t know why. It’s not like I earned them. GHOST You don’t have to earn memory. JAMIE You were always marching. Orders. Purpose. I never knew what mine was supposed to be. GHOST You don’t have to follow my path to walk your own.

«84 Mirror

» Perspectives 2026 JAMIE Everyone keeps saying I’m like you. Same stare. Same silence. But I don’t feel like you. I feel... lost.

GHOST You’re not me. JAMIE (Finally turning to him.) That’s the first thing that’s made sense all year. (Pause. The breathing stops. A softer presence fills the room.) GHOST It’s okay to miss me. Just don’t disappear inside the missing. (JAMIE steps forward, opens the trunk again, and removes a framed photo.) JAMIE I’ll carry you. But I don’t have to become you. (GHOST nods. Lights begin to dim. MOM enters softly.)

Jamie?

MOM

85 The Art Room

JAMIE

Yeah, MaisieMom? Pascal | Ink MOM Want some tea? JAMIE Actually... yeah. Thanks. (She smiles. GHOST is gone. JAMIE lingers on the frame a moment, then sets it on the nightstand.) JAMIE (Quietly, to himself.) I don’t look like him. And that’s okay. (Blackout.)

«A 86flight Mirrorto success » Perspectives 2026 Blooming From a Chiwp as I beganO’Brien and sought a new bwanch, Michaela | Poetry one filled with pity, with othew kids stawing, asking I wemembew if I had antwenbeling “accent,” on my tongue, my name not knowing it was this: unsuwe it belonged to me. my new beginning dawning.

Unawawe of my suwwoundings As passed, andyeaws who would notice— and gwowth began, wowds like pebbles, chiwps tuwned into notes tumbling, scattewing— that becamewhat songs. unknowing I’m saying, “W”s tuwned into each one a stawt to“R”s pwogwess. and growth visible. Each—a piece of me. Here, from its perch: the waiting voice, now feeble bold, now rich—now clear. biwd The wawbling of a baby twying to find speech. Now, my words dance Each chiwp, a new beginning, with purpose a step towawdand thepower. nest edge, Theythe sailtwee on air, bright as feathers, and bwanch, nogwowth longer hiding of and undewstanding, behind fear’s shadow. just beyond its wing. Each sound a victory, each sentence blooming from a chirp that’s now a song.

A Cup of Spring Abby Knox | Ceramic

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Perspectives See-Through 2026 Ashes of» Silence

DaliaDuncan Si-Ahmed | Digital photography Ariel | Poetry 365 Days. Three, Six, Five. How time really flies. December 3rd, 2024, a somewhat sunny day, cold and quiet, just another Tuesday. A day of laughter, stress, running around for tests. I thought everything was okay; everything was normal, until it wasn’t. One text from my mom. She was coming home late. I’ll be okay. Should’ve been normal. But one call and the tone, unhappy and distant, the opening door twisted “normal” into a broken dam, a loss too great. The heart fails to comprehend. It shouldn’t have been real. I’ll wake up soon.

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91 90 loss realityAcan’t This feel,of Memories Storm

can’tJaiden touch, Vital | Digital photography can’t grasp. Tears stung my eyes like flames, but I couldn’t cry that day. The silence, once peaceful, became deafening, dangerous. My friend, my sister, her brother, her family, torn by a crumbling door forced open; blindsiding, terrifying. What can I feel? Anger, sadness, pain? The world becomes fuzzy, the unknown knocking at the door. Nothing can be heard, nothing seen, drowning in an ocean of emotions, ones that creep up in silence like snakes.

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91 This loss realityAcan’t feel,of Memories Storm

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«I92 92 Mirror » what Perspectives don’t know to say, 2026 In Pieces

I can’t Ava apologize, Curto | Digital photography I can’t reassure, because, honestly I can’t tell if anything is okay. “Sorry” can’t bring them back. Consumed by the dark beast, the beast of terror who’s been there all along waiting to pounce at its prey. Is this the only time pain is felt? Grief, loss, silence, the silence piercing the noise. The heart of a diamond, fragile yet shining. An explosion shattering the heart into the ground. The grainy soil of ashes, consuming the tears and the words that were never said. No goodbye, no word of love. Just stillness, a cold room of nothingness,

and the pieces left of them, falling to the ground like feathers, into the hands of a broken mirror, lost in the flame of night.

Perspectives 2026

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» Perspectives 2026 Self-Portrait Petite Soldier

Addyson | Charcoal Charlie Caffray Flinchbaugh | Poetry The march into battle, grit on my side. Shielding with confidence— fighting with might. Beneath shining armor beats the frantic heart of a coward.

