Etc. Magazine 2026

etc

...2026

Literary Contents

Etc. Magazine Publication Team

Etc. Staff

Skylar Hewitt Mary Kerwick

Moderator

Cindy Bannon

Give, You Take Mary Kerwick 16

Ladybugs Mary Kerwick 16

The Land of Dreams Mary Kerwick 17

Our Earth Mary Kerwick 17

The Small Things Mary Kerwick 17

Metal Skin Rhyan Walker 18

Summer Days Maya Persad 18

Nature’s Rage Megan Starke 18

You’re Still Here Megan Starke 19

No Fear Maya Persad 19

The Lies We Tell Ariana Williams 19

Terra (an Italian poem) Julianne Jacobsen 20

Soil (English translation) Julianne Jacobsen 20

Poets Connect Campbell Ann Tormey 20

The Worry Caitlin Patrick 21

Make Me Wonder Maya Persad 21

Bright Flame Skylar Hewitt 22

Reading Out Loud Ana Gutierrez Gonzalez 22

Mio Padre (an Italian poem) Rachel Mann 23

My Father (English translation) Rachel Mann 23

Letters Campbell Ann Tormey 24

The Path Annabelle Hediger 24

A Quiet Space Asia Giombi 24

Poesia (an Italian poem) Ryan Zangrilli 25

Poem (English translation) Ryan Zangrilli 25

The Never Aging House Colin Zeek 25

Art Contents

Fears Samantha D’Angelo 25

Frozen in Time Chelsea Deutsch 25

Turning My Worries into Faith Alexa Tucci 26

Primavera (an Italian poem) Jimmy Falcone 26

Spring (English translation) Jimmy Falcone 26

Water Ainsley Weed 26

Stood it’s Ground Chelsea Deutsch 26

The Burn Remains Madeline Wirth 27

Untitled Mia Weber 27

Fall Campbell Ann Tormey 27

Embers of Truth Megan Starke 27

1…2…3…ACTION Ava Torretta 28

Dolce Far Niente (an Italian poem) Jimmy Iacona 28

Sweet Idleness (English Translation) Jimmy Iacona 28

Never Truly Abandoned Jon Turner 29

Two More Years Stevie Calabro 29

L’ours (a French poem) Juls Dore 30

The Bear (English translation) Juls Dore 30

Le Renard (a French poem) Connor Soares 30

The Fox (English Translation) Connor Soares 30

Le Canard (a French poem) Lily Jivoff 30 The Duck (English translation) Lily Jivoff 30 Di Pallone (an Italian poem) Lonnie

Cover Art: Oil Painting

Lou-Victoria Martens

Back Cover Art: Mixed Media

Isabella Carrero

Oil Painting Lou-Victoria Martens FC

Paper Cutting Isabella Carrero 4

Photoshop Isabella Carrero 4

Mixed Media Isabella Carrero 4

Acrylic Painting Isabella Carrero 5

Collage Isabella Carrero 5

Collage Isabella Carrero 5

Mixed Media Isabella Carrero 5

Adobe Illustrator Isabella Carrero 5

Acrylic Painting Isabella Carrero 5

Acrylic Painting Madison Fajardo 6

Pastel Chalk Pencil Drawing Madison Fajardo 6

Pen & Ink Drawing Madison Fajardo 6

Graphite Drawing Madison Fajardo 6

Painting Lou-Victoria Martens 13

Painting Lou-Victoria Martens 13

Painting Lou-Victoria Martens 13

Chalk

Etc. is Notre Dame High School’s annual art and literary magazine. The publication is a showcase for the creative talents of Notre Dame students and includes poetry, prose, artwork, and photography.

The staff of Etc. would like to thank the students who submitted their art and literary works. We extend special thanks to Mr. Ken Jennings and Ms. Michele Martinez for their support of the Arts at Notre Dame as well as Mrs. MacIsaac and Mrs. Duff for their keen eyes in helping us edit.

Etc. wishes the Class of 2026 all the best in their future endeavors.

Etc. Magazine was awarded the National Council of Teachers of English REALM First Class Award in 2024. The REALM Program recognizes excellence in art and literary magazines for high school and college publications nationwide.

Mixed Media Madison Fajardo 7

Pencil Drawing Madison Fajardo 7

Conte & Charcoal Drawing Madison Fajardo 7

Colored Pencil Madison Fajardo 7

Acrylic Painting Abby Lobis 8

Pencil Drawing Abby Lobis 8

Colored Pencil & Pastel Abby Lobis 8

Mixed Media Abby Lobis 8

Watercolor Painting Abby Lobis 9

Mixed Media Abby Lobis 9

Pastel Chalk Pencil Drawing Abby Lobis 9

Graphite Drawing Abby Lobis 9

Pen & Ink Drawing Abby Lobis 9

Acrylic Painting Abby Lobis 9

Mixed Media Abby Lobis 9

Acrylic Paintings Sophia Monato 10

Acrylic Painting Sophia Monato 10

Oil Painting Sophia Monato 11

Mixed Media Sophia Monato 11

Oil Painting Sophia Monato 11 Oil Painting Lou-Victoria Martens 12

Pencil & Ink Drawing Lou-Victoria Martens 12

Drawing Lou-Victoria Martens 12 Pencil Drawing Lou-Victoria Martens 12

Painting Lou-Victoria Martens 13

Senior Featured Artist

Isabella Carrero

Isabella Carrero’s artistry has been shaped by the people and mentors who have supported her throughout high school. She found early inspiration in meeting other artists, and the guidance of Mrs. Brydges and Ms. Mejia, from freshman year through senior year, helped her expand both her creative process and her confidence. Isabella’s work often explores themes of nature, insects, and animals, though this year she challenged herself to delve more deeply into people, culture, and tradition. She especially enjoys working with ballpoint pen, a medium that allows her to capture fine detail and texture.

