THEMIRROR
AWORDFROMTHEMIRROR STAFF
We want to thank all of the amazing students who submitted their art work, photography, poetry, and prose to The Mirror this year. We had a record year, publishing three editions of the journal, showcasing the work of over 55 Troubie artists. Students at St. Francis shine bright in all of the arts! We can’t wait to see your work next year. As we say farewell and thank you to our current Editor-in Chief, Rouelle Pereira, let us introduce and congratulate our new Editor-in-Chief, Seyvene Kahwaji. Seyvene’s dedication and hard work helped nurture and bring to life this and other editions of The Mirror. We could not have done it without you, Seyvene, and we can’t wait to see what you and The Mirror have in store for next year.
Happy summer, Everyone! As Ms. Roberts always says, keep writing!
Fondly, The Mirror staff
AnIndianDawn NehaVasanthan
IlluminatingBloom
Seyvene Kahwaji
Poetry Contest 2026
Eulogy for Three Failed Stories
Matilda Myers
Pigeon on Central Park West
A Roadtrip with Shawna
Before the Bullet
I feel a grief for lives that never lived.
Nostalgia for times that have never been.
Before they even could begin,
These stories met their fate.
I pray they will not die forgotten.
Or worse yet hurt, alive but rotten,
In the smooth pages on which I wrought them
Some gentle afternoon.
The dove sweet!
The woman kind!
The gunman brave!
Such angels, taken far too soon...
What a joke, that only you,
The threnody, the tribute to
The ones who passed, would live to bloom
For a cortege so blue!
Eulogy for Three Failed Stories, be proud!
Not many slip through my murderous fingers!
Kiss of Death
Hanna Wysoczynska
After Judas strung the braided hemp around his neck, felt arteries pierce against his spine, and opened his eyes to Hell–did he weep for Jesus, thinking of every one of those thirty pieces of silver, each one a stone stuck in his trachea, each one sharp, stabbing, like the crown of thorns he had gifted to his Friend, like the Death he had gifted to his Friend, wrapped carefully in a kiss on the cheek; when reunited with Jesus, (who fell, descended into Hell to join the worst of the sinners), did he dare wash the Lamb's blood-stained toes, did he dare mutter an apology, did he dare place his dirty tongue on the lips of Jesus once more, begging, "Rabbi, forgive me, " pleading for the Kiss of Life. Page10
Ava DaPonte
A true war story is never simple,
There are no villains and heroes, or blacks and whites, And everyone loses something they can never regain.
Young boys with bright steps receive rations, guns, and the hopes of a nation. A fight for peace, justified and necessary, they say, But a true war story is never simple.
Parents at empty tables await letters—of good news Or casualty notifications alike—and soldiers await quiet peace and warm embraces; Either way, everyone loses something they can never regain.
Superiors move symbols of cohorts on maps, And a radio calls out orders to shaky hands and unfocused eyes, A true war story is never simple.
Medals of honor pressed close together in perfect lines, Pinned to a jacket that sits dusty in a box,
A true war story is never simple.
The ones who make it back are the lucky ones, right? Back home with purple hearts and dead friends, memories exploding in the dead of night.
A true war story is never simple, and in the end, Everyone loses something they can never regain.
I used to run barefoot down streets that felt too big for my tiny heartbeat, laughing like the sky was listening, like the world was soft and would always stay that way. I used to think growing up meant getting taller getting smarter getting happier. No one warned me that growing older meant shrinking on the inside. I used to color my days with chalk and sunlight, painting futures I thought I'd grow into, dreaming loud, unafraid of the volume. I used to trust the mirror. Her eyes were bright, her smile was easy. I didn't know she'd fade like handwriting left in the rain. Now my laughter sits heavy, my dreams feel too fragile to touch, and the mirror reflects a stranger with tired hands and a heart that beats like it forgot the rhythm. I used to be a firework small but exploding with color. Now I'm the smoke left behind, drifting, unsure if I ever burned at all. People say I had a happy childhood, and maybe I did but no one tells you how hard it is to mourn someone you used to be.