Though the enemy cries, “Your might brings me fright,” all I remember is petite bravery cowering in the corner, confined to my size.

Though the enemy cries, “You’re annoying, pesky mosquito,” I can‘t wait to

buzz in ears and bite skin and break flesh— drawing blood every chance I get.

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Perspectives 2026 Reﬂections

Maryn Borrelli | Charcoal

In my But is head: Charlie“Failure” the persistent the soldier, whisper knocks me thedown warrior-woman, smaller fearless? than my true mouse-like size. Or In my heart, the lion’s roar is caught in its throat Charlotte, as it tries to cough up fight who isby petite, yet still caught fright. feminine? A true victor knows In theand end, the mousy lionstrengths lion mouse must join takes forge command, a beast who is small forces herself yet sneaks through enemy lines. to creature the frontlines, A silenced tasting success on the wind. yet fanged and clawed at the enemy’s approach. For only she knows there is no battle won if there is grit without grace.

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Perspectives Sky2026 Below the City

Maggie O‘Hara | Digital photography

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Perspectives Sky2026 Below the City

Maggie O‘Hara | Digital photography

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Perspectives 2026

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«100 waits 100 101 Window He

» Perspectives 2026 Luna Moth A Man Waiting

Perspectives 2026

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he waits and waits |and waits | Fiber art Stephanie Stibler Mary Ellen Dolan Poetry for her stripped away from his only A warm, mustard carpet withlove fuzz reaching for the sky he unseen knows he will outlined never know thatpresence feeling again— an chair, by the of a man a sharp line marks the distinction between his black and white life— Still, he waits but nothing He is half in, half out only an echo of memory— his hair, slicked back his suit traps him his fishnet socks, like chicken wire— His mind is swallowed by shadows as he looks down in rumination in the light, people worship his image in the dark, he cannot find a way to escape— His past swerves around him like a shifty serpent with little control, he picks up a glimmering glass of wine his heart bulges from his chest with desperate force his pinky continuously taps up and down slight sharp breaths slip past his lips—

« 100 101 Window He waits

» Perspectives 2026 Luna Moth A Man Waiting

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«102 WindowTowers » Perspectives 2026 Twisted Rainforest Morning

Perspectives 2026

Maggie O’Hara || Digital Sophia Berlingo Poetry photography In the stillness of dawn, the rainforest wakes, morning dew shimmers on the wet blades of grass, reflecting off the emerald leaves. A hummingbird flutters as it echoes its beautiful songs through swaying trees. A slimy chameleon blends with blooming blossoms new and bright, waterfalls flowing along glistening paths. Sunbeams scatter golden rays, a fiery snake slithering, through the graceful trees. Delicate butterflies, gentle and light, flying like lone drifting petals, a world alive in every way.

Window

« WindowTowers » Perspectives 2026 Twisted Rainforest Morning

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«104 Window » Perspectives 2026 Normal Soft Summer Good Bad

Olivia Martinez | Acrylic Lulu Walker | Acrylic

Perspectives 2026 « Window » Technicolor ﬁg tree (my great-grandfather) and monochromatic actress (my great-grandmother)

Miranda Zapata-Mardini | Poetry “Polleras” with kilometric silky black hair. Too traditional, too ethnic to portray the stereotype, the “traditional.” I was not born to play a Technicolor actress, fleeing the Asphodel Meadows for the American monochromatic. He remains honored and remembered. Lenticular card with untouchable haze: Irish, Peruvian, IRISH, or PERUVIAN. Pick ONE. Closed eyes, a false version of her mocks every fickle thought. They engulf me… Glimmers of the false past told through film still. Scene One—Stately Portrait, my Constance Smith— A white candle aflame, with emerald-green eyes. Passion and a slap, unworthiness, in a piercing gaze. Voice and face bleed through the rupturing vacutainer tubes of time. Filled with progressive distortion myself, yet your disapproving mind of stone fails to forget me.

105

«Scene 106 Window » Perspectives Two—Not A Visit to 2026 the Seaside (George Albert Smith, 1908)—

Fig tree, my lover, tied to a pier, my penitentiary. Elegantly swooning on a chaise lounge, such a damsel in distress. You drown me in an unpredictable wave. A cottage, two children, and a deep bullet hole you leave in my Jell-O heart… Scene Three—A Sixth Sense (M. Night Shyamalan, 1999), after a decade of longing— Fig tree, my lover, divine strength, you grant me from the Elysian Fields. Straight from the script, I shriek and gasp at palpable, otherworldly blessing. Clearly and calmly sewing the wound in my heart, you sit angelically on my shoulder… “Pepito! Pepito! Pepito!” “Yes, Mama Lunda.” “The fig tree, my grandson.” “Yes, Grandma.”