One of the pieces she is most proud of depicts her grandmother making traditional Puerto Rican pasteles, a cherished family tradition celebrated each Christmas. For Isabella, art has become both a discipline and a personal outlet, teaching her to be detail-oriented while giving her space to decompress amid the demands of school.

Senior Featured Artist

Madison Fajardo

Madison Fajardo has grown into an artist grounded in both skill and self-expression. Under the guidance of Mrs. Mejia, she developed a strong foundation in the fundamentals of fine art while learning how to preserve the creativity and personal voice that make her work uniquely her own. Her experience as a DEI intern also shaped her artistic journey, encouraging her to embrace her identity more boldly and celebrate her culture and traditions through her art.

Madison’s work centers on exploring who she is and what she loves. In her AP Art course, she developed a portfolio around the theme “Querencia”—the feeling of home, weaving together imagery tied to family, childhood playfulness, and the places where she finds her deepest comfort. One of her favorite pieces, A Family Supper, combines 2D and 3D elements through mixed media and folded paper fish. The work stands out not only for its craftsmanship but also for the cherished memory it captures: sharing simple, meaningful meals with her family.

Art has provided Madison with a sense of tranquility amid the fast pace of high school. Her art classes gave her space to think, reflect, and center herself—moments she values deeply. Looking ahead, she hopes to enter the business field, carrying with her the creative perspective nurtured through art. Madison plans to continue pursuing personal creative projects after college, keeping art close to her life and identity wherever her future takes her.

Senior Featured Artist

Abby Lobis

Throughout high school, Abby Lobis has been shaped by the steady support of her art teachers, classmates, family, and friends. Their encouragement pushed her to expand her creative boundaries and discover new layers of what she could express through her art. This community has been central to her growth, inspiring her to create with purpose and vulnerability.

Abby’s artwork explores themes of human connection, empathy, emotional resilience, and the power of music to shape feeling. Her style is detailed, dark, and deeply expressive—often depicting how she and others work through life’s challenges and emerge stronger. One of her proudest pieces, Empathy of an Embrace, captures both her artistic vision and personal voice. The inclusion of a cityscape—an element she loves—paired with the emotional intimacy of the subject makes the work especially meaningful. She is drawn to the way the darker tones interplay with the warm glow of streetlamps, creating a visual and emotional contrast.

For Abby, being an artist has become a way to better understand herself. Art offers her a space for reflection, authenticity, and emotional clarity—a practice she plans to carry with her throughout her life. After graduation, Abby hopes to study Environmental Science, but she intends to keep art as a personal ritual, continuing to grow in her skills and express her evolving perspective.

Senior Featured Artist

Sophia Monato

During her time at Notre Dame, Sophia has cultivated a creative voice shaped by courses such as Multicultural Arts and Art 1, as well as the meaningful connections formed within the school community. Her work centers on themes of childhood and coming of age, driven by a desire to evoke nostalgia and honor the emotional landscape of her younger self.

Art has become an essential space for Sophia’s personal growth—a way to process emotions and reflect on formative experiences. This journey is especially evident in her oil paintings, a medium she embraced during senior year. Despite its challenges, working in oil proved deeply rewarding, particularly when painting portraits of her childhood self.

As she looks ahead to college, Sophia hopes to continue creating art as a calming refuge amid new beginnings. Her goal for the next four years is to embrace every opportunity, build a strong foundation for the future, and continue nurturing her artistic voice.

Senior Featured Artist

Lou-Victoria Martens

For Lou-Victoria, art has been a way to navigate the complex emotions and experiences that have shaped her throughout high school. Personal struggles and the loss of loved ones have deeply influenced her creative journey, inspiring her to explore her place within her family and the connections that anchor her. Through art, she seeks both understanding and expression.

Her work often centers on themes of loss, memory, and belonging. Leaning into realism, Lou-Victoria recreates meaningful moments from photographs, using detail and precision to bring the past to life. One piece she is especially proud of is her painting Café du Monde, a portrait of herself with her grandfather. The work stands out to her for its experimentation, emotional resonance, and the care she poured into its details.

Art has guided Lou-Victoria toward her future, strengthening her passion and opening her eyes to new perspectives and ways of seeing the world. As she moves beyond graduation, she hopes to continue growing as an artist—unsure exactly where her path will lead, but determined to make an impact. She aspires to inspire others just as her own mentors, including Ms. Mejia, have inspired her.

Senior Featured Artist

Logan Phillips

Throughout high school, Logan has been inspired by his neighbor’s artistic influence and by the time he spends in nature, both of which have shaped his style and guided his focus this year. Working primarily with watercolor and other water-based paints, Logan blends colors to create a smooth, calming visual flow, using stronger textures and bolder hues to highlight key subjects and ideas.

A standout piece from his portfolio depicts a man standing on a mountaintop. Through earth-toned imagery on the flag and contrasting colors on the figure, Logan aimed to express that nature cannot be claimed—an artistic goal he feels he achieved.

For Logan, art has strengthened his creativity and provided a sense of peace, offering a meaningful outlet for expression. He hopes to continue practicing and enjoying art after high school, carrying forward a passion that has shaped much of his youth.

Senior Featured Writer

Mary Kerwick

Over the course of her high school years, Mary Kerwick’s love of writing has grown significantly, supported by the encouragement of her family, friends, teachers, and the guidance she received in Mrs. Wargo’s Creative Writing class. This support has helped her recognize her potential as a writer. While she often gravitates toward darker themes, Mary enjoys exploring a wide range of subjects in her work—from expressing personal beliefs to imagining personalities for the natural world.

