FLIGHT
2026 VOL. XLII
BRENTWOOD ACADEMY LITERARY
SENIORS
Meg Collier
Cooper Dennis
Haylee Goitia
Betsy Gower
Jane Holmberg
Lena Johnson
Elaina Massey
Megan Nguyen
FLIGHT LITERARY STAFF 2026
Senior Editors: Haylee Goitia and Zoë O’Cull
Junior Editors: Dean Compton and Henley Johnson
Advisor: Mrs. Cameron Phillips
JUNIORS
Rachel Nguyen
Zoë O’Cull
Ethan Padlick
Isaac Shapiro
Leah Tomichek
McKenna Watkins
Benji Barry
Susanna Collier
Dean Compton
Ella Czerwinski
Alayna Duhart
Mary Margaret Dye
Madison Farrell
Mia Florez
Anna Caroline Henry
ART STAFF
Art Advisor: Mrs. Janet Laws
Henley Johnson
Peyton Lawrence
Katy Spence Phillips
Aeryn Schafer
Avery Smith
Hudson Spender
Luke Stranak
Hutton Stringfellow
Cody Whitehurst
Editing Advisors: Mrs. Hannah Sutton ‘09 and Mrs. Tisha Sage ‘95
SENIORS
Haylee Goitia
Zoë O’Cull
Tatum Krupin
Madelyn Schroeder
Katy Spence Phillips
Tatum Krupin
Sarah Grace Steinlein
Sarah Grace Steinlein
Ruthie Widmaier
Josie Blanton
Caylyn Cutsinger
Sarah Grace Steinlein
Susanna Collier
Katy Spence
Lucy
JUNIORS
Henley Johnson
Dean Compton
Ella Czerwinski
Alayna Duhart
Aeryn Schafer
ARTWORK
Ella Czerwinski
Sophie Bunkowske
Taylor Petro
Drew Johnson
Zach Haddad
Will Rooney
Odette Gause
Lucy Nafus
Presley Seedig
TABLE OF CONTENTS
POETRY & PROSE
A Conversation Across Time Sophia Clark ‘27
Limerance Ethan Padlick ‘26
Alzheimer’s Rachel Nguyen ‘26
Do Not Fear Mia Florez ‘27
Tornado Jane Holmberg ‘26
Burgers Samuel Redden ‘31
The Days Kyree Harmon ‘31
The Curse of Envy Alayna Duhart ‘27
My Concealer Sophie Silvus ‘28
Red Bows Presley Seedig ‘27
Nostalgia Hudson Spender ‘27
The Midnight Slice Beckham Weber ‘31
My Sister Looks Like Me Zoë O’Cull ‘26
I Am More Than Entertainment Dylan Taylor ‘27
Nostagia Will Kill Me Rachel Nguyen ‘26
Sunflowers Still Turning Aeryn Schafer ‘27
In Passing Aeryn Schafer ‘27
Canceled Subscription Ada Shapiro ‘28
Little Katy Spence Phillips ‘27
To The Game I Love The Most Cody Whitehurst ‘27
The Quiet Weight Leah Tomichek ‘26
Ode To Grief Micah Robinson ‘27
Joshua 1:9 Benji Barry ‘27
Too Much Betsy Gower ‘26
“What If” Mia Florez ‘27
My Headspace McKenna Watkins ‘26
Blinded By The Bubble Katy Spence Phillips ‘27
Descent Into Delerium Samuel Nicolucci ‘28
A Eulogy To Paperback Books Carley Jean Sullivan ‘31
The Deeper Meaning Luke Stranak ‘27
The Feeling Of Loss Cody Whitehurst ‘27
Mirrors Haylee Goitia ‘26
My Paradox McKenna Watkins ‘26
How To Get Out Of Bed In The Morning
Anna Caroline Henry ‘27
A Snapshot Hutton Stringfellow ‘27
Remembers Cooper Dennis ‘26
The Cold You Left Behind Sarah Melton ‘26
Through The Looking Glass
Mary Margaret Dye ‘27
Cups Henley Johnson ‘27
Chase That Ponytail Brooke Browning ‘30
Eulogy For A Dog Campbell Leach ‘31
If Only For A Time Tisha Sage ‘95
The Space You Left Leah Tomichek ‘26
A CONVERSATION ACROSS TIME
SOPHIA CLARK ‘27
I keep meeting the younger version of me In small places—
In a photograph where her smile tries too hard In the echo of things I wish I had never said. She walks beside me sometimes, Pockets full of foolish certainty, Heart as loud as a door slammed in anger. She thinks every mistake Will last forever.
