Welcome.

We are pleased to present to you the Fall 2020 edition of The Willow Literary Magazine. As a club, we strive to provide a place that encourages and celebrates the creativity of all Salve students. The Willow has been a platform that allows young writers, photographers, and artists a space to share their fantastic work with the community, and it has been our privilege to be a part of it during our years at Salve Regina University.

The hard work could not be done without the help of Design Services, especially Ryan Miech, and we want to thank them personally for all their ideas and collaboration. Thank you to our wonderful staff and e-board for all the hard work and dedication over this past semester. Thank you to our lovely advisor, Dr. Jennifer McClanaghan, for her guidance and support throughout the years. Finally, a thank you to everyone in the Departments of English, Communications and Media for giving us the education and skills needed to create this magazine.

This is our third semester working with two Editors-in-Chief, and our second semester with an online publication, and it has given us the opportunity to accomplish more and expand as a club. We are very proud of what we have done so far and are excited to continue growing as a magazine and an organization.

We hope you enjoy.

Sincerely yours,

Emily Grant ’21 and Isabel Thornton ’21

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Sun and Moon Pt. 1 (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24
8:22 pm (Photo) by Emily Grant ‘21

All the Broken Places (Poem) by Isabel Thornton ‘21
I’ll Follow You Anywhere (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

Afterglow (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21
The Love That Cannot Let Go (Poem) by Elle LaChance ‘21

The City’s Library (Photo) by Renée Sardelli ‘21
When I Moved In (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

The Last Normal Day: March 13th, 2020 (Photo) by Caroline Rogers ‘21
Masks Up (Prose) by Taylor Vasta ‘21

I’ll Still Say Thank You (Poem) by Emily Grant ‘21
Newport Reflections (Photo) by Rachel Beilgard ‘21
To My Pseudonym (Poem) by Sarah Salemy ‘21

Something from a Dream (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21
Blueberry Love (Poem) by Shea Campanella ‘24

Playing Dice with the Devil (Prose) by Katy Cassetta ‘22

Monarch Kisses (Photo) by Sarah Belling ‘23
Grandma (Poem) by Mackenzie Minor ‘24

Milford Sound (Photo) by Jane Greenip ‘22

Crunch (Prose) by Caroline Motler ‘24
Beach Pond (Photo) by Emily Grant ‘21

Aureate (Artwork) by Samantha Shalongo ‘23
Christmas Sleeping (Poem) by Shea Campanella ‘24

Fall in VT (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21
(Please) Don’t Forget About Me (Poem) by Emily Grant ‘21

Indulgence (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21
The One With the Daisies (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

After the Rain (Photo) by Renée Sardelli ‘21
Philophobia (Poem) by Samantha Shalongo ‘23

Look I Know (Poem) by Shea Campanella ‘24
A Heavenly Ghost (Poem) by Elle LaChance ‘21

Josie Pearl (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21
The Fire in Her Heart (Poem) by Elle LaChance ‘21

Ithaca Falls (Photo) by Lindsay Martin ‘24
A Series on Feelings (Poem) by Ainsley Henderson ‘23

Home (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21
My Chimney and I (Poem) by Juliana Verrelli ‘21

Mystic (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21
Aurora Borealis (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

Life on the Court (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21
Adrian (Poem) by Juliana Verrelli ‘21


Drive By (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21
Me (Poem) by Jane Greenip ‘22

Is It? (Photo) by Ziyi Chen '20
Paint Me Like One of Your Dead Girls (Poem) by Catherina McKay ‘24

The Outer Wilds, over Ninigret Park (Photo) by Amanda Valentine ‘22
Once Upon a Time (Poem) by Emily Grant ‘21

Black Lives (Still) Matter (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21
If the Black Man Could Breathe (Poem) by Taylor Vasta ‘21

Reading by the Sea (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21
On the Effects of Moisture (Poem) by Jemma Clarke ‘24

Alexis (Artwork) by Sarah Belling ‘23
Heart and Brain and You (Poem) by Mackenzie Minor ‘24

It’s a Bit of a Reach (Photo) by Shea Campanella ‘24
Breakfast with an Old Friend (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

Apple Island (Photo) by Jane Greenip ‘22
Shadow Man (Poetry) by Ally Orsini ‘21

Apocalypse Dreams (Photo) by Joey DiReinzo ‘23
I Am the Wolf (Poem) by Juliana Verrelli ‘21

Road Trip (Photo) by Jane Greenip ‘22
Polaris (Prose) by Katy Cassetta ‘22

Fading (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21
Sun and Moon Pt. II (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

BEHIND THE WILLOW

Co-Literary Editor-in-Chief:
Emily Grant ’21
Majors: English Communications, Creative Writing and Publishing

Co-Literary Editor-in-Chief:
Isabel Thornton ’21
Majors: English Communications, English Literature

Assistant Literary Editor:
Katy Cassetta ’22
Major: English Literature, Creative Writing and Publishing

Assistant Literary Editor:
Ally Orsini ’21
Major: English Communications
Minor: Creative Writing

Assistant Literary Editor/Social Media Coordinator:
Rachel Voellings ’22
Major: Psychology
Minor: Creative Writing

Treasurer:
Juliana Verrelli ’21
Major: English Literature, Creative Writing and Publishing
Minors: Film

Assistant Literary Editor/Public Relations:
Aja Pragana ’21
Major: Biology
Minors: Chemistry, Neuroscience

Secretary:
Megan Ellsworth ’23
Major: Psychology

Designer:
Ryan Miech ’21
Major: Studio Art (Graphic Design, Interactive Media Arts and Illustration)

CONTACT

About the Willow

The Willow is Salve’s student-run literary magazine. We publish a new magazine every semester –once in the fall and once in the spring! Every semester we open up submissions for the magazine and accept a variety of work from Salve students. We meet every week to look over submissions, pair photos, artwork, poetry, and prose, and plan other events throughout the semester. If you want to join the club, you can find us at Club Rush in the spring or fall! Or, you can reach out to Emily or Isabel,our Co-Editors-in-Chief.
Just email:
[email protected] OR [email protected]
if you’re interested in joining or have any questions!

