by Elizabeth McGinn on March 18, 2021

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Creative Non-Fiction

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by Anna Pomeroy ’23

It’s quite an odd sensation—the quick plunge into the depths of the tundra water. And while I haven’t truly experienced it, I can imagine the freezing temperatures and numb chills being mistaken by the bubbles glistening across every goosebump as they stream up the surface of skin. I would never romanticize the act of drowning, but I do see it like a rollercoaster ride. The extreme panic that overtakes the body as their vision is immediately blinded by the water collapsing on top of their head is replaced in a matter of moments. Drowning, while seemingly a sufferable experience, is over in a matter of a minute. While our body endures the first few seconds of fighting for breath and attempting to reach back up for air, we become so comfortable with the body that it eventually breaks. The battle ends as the lungs allow water to invade the host. I can only imagine the grand feeling of peace that implodes in the disappointment of losing the fight. As the body sinks and darkness creeps across from the periphery, the sensation of peace overcomes it. Facing up, the body falls into the dark, undiscovered depths of the water, leaving all troubles of life left on the shore. It’s crazy how a visual based on escape strips away the glory of existence in just a matter of moments. 

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on March 4, 2021

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Creative Non-Fiction

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by Anna Pomeroy ’23

I’d dream to write of hopeless romance. You know, something that gives readers hope for love, lust, and wonder. A piece that can appropriately inhabit a colorful and eye-catching visual of a book cover, one that glistens in the glory of being put on display in the front of the bookstore. I’d wish for my writing to be a safe place, where many can use it as a comfort read, a fairytale ending. Yet, my mind can only wander to the dark, and eventually the unknown entity of death. I’m not sure why I am always fixated on death and the reality of the world we live in. In some sort, I could argue I fear death, understandably. But writing about it is not going to give me any answers. If anything, I’ll just fall deeper and deeper into the endless spiral of the black hole called overthinking. Yet, writing isn’t always motivated by a craving for answers, but merely curiosity. While I could follow suit of my poetry and view my writing in the negative aspect of swaying away from any “nice” reads, my writing may also manipulate my narrative in the bold aspect, courageous. Perhaps when I put pen to paper, I choose to unlock a deeper crevice of my brain, one that sometimes people keep shelved away in the basement, and use reading as an escape from life’s troubles. I’m a bold writer. I want to remind people of those thoughts we hope to never discover, to exist in a state of blissful ignorance. And while these truly undesirable thoughts visualized in my poetry may actually bring readers a sense of comfort, I still am the “enemy.” When I go to write, I never lead with the goal of pleasing my readers, but of helping myself visualize my thoughts. I guess it’s kind of selfish. Although my poetry may take a shot into the dark, in hopes of catching the adoration of others, it will always be the book cover collecting dust on the bookshelves in the back of the bookstore, and I am oddly okay with that.

 

by Elizabeth McGinn on February 11, 2021

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Creative Non-Fiction

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by Anna Pomeroy ’23

Valentine’s Day is kind of an odd day. You see, it’s hard to celebrate a day of being in love when you aren’t with anyone. And while the constant reminders of sappy love notes scrawled across cards and rose petals fallen behind the path of lovebirds walking becomes excessive, I can’t help but acknowledge the true meaning behind this holiday. It’s not about admitting that you are in love, but that you have the experience of love within and around your own being. Just because I am not currently with someone does not mean that I do not recognize love. I love my family, my friends—more specifically my friends’ smiles, their ability to belt out songs together in the car without judgement, their warm hugs, and how I can just give them a look across the room and we’ll burst out laughing. In terms of my family, their love shines down on me through their reassuring words. Moreover, I’ll always remember the small gestures. Like how my parents would always show up to every game of mine when I was a child—even my grandparents would somehow make it—and when they’d sit through the two-hour long dance recitals in which I was only present for a single number. These qualities stand as reminders that Valentine’s Day is not about who you are in love with, but how you express your love and experience it throughout life. Even without a significant other on this special day, the stars will still shine at night and the flowers will still bloom. The natural beauties of life will continue. Let’s not allow this day to define how someone can celebrate love entirely.

by The Cowl Editor on October 1, 2020

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Poetry

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by Anna Pomeroy ’23

Life is a piece of paper.
A single sheet––
Lost in the endless motion of pages.

It is fresh and crisp.
Yet, its once desired appearance––
Becomes indistinguishable
Over the years.

We can choose to wear
Our heart on our sleeves––
Sometimes, disguised in
Illegible scribbles.

Or
We can erase what we once knew.
We behold the power within
The eraser––
To wipe away our footprint.

We can manipulate
Our narrative.
It is up to us,
How we are perceived––
And the story we tell.

Throughout our span,
We will become worn
Through cuts and crumples.

Yet, we bear these external forces.
We grow with them––
Becoming tough.

While we may take in so much,
In the time we have––
Our lifetime is just
As delicate, paper thin.

But with our death,
We are recycled.
The impact we left on earth
Remains.
We leave behind pieces of us––
Scattered in words,
And our genetics passed along
To the next.
Because a great story
Cannot be told on just a
Single sheet of paper.