Jagged Love

by Connor Zimmerman on February 14, 2020


by Connor Zimmerman ’20

Is it bad that I can feel the echoes of your sorrow coming off of you, as I glide over the scars on your arm? Is it bad that I can touch your distress as my fingers run through your hair? Is it bad that I can sense your anguish pulsing through your heart as our bodies become closer? Is it bad that I taste your regret as our lips slowly meet?

You are beautiful not in spite of all this…but


You have been cut, broken, and hurt…just like I have. You have a past that makes you want to scream and run…just like I want to do. You wear your feelings, the good, bad, and everything in between…just like I do. Your edges are jagged and rough…just like mine are.

You are beautiful not in spite of all this…but because


One of your exes fell in love with another girl, and even though he was honest he split your heart into two. Another once made you feel like you were less than you truly are, and while it eventually ended, your heart broke into four pieces. The next one said that you didn’t have any love left to give, and his words smashed the pieces of your heart into eight fragments.

You are beautiful not in spite of all this…but because of


Even with everything that you have been through, you still see past my flaws. You have taught me to feel again when I did not know if that was possible. You make me smile and laugh even when I believe the world is going to end. You listen to the songs, watch the movies, and read the books I like because you want to know more about me. You still have love to give, more than anyone I know.

You are beautiful not in spite of all this but because of it.


A heart split in half with jagged edges
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

Fast Fiction: Dream First Date

by Connor Zimmerman on February 14, 2020


Love spelled out in red glittery letters
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

In six words or less write a story about your dream first date… Go!

Only us drowned in candlelight.
by Grace O’Connor ’22


A good laugh…all I need.
by Erin Venuti ’20


Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney+, and…
by Connor Zimmerman ’20


They laugh together, and she’s happy.
Clara Howard ’20


Stole my heart, then my wallet.
by Kate Ward ’23


Ends with plans for a second.
by Sarah McLaughlin ’23

Raise Your Glass

by Connor Zimmerman on February 7, 2020


by Connor Zimmerman ’20

Let’s have a drink to
This moment, hope it never ends.
It’s been forever since the last,
And it’ll be forever till the next.

Let’s have a drink to
The memories, the tears, the smiles.
It feels like we haven’t missed a step,
Despite our increasingly separate lives.

Let’s have a drink to
Our dreams that defy time
And, even though day will slowly fade into night,
They will be there to keep us company

Let’s have a drink to

People raising their champagne glass in a toast
Photo courtesy of pexels.com

It Wasn’t a Dream

by Connor Zimmerman on January 16, 2020



A silhouette of a man and a woman sitting awkwardly on a couch
Photos courtesy of unsplash.com & graphic design by Connor Zimmerman ’20

The following piece includes a discussion of sexual assault and the subsquent mental and emotional impact it may have on survivors. Discretion is advised. 

by Connor Zimmerman ’20

I stand there in the corner absorbing everything around me. The sounds, the music, and the vibrations crawl their way underneath my skin. The sweat streams down my face, as the heat dances around the room. The smell of drinks envelops me in my corner of the basement. Why did I agree to come here? I look over and see two of my friends high-fiving as they chug their drinks. Some of my other friends are yelling at each other across the pong table. I hope to God that I have some plastic bags in my car.

 As I look away from my friends, I see a girl dance her way through the crowd towards the keg. She moves and twirls through the packs of people till she is almost in front of the line. As she fills up her drink, she looks around the room. She looks over at me, and she smiles. I try to lift my head over the crowd to get a better look. Can’t see anything with the one string of Christmas lights in this basement. 

Suddenly, she is moving through the crowds towards me. I guess I’m not invisible in this corner. She comes up to me and screams over the loud music, “So what’s your deal? You’ve been here forever and haven’t gotten a drink yet.” 

It’s really annoying when everyone wants to know why you aren’t drinking. “I’m just hanging around keeping an eye on my friends.” I point them out, and she takes a look as one of them is vomiting in the corner. 

Laughing, “Well I’m sure the car ride home will be fun.” 

“I’m sure I won’t forget it. What about you?”

“I came over for another drink…and to talk to the only guy with a little mystery in this place.”

“Huh, mystery? Should I take that as a compliment or am I an experiment for your psych 101 class?”