About Submittable

You do not have to be a member of the club to submit to The Willow–any Salve student is welcome to submit! We accept poetry, prose, photography, and artwork! Submissions open at the beginning of every semester.
If you’re interested, go to:
'http://www.thewillowliterarymagazine.submittable.com'

About Salve Regina University

Salve Regina University is a Catholic institution located along the ocean in Newport, RI. The students and faculty are unmatched in their kindness, supportiveness, and willingness to help each other, especially during these unprecedented times. Salve Regina will feel like home the moment you step on campus, and clubs like The Willow are so happy to welcome new students! Take a trip along the Newport Cliff Walk and sea for yourself just how breathtaking Salve is!

Sun and Moon Pt. I

he was the sun.
so bright i could hardly look at him, and he burned red.
he went around blazing paths,
leaving torched grass and
melted linoleum floors beneath him.
i suppose i was his moon.
in part because i was only whole when he was gone.
when we were together, he always took some part of me for himself,
but i know i glowed whenever he looked at me.

if he was the sun, i was the moon.
cold and grey and dull and distant.
i kept people at sky’s length,
while he invited them in.
we were a careful balance of light
and dark, cold
and warmth.
everyone praised him
because their dreams came true during the day.

no scientist could ever calculate the trajectory of my love for you.
it crosses too much sky for anyone to see clearly but me.
and we were the only ones allowed to call ourselves star-crossed,
for i crossed the stars every night
to get to you.

Sun and Moon Pt. 1 (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

8:22 pm (Photo) by Emily Grant ‘21

I’ll Follow You Anywhere (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

All the Broken Places

a break
so deep it nearly
split my heart in two;

and now I’m here lying next to you.

a voice
that beat me
until I bled;

but your love is a different shade of red.

a hand
with a cold touch
to match his icy glare;

but you took the pain I was too weak to bear.

I watched my heart
fall from its shelf
and finally crack;

then you dusted every piece and put them all back.

a man﹣
no, a boy
who wore a million faces;

now you’re here, filling all the broken places.

All the Broken Places (Poem) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

The Love That Cannot Let Go

The flames burn bright through the world’s crowded darkness
Her heart became quivering and she felt rather sharpness
The world kept drowning out like an immense and raging sea
People hoped and longed for true happiness and utter harmony
With the fiery love she gave the world, her heart still thinks of he
Longing dearly and departed, he was her favorite memory
The world came crumbling down
People cried and watched as lives and their memories drowned out
Will there be hope again within the darkest days?
She keeps on loving and bows her head and prays
The light keeps fading away
She hopes this life and crazy world will not let them all astray
Her love for the world and him was as strong as the wind blows
Truly she knows it is an undying and immense love that can never be let go

The Love That Cannot Let Go (Poem) by Elle LaChance ‘21

Afterglow (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21

The City’s Library (Photo) by Renée Sardelli ‘20

When I Moved In

i make myself a home wherever i go.
so when you gave me the key to your
apartment heart,
i brought in all new furniture.
you gave me books of paper words,
and i put them on your shelves

so everyone could see.

i danced around your kitchen until
the place only smelled like me.
but the perfume of me was so thick that
your friends and neighbors didn’t know where
to find you.
come to think of it, i hadn’t seen you in a while.
since you left for work the previous monday.
but i wasn’t worried.
i baked brownies and decorated for the holidays.
i'd be ready when you came home,

except you never did.
i got a notice from your landlord one day
because no one was paying the rent.
i was evicted three days later.

i had to leave all my things behind.
all the paper word books are still on the shelves.
it sounds silly, but i never got to read them.

When I Moved In (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

The Last Normal Day: March 13th, 2020 (Photo) by Caroline Rogers ‘21

Masks Up

We sprawl on the folded back seats of my Toyota Highlander, door ajar to “a Brief Intermission, Visit Our Snack Center” and buttered popcorn juggling kernels projecting on the widescreen. “Selfie!” When we press heads our earlobes squish together. White teeth ablaze, you throw a peace sign next to my Sasha Fierce. Thanks Facebook for the memories. 1 year ago, “Drive in popcorn got talent!” I am told that humans can determine when a smile is genuine just by looking into another’s eyes. I miss your smile.

Fast forward a year later to our first rendezvous during the pandemic. We park cars a single parking space away in front of the drive-in theater projector. Masks Up. I feel the thin, white cloth rising and falling with my breath as the elastics cut off circulation to my ears. The masks we pretend to wear feel more tangible than our own skin. Our faces in constant disguise. With just your eyes, tinted windows to the soul, I cannot tell if you are enjoying yourself. We wait in line for popcorn. Behind the blue mask I cannot see your facial expressions that ripple like an elusive sea creature, unrevealing beneath the waves.

I miss your expressions, parted lips as you scroll through instagram, or the rapid “o” shapes of your mouth when you trip over words. The expression I miss most though is your smile. That cohesion of squinted eyes and wrinkled corners, curled lips and shaded dimples. May we see each other’s smiles again.