No one tells you that you can outgrow your own light. That one day you'll wake up and wonder where the bright version of you ran off to and why she didn’t take you with her.
Left to Right, Right to Left
Your fins drive you through the water
It is cold and clean, always in motion
Left to Right, Right to Left
You turn your head to look at your brothers and sisters
Left to Right, Right to Left
They look and swim just like you
Left to Right, Right to Left
Your scales are turning silver
It is time to head downstream.
Left to Right, Right to Left
You have lived in the vast ocean for years now, you are not who you once were Left to Right, Right to Left
The ocean is cold, just like home, but the water is different here
Left to Right, Right to Left
Mother Nature compels you to procreate
It is why you are alive, after all It is time to go back home
Continue the cycle
Left to Right, Right to Left
You have changed once more
Your body has lost weight
You live off the energy you once had stored up
You will never eat again
Your scales shift to a dark, blood red
Left to Right, Right to Left
You have a sack full of eggs now
Orange, bright, and draining
Left to Right, Right to Left
There are less of you now
Left to Right, Right to Left
You keep following the river stream
Left to Right, Right to Left
You laid your eggs
You have ensured the next generations survival
Left to Right, Right to Left
You have been swimming in the same place for days Left to Right
Your brothers and sisters are dead
They lay beside you
You all have come back home.
Your offspring will continue the cycle next spring
Left to Right, Right to Left
Their fins drive them through the water.
Emily Nguyen
In a village, by dawn's first light, A young girl twirls, her spirit bright. Her dance tells tales of ancient glory, In every move, she tells a story. She danced through storms of doubt and fear, Her passion true, her vision clear. In each step a story true, Bringing peace and joy anew
From struggle grew a fierce resolve, With every leap, she would evolve. In her dance, she'd banish doubt, In triumph's glow, she'd reach out. Victory came in many colors, Conquest became her sisters and brothers, Her dance became her own art, Every new day, she'd fight in her heart. So let her story be a guide, A tale of will that won't subside. For in her dance, she takes in stride, Both the struggles and the pride.
May You Find The Courage
Kara Mahrle
May you find the courage to disappoint those who wait on you to fail
May you find the courage to hand them your book of achievements
May you find the courage to read it to yourself To that empty part of your mind that builds up your doubts
May you find the courage to love To give yourself love And give love to
Your flaws and your fears and your faults Your mind and your life and your laugh
May you find the courage to stand up Every time you fall and hit the ground When your own voice holds you there in chains
May you find the courage to fail
And may you find the courage to start again
May you find the courage to cry And accept your tears
May you find the courage to hold your own hand When no one will do it for you
May you find the courage to tell yourself what you need to be told "I love you"
or
"I believe in you" Those words that keep us going
May you find the courage to trust those words told from the mouths of other people
May you find courage
May you find a voice
May you find a friend
A partner
Your family
And if you cannot find it somewhere Where it hides in your mind Call for me
And I will find it for you
As you once did for me
Truer You
Della Smith
No one explains how loud the start can feel Crowded halls, a silence just as real Faces blur, names slip from view Everyone seems certain, settled, and sure of who.
Past versions linger in the words that stay
Old jokes, old friendships fade day by day Caught between belonging and standing apart New spaces forming, reshaping the heart.
Some days, lunch stretches far too long, A practiced smile, a place that feels wrong, A glowing screen, to quietly pass time, With hope that everything will start to align.
Maybe it will, just not right away, Not all at once, not clear in its way
But in small, steady choices, growth begins, Unseen by most, but felt deep within.
A hand raised once, then raised again
A choice to stay, to try, to remain Through every doubt, each step pursued,
Finally, becoming a Truer You.
18 Wishes
Sophia Schultz
"You're turning 18!" the words hit me like a train, I am no longer my Dad's little girl,
Playdates turned into real dates,
Grades aren't just letters anymore and friends don't come as easy,
I fear I have no more protection from the "real world",
I can't hold my Mom's hand to cross the street and my Dad can't cuddle me when it storms I don't want to grow up anymore as I once prayed for,
I don't want to be a grown up yet,
I'm not ready to be 18.