Her recent favorite piece is her poem “Ladybugs,” inspired by and dedicated to her sisters, with whom she feels a deep connection. Discovering her passion for writing has shaped her plans for the future: Mary intends to major in creative writing and publishing in college and hopes to continue sharing her work with others.

There’s a land where dreams are said to come true A place where everyone is free Where people come from far and wide To see its magic through their own eyes Where red roses adorn all the fields, their petals grant every wish Where, when white snow falls, it blankets the land, each snowflake lays a kiss Where blue skies are always clear, and the grass is lived in by running kids But then the soil was poisoned, and a storm could be seen on the horizon Now the red roses have withered away, the petals lie stiff and cold The white snow has turned to ice; while people freeze, the suits bathe in gold

I Give, You Take

By Mary Kerwick

The trust you give is the trust that you get

I gave you my trust, but you abused it

You sat back and watched; you were no asset

I now know not to trust a hypocrite

With all the fun had and memories made

The Land of Dreams

By Mary Kerwick

There’s a land where dreams are said to come true

A place where everyone is free

Where people come from far and wide

To see its magic through their own eyes

Where red roses adorn all the fields, their petals grant every wish

Where, when white snow falls, it blankets the land, each snowflake lays a kiss

Where blue skies are always clear, and the grass is lived in by running kids

Ladybugs

By Mary Kerwick

The ladybugs remind me of you

They remind me that I lost you too soon

They remind me that you’re always watching

They remind me we’ll always have the same moon

But we don’t see it from the same point of view

Keeping secrets from our parents

Always counting stars we see in the sky

I wish we had the chance to do these things

Taking walks along the beach before sunset

Listening to the birds from outside our window

The blue skies are now cloudy and gray, and the children have lost all hope There was once a land where dreams came true, and everyone was free Where people would come from far and wide, with hope and promise in their eyes But now that land is full of people who just want to leave The ladybugs remind me of you They remind me that I lost you too soon They remind me that you’re always watching They remind me we’ll always have the same moon But we don’t see it from the same point of view

All I want is to forget that sly face

The words you spoke cut through me like a blade

Maybe if it were at a slower pace

We might still be friends, but we’re not today

You’re happy now, perhaps it was all me

I seem to be the one who’s seeing gray

All I want is to be happy and free

The things you did, I know I can forgive

I’ll learn to move on, to grow, and to live

But then the soil was poisoned, and a storm could be seen on the horizon

Now the red roses have withered away, the petals lie stiff and cold

The white snow has turned to ice; while people freeze, the suits bathe in gold

The blue skies are now cloudy and gray, and the children have lost all hope

There was once a land where dreams came true, and everyone was free

Where people would come from far and wide, with hope and promise in their eyes

But now that land is full of people who just want to leave

The Land of Dreams

I wish we had the chance to do these things

Never going to bed on time

Lying when we say we hate each other

I miss you, but I’ve never met you

After all this time, though, I feel like I still know you

Keeping secrets from our parents Always counting stars we see in the sky I wish we had the chance to do these things Taking walks along the beach before sunset Listening to the birds from outside our window I wish we had the chance to do these things Never going to bed on time Over the course of her high school years, Mary Kerwick’s love of writing has grown significantly, supported by the encouragement of her family, friends, teachers, and the guidance she received in Mrs. Wargo’s Creative Writing class. This support has helped her recognize her potential as a writer. While she often gravitates toward darker themes, Mary enjoys exploring a wide range of subjects in her work—from expressing personal beliefs to imagining personalities for the natural world. Her recent favorite piece is her poem “Ladybugs,” inspired by and dedicated to her sisters, with whom she feels a deep connection. Discovering her passion for writing has shaped her plans for the future: Mary intends to major in creative writing and publishing in college and hopes to continue sharing her work with others. They say to pay attention to the small things. Is it selfish to think they talk about me? The glistening water after a cool rain. The way the wind tickles my leaves. The calming crunch of pebbles under feet. The clouds of dust kicked up from the dirt. The way the sun brings us all to life. Is it just me, or do you agree? There’s a land where dreams are said to come true A place where everyone is free Where people come from far and wide To see its magic through their own eyes Where red roses adorn all the fields, their petals grant every wish Where, when white snow falls, it blankets the land, each snowflake lays a kiss Where blue skies are always clear, and the grass lived in by running kids But then the soil was poisoned, and a storm could be seen on the horizon Now the red roses have withered away, the petals lie stiff and cold The white snow has turned to ice; while people freeze, the suits bathe in gold

The ladybugs remind me of you

They remind me that I lost you too soon

There are so many things we’ll never get to do

But I’m comforted every time I see a ladybug, because I think of you.

Ladybugs

Our Earth

By Mary Kerwick

The feelings outside are all so different,

Yet the people all still seem so ignorant. They only seem to come out

When they are frustrated and need to shout.

They say they need and love me,

But they leave their shiny plastic in my sea. They admire my wind and the flowers I birth,

But I think sometimes they forget my worth.

I keep them here, I help them live

And no matter how naive, I always forgive.

Maybe one day they’ll finally see,

All the things from trees to bees, Are only there because of me

The Small Things

By Mary Kerwick

They say to pay attention to the small things.

Is it selfish to think they talk about me?

The glistening water after a cool rain.

The way the wind tickles my leaves.

The calming crunch of pebbles under feet.

The clouds of dust kicked up from the dirt.

The way the sun brings us all to life.

Is it just me, or do you agree?

That my small things are the things they see.

The smells of grass and pollen.

The feeling of warmth and breeze.

The sounds of foreign chirps and songs.

The sights of different skies.

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m not the small things.

Maybe I’m more, maybe I’m the whole thing.