Masks Up (Prose) by Taylor Vasta ‘21

I'll Still Say Thank You

You tore me apart.

Naivety became a weapon used against me,
disguised as a shelter, fortified by
“you were so sad, I didn’t want to make it worse” and
sharpened by whispers of
“she’ll never know.”
I used to wonder who did know, who looked at me with pity and
words of solace on the tips of their tongues
that refused to be let out.

You tore me apart.

You taught me what doubt and dishonesty taste like,
the way betrayal feels when it holds your hand, tightly,
the sound a heart makes when it splinters.
But I’ll still say thank you,
because you taught me what those things are
so I could know what they are not.

Now I can think about you on your birthday without missing you,
and your name can come up in conversation, followed only by memories
of sticky note letters and songs that sing of navy blue.
Now I can look back on you with a smile on my face,
instead of a bitter taste in my mouth or an ache in my heart.

Letting go of you and our mess was
having a date to the prom that actually danced with me;
kissing boys in dark bedrooms and fearlessly giving my heart to them;
building up the courage to ask out the guy from the yogurt shop,
eating ice cream and talking with no expectations;
walking dogs in the rain and falling in love
with the sounds of laughter and singing in the car.

You taught me how to remember
being happy instead of being broken.
How to remember innocence and feeling like the prettiest girl in the room.
How to remember to still say thank you when someone puts a dent in my heart,
because I survived you so I can survive this, too.

You tore me apart and
I put myself back together,
but I’ll still say thank you.

I’ll Still Say Thank You (Poem) by Emily Grant ‘21

Newport Reflections (Photo) by Rachel Beilgard ‘21

To My Pseudonym

You were decided before my lungs
sucked in the polluted air of the orphanage.

This title curated for me would not
be who I came to be. The phonetics
to which I abide by only
lasted two years before becoming
erased.

Now, I articulate my name
with ease and brevity. The letters
form shapes, curved and straight that
are placed in a new array. They’ll
remain.

For the last time, as the ink dries, I
stare at the pattern—MSGC.

Sincerely,
STS

To My Pseudonym (Poem) by Sarah Salemy ‘21

Blueberry Love

I make wishes on stars
And actually I haven’t in a little bit
I feel like they’ve given me a lot recently
So right now I’m giving them a break
And saying thank you for what they’ve brought
Cause I think it’s something special,
I can’t guarantee it but I’m pretty sure

It’s something about the way
Your name in my mouth
Tastes like fluffy blueberry muffins
Or pancakes I want to make with you at 1 in the morning
Because we both can and we’re together

I want big things in life
I want to travel and see the stars
And I want to look up at buildings and mountains
And feel like the smallest thing

But I also want to be with you

And hold your hand
And know if I’m the smallest thing,
I’m the smallest thing next to you

And the stars will continue to shine
And I will feel like the only thing in the universe
And like nothing at all
And maybe you can help me learn how to dance with a partner
And I will say I love you
And that’ll taste like blueberries too
Because it will have come true

Blueberry Love (Poem) by Shea Campanella ‘24

Something from a Dream (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

Playing Dice with the Devil

He pulled his legs up to his chest. Long brown hair, so dark it was almost black in color, fell down around him and encircled his hooves. The satyr’s ear twitched, the floor under his hooves rocked, and he inhaled a deep breath to calm his shaking body and nerves.

Away from here. Anywhere but here. Salt scent penetrated the ship’s wood and excitement churned in his stomach, bubbling like the ocean water beneath, the water that would carry him from here.

Nesea was everything Chiron was not. It bustled with shops and crowds; the shuffling of cards and the clink of beer mugs rang out through the marketplace, and the stench of booze and cheats polluted the air. He thrived here more than he ever had back in Chiron. Dice bouncing in his hand and weighing it down ever so slightly, slight enough that only the keenest eye might suspect foul play. Silver eyes darting in search of and a smile appearing at the sight of an easy customer. One drunk enough that their senses would be clouded, and thoughts muddled. He had never been an artist like his parents wished him to be, had always been a failure as they expected, but this game was an art of its own, and one he succeeded at.

He should have known good things never can last. A gamble gone wrong and a game that went south. He fled to Talos, stripped off his name, and donned another. Hid his fur coated legs and passed his horns for those of the half fiend race. It was a place none would expect him to flee, but it meant gritting his teeth and bearing the pain, trying but failing to wield a sword while clad in armor. He wasn’t built for battle nor did he hold a desire to fight for justice in his heart. Anywhere but here drummed in his head. Desperate to escape the trap he’d made for himself, he stumbled right into another.

“What is it you desire?”

A finger placed under his chin and forcing him to look up into a faceless void of shadow. Blood trickled from the satyr’s throat, the nail pricking his delicate skin. In a desperate attempt to gain freedom, I have no choice but to sell it.

His legs fell limp as his limbs went slack. Lowering his head, he could see the blood and darkness congealing around his hooves. The same fear he’d felt all those years ago on the ship wracked him, but his strings were pulled taut, preventing him from moving of his own accord, the only feeling aside from numbness the sinking of his heart. As if it were weighted like the dice.