For years I wanted to turn away, To say,
You should have known better, You should have been kinder, Braver, quieter, wiser. But time has softened its voice.
Now I see the way she carried storms With no map, No shelter except the hope That tomorrow would explain everything. So I sit with her a while.
I tell her
The world will not end Because she stumbled through it. And slowly—
Like winter loosening its grip on the ground— I learn
To place a hand on her shoulder And let her come home.
TATUM KRUPIN ‘26
LIMERENCE
ETHAN PADLICK ‘26
East to West. West to East.
Polar personalities, bound to an eternal dance in orbit with our home. But for a brief sweet moment when one sets and the other is rising.
They meet eye to eye as the lights of our world dim, and our kind planet gains a whole new personality.
One must watch the other disappear twice a day, but they are never allowed to touch. One gives a quiet green light as they slip away for the night, and the other lights up the night during one’s absence.
Forever circling one another, offering a hello and goodbye during every meeting.
Mutual limerence, their grief and their sorrow will never be reciprocated.
ALZHEIMER’S
RACHEL NGUYEN ’26
When I was 8. You would read to me and make me lunch.
You would tell me stories of your life, hoping to see how I would live out mine.
There is no one I looked up to more than my own grandmother.
Now I am 18.
But I read to you and make you lunch.
I sit by your side and tell you stories, hoping you might recall them.
And now you’re the one to look up to me, but it’s only to ask, “Who are you?”
DO NOT FEAR
MIA FLOREZ ‘27
365 times in the Bible, we are called not to fear.
But how are we supposed to follow that when everything is so awful here? There is pain, suffering, and hurt. You can feel like you are drowning-water up to your neck, feeling the fear without even trying. Around every corner is something new, the Devil’s next best trick, trying to make your mind more meek-but this time, I won’t let it stick. Through every threat and shadowed night, I’ll choose the truth I know is mine.
Fear may scream and shout, but I won’t let it define.
SARAH GRACE STEINLEIN ‘28
TORNADO
JANE HOLMBERG ‘26
Do you ever get the feeling
Of wanting to reach out
Grab everything
Hold it tight
And never let go?
The need to hold on tight
Because you might lose it all?
The feeling
Of not wanting anything to change
To stay as it is
Because you’re not ready
To let go?
The feeling
Of losing control
Unable to pin down
What’s spinning ‘Round and ‘round
Out of reach?
The need
To try and put it back together
Piece by piece
Back to normalcy?
But knowing You can’t replace it?
Because Something broken
Cannot be unbroken
Knowing that everything could change
Like that
You could lose everything
The life you know
Gone
All swept up In a Tornado
BURGERS
SAMUEL REDDEN ‘31
Summertime food for me
Is a smoking, sizzling, scrumptious piece of meat
The grill opens its fiery jaws
Flames dancing
Waiting for their prey
Searing steam whistling, juices bubbling
Smoky, savory smells whirling
Waiting, anticipating
That first tasty bite
Juices running down your mouth
In a sensory delight
With or without cheese
Any way you please
Just make sure it’s a burger for me
THE DAYS
KYREE HARMON ‘31
The days
The days
And the end of the summer’s rays
The breeze of fall
And I watch as the leaves descend
The trees are coming to their end
Halloween is here
Bringing fear
As the leaves whistle
Now Thanksgiving is here
The beauty making me shed a tear
With the bird’s chirp
The days
The days
THE CURSE OF ENVY
ALAYNA DUHART ‘27
Envy-quiet, cloaked in shadow, a lingering presence, behind the scenes. Slowly...creeping... It seeps-into to your heart, into your mind, into the deep, dark pits of your soul.
The Devil perched on your shoulder. He whispers lies in your ear, deception masked as truth, manipulation disguised as wisdom. You are less than. You are behind. You are unseen. He gives you a blurred lens of reality, distorted, misconstrued.
Their victory stings like a swarm of indignant bees. Their laughter cuts like paper. Their smallest joys clang like bells in the hollow chambers of your chest.
Eventually, You will find yourself chained to this cyclical feeling.
The Devil, whispering louder. The lens, growing darker. Your mind, deteriorating to an endless state of pure animosity.
The Curse of Envy-clings to you like a parasite, until it becomes You.
MY CONCEALER
SOPHIE SILVUS ‘28
I cannot find my concealer, no, it is nowhere to be found I need it, I need it, truly, need it You see, sometimes I am sad or just not feeling like my smiley self. Today I am tired, and I am not wearing my concealer. Today is one of those days When there are pimples on my face and When I cannot figure out the math homework That is due tonight at midnight. I cannot even get this rhyme right. And today when I read what I usually call easy, what I call “my thing,”
The fog in my exhausted brain overtakes me And it really does look to me like a foreign language. Today I work a little slower and my eyelids feel a little heavier.