The Small Things

The blue skies are now cloudy and gray, and the children have lost all hope There was once a land where dreams came true, and everyone was free Where people would come from far and wide, with hope and promise in their eyes But now that land is full of people who just want to leave The ladybugs remind me of you They remind me that I lost you too soon They remind me that you’re always watching They remind me we’ll always have the same moon But we don’t see it from the same point of view

Keeping secrets from our parents Always counting stars we see in the sky I wish we had the chance to do these things Taking walks along the beach before

sunset Listening to the birds from outside our window I wish we had the chance to do these things Never going to bed on time Over the course of her high school

years, Mary Kerwick’s love of writing has grown significantly, supported by the encouragement of her family, friends, teachers, and the guidance she received in

Metal Skin

By Rhyan Walker

Odin was a typical teenage boy. He didn’t enjoy school, but he went anyway because he liked seeing his friends, Tom and Panda. It was the second semester of their sophomore year, and they had begun to notice that a lot of students had transferred schools—or at least that’s what the teachers claimed.

During his free time wandering around town, Odin also noticed something else: an increase in functional, human-like robots. At first, he brushed it off as coincidence. But one morning, as he dragged himself to school, he realized that even more students from his first-period class were gone.

After class, he approached Tom and Panda and shared his concerns. They agreed something felt off. During lunch, the boys decided to figure out why so many kids had suddenly disappeared. Odin mentioned the growing number of robots around town, and by the end of lunch, they formed a disturbing theory—what if the missing students were being replaced?

The three decided to hold investigation sessions at Odin’s house every weekend until they uncovered the truth. As their research progressed, their confidence in the theory grew. They questioned robots around town, but most responded with silence or vague, unhelpful answers. Then they encountered one robot who spoke clearly, stating his name and age.

The boys froze. The name and age matched a student who used to sit with them at lunch. After regrouping, they agreed to dig even deeper the next day. That night, Odin went home and followed his usual routine. Exhausted from the investigation, he went to bed early.

When he woke up, the sound of metal clanking echoed around him.

You’re Still Here

By Megan Starke

I hear your laughter in the echoes of the wind,

The whisper of your lost memories in the rustle of trees.

Hugs in the wind, a gentle embrace,

Your tears in the rain, a silent grace,

Patching the pain in the cracks of the dirt.

A soul’s journey whispered in nature’s subtle art

Energy recycled, I see you in everything beautiful, Everything natural.

You are now nature, your body embraced by the earth

Your soul now embraced by God

The Lies We Tell

by Ariana Williams

No Fear

By Maya Persad

My skin felt a sting from the scorching bleachers as a result of the sun’s hot rays,

Yet I didn’t mind because the fresh summer breeze was a cooling anecdote to the burning hot sun, I watch the bees buzz with joy,

And see how free they must be to fly, I wish to swarm the sweet summer air, The same way they get to, With no fear.

Summer Days

By Maya Persad

Nothing quite like Summer Days, The sun comes out to stay which means it’s time for play, Worries melt away like drops of sweat that graze my forehead, The sound of the outside felt satisfying to hear,

Chirping, Buzzing, and the refreshing breeze

Listening to nature’s song felt fulfilling and I think to myself, There’s nothing quite like Summer Days

Nature’s Rage

By Megan Starke

Mountains loom, their peaks marred

By the scars of progress, by man’s disregard.

The winds, they howl, a mournful cry,

Striking uselessly at the daggers of steel standing tall in the sky,

The trees shiver as concrete spreads wide,

Their roots torn up, their ancient souls denied.

Rivers polluted, choked by human greed,

Weeping as their crystal tears turn green

Nature’s wrath boils

Her pain, her suffering, erupts in the night.

For every forest razed, for every river bled, Her fury grows.

Still, progress marches forth, Leaving scars within

Eris hated returning to the town. Everything about it made her feel rejected. Still, no one could skip Darkridge’s annual Founders’ Day, held every November. Once, if you had asked her about the town, she would have said, “There is no home like Darkridge.” Now everything was different. She was coming back with a secret—one everyone knew about, but only she and her friends had witnessed.

Eris, Tim, Izzy, Luke, and Tatama had been inseparable in high school. They were the golden group—the one everyone wanted to be part of, no matter what. The five of them rode together in the Volkswagen van Tim had owned since ’89, their sophomore year. Like old times, Tim sat in the driver’s seat, red eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, barely focused on the road. Izzy sat beside him, currently being yelled at for missing the eighth turn,

(Italian)

By Julianne Jacobsen

forte

By Julianne Jacobsen

Poets Connect

By Campbell Ann Tormey

In the room

There is a table

Poets of the world meet

They share stories untold

And the truth they seek

They sing of sorrow and victories won

They let each word tell

Where they are coming from

Poets speak for those who can’t

For those who are scared

For those who are lost

For those who have thoughts but not words

For those who have words but not feeling

Poets connect with metaphors, imagery, and repetition

Letting others in on their secrets

if you carefully listen

Writing their struggles and inner desires

Unknown poets now inspired

Writing my life out

In each poem I create

Praying my voice will go further than I anticipate

I write to free my mind

Allowing specialties and complexities to combine

Although the table is nearly full

Pull up a chair

Write thoughts on lined paper

Feel the rhythm

Speak from the soul

Just start

Let your stories unfold

The Worry

By Caitlin Patrick Unease

is always there

In the mother worried if her son will come home from the war across the sea.

In the little boy at school feeling alone wondering if the other kids like him.

In the teenage girl crying at night scared of her sister leaving for college but all she needs is someone to hug and tell her everything will be alright

Make Me Wonder

By Maya Persad

As the wind from the cool breeze gently grazes my face I see the trees blissfully dance in the distance to a sweet song,

The birds chirp in their own secret code and I wonder what they must be saying, The soft seeming green grass colors the field beautifully alongside the perfectly placed daisies which make me wonder.