Playing Dice with the Devil (Prose) by Katy Cassetta ‘22

Monarch Kisses (Photo) by Sarah Belling ‘23

Grandma

The cold winter air blew as the snow fell
Making the yard a winter wonderland.
The flowers and other plants hidden deep beneath the soil
Awaiting the warm spring sun.
Spring comes,
The snow melts away,
All of the flowers have bloomed except one,
One little rose trying to push its way through
the layers of soil to bloom like its family.
Fighting to bloom again,
Soon, a little green stem sprouts from the soil,
The rain falls,
The sun shines,
The bees come to visit.
The rose is the biggest and most beautiful once it’s fully grown.
If you look at it enough sometimes
You will see a little butterfly land upon it and sit for a little while.
The warmth fades,
The cold arrives,
The snow falls
And the flower recedes under the soil again.
Awaiting the warmth
And to see the little butterfly again in the spring
Under the bright warm sun.

Grandma (Poem) by Mackenzie Minor ‘24

Milford Sound (Photo) by Jane Greenip ‘22

Beach Pond (Photo) by Emily Grant ‘21

*Crunch*

Fall is an ambivalent creature.

One anticipates the return of pumpkin spice and slouchy sweaters and trick-or-treating and vibrant leaves. When the first cold snap chills the air, excitement, too, comes with it. Fall is cozy, contentment, comfort. One dashes to the store, heart full of hope for this deceiving season, to get the essentials: a mug, a book, a blanket.

Yet, the two headed monster has another side.

With the flip of a coin, the warmth melts away.

One did not recall the chill and rain and monotony. Delight yields to dismay. Fall is overcast, numbing, dull. The pages of the novel - so eagerly obtained - have been turned for the umpteenth time. The once invigorating nip of the air now only prompts burrowing further into the covers. One sits by the window, waiting for the last surviving leaf to shrivel and dance to the ground, so as to crush it with the heel of their thigh-high boot and hear the satisfying crunch of dying breath.

Yet, this evil is an aspect lasting only so long as to be forgotten.

The poor soul greets fall with a smile when it returns, tricked by a season whose name makes its intentions unknown.

*Crunch* (Prose) by Caroline Motler ‘24

Aureate (Artwork) by Samantha Shalongo ‘23

Christmas Sleeping

Last night I slept like it was Christmas Eve
Knowing we’d talk today.
Tossing and turning and longing for sleep
To skip through the night
So you could text me good morning.
And like I do on special days
When I know something big and fun is going to happen
Like my birthday or the start of a new school year
I woke up at 4 am and stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep again
Thinking about how much I enjoy talking to you
And I wondered if you felt the same way
Or if I was the only one living at Christmastime in April

Christmas Sleeping (Poem) by Shea Campanella ‘24

(Please) Don’t Forget About Me

I fell in love for the first time when I was nineteen
and moving on from a shitty relationship
that I was holding onto for all the wrong reasons.

I fell in love for the first time in September,
when the days were still warm and the nights were getting cold,
and we would all drink in secret and subdued light
to feel alive.

I fell in love for the first time when you looked at me
and saw me,
and decided you still wanted to look;

when you fell asleep next to me
while afternoon sunlight danced through a window
and made me feel almost as warm as you did;

when I couldn’t breathe, so you held my hand but didn’t say anything
and it was the only time anyone had ever done
the right thing.



I fell in love when you promised you’d be my best friend,
and I stayed in love even after you broke that promise.
Even after you’d forgotten
you’d ever said those beautiful things to me.

I still loved you, but
you never loved me to begin with.
You were never going to,
no matter how many times I prayed to God
that you might change your mind;
that you might remember that I was what you needed,
what you wanted;
that you were lying when you said it was a mistake.
It doesn’t matter, though,
so I’ll keep it to myself and hope that sometimes
you remember me all on your own.

I’m sorry that sometimes I miss you.
I care for you still,
after all this time.
Please, don’t forget about me.

(Please) Don’t Forget About Me (Poem) by Emily Grant ‘21

Fall in VT (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

Indulgence (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

The One With the Daisies

sometimes a button pops off my blouse,
the one my mother found all those years ago
at the consignment shop on the end of our old street.
it's not the finest quality blouse,
but i think it's the one i like best.
because the flowers in its pattern
remind me of the daisies growing in the field
by our old house in the spring.
and when one of its buttons pops off,
i remember how my mother used to
sit in the rocking chair by the window
in our living room and the sunlight would fall in
through the panes and cast a halo on her frizzed head.
and she’d hand-sew the button back on just for me.
i thought she was beautiful
and perfect for me.
and so now, when one of those buttons pops off my blouse,
i'll pull out my mother's old sewing kit
from the top shelf in my hall closet.
i got many of my mother's things when she died,
but i think i like the sewing kit best.
so i can sit in my rocking chair by my window
— that's not the same as our old one, but close —
and i can hand-sew the button back onto my blouse,
the one with the daisies,
and be with my mother again
for a few moments.

The One With the Daisies (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

Philophobia

I am lonely and crave love
but fear the fall of it.
I can’t outrun its twinge of misery
Loneliness does not keep a distance.

It shakes me to my core.
The butterflies that they speak of
feel more like violent sickness to me.
It leaves my body in agony-
My head aches knowing what is out there
But never being able to seek
that which is owed to all humankind.

But I thrive alone!
I am beholden to no one.
Not many possess the affinity
nor the capacity to be without another.
My body, a flesh-made cell,
to house such a wild heart.
Does it beat in there still?
I’ve grown to love the cage
I have imposed upon myself.

But do I continue to break my heart
by listening to my head?
I do not know a someone to love.
Only that the idea of love must be great
Why otherwise do we listen to Shakespeare,
read Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters,
or cry by broken star-crossed lovers?



Why can I not answer back?
Others have made their love known
I could end the strife with a simple yes
But the words fall on dead lips
erroneously shattering them.