So, I look at the girl beside me Who is so perfectly beautiful and Who is happy every day and who Has energy in every way. If she’s tired, she’ll never say. There are no dark spots under her eyes any day. And I forget that she too wears concealer.
RED BOWS
PRESLEY SEEDIG ‘27
Along these roads I drive both slow and still, red bows hang gently on each mailbox near. So small a thing, yet heavy is the will to remember lives we’ll always hold dear.
March twenty-seventh sticks inside our minds, when Covenant was touched by sudden pain. A normal morning left with grief behind, a loss our town still struggles to explain.
These little bows remind me as I drive that grief can bind a broken town as one. Though hearts were shattered, love stayed alive, and in our sadness, we still carry on.
In simple red, our unity is shownFrom shared deep loss, a stronger love has grown.
NOSTALGIA
HUDSON SPENDER ‘27
There was a friend I used to know We would play all day and take it slow For many days and through the season We would hang without a reason
I look outside and see a kite Flying high in the morning light Running barefoot on the grass Wishing time would never pass
Days pass, and I laugh at the thought Of all the stories we once brought Sneakers squeaking across the floor Echoes of times we had before
Nothing changes, nothing much to do But I keep finding traces of you I wish you were here, just for a while To share the world and make me smile.
RUTHIE WIDMAIER ‘27
THE MIDNIGHT SLICE
BECKHAM
WEBER ‘31
The cheesy, crisp crust calls to me at night.
A slice sits smiling, warm under the kitchen light.
Pepperoni pops and crackles like a tiny fireworks show. The steam dances upward, rising gentle and slow. Its aroma curls around me like a comforting blanket.
Grease glimmers on top, a golden, glowing planet.
The sizzling surface whispers, “Take a bite, be bold.”
My fingers sink into warmth, soft yet firm to hold.
Tomato sauce swirls red, bright as a sunset sky.
Mozzarella stretches long, clinging as I try.
Flavors crash together in a sweet, salty storm. The heat rushes through me, cozy and warm.
I savor the moment, quiet, still, and nice -Just me and the magic of the midnight slice.
JOSIE BLANTON ‘26
MY SISTER LOOKS LIKE ME
ZOË O’CULL ‘26
From the moment I was born To when my feet hit the ground, She was the rose, and I the thorn.
But they say I was her and she me? So, I thought no one noticed, Only me who begs to disagree.
I grew up this way:
Watching her brush her hair
Watching her paint her nails
Watching her pat her face
Watching her slip on shoes
Watching her buy a dress
And I said it was trivial, A battle not to fight, Because it seemed I had already lost; That “my mind is my might.”
Now it’s my turn
To be a teenage girl, Then my stomach starts to churn...
Not scared nor sad, I simply feel erroneous And oddly not mad.
Because as I swipe through the pictures, It is not my face see, Just her’s looking back at me...
After a few blinks, it goes away, But I am happy to see her Just for one short day.
CAYLYN CUTSINGER ‘28
I AM MORE THAN ENTERTAINMENT
DYLAN TAYLOR ‘27
I’ll never forget the feelingeverywhere I go, the same questions follow me.
“What sport do you play?” “How much do you lift?”
Never about grades
Never about my goals
Never about the future I imagined for myself.
I realized young that my body always entered the room before my mind did.
My whole life has been shrunk down to my athletic ability.
I worked and worked, studied and studied, late nights with my textbook open proving to myself that I am more than what they expect.
But every school, every person, saw only one thing.
They expect a cell instead of a classroom, a record instead of a resume a loser instead of a lawyer a thug instead of a teacher.
As if my future has already been written in bars and numbers, in courts and fields, not books and ideas.
I am breaking generational curses with my mind-
choosing thought over a sentence, vision over survival.
Black people are not entertainment.
We are artists, educators, philosophers.
We are more than a sport. More than something you watch.
We have the ability to do anything we wantnot what you want.
I am more than entertainment. I can go to Ivy League schools. I can be a doctor.
I am more than your narrative, more than your stereotype.
However, you choose to name it My Blackness is not a limitation my skin is history intelligent, and resilient.
I am Black and I am proud.
I AM BLACK EXCELLENCE
NOSTALGIA WILL KILL ME
RACHEL NGUYEN ‘26
“Nostalgia will kill me.”
I say as I continue to rush ahead, Wishing each school day would end, The weekend would come faster, And the summer would come sooner.