Bright Flame

By Skylar Hewitt

A flame consumes me

It drives my peace and passions

Blazing through my life

It’s one origin is you

I watch it dance around me

I stare alertly

Fearing it may extinguish

As it flickers I grow grim

Breathing into it gently

Careful not to put it out

It waters my eyes

And my lungs fill with exhaust

Covered are my hands

In charcoal I can’t remove

It’s taken over me whole

My sweet lovely one

The deity I worship

Your whole self glimmers

Irises like bronze ore glow

Your divinity shines through

You adorn my soul

Sweet words that lift my spirits

I start to smile

You’re a bright star, small from Earth

But truly grand and mighty

Reading Out Loud

Ana Gutierrez Gonzalez

Ink on the page

No matter what age

In your hands, gentle and calm

Sitting in your palms

While the wind blows at night

You have the lamp light

Tea is steaming on the side table

You’re reading the famous fable

Of Charles Dickens

That makes your heart sicken

The clock ticks and tocks

Then you hear the lock

Twist and turn

You begin to stir

Grabbing the tea cup

Standing up

Yanking the door

To find nothing but your dog on the floor

Looking around

Thinking you were just bound

To the book

Where it took you away from the Earth

To a world of fantasy and worth

As if blowing away the candle light

Leaving you in the moonlit night

Mio Padre (Italian)

By Rachel Mann

Mio padre una volta mi disse che i morti non piangono.

Che non vedono l’ora di entrare nel cimitero.

Rise della sua battuta con un tono vuoto, come quello di un corvo che ha fatto della morte la sua casa.

Mio padre una volta mi disse che i vivi non vivono.

Che si avventurano in lungo e in largo ma non riescono, a comprendere il mondo che sembrano desiderare, il mondo che li chiama con troppi nomi diversi.

Mio padre una volta mi disse che le stelle non bruciano, che il ghiaccio non congela, che gli studiosi non imparano.

Mio padre mi disse queste cose perché sono vere. Le nostre percezioni sono deboli, e anche nostri propositi.

Mio padre una volta mi disse che la forza sta nella comprensione. Diventiamo ciò che dovremmo essere quando smettiamo di rimproverare.

Quando deponiamo le spade e prendiamo una penna, quando ascoltiamo nostro fratello invece dei sussurri vuoti del vento.

Mio padre una volta mi disse che i morti potrebbero desiderare la morte e i vivi potrebbero non desiderare la vita, ma che possiamo cambiare tutto questo notte dopo notte. Che noi, come popolo, possiamo unirci per una nuova verità, che i vivi vivano davvero e che i morti possano dire di aver vissuto anche loro.

My

By Rachel Mann

My father once told me the dead do not weep. That they are dying to get into the cemetery. He laughed at his joke with a hollow tone, like that of a raven who called death home.

My father once told me that the living don’t live. That they venture far and wide but cannot begin, to fathom the world they seem to crave, the world that calls them by one too many a name.

My father once told me the stars do not burn, that ice does not freeze, that scholars do not learn.

My father told me these things because they are true. Our perceptions are weak, and our purposes are too.

My father once told me strength is in understanding. We become who we should be when we’re done reprimanding.

When we lay down our swords and pick up a pen, when we listen to our brother instead of the void

My father once told me the dead may want death

but that we can change that night by night. That we as a people can rally for a new truth, that the living truly live and the dead can

Letters

By Campbell Ann Tormey

Your touch writes love letters on my skin.

I’m simply a blank page.

May you write books filled with secrets only we will keep and messages only we will understand.

A Quiet Space

By Asia Giombi

I am strong, brave

I like to speak kind words to myself

I need a quiet space to remember

I can do things

I feel confident that I can do anything

Frozen in Time

By Chelsea Deutsch

My eyes slowly open, I start to wake, there’s a chill in the air that I just can’t shake.

As I get up, I walk to my desk, I peer out the window and see a white mess.

Small, unique flakes floating to the ground, I run outside to be greeted by a blissful sound.

Joyous screams fill the air, the snow crunching as mom watches from her chair.

I feel frozen, time to warm up, hot chocolate and marshmallows all in one big cup.

Defrosting time is done, what to do now?

I didn’t want to stay inside anyhow. Back out I go to hear the joyous screams, doing it all again, just like a dream.

Turning My Worries into Faith

By Alexa Tucci

From the moment I left what I believed was “home,” I knew my future had changed. I sat quietly in the back of my mother’s car, thinking about the pressure and fear I might face from that moment on. Holding a box of my favorite toys, I watched through the window as we crossed the state line into New Jersey. Coming all the way from Massachusetts, I never expected my parents to split up—especially not when I was only seven years old.

Although unexpected, I would soon learn that this experience would help me gain a sense of independence and self-reliance I never knew I would need. Arriving in a new state meant living closer to my grandparents and cousins, whose presence gave me a small sense of comfort in the midst of so much change. As I noticed the new license plates, brighter surroundings, and warmer weather, a sense of calm settled over me as the drive continued.

Even as an only child, no amount of independence could replace the warmth of the people around me. Though hesitant, I listened to the advice I was given and prayed that God would pave the way for us. My mother was—and still is—the root of my guidance and happiness, shielding me in every way she could. For that, I will always be grateful.

Coming to terms with this change meant adapting to new schools, a new environment, and new people. Despite my nerves and lack of confidence, I began to rely on God for direction, praying for strength and a sense of belonging. I missed the comfort of old friends and the familiar routines I had left behind, but I couldn’t let the past prevent me from embracing new beginnings.

This experience taught me how complicated life can be and how families can change. With that understanding, I continue to turn my worries into faith, trusting that in time I will find my way forward—or at least move in the direction I hope is right.