Before I have the chance to speak my peace.
By the time my mind catches up to my heart
the other’s love has faded away or
Turned into a hate for my lack of expression.
Frustrated tears fall down my face
as another was lost to me
By my own hand none the less…

It’s the greatest of my fears
That I shall live lovelessly
while all I have to do is open my gate.
Or that I’ll drown myself
trying to fight off a dream not there.

A curse that no one can lift with a kiss
But rather encourage its dark light to grow brighter.
I cannot tell of a happy ending
For the past has not taught me much.

Will I be my own undoing?
The master of the key and
my unfortunate free-less soul.
I’m running and hiding but
I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Philophobia (Poem) by Samantha Shalongo ‘23

After the Rain (Photo) by Renée Sardelli ‘21

Look I Know

Look, I know
That there are bad days
And there are worse days
When things build and build and you can’t fix them
You just have to watch them fall
And stand there wishing you could too

But look, I also know
There are so many things
to go through that for

I think that
A thousand ruined days
Are worth
The million wonderful moments
Who make themselves felt

If it’s the trade I have to make,
I will spend
A night with smudged tears
And unfinished papers
Or a sick heart
To share matcha with a friend


And I’ll pay nights like those
For everything I love
Like goat cheese on fig crackers
And fairy lights
And going places with friends
And rain
And a no-skip playlist
And soft clothes
And hearing my name

Yes
Life can hurt
But you can’t convince me it isn’t worth it
When I can fall in love
And I can see the stars
And I can read poems

Look I Know (Poem) by Shea Campanella ‘24

A Heavenly Ghost

She never believed in ghost stories
But upon her she saw the most mysterious and wonderful glories
Then there was him
Like an angel he helped her to see the light
But he turned slowly transforming the day into a dark night
His darkness consumed her so intensely
But she loved him still just as immensely
Like a heavenly ghost he disappeared ever so swiftly
She wanted to find him quickly
Her heart shattered brutally once she realized he was truly gone
Will she be able to hold her head up high and stay beautifully strong?
Her heaven with him suddenly turned into a treacherous hell
She knew she would always love him she will always love and leave him well
Until he may haunt her again with his presence
She treasures their passionate burning love, so bright, so dark, and so immense

A Heavenly Ghost (Poem) by Elle LaChance ‘21

The Fire in Her Heart

Life like a fire blazing in front of her eyes
She notices her strength and weakness as she braces through the night skies
Her heart so imperfectly burning
With the passion and love she’s long been yearning
She sets out on her long journey for the true promise of
The immeasurable hope of ever-lasting true love
With her soaring hope and ignited heart ablaze
She truly knows ahead of her there are going to be brighter days
She sets off towards a shining new start
Because she has the warm and passionate fire in her longing heart

The Fire in Her Heart (Poem) by Elle LaChance ‘21

Josie Pearl (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

A Series on Feelings

Happiness greets me at the door.
Eyes full of hope, smile wide,
She begs, “Can I come in?”

Curiosity hovers by the window
Breathes on the glass
Paints a question in the fog–
What now?

Sanity packs up her belongings
And flies through the stairwell
Tells me she’s not coming back
Until I follow the rules.
She took the rulebook.

Anger sleeps under my skin–
Dreams of wising up and laying blame.
I tuck him in, turn out the light.
Take a breath in
Bury the shame
Say goodnight.

Home calls through the trees,
Voice trembling.
The forest shakes,
I keep running.

Hope floats in the air
Whispers about the future
Wraps me in a hug and says, “Just wait.”

A Series on Feelings (Poem) by Ainsley Henderson ‘23

Ithaca Falls (Photo) by Lindsay Martin ‘24

My Chimney and I

My chimney and I
are settling together.
To this oldest companion I cannot lie,
the hateful storm that both of us weather.

With diligence I must perfect this art.
Lady, lady, lady, why—
the embers in my heart
are beginning to die.

I am a core with no center.
Being “Miss” is a vengeful test,
those extra letters enter
like unwelcomed guests.

A pair of hollow shells
nestle in my womb,
never allowed to dwell
from this unholy tomb.

The cracked fireplace mirrors
a wrinkled woman’s face.
Her porous limbs that wrack with ache,
her every trace soon to be effaced.


Unconscious in my youth,
I skated on a myriad of fireflies.
Far from the nearest etching of truth,
time’s precious pockets passing by.

Perhaps I should sit here and reflect;
I still laugh in stars, but it sounds—
with the weight of 80 years unchecked—
that a cackle should be what resounds.

Hypnotized by the beckoning flames,
this irrational answer is all the clearer;
despite what the devil claims,
My own fiery den couldn’t be nearer.

Victim to this earth’s humbling hex,
I will gallop into the next life unbridled
till mourning comes to cut my neck,
disrupt, like a reckoning from the bible.

My Chimney and I (Poem) by Juliana Verrelli ‘21

Home (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21

Mystic (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21

Aurora Borealis

i always loved the aurora borealis.
i loved it so much
that when you painted it on my body,
i didn’t object.
i didn’t beg you to stop.
if window passersby heard my moans,
i'll let them know it was pleasure, not pain.
because all i could think about was how much you must love me
to create something so beautiful on this canvas,
on my skin.

i lift up my shirt to see my purpled belly
and remind myself of you.
if this is what your love looks like,
how could i not reciprocate?
my arms, green and blue, ache
holding the bouquets you threw at me.

they call them blood flowers.
you wouldn't think they would be so heavy.
but all good things come with a price.
if the sky can hold it,
so can i.

Aurora Borealis (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

Adrian

Adrian,
Why must you still haunt me?
I have lost where to end and where to begin.
Your lips, poised above the flute,
part for a floating Cesario
to escape their depths.