“Be where your feet are.”
I say as I watch the ticking clock, Always looking forwards, Moving too fast, And living in the future.
“Cherish the moment.”
“Stay in the now.”
“Embrace what is in front of you.” But now... Senior year is almost over. The clock I begged to move is finally out of time. And the days I wished away are the days I want back. I realize now, my words were only words.
I never really lived in the moment, Stayed where my feet were, Or embraced what was in front of me, as I so loudly proclaimed to do.
I was always reaching for something distant. But now that something “distant” is too close. And I feel this throbbing ache as I look back at all I rushed through.
“Nostalgia will kill me,” I whisper. Because I finally understand that time never slipped away... I just never held on.
SARAH GRACE STEINLEIN ‘28
SUNFLOWERS STILL TURNING
AERYN SCHAFER ‘27
The sunflowers turned after you, their faces leaned toward where you’d gone. They held the road with steady faith, still waiting for a later dawn.
They stood in rows of patient gold, each stem a quiet, upright plea, as if your footsteps might return, as if they knew what I could see.
I let them keep their gentle hope; no truth was worth the breaking then. Some roots believe in circling light and trust the world to glow again.
So let them follow what they love, a passing warmth that doesn’t stay. There’s mercy in the turning stems that face the sun, though skies give way.
IN PASSING
AERYN SCHAFER ‘27
I move through rooms that lose my name, a quiet blur in someone’s day. The walls forget the breath I leave; I pass, and all I touch gives way.
Yet drifting shows a subtle truth: That meaning lives in things that fade. Not everything must anchor deep, to mark the moment it was made.
Perhaps we’re built for moving through, for lives that skim but still are felt, a presence light enough to lift, a shift in air where someone dwelt.
And if I vanish from their maps, let worth be found in how I stirred, a fleeting warmth along the seams, a hush that follows after words.
CANCELED SUBSCRIPTION
ADA SHAPIRO ‘28
I saw her first in a magazine
She was painted like a rose in the springtime
Wearing a mask that danced in the light
Blinks of reality between flashes and photoshoots
She’s wearing a dress the color of dawn
Her halo visible atop her angelic head
Her curls bouncing like tightly wound springs I wonder if the mirror adored her as much as I did
Pages and pages of practiced perfection I mimicked her poses, her makeup, And that smile that never quite reached her hollow brown eyes
I always came up empty, Drowning in the reality that if she was the beauty, Then I bordered on beastly
I spent my days longing to be Someone who lived in the airbrushed shadow of herself But Beauty is not in color-matched foundation Or in bronzer that glitters and glows
Beauty cannot be found when the scarsThe ones that tell stories of survival and spiritare hidden under pounds of lightweight lies
When crow’s feet of laughter, etched on faces that know what true happiness holds, are covered to chase the youth we all longed to escape
True Beauty urges the heart to take a step back
To take a breath of oxygen, not just perfume
To leave behind the harsh light of flashing camera bulbs to watch a couple sunsets
So, I canceled my subscription, Opting for a new standard of perfection I broke my mirror to shatter who it demanded me to be I prefer wildflowers to springtime roses anyway.
LITTLE
KATY
SPENCE PHILLIPS ‘27
A little of this, a little of that A hair, a pinch, a dab
Leave the instructions at the door! It’s my rules in my lab
Mix, pour, stir Til the laws of science come undone Watch each chemical bubble Til my curiosity reduces to none
I see some smoke
What’s starting to burn? Each time I ask myself: Will I ever learn?
The answer is no
As you might have guessed For each time a mystery arises I simply must put it to the test
LUCY HILL
TO THE GAME I LOVE THE MOST
CODY WHITEHURST ‘27
Everyone raise their glass for a toast, to the game I love most. One that anyone can play, whether young or old, short or tall, good or bad.
Drive for show, putt for dough is what they say, but I say, why can’t we just play?
And not worry about trying to be the best but enjoy the aspect of the game.
I remember my first time ever driving up to the course, which, now, seems like the same drive for the millionth time, and every single one of those times, the course calling my name.
To roll up early on a Saturday morning, dew still on the grass, birds chirping is unlike any other feeling.
The sound of soaring Sycamores swaying set to be a good day. It makes me want to lie down in green pastures.
To show up with the boys on the first tee and, let a tiny white ball and a piece of metal decide your attitude for the day is the best. It’s all worth it, just once, to hear that tiny ball rattle in that metal cup; the best sound in the world.
