Janus, Winter 2025-2026

Janus

Williston’s Visual and Literary and Arts Magazine

Volume 76

Winter ’25 – ‘26

Editors in Chief: Addie Eakin and Zoe Simon

Faculty Advisor: Sarah Sawyer

Staff:

Lateef Aiyeyemi

Lily Andersen

Jaelyn Luo

Addison Perich

Deniza Dosmuratova

Douglas Warner

Richard Yu-Hwang

Table of Contents

Cover photo by Anonymous

“I Am Not Here For Your Comfort” by Amayaly Arias

“Ode to Boredom” by Gabe Fallone

“Winter” By Wynne Fitzgerald

Photo by Addie Eakin

“I hate winter, unless it snows” by Júlia Lloret

“How do you see yourself – prompt response” by Anonymous

“Wave Goodbye” by Addie Eakin

“What does winter mean to you? – prompt response” by Sky Cuomo

“Untitled” by Kiara Perez

“Untitled” by Jaelyn Luo

“Winter, a haiku” by Anonymous

Photo by Addie Eakin

“Monster Poem” by M. Choo

“Doges Palace,” a painting by Sylvia Lynch

I Am Not Here For Your Comfort.

By Amayaly Arias

They stumbled on the sound of me, So I trimmed my name for clarity. But let’s be honest it wasn’t me Who needed changing. It was they who couldn’t see.

Amayaly not a puzzle to decode, Not a burden, not a heavy load. But you made it so. Your mouths, your pace, Couldn’t bother with the shape of my face.

So I became Amaya. Easier, neat. A version of me built to repeat. But I am not soft clay in your hand I bend, but still, I take a stand.

Say it wrong. Trip. Learn. Try. I won’t shrink again to satisfy. This name? A map. A fire. A sea. Say it right or speak of me silently.

Ode to Boredom

By Gabe Fallone

In spare time, I don’t know what to do When I come home, I don’t know what to do When I’m done with work, I don’t know what to do So I lie on my bed and Think about something that I don’t know how to do Only then will I know what to do.

Winter

By Wynne Fitzgerald

winter to most is the lights

the snow the quiet the joy to most it’s the safety the security of the borrowing snow the first fall the first sip the first movie to most it’s the sound the sound of bells ringing the sound of music filling your ears making you warm inside the sound of laughter of family coming together for most it’s simple a season but for me, winter is the squeak the squeak of new sneakers on a polished floor the dribble of the ball on the court

the rhythm of the pass, bounce, swish

it’s the sound of victory

the feeling inside lifting you up it’s the sound of loss the quiet remorse just to get back up and try again

because you love it because you love the game winter is the game the game of basketball

I hate winter, unless it snows

By Júlia Lloret

I hate winter, unless it snows. The winter chill goes through to my bones. But when it snows the world

As the snow falls

to the ground. Without snow, the winter world is cold and dark. With the snow, the winter world has a beautiful glow.

The snow brings beauty when growing nature is off duty.

How do you see yourself?

By Anonymous

Mirrors are tough because you can never see yourself as you truly are. You are always inverted or distorted or something. Now, how else should one attempt to see themselves? One must think about more than appearance. I mean, it's cliche, but "look good, feel good" is totally valid. Appearance surely cannot show you everything, right?

What is on the inside? Sunshine and rainbows or gloom and doom? Do you see yourself as a kind person? A loving sibling and friend? An upstanding citizen?

Or do you see yourself as a waste-of-space teenage dirtbag? What makes you think those things? How can you be so sure?

I know I see myself as a stuck-up, overworked coward sometimes. And other times I see myself as a fun-loving, determined young lady. It's a fine line to walk. One moment has the power to shift my perspective on any given day. But why? I don't think other people have much power over how I see myself. Evidently, they do.

By Addie Eakin

I took her to the ocean; she didn't know how to swim. I never meant for her to drown.

What Does Winter Mean to You?