“Only one way to find out. Let’s go upstairs into my office.” She grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd with her. She leads me up some flights of stairs, and I try to get a better look at her as we climb up the stairs. Her long dark brunette hair bouncing up and down her back makes it hard to get a good look. We come to a living room where the music’s dim echoes are somehow still alive, and the sudden lights blind me. She pushes me, and I fall backwards onto a couch as she disappears. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I should just leave. Before I can get up from the couch, she comes back into the room with a chair and puts it in front of the couch. 

“So, Doc what’s the plan here? Do you always do business where you live?”

 Without a response she dives in, “So how often do you choose to be the sober one among your friends?”

Drawn aback, I pause. “I’m not entirely sure. No one wants to be the driver, but I’m willing to take the hit.”

Leaning closer to me, “So, Mister Mystery, are you a push-over or are you afraid?” 

Her words are playful, but her eyes are harsh. With a smile I ask, “Can’t I just be a good friend?” 

She smirks and stares at me, “A good friend wouldn’t be the sober one every time, and I have a feeling you’re the usual sober one. A friend is comfortable around those he calls ‘friends,’ and isn’t afraid to speak up for himself.” 

I nod my head in frustration. “Well maybe I just don’t like drinking.”

She shakes her head and gets up from her chair. Taking a seat on the couch next to me, she says, “The way you look at everyone says otherwise. While you stand in the corner, your eyes have a flash of either annoyance or anger…How am I doing?” Inching away from her on the couch, I remain silent. Do I tell her the truth? Maybe it will just end whatever this is faster.  

With a torturous smile she asks, “A one-sided conversation is no fun, maybe we should do something else?” I should leave. I stand up and say, “I think I should go check in on my friends…they are probably fighting about whether their elbows were over the table during pong.”  

She looks at me funny. “Maybe I will make this a little clearer.” She stands up and leans closer to me. Her perfume mixed with a smell of cheap beer draws me in. Her body begins to touch mine, as she reaches her arms around me. As her hand touches my neck, my body feels like it is about to go limp. Her lips approach mine, and I lean forward to kiss her. 

Suddenly the faint music begins to grow and grow and grow until they are screaming. Images begin to flash in my head: a girl smiling at me from across the basement, her hand giving me a drink, the sun striking my face in the morning as I see my clothes by the side of the bed. I can’t breathe. I begin to pull away, as I gasp for air. I run towards the bathroom and slam the door behind me. 

I dry heave into the toilet, as tears begin to well up in my eyes. I hear a soft knock on the door. “Hey, is everything okay?” Trying to calm myself down, I move from the toilet to the sink. Splashing some water on my face, I look in the mirror and instead of my reflection I see a bed with messed up sheets and a man sitting with his head in his arms.  

The door begins to carefully open, as she peeks her head in the bathroom. “Hey, whenever you feel okay, I have a glass of water out here if you need it.” I nod my head, still staring in the mirror. She nods back and closes the door. Breathe in, breathe out. 


I come out of the bathroom and sit back down on the couch next to her. Her hand reaches out with the glass of water, but I just shake my head. 

“So, was my breath that bad?” She asks with a smile. 

Staring at the wall ahead, “No, it wasn’t that.”

“First time?”



Looking at her, “Is this some sort of damn game to you?”

She looks down at the floor, “No. I’m sorry…I…I guess I just had a little too much to drink and….”

Silence sits in the room between us on the couch. I let it linger so that I’m not the only one that is uncomfortable in the room. Shaking my head, I say, “It happened probably close to a year ago. It was a night just like tonight: loud music, a dirty basement, cold and cheap beer. I guess it was fine until…it wasn’t. I started talking to this girl and when my cup was empty, she said she would grab me a drink. It must have happened around then, because I don’t remember much else…just flashes. It felt like a dream. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes.” 

She looks at me and then back down to the floor. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’ve known people that have been…I guess I just didn’t really know them…you know.”

“Yeah I know.”



“That’s my name.”


“I’m okay taking things slow. I know a great Chinese place in the next town over. I mean if you are free next weekend?” She asks looking at me. 

I look over at her and smile, “Yeah I would like that.” She looks different in the light…she looks real. 

Holiday Haikus

by The Cowl Editor on December 7, 2019


Girl staring up at Santa riding in the wintery night sky on his sleigh
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com


Snow twirls and dances
Lights twinkle in the night sky
Santa’s beard glows white

by Gabriela Baron ’20


Christmas: the smells of
pine trees, nativities, old
issue paper. Home.

by Clara Howard ’20


A cosmic feeling
Not gifted, but loved by all
The sense of wonder 

by Connor Zimmerman ’20


The footsteps are low
I hear him gulp down the milk
His crunching is loud!

by Sam Pellman ’20


Cozy, cuddle, warm,
Lovers snug with fire, with more
Snow and laugh harder.

by Jay Willett ’20


The elves hard at work.
Stay jolly, merry, and bright.
The toys must get done. 

by Sarah Kirchner ’21

Ghost Poems

by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2019


Ghostly figure
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

Does Fear Disappear?
By Sean Tobin ’20

Does fear disappear
If Stephen King writes it down
And Hitchcock films it?