The early morning sights, grounds crew still mowing the grass, cutting the hole location. Fairways in the best condition and the fluffy sand raked to perfection. A cool 60 degrees, and the greens as smooth as freshly laid carpet. Making the turn, now hot outside and vibes are at an all-time high. No more peacefulness, as the morning has vanished, and people have started to awaken from their slumber.
A continuous uphill battle, one ball, two ball, three ball gone. But, to battle back like a fox running through the fairway is an all-time thrill. Until there is a stretch where you get birdie, birdie, birdie, why, they call that a turkey!
To wind down the day, not much to say, didn’t have much go our own way.
But that’s okay, there’s always the next.
That one good shot you hit that keeps you coming back, to play that same game we love the most. Gathered ‘round with the boys to, make some, oh, very loud noise.
In the pub, let me hear you say, “a toast to a wonderful day!”
THE QUIET WEIGHT
LEAH TOMICHEK ‘26
It doesn’t arrive with thunder, no storm to announce its claim. It seeps in like water through cracks, soft, steady, unnamed.
The mornings feel heavier, like gravity has doubled overnight. Even lifting a smile is work my body refuses.
Friends speak in colors, but I hear them so bland. Their laughter echoes, and I wonder if mine is lost somewhere that can never be found.
I keep moving, but each step drags a shadow. The world insists on brightness, yet my eyes adjust only to sorrow.
Still, there is a pulse beneath the silence, a reminder that even broken ground can hold seeds. And maybe, with time, something will grow again.
SARAH GRACE STEINLEIN ‘28
ODE TO GRIEF
MICAH ROBINSON ‘27
No one tells me much, just that “these things” happen, or it was part of God’s big planas if my heart is old enough to understand what “these things” are.
Grief,
You’re the one who teaches me what everyone is afraid to say: that joy can break before it begins, that families can miss someone they never even touched.
But you also show me how to hold a person without hands, how to talk to someone without ears, how to love a sibling who lives in the quiet places.
Grief,
You are the bruise I keep pressing because I want to remember. You are the empty chair I still set at a table. You are the lullaby with no baby to hear it.
But you are also the proof that I caredthat life too small for a footprint still left marks on me.
So stay if you must, sit beside me when I cry, and when you’re ready, walk with me a little softer.
Because even though you hurt, you remind me of someone I loved before I ever got to say hello.
JOSHUA 1:9
BENJI BARRY ‘27
I was broken, but now I’m fixed. I was hurting, but now I’m healed. I was lost, but now I’m found.
You gave me strength, in a time of brokenness. You gave me courage, in a time of doubt. You gave me love when I was at my lowest.
Thank you, Jesus. For being my rock, my roots, my foundation, When nothing else could.
EMILY THAYER ‘27
TOO MUCH
BETSY GOWER ‘26
Too loud, too crazy, too much These words live in me From 8-18 I’ve been told I always believed I’d grow out of it I guess not
Care too much, love too much, cry too much When will it be enough? No matter how hard I try, the medicine I take It’s always the same feedback, “Quiet down, You’re too much”
Too sad, too desperate, too heartbroken No matter the emotion, it’s an overload What is the right amount?
Why do so many people leave me for this? Why can’t I be less?
Or can they be more?
“WHAT IF”
MIA FLOREZ
‘27
What if I don’t make it to Heaven? I know it is about faith and not good works, but I just think of Hebrews eleven: if I end up in Hell, there is no way to reverse.
What if I lose the ones I love?
They are my help and emotional support. Without them, I would be full of nothing but deep sadness and hurt.
What if I don’t ever get better? I can’t forever face this kind of pain. My fear is far too large to measure; inside lies someone too weak and broken to explain.
But, if God has already planned out my steps, then why do I have all these questions floating around in my head?
MY HEADSPACE
MCKENNA WATKINS
‘26
What are my thoughts?
How deep do they go?
Seems like streams in my brain. Science says it’s chemical signals. Am I sending emails?
Back and forth telling different parts. My brain, expanding. Each year, delete some old files. I wanted to keep that one. Which one?
I don’t remember.
Maybe that’s why we learned to write. Relieve my brain from holding all of it together. The more I write, the more I think, the more to file.
Never ending. Can’t stop thinking. I just want a break. When can I take a bre...
BLINDED BY THE BUBBLE
KATY SPENCE PHILLIPS ‘27
Guarded in this glittering town
Do not let your awareness become confined
For although ignorance is bliss, Too much bliss and you’ll go blind
Complaining that you’re tired
Before resting in a bed of gold
While just miles away
Families desperately huddle to combat the cold.
Preaching “love thy neighbor”
Claiming “kindness is free”
Yet why is that love bound inside Your gated community?