Primavera (Italian)

By Jimmy Falcone

Primavera

Mite, soleggiata

Risveglio, germogliamento, fioritura

Una boccata d’aria fresca Rinascita

Spring

(English translation)

By Jimmy Falcone

Mild, sunny

Wakening, budding, blooming

Breath of fresh air Renewal

Water

By Ainsley Weed

The water whispers on the shore,

Bringing comfort when summer heat is here

It reflects the sky and shares secrets galore,

A lifeblood flowing always near

But when it rises, it can get wild and strong

A rushing force that’s quick and takes control

What was calm can turn fierce too long

A power that shapes and swallows whole

It gives life but can also bring pain

A mix of good and bad

A gift we love or a weight we gain

Where beauty and danger are always there

The Burn Remains

By Madeline Wirth

Untitled

By Mia Weber

Embers of Truth

By Megan Starke

I am fire, a dance of light and heat,

Stood Its Ground

By Chelsea Deutsch Strange, it seems to rise away, with nothing soft beneath its start. But holding dreams through night and day, It shaped a fire inside its heart. No cheers were heard, no hands were near, no crowd to say it had begun. Yet still it breathed the thinner air, and stood its ground beneath the sun.

They told me fire only kills, But silence was its final gift, My home breathed pine and morning light, The air too thick to lift; They say time heals but ash still clings

And I still dream of flames, I rose once like a ghost from soot,

But still the burn remains.

Fall

By Campbell Ann Tormey

Crisp air and dewy morning grass, Frost etched on cracked window glass. Leaves turning yellow, orange, and red, Books with pages of love left quietly unread. Pumpkins and apples being picked and brought home, Apple cider and chia lattes topped with foam. Jackets and cardigans hanging on coat racks, Pumpkins on porches next to black cats. A kiss on the cheek in the silver moonlight, The lingering tinge of a perfect fall night.

Did you hear about me, the one that couldn’t leave her seat?

The crash hit me hard, hopeless you see

All I could do was believe I could compete

And even when no one else believed deep inside, a steady beat

Laughing, crying, and praying

Close to despair, but not yet there

Refused to accept defeat 1 year later, I stood again

When no one else believed or cared

A spark of life in the shadow’s retreat.

But all they see is the wrath I bear,

The ashes, the ruin, the empty stare.

Misunderstood, I blaze with grief, I am more than a thief

Of forests tall and houses bright, I bring warmth on the coldest night.

I cradle the hearth with gentle hands,

In ancient tales, on distant lands.

My glow is a comfort, a tender care.

When winter’s chill bites cruel and deep, I am the guardian I bring you light, I bring you peace.

Yet still, you fear my crimson form,

A herald of the storm

But know me, and you will find

A heart of warmth, a spirit kind.

I am fire, both wild and tame,

A flicker of joy, a burning name,

Not just destruction in the night,

But a breath of life, a living light.

Still working from here forward!

! Need to make a decision.

1…2…3… ACTION

By Ava Torretta

Thud! It’s all I can focus on despite the frantic running and screaming around me. I stare at the body as it drops and hits the floor. Thud! Sitting in the recliner, frozen, I turn toward the man slouched beside me—bright, thick, red blood spraying as he begs for help. I feel the blood drain from my face as I look around, completely stuck in place.

I finally scurry out of my seat, disoriented, searching for my phone. I need to call my mom. Tripping over the leg rests, I scan the creases of the seats, hoping it’s lodged somewhere—until my arm is aggressively yanked. My entire 4’11”, 110-pound body is dragged across the theater. My skin burns against the carpet as I search desperately for the big red LED EXIT sign. My eyes squeeze shut as I’m pulled through the theater, praying I’ll survive.

Crap—what’s even happening? I need to call my mom.

My prayer is cut short when I collide face-first with the floor. The tight grip on my forearm loosens until it disappears completely. Burning and stinging, I clutch my leg and roll onto my side. Curled into a ball, the carpet reeks of buttered popcorn and tragedy. My legs are exposed where the fabric ripped away as I was dragged. My ears ring, my head spins, and my vision slows. Lying there, the chaos in my head finally quiets, and I see my future. What will my life be after this? How do I tell my mom? What will happen to my brother? I need to find my mom.

I crawl toward the exit. I see the cars. I can taste freedom—feel survival just within reach. Wincing, I force myself up, my legs raw from rug burn. I’m there. I’m at the door. I see my car. My ears are still focused on the high-pitched ringing instead of the screaming behind me—though there’s less of it now. Did they leave? Or did they die? Where is my brother?

Unable to focus on anyone else, I drag myself to my car. I throw my body into the seat and swing my legs inside, locking the doors as fast as I can. I cover my face and release the deepest sigh of my life, sitting in silence. Until it breaks.

The top of my brother’s head rises from the back seat. All I see is him—covered in blood that isn’t mine or his. We lock eyes in the rearview mirror, waiting to see if he’ll say anything about what he just did.

Two More Years

By Stevie Calabro

2 more years they say, 2 more years & I will be done with uniforms, 2 more years and then you’ll be beautiful, 2 more years, they say.

Dolce Far Niente

(Italian)

By Jimmy Iacona

Dalle montagne della Sicilia, Ai vigneti della Toscana. La campagna italiana è bellissima; E’ piena di vitalità, Piena di turisti, Varietà di formaggi, Risate e sorrisi. Lo stile di vita italiana, Dolce far niente.

Sweet Idleness

(English translation)

By Jimmy Iacona

From the mountains of Sicily, To the vineyards of Tuscany.

The Italian countryside is beautiful; It’s full of vitality, Full of tourists, A variety of cheeses, Laughter and smiles. The Italian way of life, Sweet idleness.