By Sky Cuomo

Winter is to me as Moonlight is to an unlit window

A hopeful one standing in the darkness

And a generous one shines its light

Snowflakes are but small frozen souls

Of kindred spirits

But eventhe kindest of spirits

If pushed too far

Can chill you to the very core

But clouds come to you

Wrapping you in layers of wisdom

Keeping you warm in the coldest nights

Sunlight is but a memory

And that memory of years past

Reminds you of warmth

Reminds you of comfort

Reminds you of who you can be Winter is

Blackened wood

Thin twigs that weave and twist

Like cobwebs in a corner a swirl of snowy wind stirs your hair

And rushes it through a phase

Of milky-white cashmere

Ancient and old

But presented anew

Gliding softly across the universe

Like water gurgling happily

As it flows over boulder and pebble alike

Sharp as an ancient weapon

Carved by rough hands of masters of the craft

An art of tracing lines

In patterns of magic

Shining in the sunlight

The crack of the ice above

The lake you have witnessed for few

But ancient is he

And wise as the stars

Old as time

To me, winter means

Warmth filling your heart

Sweet like sugar, boosting me up, up

To the icy cold stars

And snow that falls on the ground

As daintily as a prima ballerina

Slowly making her way

To the finish

When all that pain

From years of grueling practice

Begins to melt away

Into a stream of emotion

Tears from mistakes long corrected

Because healing

Is not always warm and smooth

Sometimes

It is only freezing cold

And rough all over

Scraping her skin

But slowly pulling you out of the darkness

That only the chilling moonlight can penetrate

Until the sun rises and the first flowers bloom

Winter is a limerick

Similar but

Never repetitive

And though the ice and snow

Can freeze your soul

It can also give you a fresh start

A new way of life

Wake and rest in darkness

But your soul remains illuminated

Motivated

Grateful

Like starting anew

Just like winter

Untitled

By Kiara Perez

Past the withering tree branches that claw at the sky like tired hands, past the gates of the parking lot where they try to hold me captive at this school. Past the Grinch statue placed at the corner of the street against his will, guarding a neighborhood that changes a little more each year.

Past the fire department, which is covered in so much snow that I sometimes wonder if it were to catch on fire, would the snow simply put it out? Past the festive lights that glow downtown, hanging like tiny constellations guiding people through the cold Past the mountain I have to drive over every morning, a routine climb that has become so familiar I can almost trace every curve and dip with my eyes closed.

Past the extremely slow drivers who seem determined to test my patience before the day even begins, past the homeless veteran who is always talking to someone sharing pieces of his story with anyone who'd listen at the intersection. Past the Friendly's where I spent my entire summer, eating ice cream and skateboarding without a care in the world.

Past the little brown house on the hill where I live now, the one that holds the quiet moments of my present life. Past the highway that hums right behind it like a restless river of engines and headlights. Past the Holyoke Mall where I spent my freshman year fooling around with my friends every weekend, wandering through stores we never bought anything from, convinced that the food court was the center of the universe.

Past the CVS, past the kids riding their bikes in circles on cracked pavement. Past the men sitting on the corner, nodding to everyone who passes, keeping watch over the neighborhood in their own quiet way. Past the cars blasting Spanish music, the bass thumping so loud it feels like the heartbeat of the entire street.

Past the red brick walls that once felt like the borders of my childhood universe, past the broken screen door that slammed every time someone ran outside. Past my grandma always cooking in the kitchen, her hands moving with the kind of confidence that comes from decades of feeding a family. Past my mom mopping the living room floor, determined to keep the house spotless even when chaos swirled around her. Past my dad playing PlayStation, telling my mom to stop blocking the screen as if the game depended on his survival.

Past all seven of my cousins and I running everywhere, playing hide-and-seek in every corner of the place until we knew every hiding spot by heart. Past the basement that housed a couple of my family members and also doubled as a gym, filled with mismatched weights and the faint smell of detergent and metal. That basement saw arguments, laughter, late-night talks, and the kind of memories you don't realize you're collecting until years later.

And beyond all of that beyond the noise, the smells, the clutter, the love stands a home that is no longer filled with our hectic family but now is just a distant memory. A place that shaped me and a place that still echoes inside me when I think of the word home.

By Jaelyn Luo

Winter, a haiku

By Anonymous

Wind creaks the treetops

Fractals pierce the ashen sky

Oh winter, oh mine

Monster Poem

By M. Choo

When I was a kid

I promised my parents

That there was a monster in my closet

That stole my breath and held me in place

And when they looked I promised it was under my bed that it slammed its hands on my bed frame

by Addie

Eakin

A heartbeat that drowned out words

But when they checked they promised me that there was nothing there

By Sylvia Lynch

“If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way.”

― Napoleon Hill