Tatianna Coleman
long ago... or maybe now orperhapsthen no no, long, long ago— OhIknow!Inthefuture once again
Oh will you quiet! by the stars and by my hand it was not now nor was it then not in the future nor once again it was a time long gone and long dead when the end was far and endings end. now do you understand? in the stars and in every hand long ago was better where endings end. I rather hear a story of now orthen!
a future where endings don't end anowwherelongagowasn'tbest you never listen!
to my stories of long ago, now, or then! all wrong in your eyes all wrong in your head in one ear and out the other end.
The Forethought Seyvene Kahwaji
It starts as a tiny dot. A little speck in blankness. It consumes the dormant space in the void. It sheds light to the unmade. It thinks but is not thought. It yields but is not yielded to. It begins what has not yet begun. Until it becomes the afterthought. Withering away with all decay.
Nothingness paves the way. Forethought begins again. The cycle repeats.
Eternity of new beginnings till the end of time. And then. Silence.
HAPPY 17TH BIRTHDAY!
Eleanor Docherty
I almost made it.
Turning 17 is the equivalent to almost.
When I confess to turning 17, it's like I'm saying I almost made it. Her and I keep telling each other, "only one more year. " Turning 18 will be the equivalent to finally.
When I confess to turning 18, it'll be like I'm saying I finally made it.
I'll be able to say I finally made it. But for now, I almost made it.
I am not quite an adult. I am not quite free.
But I can go far enough to know what that may feel like.
I am still a teenage girl. I feel like I always will be.
The same way that I feel like I am still a middle schooler. I feel odd.
17 feels odd.
I am not old, but I am not young. There's no place for me. I feel stranded. Does anyone else feel that way? It's no sweet 16 or big legal 18. It's just 17.
Next year, I'll say I finally made it.
Next year, I'll say I am turning 18. Next year.
Only one more year. I almost made it. Almost.
Only one more year. I'm turning 17 today.
Boarding Now
CassandraSalvucci
I heard it said once that airports see more genuine kisses than weddings, because love is felt more in leaving but as I race along beside you to our gate, luggage bags dragging precariously behind us,
I never want to say goodbye to you in a terminal when I can be flying off into the sunset right next to youbecause our love should not have an ending
Shepherd's Crook
Angela Miles
Great terror over thee
Fear drifting through me
Only now I'm afraid
When the terror is with thee
Dear father dear father
Come save me
Give thy precious water to thee
Terror washed away
Cleaning it from thee
Only you are the thru eternity
As time will pass
So will thee
May I hope thy will fly
Fly so high
Terror so far from thee
With thy help
From thy stables is thy shepherd
Who could rescue me
Shepherd Oh shepherd
Tend to thy sheep
Yet so many drift from thee
May thy be weak?
Terror not so
Thy terror is real
I say again
Oh father comes when called
Yet thy children have went far
Yet thy shepherd is so close
I have lost all my hope
Thy terror is close I say to man
Dear terror dear terror
I beg and weep
Thy terror asks about thy fruit I eat
Thy tree is so big
Yet thy terror told thee it is plenty
Thy fruit thy fruit
I know too well
Yet why do I still
Time might tell
Shepherd of all thy sheep
Is it to be
Terror still calls
For not only the small and weak
Thy shepherd tells
Thy shepherd stays
For he is the true shepherd
So they say
The Commonness of Spring
Ashlyn Pratt
The flowers that are pink and blue
Grow everywhere around us all
In more than just a hue
The leaves that are gold and pine
They are brighter than anything
In the sun they even seem to shine
The jade and olive green grass
Though plentiful in the world
It is most beautiful when it is surrounded by each troubadour class
The blossoms that are pink and white
Are beautiful through the entire spring
Even if they don't show in the night
The song of each sweet bird
No matter what kind Will always be for us and heard
Even if these things on our campus aren't rare
They will never lead you away from your home
You'll remember them when you ' re old and on the porch in your rocking chair.
Amelin Pragasam
You are not God
Why should I fear you?
In 10 years time
You punish me by cursing my name That my head will be at your heel But you are not God I am not scared
Yes, I am your blood
But the blood I bleed cannot be yours Nor will the woman who bleeds red tears Painting streams of color into your Red Sea Why should I fear you?