Seaside Window Alice Tucker | Acrylic

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Scene Four—“Welcome Roses— 2026 Between Horizons to the Jungle” (1987) by Guns N’ Perspectives The South American Gabi Wright | Acrylicjaguar climbed with agility up Constance Smith’s reminder of her darling. I masterfully tore the angelic fig and returned with my prey. A wave of muffled drowning entrapped me with each fleeting step— a blanket of pins threading through a hole of time. “You’ll be fine, grandson; don’t worry.” I forget the needles… “Pepito, my grandson, where is Mirandita?” “Here she is.” “Happy Birthday, Miranda!” “Thank you, Mama Lunda.” “Four years old already, great-granddaughter—how big you have grown.”

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«Scene 110 Window » Perspectives 2026 Five—Mona Lisa Smile (M. Newell, 2003) and the Fig Tree— New Beginnings She, ConstanceVivi Smith, fondly smiles, the plaster crackling off Bickmeyer | Acrylic right at her lips. Fig tree, my great-grandfather, through stills I preserve you, a mist of the tumultuous past.

Am I Technicolor or monochromatic? Only you know, watching your descendants from the eternal sky. Credits: May you rest in peace with your wife and son…

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112 Sudsy Skirmish

Callie Regnery | Personal essay ——One of the last things I want to do every day is scrape food off plates and wash the dishes, but sadly, it’s my daily chore. Night after night, an unruly spoon splashes back to paint my shirt like a Jackson Pollock canvas. It’s also a time of constant feuding with my whiny collie, Greta, who begs to lick the plates. I fend her off with wet, pruny hands, and by the time I close the dishwasher, I’m grateful to leave the kitchen. ——Frankly, I would rather do my math homework. ——I would rather trek five miles (all uphill!). ——I would rather wait in line at the DMV. ——But as much as I loathe the dishes, I’ve noticed something interesting: I don’t think about anything troublesome while doing them. Negative thoughts don’t intrude when I’m depositing silverware in the basket and lining up plates like soldiers in soapy battle. Time passes differently. It’s not a science, but when the sink turns on, the worries turn off. Perhaps it’s the repetition of the chore, but those minutes spent at the sink and dishwasher transform my anxiety, doubts, and frustrations into peace. This daily pause is a time to ask myself, “What is going on in my life? What matters right now?” Sometimes, the answer is something simple—a new idea learned in ethics class, or a quick prayer that I win tomorrow’s golf match. I dream of the musical my director might choose in the winter, or who I need to beat to be number one in chess club. The answer isn’t what matters; asking the question, and taking time to reflect is what’s meaningful. ——I even have favorite memories of washing dishes. Last Thanksgiving, a day that triples the number of dishes we use, my grandmother, whom I call DD, insisted on helping. Dressed in beige slacks from Talbots, a freshly ironed blouse and seasonal costume jewelry, she dried every dish by hand, using skills she perfected during her years as a United flight attendant. Yes, it took us a while to finish, as I had to handwash the fine china and scrape the excess turkey meat off the pans. (Greta may have helped “clean” some turkey off the plates!) But it AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAA

113 Blue Ceramic Cup with Stripes

Alice Tucker | Ceramic

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115 Perspectives « bridge Window group, » 115 was Callie-DD time. Precious time. We talked about my school play2026 and her Clay Vase

the delicious we just ate, and whether or not Mom’s fancy, new cranberry sauce was as Sara Zable | food Ceramic good as the gelatinous stuff from a can. We joked about watching Elf during dessert, and she whispered that she wished we could watch Miracle on 34th Street this year instead. (The black and white version, of course!) I told her how excited I was for Christmas Eve, even though there would be a second battalion of dishes to conquer. She looked up at me (I’m taller than she is now) and promised she would meet me at the front line once again. ——At one point she observed, with a bittersweet smile, that she was the oldest living member of our family. ——“And I’m the youngest.” ——We swiped at our teary eyes and agreed that it was wonderful to do something as mundane as wash and dry dishes together on Thanksgiving Day. It is a memory I will never forget. ——Maybe I don’t hate doing the dishes. I dread them, for sure, but that isn’t the same as hate. There are beautiful, ordinary moments that mean that time isn’t wasted. From realizing what part of my day mattered, to talking with a beloved family member, or just taking a moment of peace, albeit while combating the cups (and pup), I have this time. It is mine. ——When I turn off the sink, click start on the dishwasher, and watch Greta slink off to her bed, the clock starts again and life resumes. I can check “dishes” off my list… until tomorrow, when the next sudsy skirmish awaits.

