St. Thomas

Olivia Krempa ('24)

The crisp water, 

The memories,

The blue reflection,

The families.

The warm weather,

People carefree,

A gentle crash,

The unity.

Perry DeVitis ('23)

  I rose

with a lot of energy

and ate my favorite cereal.

It was cloudy and gray.

My day was ruined

We were supposed to go

swimming today, why does 

it have to be me?

It’s summer

It’s supposed to be nice out and sunny. 

I sat

My living room window filled with droplets.

I chose who would win the race down the hill.

It lost.

It stopped.

Tomorrow is another day.

I rose 

with a sigh

I put on my robe and sludged to the kitchen.

I listened to thuds of droplets ricochet

off the windows.

I’ve been waiting for this.

My guitar was staring at me waiting for

me to express myself.

There was part of the porch that was dry

with a curved rocking chair made of acacia.

I sat                                                                                       

Each chord filled me with inspiration.

Each wrong pluck didn’t phase me.

I won.

It stopped.

Tomorrow is another day.

Amy McHale ('26)

i think it’s weird that life is still beautiful when i’m depressed.

this morning had the “ideal walking weather”

a backdrop of alarming blue, a perfect, almost fabricated breeze, approaching me in just the right degree and direction and cooling me off without causing so much as a shiver. a breeze so calculated that strands of hair danced in its wake, each so conducive with one another, so stubborn that not one had intertwined, not one piece knotted or frizzed or out of place. it was as if their movements were rehearsed.

tonight, after rotting in unwashed bedsheets and over-worn sweats for most of the evening, 

i decided to step outside for a moment. i guess i was reminiscent of that “perfect breeze” i had felt earlier and wanted to reproduce the feeling of control it provided me.

as I stepped on to the porch, 8:34, as it was, the sun was setting. i never quite learned how to describe a sunset in words, how to define such elegance, how to place lingual limitations on a work of the divine so as to satisfy human understanding. i guess it felt like a sin, so i never did it.

i once heard a girl describe its blush hues as a piece of “bubblegum” that i “better chew on” but even this does not appease the mind in its elucidation of the heavens, the picturesque. i guess some things aren’t meant to be defined.

even now, i hear tremendous laughter from the rooms above me, jovial, musical harmonies of glee. it runs down the staircase, it floods me, it brings a certain lightness to the air, like lemon drops, like the sun, a radiance so overtaking and exciting that for a moment i forget that i am still wrapped in unwashed bedsheets and a worn out sweater. i forget that it is 10:33 and i haven’t left the bed.

i see the world around me. i see prancing dogs and blooming flowers and running rivers and all of the things that would make it to a catalog of the earth, perhaps even the postcards, if god ever started a printing press. 

i read long books and watch good movies and i listen to music at a much higher volume than is safe for my eardrums.

i see all that this life has to offer. i see its grace and indescribable wonder, but here i am, rotting in the dark, writing a piece i’ll never be brave enough to let anyone read on my phone.

i don’t know what i was supposed to expect.

that life would cease at the moment i no longer appreciated it, that my depression would cloud the entire world, and i’d return from this soiled bed to ashes, to remains of what was before i began to deteriorate.

i don’t know what i anticipated. all i know is that i am falling apart, and the world remains in tact. 

and that is, well, weird.

The

 fire starts 

from a tiny spark,

It grows and grows

 the more it's fed,

It shines bright in the dark,

And glows a burning red.

The fire      paints the sky with its trails      of smoke,

which    can be seen from miles     away,

It shoots up embers as it’s stoked,

And warms up a cold day.

Only dying when

 snuffed or starved,

When it is ignored or stamped out,

It must be fed and protected,

So that its flame never goes out

Tbilisi, Georgia

Emilie O'Connor ('24)

Emma Lahr ('26)