You,
the glue, cause me and my bedpost
to settle together.
Mime’s a minute;
a slew of un-promises and not-kisses
fill the gap between Dante and God.

Adrian,
Why must you cling to my back,
like aphids licking their sap?
I will pick the knife up for you.
Let my memory forget before my
knowing remembers.

You,
a ruse, the petitioner of second glances.
Alchemy’s the mistress, toiling with my blood.
And we come from the same beaker.
The myth of monotony
clouds your legacy.

Adrian,
I didn’t draw you the way I had intended to.
The imprint you left on my heart is beginning to rust.
I miss the days when we saw nothing but us.

Adrian (Poem) by Juliana Verrelli ‘21

Life on the Court (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

Drive By (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21

Me

I was born on February 19th
That makes me a Pisces
That means I’m artistic, and compassionate
It also means I’m overly trusting
I’m 5’2”
Which makes me very short
I don’t know how to knit
I’m a sucker for a good K-drama
I’m still learning about myself
I usually don’t know when to stop talking
I usually don’t know when to end a conversation
I was born fast, which means I’m always in a rush
But I always show up
Whether that be showing up to campus too early
Or showing up at the theater early so I can set up
I like French fries... a lot
I’ve been told I don’t give people a lot of personal space
They say it’s like I don’t realize it
Probably because I don’t
I get nervous that people don’t like me
When they don’t see me for a few days’ or I don’t hear from them one week
I have this funny obsession with DC comics and shows
It’s probably because the characters are braver than I’ll ever be
I guess that’s why I avoid certain family members
And I know to some that sounds crazy
Considering how close I make my family sound to my friends
But you know when your uncle decides that living is a bit too hard
Or your cousin accidentally overdoses
Even though he was just celebrating getting a new job
Or your grandma has Dementia and no longer remembers who you or even her son is
Even though she never liked you in the first place you can’t help but be sad
Or your aunt has 17 tumors in her brain
But her sister is still fighting with her
Even though she probably only has to the end of this year
And you just feel like screaming at her to get over it
That tends to put a wrench in family relationships
I’m worried about the day I run into my ex aunt
Crazy Susan and she wants to talk to me
But I have nothing to say to her after the way she talked about my mother
I worry about what my cousins think of me
What Susan tells them
I wonder sometime what I could have done differently
Was I not aggressive enough in my support of them
Did I not make it clear enough how much I loved my uncle?
I pick and pick at myself hoping to find something I can work with
I like to hide under the covers


I wonder sometimes if that makes me childish
What would my covers say about me?
Would they lay out all my insecurities
Like how I think I weigh a little too much
Or how I don’t always enjoy going out
But I worry that makes me too anti-social
I wonder what my sheets would say
I kick them down to my bed every night
Would they tell everyone about my failures?
How I fail to enter new settings confidently
Hi, my name is Jane
I enjoy watching anime
talking to my best friend
and laughing so hard I fall onto the ground
I enjoy listening to K-pop
and freaking out when my favorite group drops a new single or video
I don’t like to tell other people about my problems
even when I should
I have a heart overflowing with kindness for others
And the self-confidence of a nearly shattered teacup
My hobbies include:
Playing too much animal crossing for it to be healthy
Traveling to all kinds of new places with my best friend
Eating strawberries with cool whip
baking an absurdly good cookie
Spending hours in Barnes and Noble just staring at books
Going on long drives and just thinking about life
Standing in the background so others can shine
And Letting others walk all over me before I realize it
I like to look for the best in people
Because even if I’ve heard bad things about them, I want to get to know them first
Not everyone turns out to be great though
I remember once in 4th grade I was wearing these Silver Go-go boots
I was so excited because I thought I looked like Daphne from Scooby-doo
And this girl I was friends with came up to me and told me I couldn’t wear those shoes anymore
Because she had the same pair
So, I didn’t wear them again
And to this day I regret that
Because I’ve always been such a people pleaser
I never really stop and think why am I doing this?
Am I doing this for them or me?

Me (Poem) by Jane Greenip ‘22

Is It? (Photo) by Ziyi Chen '20

Paint Me Like One of Your Dead Girls

this dress was white before i met you.
its frills were laced with naivety.
now there's sloppy red down my front and
the frills are stained with wisdom.
it only takes a few minutes to alter a dress.

my friends have all shown me their white dresses turned red.
they've withdrawn into themselves so the dresses hang off them
like oversized lampshades, lightbulbs broken.
there's so much extra fabric, they could use them as sheets on a bed.
sheets on a bed, disheveled and red.

what made you think that you could paint over us?
slap us against the wall and color us red
so the bricks blended in with us?

it seems as if my eyes are the only unpainted part of me.
the only part of me that is still a part of me.
i don't blink. i stare you down so you can see
what you've done to me.
i never pulled my skirt back down,
so all you claimed as yours is still showing.

don't you forget that red is the color of blood, boy.
i'd run fast or you'll be colored red too, boy.

when i get off of this wall or this bed where i lay,
there my outline will be.
my body drawn in deep red,
this is a crime scene.

Paint Me Like One of Your Dead Girls (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

Once Upon a Time

I used to love it here.
Now I feel like I’m sleepwalking,
haunted by the memory of you –
a pretty red apple dressed in poison,
sweet like candy,
until I found razor blades in your hands,
in your words,
telling me that you would be there,
you would be there if you wanted to be
and then you were nowhere to be found;
making me feel better and then
turning your back on me once you thought I was “fine.”
we were a fairy tale,
princess costumes and innocence and
your hands on me,
thinking you could love me forever.
But you closed the book;
there is no hunter coming to save me,
to cut me from the belly of this nightmare.
The rose petals wilted away,
and the glass slipper broke,
and I might never wake up.