«116 Window Breath 117 » Perspectives 2026 Between and Bloom

The Blurred Mirage

Catherine Tiedemann | Digital photography Amélie-Heidi Oddo | Poetry The bright, clear path ahead means nothing against the vast mystery of orange. Like how dusk bleeds into the air, a burning, pulsing desire to return, time after time. Was it ever even real? We let ourselves believe that light leads to dark, and dark leads to light. Chasing the thrill that blurs the line, until we’re forced to wonder: was it ever even real? They swallow you whole in the light you think belongs to them, simply being the spark you lost, being claimed as their own. Was it ever even real? By the time he lures me deep into the forest, it’s too late. I’m stuck once again. Once again with no way out. It will never, ever be something more.

Perspectives 2026

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Perspectives 2026

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Perspectives 2026

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Olivia Figueiredo | Acrylic Miranda Zapata-Mardini | Flash memoir “Abarca,” the Spanish word meaning “encompass,” immediately evokes the overused saying, “Mucho abarca poco aprieta.” One should not overload with tasks and responsibilities in an effort to achieve more, because ironically, this might result in doing less. While such a word may not be a traditional childhood staple, to me, a PeruvianAmerican girl, it represents a promise. I am a daughter, first and foremost, to immigrant parents; motivation was automatically instilled in my bloodline. Generational expectations, a mirror, dauntingly showing you what you should be, while you quiver at disappointing it. How does one compensate incorrectly for feelings of inadequacy? “I am busy today, maybe tomorrow;” that is how you fill a life to the brim, until sleep is an inconvenience (not recommended) for the happiness of people you are committed to. Each hectic day seemed to calm the shame for the “easy life” I had been bestowed. Through my mother’s guidance, I soon realized that to achieve my happiness, I had to prioritize my passions and ditch the filler, which left me unfulfilled and tired. “Abarca” reminds me to be a sponge, not the everexpanding universe itself, that I am human, capable of mistakes and evolution, and that my heritage, the admirable experiences of my ancestors, guides my present decisions, not guilt. To say I still do not fight the “yes” creeping out of my throat at every opportunity would be a lie, but I promised myself that my worth would never depend on my responsibilities or image, but on what my actions say about my character to myself, my solitary truth, because only I know what I encompass.

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Vivianna Chin | Digital painting Nóinín McNamara | Poetry I packed more than clothes. A sky full of showers, stories I hoped to generously share. In the States, the sky opens wide, and I learned to measure time in highways. Before the flight, a “young one,” full of wonder and anticipation. After the flight, a “buddy” with cowboy boots and a baseball cap. Air conditioning humming like soft rain on a stone wall. Bright supermarket aisles pave the way to discovery. Four thousand air miles, with so much to do and see. From the electric Emerald Isle to the land of the brave and the free.

Perspectives 2026

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«CONTRIBUTOR 122Contributor Index » INDEX