Never Truly Abandoned

By Jon Turner

I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. Jake’s shouting blurred into the deafening alarm as everything turned hazy. My heart pounded faster as I pulled myself up from the wet floor, and the reality of what was happening hit me all at once. The abandoned hospital was never truly abandoned—just hidden away.

I bolted toward Jake as his flashlight flashed into my eyes. Screams echoed behind us as he found the stairwell leading to the first floor. We flew down the stairs, the voices growing louder. Jake crawled through a hole in the barricaded door just as a man’s silhouette appeared at the top of the staircase. Leave. The word echoed in my head.

I leaped for the opening, catching sight of the fence beyond the hospital doors. As Jake pulled me through, a hand clamped around my foot. I thrashed, kicked, and slipped free—leaving my shoe behind—before sprinting to the car.

As we drove away, I glanced back to see the shaggy figure of the massive man standing beneath the flickering hospital lights, still holding my shoe.

I have waited the last 2 years, and the 2 years before that, to graduate middle school to be pretty like those older, more mature 8th graders

Like leaves on bright autumn trees, Growing, changing, falling into something new.

Growing out of my baby face. Changing into a woman, Calling out of self-worth.

When you’re scared of what others think of you.

It’s not because they think it, it’s because if they think it’s true, Soon you’ll start to believe it too.

Putting on makeup to look better, look prettier.

2 years before that, makeup didn’t even cross my mind

What did was how the bright summer sun felt on my soft skin, the warm sand between my painted toes, the blue ocean that looks like it goes on forever.

2 more years, I said, 2 more years and I’ll be free of the uniform.

2 more years and then I’ll be beautiful like those older, more mature seniors, 2 more years, I said.

L’ours (French)

By Juls Dore

Un ours grand de 50 mètres

Avec des petites lunettes

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Un ours mangeant un crabe

Avec un chat et un hippopotame Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Un ours marchant

Avec un tigre et une tortue

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Eh ! Pourquoi pas ?

The Bear (English translation)

Juls Dore

The Bear

(English translation)

By Juls Dore

A bear 50 meters tall

With small glasses

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A bear eating a crab

With a cat and hippopotamus

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A bear walking

With a tiger and a turtle

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

Eh! Why not?

Le Renard (French)

By Connor Soares

Un renard de cent mètres

Qui a des courgettes Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Un renard qui habite au Gabon Avec son copain le lion Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Un renard qui porte une polaire Avec des chaussettes et des chaussures Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Eh ! Pourquoi pas ?

The Fox

(English translation)

By Connor Soares

A fox 100 meters long

Who has zucchinis

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A fox living in Gabon

With his friend the lion

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A fox wearing a fleece

With socks and shoes

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

Eh! Why not?

Le Canard

(French)

By Lily Jivoff

Un canard voyageant sur la route

Avec un hamster qui s’appelle Esther

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Un canard avec du soleil sur la tête

Et de la neige sous les pieds

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Un canard travaillant à McDonald

Avec un éléphant et un croissant

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Eh ! Pourquoi pas ?

The Duck

(English translation)

By Lily Jivoff

A duck traveling on the road

With a hamster named is Esther That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A duck with sun on his head And snow under his feet That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A duck working at McDonald

With an elephant and a croissant That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

Eh! Why not?

Di Pallone (Italian)

By Lonnie Stazzone

I tifosi si radunano presto, impazienti di vedere

gli atleti che si riscaldano, lanciando la palla I guantoni schioccano mentre i giocatori prendono posizione

Un inning dopo l’altro, rispondono alla chiamata

Le luci brillano intense sul campo di notte Grida di entusiasmo risuonano di gioia

The Ball Game

(English translation)

By Lonnie Stazzone

Fans gather early, eager to see Athletes warming up, tossing the ball Mitts snap as players take their place

Inning by inning, they answer the call

Lights shine bright over the field at night

Yells of excitement echo with delight

Nevicare (Italian)

By Valentina Santiago Nevicare Fredda, Luminosa Cadente, Turbato, Scivolata

Con la forma diversa di ogni fiocco Bufera di neve

Snow

(English translation)

By Valentina Santiago Snow, Cold, Bright Falling, Flurried, Gilded With each flake’s different shape Blizzard

Il Fiore

(Italian)

By Ava Fallon Fiore

Bello, Colorato

Piantare, Germogliare, Fiorire

Illuminando la stanza Fioritura

L’oceano

By Brianna Perhacs

L’oceano, Ruvido, ma rilassante schizzo, ondata, sussurro

Uno spettacolo rilassante da guardare Le onde

The Flower

(English translation)

Beautiful, Colorful Planting, Budding, Blooming Brightening up the room Blossom

The

(English translation)

By Brianna Perhacs The Ocean, Rough, yet soothing splash, surge, whisper A calming sight to watch The waves

Mitologia e Folclore

(Italian)

By Ana Gutierrez-Gonzalez

Mitologia

Immaginativa, umana

Affascinante,divertente,ricca di storie

Le sue creature sono peculiari Folclore

Mythology and Folklore

(English translation)

By Ana Gutierrez-Gonzalez Mythology

Imaginative, humane Fascinating, entertaining, storytelling

Its creatures are peculiar Folklore

Diamante Poem

(Italian)

By Ethan Locke

Caldo, torrido

Sole, splendente, e ardente

Splendente, infuocato – gelido, glaciale

Freddo, gelido, insensibile

Ghiacciato, gelido

Ghiacciato

The Best Days

By Chelsea Deutsch

Salty air blowing about, Seagulls are beginning to shout;

Strolling down to the sand, Boardwalk entrance, finally manned.

Rules posted, I must abide, Waves crash at the tide;

Sun coats me like a blanket, Sand castle? Let’s make it.

The daylight begins to dim, Ice cream filled to the brim.