You are not my God
How your pride and anger show
When it is not you I call "Father"
To you, I should honor and worship you But you too, are a man of great sin
You can try to be the man
To show me my place To kill me through my mind But Eve was created equal to Adam We are the same, but so different Why should I listen to you? You are not God.
You say "Amen" before the host
"You shall not envy your neighbor" the commandment says I can't help but look
At the little girl who has someone to push her on the swing at the park But it's 0k
I have God, my Father, pushing me towards his love The only one I need
But what makes you believe that through your words, God's will be done? My dignity, my respect, my life I think not.
I, too, am part of the Body of Christ!
Forever Thirteen
Kathryn Topp
Forever thirteen
That's what they say
Because that's how they see you
A body stuck in the ground
the girl who never got to grow up.
But they're wrong, i think
Because when i blink my eyes- youre turning 14
I think we'd have gone to the beach like you promised. All of us friends
Girls never burdened by the weight of a tumor that spread like cancer in all of our lives
And I see you as we graduate
Walking in with too high high heels
Your smile like sunshine
The whites of your eyes as you roll them back during prayers
You get to get your own diploma and there is nothing bittersweet about the moment
And I see you on the first day of highschool
Wearing different clothes, walking on a different path but always moving in my same direction
The kind of person who can fill the quiet with their presence.
And I hear your voice
The way you would have complained about finals
Saying you were gonna fail
Though we both knew the opposite was true
You were the smartest person I'd ever met.
I'm sorry the world forced you to be so smart.
Forever thirteen
That's what they say
Because they don't see you when I close my eyes
The girl who got to grow up
A remarkably ordinary life
Starting Over
Morgan Rockenstein
I guess there is something beautiful in starting over. Seeing the pieces of yourself shattered on the floor Knowing, however, That things can only get better from here. You start anew. You pick up the pieces of yourself, Dust them off, and take a seat. You spend time trying to find a way to fit them back together. You lost parts and gained some new ones in the process. The pieces don't all fit perfectly together But that's the beauty of it. It was never about making it perfect
But learning what makes it unique. Being broken didn't ruin you, It gave you a chance to start over.
Rey Becerril
I don't know what I'm doing I stand in puddles of pain
Soaking wet as she drives away. I'm stuck in yesterday
Why can't today be the same? Is there really nothing left?
I don't know what I'm doing.
Don't make me say what I mean!
Trying not to break down and cry I should just let it pour out.
It's time to say goodbye
Why can't I get away
Why do I feel your breeze
It's so hard to breath
This stress makes me grind my teeth
I don't know what I'm doing
Don't make me say what I mean
I don't know what to say
I start to feel the pain
Drip out my eyes
Oh yeah im doing just fine
I just love to cry!
It's my favorite passtime
I should just let it pour out
But I know.
It is time to say goodbye.
New Life
Kathryn McWilliams
Unfolding flowers,
Fertile blooms of spring's new hours.
Open wide,
Show each petal and every side.
Grow and grow,
Plant and water and reap and sow.
Green shoots,
Gain your strength in deepened roots.
Straining down,
Suck the marrow from the ground.
Thrust the soil,
Propelling arms labor and toil.
Unfolding flowers, Fertile blooms of spring's new hours.
Open wide,
Show each petal and every side.
art, i'll fish all, and tell its jaunts!
Angelyn
Gonzales
feed me more!more!more pupils? they are drawn in hey, if there's anything else—i can do— for you its always more!more!more temples? they are archaic and dusty wait, you ' re not just—you're— perfect yet you want more!more!more heart? lack the core of the living listen, if you want—i can help you— become, create, speak and more!more!more mistakes? check important info i am math—the mathematician i am art—the artist more,,more,,,more,,,,
When a lie is for protection
But it never protected anyone at all
It carved a chasm where flowers bloomed and died
Forming from cracks in granite
When a lie is creating the illusion of affection
But it was never affection at all
It was the blueprint for foundations that were set aside
Thrown away and forgotten to the planet
When a lie is hidden behind adoration
But the adoration meant nothing at all
It created something that felt true love had never been applied pomegranate
The Boy Who Cried Wolf
Akira Feguis
I remember our first fall. I wish I could say it wasn't obvious, but it was.