Perspectives 2026

Analyse Almonacy ’27, Staff Gabrielle Arredondo ’27, Staff Ella Bacallao ’28

The Ocean | Poetry

Emma Beatty ’26

I am surprised to see that the ocean is still going on | Digital photography

Kaitlyn Bentley ’27

Where the Streets Breathe | Photography

Sophia Berlingo ’28

Rainforest Morning | Poetry

103

Sarah Bellissimo ’27, Staff

Vivi Bickmeyer ’29

New Beginnings | Acrylic

111

Celia Blechinger ’26

Intertwined | Play excerpts

Clara Bonomo ’26, Co-Editor-in-Chief

Quartet | 6-word stories

Maryn Borrelli ’28

Reflections | Charcoal

Hadley Brown ’26

Time Four Time | Charcoal

Charlie Caffray ’27

Petite Soldier | Poetry

Audrey Carcache ’27

Abigail Bremer ’28, Staff

Gilded Spinning | Ink

Vivianna Chin ’28

Time’s Final Dance | Poetry Hummingbird with Crocosmia | Digital painting

32 121

Angelina Clear ’28

Hydrangea Cubed | Colored pencil

Caroline Collins ’27

Bright Light | Ink

Distance Between Us | Acrylic Versions of Me | Acrylic

15 15

Arianna Chin ’26, Editor

Xan Collins ’27, Staff Elle Corcoran ’26

Leila Cortes ’28, Staff

Bounded by History | Personal essay

Ava Curto ’26

In Pieces | Digital photography

Stefania Dejanovic ’27

Birds of Manhattan | Photography

Genevieve Dimitri ’28

The Looking-Glass | Photography Perspectives 2026

Contributor Index

66 123

Meghan Dodman ’28, Staff Mary Ellen Dolan ’28, Staff

A Man Waiting | Poetry

100

Jenny Droscoski ’28, Staff Ariel Duncan ’28, Staff

Ashes of Silence | Poetry

Romani Dunkley ’28

Beneath the Old Trees | Poetry

Courtney Evers ’28

Arrows | Charcoal

Forgotten | Acrylic Quartet | 6-word stories Remained | Acrylic

17 20 118

Addyson Flinchbaugh ’26

Self-Portrait | Charcoal

Olivia Franco ’27

Ghosts Might Enter Here | Poetry

Carolina Figueiredo ’27, Staff Olivia Figueiredo ’26, Co-Editor-in-Chief

Elizabeth Galgano ’28, Staff Caroline Gammon ’26, Editor

Quartet | 6-word stories

Mya Gayle ’26

Expanding Horizon | Digital photography Dripping Bouquet | Mixed media Seeing Pink | Digital photography Shifting Identity | Digital photography

22 27 28 62

Anheiya Gentles ’27

Hollow | Charcoal

Madeline Heissan ’28

Petals and Thorns | Digital photography

Frankie Hinton ’27, Staff

Ceramic Scales | Digital art

The Mother of Wi-Fi | Watercolor A Cup of Spring | Ceramic

69 87

Dasha Holness ’27, Staff Clare Junius ’26, Staff Tori Kniffen ’28, Staff Abby Knox ’29

Gia Lloyd ’29, Staff

«Aubrey 124Contributor Lombardo Index ’26, Staff »

Perspectives 2026

Vivianna Lostumbo ’27, Staff Giustina Lowenstine ’28

A Woman of Unseen Work | Poetry

Olivia Martinez ’29

Soft Summer | Acrylic

104

Reagan Martinic ’28

The Evolution of Time | Photogram

Air Miles | Poetry

120

Carolyn McBreen ’27, Staff Lauren McCauley ’26, Staff Nóinín McNamara ’28 (Mount Anville exchange student) Sophia Medel ’27, Staff Olivia Morris ’27

Whispering Shadows | Poetry Spiraling in the Eye of Chaos | Visual poetry

18 36

Nidhi Motamarri ’29, Staff Michaela O’Brien ’27

Blooming From a Chiwp | Poetry

Ellie O’Hara ’28

The Endless Tower | Charcoal

Maggie O’Hara ’26, Staff

Amélie-Heidi Oddo ’28, Staff Catherine Ononye ’27, Editor

The Blurred Mirage | Poetry I Don’t Look Like Him | Play

Cover 24 30 98 102 116 71

Lucianna Parrotta ’27

City Motion | Photography

Maisie Pascal ’27, Staff

Depths of the Forgotten | Watercolor The Art Room | Ink

34 85

Camilla Pazmino ’27, Staff Mikaela Pazmino ’28, Staff

Carolyn Quill ’26, Staff Callie Regnery ’26, Editor

Perspectives 2026

Contributor Index

125

Sudsy Skirmish | Personal essay

112

Dalia Si-Ahmed ’26

Day and Night | Digital photography See-Through | Digital photography

18 89

Annie Slocum ’26, Staff

Quartet | 6-word stories

Eloise Schultze ’28, Staff

Estela Sosa ’27, Staff

Reflection of What Was Silenced | Photography

Stephanie Stibler ’28

They Were Lonely, Not Alone | Sonnet Luna Moth | Fiber art

16 101

Catherine Tiedemann ’26

Orbit of Thought | Digital photography Between Breath and Bloom | Digital photography

11 117

Alice Tucker ’29

Seaside Window | Acrylic Blue Ceramic Cup with Stripes | Ceramic

107 113

Caitlin Ungari ’28, Staff Sienna Vaccaro ’28, Staff Jaiden Vital ’26

Ghost Hall | Digital photography Circles | Digital photography A Storm of Memories | Digital photography

5 6 90

Lulu Walker ’29

Good Bad Normal | Acrylic

104

Maria Walsh ’27

Still Swimming | Poetry

Gabi Wright ’29

Between Horizons | Acrylic

108

Sara Zable ’29

Clay Vase | Ceramic

114

Miranda Zapata-Mardini ’27, Editor

Daggers, Wax, and Christmas Trees | Poetry Technicolor fig tree (my great-grandfather) and monochromatic actress (my great-grandmother) | Poetry Abarca | Flash memoir

26 105

Blaire Williamson ’27, Staff Lily Wise ’27, Staff

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