Cradled comfortably within white walls
Oblivious to outside struggle
But, of course, why waste worry on that
When you’re protected by the bubble?
DESCENT INTO DELIRIUM
SAMUEL NICOLUCCI ‘29
Bound to my bed by warden influenza, My sinuses weighed heavy upon my face; And by the same was my voice strained While my appetite did it seemingly erase
Amidst this temporal assuagement from my ailment Into the depths of sweet slumber, I drowned. The “deluge of the hippocampus” was my abode And tempestuous and boisterous were its currents
Further and further did I descend Joined by figures and shapes of remote recollection Whose appearances were akin to acquaintances Yet their grotesque mutations and bloated proportions were wholly unlike.
Then suddenly, my descent accelerated violently As if my figure were composed of ponderous plumbum; And by nature’s might in the ocean’s depth Did suffocate my ribs like a withering stem.
My senses recovered, I then discovered my prostrate self In an oaken room illuminated by lofty lamp and ghastly gloom, Which in vicious vertigo seemed to orbit and revolve Like a hurricane on the hunt and its prey was I.
Lo! In this excruciating estate I lay As shocks and shivers raced down my spine. For out of despond had dawned a colossal capon Who perforated me thrice and twenty times in sum.
Its shape I beheld in frantic flight As with each peck my form it scrutinized. Then clucked in Brutal jeer the auburn chanticleer: “Gallus est omnis divisus in partes tres.”
These words uttered, the chamber erupted in sudden conflagration, As its walls contracted in continual progression. My frame then threw off the bird, tempting a pursuit Through tortuous corridors and gradient gangways.
From fowl and flames I flew within the labyrinth, When a quivering tremor before my eyes did cleave The cauldron in which I hastened for life to abscond, Thus devouring the body into the vacuity of salubrity whence I awoke.
A EULOGY FOR PAPERBACK BOOKS
CARLEY JEAN SULLIVAN ‘31
Today we honor paperback books. Ever since 1935 we have seen your growth. You served us well, never asking more than being picked up and read every once in a while. You loved being opened on a rainy day, lightning crackling, and being perused for the first time, preferably with hot cocoa or even lemonade.
You gave us joy in our hearts, made us cry, gave us joy when we had none. When it got too sad, you gave us a choice. With the turning of each page, you asked us if we wanted to continue on with the journey or stop and cry.
You need no internet. You require no authentication. We just needed you, and a cozy place to bring joy to. You need no charging cords. No updates, or bugs. But still, you perished by screens and online book apps. May you rest in peace, until we realize how empty we are without you.
TAYLOR PETRO ‘27
THE DEEPER MEANING
LUKE STRANAK ‘27
The dictionary will tell you: love is a noun, a complicated thing, but it will not describe how love feels, like a flame in your chest, flickering with both warmth and wildfire, or how it attaches to you like the smell of rain, soaking into your skin until it is part of you.
Joy, they will say, is brief, but they will not tell you it is the sun after a storm, lighting up everything you did not see. It is a quick moment, yet it stays with you, like the scent of spring filling the air, turning the world into something new.
Fear is only an instinct, they say, but it is cold as steel, a shadow that twists through your bones, leaving you empty, a shell of what you were.
Home, they say, is a place, but they do not describe the way the floorboards sing, or how the light paints the walls with warmth, how it smells like wood, smoke, and cinnamon.
Time, they call it the progress of moments, but they will not tell you how it slips away, how it moves through your fingers like water, impossible to hold.
The dictionary gives words, but not how they bloom in the heart, roots growing deep, becoming a part of who we are.
THE FEELING OF LOSS
CODY WHITEHURST ‘27
Nothing can compare, To something so bare, Which is to say the feeling of a loss.
All the great times, They were so sublime, And the strange and funny memories, Always loving those enemies.
The days feel dim where you once stood, a shadow where your bright life should, You never failed to make me laugh, You were my golden calf.
And your bright, lively ways, Which never failed to pay, A smile to my face, Every single day.
Even when our relationships were strained, You didn’t show up in vain, Yet brought me in with loving arms, And brought me absolutely no harm.
But no pain in this world can compare, To a feeling so bare, That is a feeling of a loss.
DREW JOHNSON ‘29
MIRRORS
HAYLEE GOITIA ‘26
Tell me, what do you see when you look at me?
Maybe a girl that’s not half bad, or maybe one that is; one who cares too much, or maybe not enough; one who’s quiet and shy, or loud and rude; one who stays neutral, or can’t help but pry; one who says what she means, or doesn’t keep her word. I can’t help but wonder: what do you see when you look at me?