You waited until my birthday so the age gap wouldn't be as bad.
You told me sorry every time, a number of times I cannot count. And every time, I forgave you. Everyone told me I shouldn't have, but I trusted you.
You told me you'd change and you never did. I gave you everything I had; I let you become my everything. And you used it to get what you wanted.
I let you beg me, I let you have your way, I never told you no. And you knew I wouldn't. And you know it was wrong. And you know every excuse you make doesn't make you look better.
I waited for fall to come again, waiting for change.
I thought when the leaves started to change you would too.
You've cried wolf to me too many times. Until I realized wolves never hibernate. And this whole time, you were the wolf.
You sunk your teeth into my tongue and never let go. No matter how I tried to speak, you dismissed me, so I never spoke up.
You cut my body all over with your claws; I still feel your touch on my skin. It doesn't matter how hard I scrub you left scars in my mind and ruined my perception of everything and everyone around me.
I let you tell me how I was the wolf, how I needed to change, but I get it now. You would hurt yourself then blame everyone around you. And I was always the closest.
You knew I would let you make me out to be the predator when we both know it was you all along
You would be nice like you were last year— but I was wrong.
And field
Abigail Carrothers
Round and round in a ring I spin
Muscles aching in hope to win.
Red skin burning, kissed by rays
Having fun on summer days.
A metal taste on my tongue
On my neck blue shinies hung.
Clinking, clanking, there they go Always a chance to learn and grow
Sunscreen rubbed into my nose, Fast and softly the wind blows. Pictures taken, poses struck, Talking with friends brings good luck.
Winning and sunglasses too, All who watch are proud of you.
Come to cheer and talk and eat
What a fun, happy track meet.
They Were All Interested in Rocks
Jolyssa Robinson
They were all interested in rocks Tick, tick
The clocks rang
It was time for me to collect my rock
The idea of a rock Bored me yet Time ran out on my clock
Everyone thought Getting a rock was the best thing
Yet having one Drained me of all things
Nobody picked flowers
They sat in fields untouched
It wasn't normal
To pay attention
A clock ringing
Flowers glimmering in the sun
They were all interested in rocks
Sunrises Again
Olivia Santos
The sun goes down, along with my fear
Here in lies my silent mind
The mind cannot comprehend the complex
For my mind must protest
Simplicity is its truest form of understanding
Where my many thoughts are demanding
Looking for something new to find
The sun comes up, now all is clear
I hear voices, all speaking in different dialects and languages.
The noise of waves crashing and friends chatting and cameras clicking fills the air.
No one is listening to each other.
They don't care enough to pay close attention to their differences.
They're all transfixed on one thing.
I see colors, all in different shades.
There are pale pinks and vast oranges and dusky blues.
The people there have skin of olive and chocolate and linen.
They are wearing wetsuits and crosses and hijabs and yamakas
This does not matter.
No one is looking at each other.
But they're all looking at the same thing.
I smell dozens of foods.
The taste of fishy stir fry and zesty tomato sauce and spicy curry. It's all so different.
The seagulls, however, don't mind.
They'll eat anything that falls on the ground.
No one is trying each other's food.
They are all too focused on eating their own.
It's a good meal with an even better view.
I feel something.
I look around, I listen closely, and I smell the air.
And that's when I realize what it is.
No one is looking at each other, they'd rather be looking up.
And yet they are all connected.
All it took was some colors in the sky.
And all of a sudden, this unlikely group of people weren't so unlikely.
All of a sudden, the Palestinian and the Israeli.
The Russian and the Ukrainian.
The Jewish and the Muslim.
The Buddhist and the Hindu.
They were all just people.
They were all just there for the sunset.
They would admire the sky's beauty for a moment.
Some would take a few photos with their family.
Some would catch a few waves.
Some would say a few prayers.
And all of them would look at the sky.
But no one was looking at each other.
No one cared.