Once Upon a Time (Poem) by Emily Grant ‘21

The Outer Wilds, over Ninigret Park (Photo) by Amanda Valentine ‘22

If the Black Man Could Breathe

If the black man could breathe George Floyd would be alive, but instead his neck is being crushed under the knee of a white police officer in Minneapolis

If the black man could breathe he might run a lap around his own neighborhood without being criminalized, dehumanized, stereotyped as a potential 6 ft. 5 threat wearing a blue, hospital mask

He might step off his own property, alone without picturing his name as yet another headline on Breaking News, without becoming another casualty of racist police brutality; only the black man’s eyes show while his breath hits the inside of his mask, he strolls past neighbors, protected by the sight of him walking the dog with his two daughters

Sunrays bend light to create rainbows when droplets drizzle, but colored skin will never whiten no matter the angle, no matter the perspective bigots hold (or lack thereof), the black man suffers from the generic description, “tall, black, and wearing a tweed hat”

The Black Community suffocates from fear, protesting fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers, mothers, wives, daughters, and sisters shot by teargas, rubber or actual bullets, but to white privilege, “All lives matter not just Black Lives; these thugs and looters-these Animals deserve it”

Four officers pin him, and slam his face into cement ground, wrists in handcuffs-down comes the knee, George Floyd sputters, “I can’t breathe”

If the Black Man Could Breathe (Poem) by Taylor Vasta ‘21

Black Lives (Still) Matter (Photo) by Isabel Thornton ‘21

On the Effects of Moisture

the paper begins to wrinkle under the
weight of salty drops
dripping into the page.
sinking,
through the layers.

this paper has withstood
pens that act as bullets and
pencils slicing like swords.
words can be so painful.

the paper, however, only folds to the
tears of an artist,
hopeless with nowhere to go,
who turns the page
and, like a river,
lets the ideas flow.

a waterfall of emotion.
a downpour of pain.
tears ruin poems,
but change the tide all the same.

On the Effects of Moisture (Poem) by Jemma Clarke ‘24

Reading by the Sea (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21

Alexis (Artwork) by Sarah Belling ‘23

Heart and Brain and You

The heart is one of the primary organs.
It pumps blood throughout the body and helps the other organs function.
The blood carries nutrients to the brain and organs.
The brain retains our every thought and memory we’ve ever had.
The heart keeps the brain going.
Everytime the heart pumps, it helps the brain function and retain those thoughts and memories.
Every thought I’ve had
Memory I’ve made,
My brain still holds them all.
My heart pumps in a rhythm that never ends just like those thoughts and memories.
With every pump, a new memory or thought is saved.
Every thought of you,
Every memory we’ve made,
My brain has kept safe because my heart pumped just a few times.
A never ending rhythm plays inside my body.
New pictures are taken by my eyes and senses and my brain saves them like a hard drive.
Never leaving the hard drive until they’re erased.
I have a continuous replay of memories awaiting to be viewed.
All it takes is a little effort to pluck them from the hard drive and into my frontal lobe to be viewed.
That’s all it takes for every thought, memory, or word to be saved into my mind.
Every good memory,
The laughs,
Hugs,
Kisses, and
Late night talks.
And we have the ability to erase them if we choose.
The heart is one of the primary organs that works alongside the brain.
Will you be the heart to my brain?
Will you keep me going,
Help me remember all of the good,
The memories and moments shared between us.
Beat to your own rhythm and every time you beat,
Send me a message that will help me save those thoughts and memories in the safe in my mind.

Heart and Brain and You (Poem) by Mackenzie Minor ‘24

Breakfast with an Old Friend

you’ve grown thin since i last saw you
i mean skinny because thin sounds like a good thing
a model is thin and you could’ve been a model before but now you’re skinny as in just skin
and bones you’re very bony now i know because i brushed your arm as the waitress was bringing us to
our table and you were a skeleton
you flinched so hard like you were scared of me weird because we used to hug every time we said
goodbye and now you don’t want to be touched?
your skin isn’t even skin it’s like paper it’s so thin
if i were to continue with this metaphor i’d say that’s the reason for the scars on your wrist you don’t
want me to see your long sleeve slipped and your eyes widened scared again
you were playing rock paper scissors against yourself and you lost you lost you lost scissors beats paper
didn’t they tell you?
we order our food it’s 11 AM and you order egg whites scrambled you say breakfast makes you nauseous
and i say okay
we talk about courses i say i’m taking a class about nutrition and wellness and
subject change
my roommate made this amazing chicken pot pie the other day and
subject change
thanksgiving was a few weeks ago and
our food comes and your eggs look so small and bland next to my red velvet pancakes i made sure to tell
the waitress extra whipped cream
is it bad that i don’t know how to eat in front of you
do i take big bites and moan like an orgasm say ohhhhh this is so good
or do i pick at my food like you take big sips of my milk like you
with your water oh that reminds me did you know water curbs hunger?
you stare at me blankly so i just keep talking yeah i read an article about it on my phone on the bus ride
here i guess that’s why . . .
silence
i don’t how you could pick at your food that much when there’s already so little on your plate
i don’t mean to say it out loud but i do and i would apologize but i don’t really know what i’d be
apologizing for
it’s quiet for a while we sit and eat or not eat in silence until you tell me you have a class at noon and you
better go
oh i say it was so nice to see you again
of course you too
and i wrap you up in one of those hugs i try to hug you tight so you can feel it and know i care i’m
worried but you’re a skeleton so not so tight you’d break in my arms
i let you go and you walk out to the door
you smile and when you lift your hand to wave at me your sleeve slides down just so i can see your battle scars

Breakfast with an Old Friend (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

It’s a Bit of a Reach (Photo) by Shea Campanella ‘24

Shadow Man

Her heart bloomed, a burst of demonic flame.
Burned, a cigarette licking the edge
Of her lover’s lip.
Little girl caught in the glass of his eye.