I only see her in the mirror, but what I see is peculiar. I don’t see a girl at all; it only reflects an empty wall. It reflects everyone who passes and all they have endured; It’s far too fragile for its kindit shatters when you yell. The mirror doesn’t see herself, doesn’t know where she belongs. So there it stays, lying in wait until someone comes along, and only then can I tell you what I see in myself. But please, tell me, now I must know; what do you see when you look at me?
MY PARADOX
MCKENNA WATKINS ‘26
Time is a gift. Time heals. Time gives. Time is precious.
Who said? Seems like everyone... Is it just me that feels different? Am I the only one undone?
A year, feeling not so near. Drifting from the moment, always stressed.
I want to love, I want to give back. So consumed in gripping sand
Time is selfish
Taking my moments, rushing my rest, carrying off what’s left.
I wish that Time would slow down. I’ve learned to cherish every moment because moments don’t slow down to please the heart that’s what makes it hard.
Once the anger dies down, there rests compassion for Time. It makes everyone ache. But, maybe it’s special simply because it takes.
HOW TO GET OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING
ANNA CAROLINE HENRY ‘27
I know it’s cold, I know you’re tired, And yes, I know you don’t want to. But you have to wake up, get out of bed, You have things to do, remember?
Fall in love with someone, Who treats you with gentle respect. Find out if Ross and Rachel end up together, or if their relationship is forever wrecked.
Decorate your Christmas tree, Feel the warmth, smell sugar and spice. Receive a standing ovation, Beneath the bright lights.
Smell a fresh bouquet of roses, Dance like no one is watching. Hear the giggle of a baby, When she sees her daddy coming.
Most importantly, listen. Your Heavenly Father is calling. The comfort of the covers cannot compete With the life He has in store for you.
A SNAPSHOT
HUTTON STRINGFELLOW ‘27
Click.
The world pauses in a blink, A second taken from the link. Time is like syrup, slow and sweet. It is secured now under our feet. Time is captured in a beautiful way, A screenshot to capture a magnificent day. The screenshot, an eye, a mysterious gaze, Turns sunlight into frozen rays. It traps the breeze, a Mom’s cheerful grin, The perfect moment, tucked within. In this flash, no time dies, Just this frame, the perfect second lies. The shadows dull, corners blur, Yet there is truth and stillness that will not buffer.
A child’s laugh, halfway through, is caught, A house that starts a new adventure is bought. The ground is still, the wind on pause, The earth’s beauty is seen and will never be lost. Click.
New memories are written in ink, To save what time may leave or sink. Magnificent teaching is captured, Like the scholars before and now what is after. But life’s a breath, a moving tide, And we just catch what won’t go by. In this paused time, we find the past, A cheerful scream that would not last. But through that snapshot, still we see A glimpse of what we used to be.
REMEMBERS
COOPER DENNIS ‘26
The body remembers things the mind forgets
Legs remember summer asphalt on knees
And retracing a birthmark on the ankle
Arms remember a sunburn scarred over
And the softness of a late dog’s fur after school
Lungs remember that initial inhale of sea salt humidity
As ears remember the lullaby mom would sing during restless nights
Eyes remember colorful childhood chalk staining too small t-shirts
As hair remembers the smoke of a firepit at summer camp
The brain remembers hurt feelings and miscommunication
As it does how that one song felt in the back of dad’s car going to grandmas for cookies
The body reacts and responds with no spectrum
And it’ll continue to do so when it’s covered in dirt
When it remembers the warmth from which it came from
And where it’ll return to.
ZACK HADDAD ‘28
THE COLD YOU LEFT BEHIND
SARAH MELTON ‘26
The snowflakes fluttered past my ear as you told me it wouldn’t work. I begged for one more chance, but you said it was too late, and somewhere in the distance, I heard the sirens whistle past.
The winter breeze chilled my bones, but it was from more than just cold it was the fact you left me, all alone.
The coldness of your shoulder was colder than the snow, a kind of frost no season could melt.
You left me broken, left me with only my thoughts to keep me company. I walked home that very day with the angels of snow leading the way, their quiet wings brushing the path you once walked beside me.
I really hoped we would stay, but perhaps, it’s better this way, a truth drifting down like winter’s breath, soft, inevitable, and finally still.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
MARY MARGARET DYE ‘27
Through the Looking Glass, we have always lived. As children, we pressed our faces to the glass, discovering a world brighter than the sun, a world that held its breath for us.
We leapt into Wonderland, where dreams stretched endlessly, where gardens were full of color and promise, and each tree could be a castle, each flower a friend.