Diamante Poem

(English translation)

By Ethan Locke

Hot, scorching

Sun, shining and burning

Shining, blazing – icy, glacial Cold, frozen, unfeeling

Icy, frozen Frozen

This Quiet, Frozen Spell

By Ainsley Weed

A glassy curtain covers the land,

Each drop a jewel in nature’s hand

The world transformed a crystal scene

Where freezing rain casts its sheen

Trees stand tall in icy dress

Their branches whisper soft caress

A gentle clatter fills the air

As ice forms patterns everywhere

Step outside the chill is keen

A sharp embrace a wintry sheen

Each step resounds a brittle cry

As frozen ground echoes the sky

Windows glisten roads now gleam

The world is caught in icy dream

In this quiet, frozen spell

Nature’s beauty stands so well

Water

By Ainsley Weed

The water understands

How people live and grow

It moves around the rocks

And learns where it should go

It cools the summer heat

Like ice upon my skin

It sparkles in the sun

And sings a song within

But when it’s pushed too far

It crashes loud and wild-

Like anger in a storm

That hides behind a smile

Sunrise Serenade

By Isabela Castro

In the sigh of the early dawn,

Though the hush as night is gone,

Nature sings her timeless song,

A melody where hearts belong.

Golden sunbeams kiss the earth,

Ushering in the day’s rebirth,

And as the world greets this day anew

The grass twinkles with its morning dew

Bushes and flowers, wild and free,

Sway in gentle harmony.

My Perfect Canvas

By Tayla Wakefield

The walls came crumbling down, shrouding my view in ash and filling my lungs with the remains of my happy little “accident.” I smiled as I watched the rubble burn, the legacy of the Johnsons disappearing into smoke along with it. I’ve never been violent—never liked things to break. I am simply an artist who claimed the world as her canvas. The house was a mistake in my sketch. So were the Johnsons. Like any good artist, I had to erase my mistakes.

Of course, I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I had to. They weren’t perfect. I am Amara Lynn McHale, and all my masterpieces must reflect perfection. At first glance, the Johnsons seemed flawless: a mom, a dad, two daughters, and their disgustingly perfect mutt. Everyone wanted to be them—myself included, at first. Mrs. Johnson worked in the church’s youth group. Mr. Johnson was a real estate agent. The oldest, Mya, was a Harvard graduate working in family law. Lily, the youngest, was set to graduate in the honors program at the local high school alongside her best friend—me.

On the outside, their lives were pristine. On the inside, they were chaos. Mrs. Johnson had a lover. Mr. Johnson drank his sorrows away. Mya was left to be the only responsible adult, caring for Lily with a belief that violence was the only form of discipline. I could already see the cracks in their perfect foundation. I could never allow my canvas to be smeared with such a messy flaw.

So I took matters into my own hands, using my favorite medium: fire. It is truly the most effective resource. Fire strips the canvas of every imperfection, leaving behind a blank slate. But the Johnsons were stubborn—like a line drawn just a shade too dark, nearly impossible to erase. Each of them was embedded with imperfection. I felt bad destroying them, especially Lily. She was my best friend, after all. But over time, her family’s flaws ruined her too. She became messy. And mistakes cannot remain. To erase the family’s error meant erasing her as well. It was time to say goodbye.

So, Dr. Patel, that is why I did it. That is why they brought me here—to this institution. They couldn’t understand my need for perfection. I can’t function without it. I just wish my canvas could finally be perfect. The world is complicated and filthy with division. People argue endlessly. They take others in the night and lie to our faces. I wish they had burned with the Johnsons. I want to hear them cry into the rubble of their existence, to watch their imperfections fade into smoke, and to see the canvas reflect the perfection of Amara Lynn McHale’s masterpiece.

La Souris (French)

By Sophia Robinson

Une souris aussi grande que l’orage

Mais qui n’aime pas une horloge

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Une souris qui aime dessiner

Et qui mange un petit pain

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Une souris sans moustache

Et travaillant avec une vache

Ça n’existe pas, ça n’existe pas !

Eh ! Pourquoi pas ?

The Mouse (English Translation)

Sophia Robinson

The Mouse

(English translation)

By Sophia Robinson

A mouse as tall as the storm

But who doesn’t like a clock

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A mouse who likes to draw

And who eats a small bread

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

A mouse without a moustache

And working with a cow

That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist!

Eh! Why not?

L’été & L’hiver (French)

By Lou-Victoria Martens

L’été humide, vibrant courir, crier, jouer chants d’oiseau, bruits de tondeuse, douceur de la neige, pelle dormir, se reposer, ralentir blanc, sec L’hiver

Summer & Winter (English translation)

By Lou-Victoria Martens

Summer humid, vibrant running, shouting, playing bird songs, sounds of lawn mowers, softness of the snow, shovel sleeping, resting, slowing down white, dry Winter

By Emma Jean McVey

Istruita ed energica, Rende ogni giorno divertente ed emozionante, La musica riempie il tempo libero, E lo sport impegna le sue giornate. Circondata da amici affettuosi e una famiglia che la sostiene, Ogni esperienza è positiva, E ogni giorno è pieno d’amore, Senza eccezioni

Le Ciel & La Mer (French)

By Luca Ercolano

Le ciel Rose, Beau Chante, Vole, Voyage Nuage, Avion, Bateau, Quai Nage, Pêche, Joue Bleue, Vaste

La mer

By Emma Jean McVey

Educated and energetic, Making everyday fun and exciting, Music fills freetime, And sports take up time.

Joined by loving friends and supportive family, Every experience is good, And every day is filled with love, No exceptions in sight.

The Sand & the Ocean

(English translation)

By Luca Ercolano

The sky Pink, Beautiful Singing, Flying, Traveling Clouds, Plane, Boat, Dock

Swimming, Fishing, Playing Blue, Vast

The sea