A hand crawled up the side of her bed,
Detached,
Twisted vine of flesh and
The nameless face of love abused.

Fingers mounted her
Like spider legs.
They spread further up her thighs
As the traumatic transformation
Festered in between their spines.


A shadow sprawled on her bedroom wall.
The monster under the bed cried,
Filled her throat with cotton,
Lifted his hand to her rose colored cheek
And told the little girl a story.

He’d carve their initials
Into a tree on a beach.
She, coated in white, sweet
Lavender growing from her scalp.
Instead she carved into her arm
The seams of the pages snapped
And his words were set free.

She filled the slits in her
Veins with seeds,
Peonies rose from her ivory colored canvas.
The sun showed itself for a minute, until

The weather changed in emerald globes.
A monsoon found her garden, and she left,
Covered in browning petals,
Breathing in his dust.

Shadow Man (Poetry) by Ally Orsini ‘21

Apple Island (Photo) by Jane Greenip ‘22

Apocalypse Dreams (Photo) by Joey DiReinzo ‘23

I Am the Wolf

What is that golden beacon
which betrays the midnight moon,
swallowing the concrete and erasing
remnants of the dead?

Wisdom bears no divinity in these
earthly shadows;
barely tangible,
cloaked in a mere whisper of doubt.

The words that once rang so sweet,
now hollow the foraged ground.

We learn their faces in riddles:
daybreak and dusk signing
in their own secret codes.

The passing hours melt away my
familiarity;
I retreat from Adam to clay and
back again.

I watch as the dogwood blossoms
fall from grace to dirt,
and I am reminded of the
impermanence of my existence.
I don’t fear all men, but they fear
the enigma that clouds my name.


Humanity bears no significance
on their deaf ears.
Loyalty lies in waste
once flesh becomes a tapestry for disaster.

Only the howl is left;
icy blue marbles blanketed in steel.
All I see is red.

The furnace is ignited, its flames licking
at the wooden door.
Puff, puff, puff, and the house
blows down.

I cry out into the stale air, drowned
by the deafening
silence of my own mortality.

Any god has yet to answer me.

Twilight settles on the roof, and
I am the wolf.

I Am the Wolf (Poem) by Juliana Verrelli ‘21

Polaris

Its snake-like body stirred. The creature lifted its head and opened its skeletal mouth crammed with rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Each tooth a needle waiting to pinprick its prey. Its empty socket glowed with a red light – hatred and rage churned inside the blazing ball. Tiny little wisps of light circled its head, all flickering with the exact same shade of red, and beneath the sand more of these eyes surfaced.
The half-elf woman took a deep breath and drew the sword sheathed at her side. She muttered a word under her breath, and the glass blade lit up, sunlight running from its point to its guard. Her silver braid swayed as she cast a look between her companions.
“Ryota?”
The samurai gave a curt nod. His enlarged glaive was already grasped in his hands, and he had an intent glare in his dark eyes. He’d been itching for a fight since their arrival. It felt wrong being in enemy territory and surrounded by practitioners of magic, and he wanted nothing better than to skewer this beast and release that pent-up stress.

“Lace?”
The girl’s cat ears twitched, and she raised her paw to give the half-elf a salute, lips curling into a feline grin. Her tail swished back and forth causing her torn skirt to swing slightly from the gentle generated breeze. Perched on her shoulder was a small dragon, golden in color with a harness covering his scales, his eyes fixed on the half-elf woman also.
“I’m trusting you both to have my back.”
“I am at your service.”
“You got it, Celine!”
“Stay close to me.” Celine turned to face forward, and as she did, Lace raised her paw. Her two glass eyes glowed, one green and the other pink, and the spell was cast lifting the three of them into the air. Celine took a deep breath and surged forward with Ryota at her side.
The red light in its socket turned on the half-elf woman and the human man charging towards it and the fur covered girl hovering behind them. It didn’t know what had urged the gods to release it from their chains, drop it from the heavens onto this world, but the last thing it wanted was to go back.
It unfurled its body, bared its teeth, and rose to meet the challenge.

Polaris (Prose) by Katy Cassetta ‘22

Road Trip (Photo) by Jane Greenip ‘22

Sun and Moon Pt. II

i crossed the stars every night to get to him, but
i never did quite make it in time.
only recently did i think about how
people only like to look at the sun right as he’s entering
and right as he’s leaving.
a person could go blind for staring too long.
i must be blind because
look how many nights i wasted
trying to get to someone who always left
before i arrived.

i was hypnotized by your light.

i was only cold and grey and dull and distant
when i compared myself to you.
sun, i might not shine as bright as you,
but at least people want to look at me.
they tell me their secrets,
and maybe it's because i spent so much time just hearing you talk, but
i'm a really good listener.

maybe you make people's dreams come true,
but those dreams never would've been born
without me.
you may have the day, sun,
but i have the night.

Sun and Moon Pt. II (Poem) by Catherine McKay ‘24

Fading (Photo) by Sarah Salemy ‘21