We chased the White Rabbit through rose gardens, laughed over invisible cats at tea parties, built stories from the threads of our imagination, believing that anything was possible.
Our hearts rested in that glass, fragile, unshattered, whole.
Then one day, we fell.
The Rabbit Hole opened, and the world dimmed. Wonderland slipped into memory, life became colder, harder, less certain.
But even in the shadows, a piece of glass remains.
A shard of light, a whisper of what once was. Wonderland is not gone. It lives in the child we carry still, guiding us back to the Looking Glass, to the wonder that waits.
WILL ROONEY ‘29
CUPS
HENLEY JOHNSON
‘27
You can tell a lot about a person by looking at their cup.
A sippy cup, bright plastic with bite marks around the rim, Belongs to someone still learning what cannot be let to slip.
A water bottle, covered in stickers and dents, Reveals what they carry with them on their farthest journeys.
A mug, stained with tea and always warm to the touch, Marks a person who leans into comfort when the world is too much.
A wine glass, thin and fragile, raised to victories, Is a sign of one who lives life not worried about if something might break.
Each cup has a purpose, its time set in stone Look in your cabinet, see which is your own.
CHASE THAT PONYTAIL
BROOKE BROWNING ‘30
August sun presses shimmering rays down on us like a spotlight, As heat rises of the fiery red track in blurry waves.
The sound of football whistles echoes in my ears As we speed around the track.
Days after school spent circling up, We bow our heads and ask for strength. The bus is loaded with the smell of sunscreen and sweat, Legs bouncing with nerves.
We arrive at the course and the home of our rivals. Adrenaline courses through my blood like a roaring, rushing river.
The white painted grass start line Fills with vivid running shoes.
The quiet before the storm I breathe; The gun cracks like thunder through the humid air as a stampede fly past cheering parents.
Legs burning, the path stretches on forever. In the distance I hear my coach screaming “Chase that ponytail!” With fire in her voice.
Accelerating through the final push, I fly over the finish line.
I collapse onto the spiky grass; Exhaustion hits me like a tidal wave; Blue Gatorade tastes like summer rain on my parched body.
Every ounce I had, I gave. And nothing beats that feeling:
All the glory to God.
ODETTE GAUSE ‘28
EULOGY FOR A DOG
CAMPBELL LEACH ‘31
In a little brown frame, a big dog with his eyes closed Rests his head on a little lap while a girl pets his gray head. The picture sits on a simple white table. It is the last thing she sees before she goes to bed at night. That little girl is me, only four-years-old then, And the big dog is Franklin, my old dog at the end of his life. I remember that night.
Saying goodbye but not really knowing why. Why was he tired?
Why didn’t he want a treat?
A lost pup wandering the streets, My parents took one look and gave him a home. Blonde hair, huge paws, fast wagging tail. By the time I was born he had aged seven years. Crawling, walking, falling, running-he was always there. I could lean on him, solid as a rock. Why did he stop eating? Why did he not want to play?
The sunny spot in the living room reminds me of him. Snuggling in his bed, His giant body made a warm, soft pillow. A girl will never forget her first dog.
LUCY NAFUS ‘26
IF ONLY FOR A TIME
TISHA SAGE ‘95
I climbed that tree in younger days, Through knotted limbs and woven maze. My laughter tangled in the air, A crown of sunlight in my hair.
From branches high above it all, The wide world seemed so faint and small. Ten feet tall in borrowed sky, A fearless breath, and so was I.
I’d linger there in quiet thought, In leafy kingdoms no one sought, Where time was slow and worries few, And every dream I dreamed felt true.
Then down I’d scramble, light and fast, My small hands gripping bark that passed. I’d leap and race the wind’s warm rhyme, Breath beating strong in steady time.
The sun would find my upturned face, Its golden touch a soft embrace. The earth spun wide beneath my feet, The rush of life was sharp and sweet.
Now years have thinned those branches tall, And I no longer climb at all. Yet I still feel that height sublime. If only for a time.
THE SPACE YOU LEFT
LEAH TOMICHEK ‘26
I folded your name into silence, like a letter I never sent. The words we spoke still echo in the corners of rooms you left. You didn’t slam the door, you just stopped knocking. And I kept listening for footsteps that never came.
I replayed the last look, your eyes already somewhere else. I smiled like it didn’t hurt, but I knew better.
Now the mornings feel longer, coffee tastes like memory, and the sky feels a little less sure of itself.
But I’m learning to breathe without your rhythm beside mine. To walk without tracing the outline of your shadow.
You were a chapter, not the whole book. And I’m still writing, even if the ink runs slow.