Or does fear instead
Creep, crawl, and hide deeper down
Where you cannot reach?


The Wind
Sarah Heavren ’21

The wind whips and wails
Shaking the walls
Rattling the trees
Making leaves fall.

It groans and stings
With such distress
Like a poor soul
That’s not at rest.


Darkness Surrounds
by Grace O’Connor 22

I opened my eyes to see darkness surrounding me
I slowly stood up as my head throbbed
The room smelled musty and the darkness weighed down on me
The floor creaked below me as I cautiously took a step forward
I stopped quickly to calm my racing heart
I heard steps but could not tell from which direction
I paused, panicked and paranoid
In that moment I couldn’t breathe
It all happened in a second
Standing over me, it was the last thing I ever saw
As the true darkness swept over me


by Connor Zimmerman ’20, Elizabeth McGinn ’21, and Sarah Kirchner ’21

I looked around the corner;
Phantom eyes staring back at me.
A haunting chill went down my spine:
Frosty breath, sweaty palms, fight or flight kicking in.
Reaching out to touch the specter,
As my hand went through, my body went cold.
My hand darted back; bumps began to envelop my skin.
Vapors dissipating from where it once stood.
Fear swallows me. Suddenly, I stand alone.

Fast Fiction: What Scares You the Most?

by The Cowl Editor on November 1, 2019


A spider obscured by shadows
Photo courtesy of pexels.com

In 14 words or less “What Scares You the Most?” Go!

An email comes from the Bursar’s Office: tuition due by the first.
by Daniel Carrero ’23

The shower upstairs turns on, but I thought I was home alone…
by Sam Pellman ’20

Spider—crawls away, out of sight…lurks still in mind.
by Sarah McLaughlin ’23

To die alone and unloved.
by Elizabeth McGinn ’21

At night, you’re home alone. The power goes out. You hear a voice.
by Sarah Kirchner ’21

Neither graveyards, nor goblins, not even ghouls. Just my midterm grades from this school.
by Connor Zimmerman ’20

The Reason

by The Cowl Editor on October 3, 2019


by Connor Zimmerman ’20

A traveler without a compass.
A driver without a map.
A pilot without coordinates.
A sailor without the night stars.

My life is a journey without a destination in sight. Being pushed by a force that is beyond my control, I wonder how much longer I can go without some light. A reason that will make it all worthwhile. It is a small thing to ask for, but one that will make each step matter along the countless miles. I’m traveling in hopes of finding a reason:

A reason for why I am alive.
A reason for why I need to survive.
A reason that will give me my purpose.
A reason that will finally give me a direction.

People say it’s about the journey and not the destination, but what actually keeps us going? I envy those who can continue on traveling without knowing. They say that it is simple because they believe they are where they are meant to be. But I do not have their conviction, and I question my every move to the nth degree. I must continue moving; however, because I can hear it with every step I take… tick tock:

The sands of time are many, but every grain is insignificant.
Grain by grain, time falls swiftly and cruelly,
Doing its job without concern.
Until it buries us alive.

How many grains have I wasted? Wandering about aimlessly, I know that I am missing that for which I was created. How many lost connections, opportunities, memories have I sacrificed in my exploration? What if I have abandoned the trail that was made for me and wandered into damnation? It’s a question with no answer because I still lack the ability to truly see. I lack the ability to rid myself of these shackling thoughts and be set free. However, I will keep traveling because I know that there must be a reason:

but never knowing the destination.

Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

The Last Day on Earth

by The Cowl Editor on August 29, 2019


by Connor Zimmerman ’20

A shooting ray of sunshine runs across the pitch-black void surrounding it. The cold and lifeless void tries to smother the ray, but it continues to travel faster than anyone can comprehend. It races towards our atmosphere, hurling itself through the sky. It sees a lowly, decrepit house and finds its target. Flying towards the window, determined to penetrate past all barriers, it crashes through the window and strikes an elderly man in his face.

The elderly man wakes up in a fright. He looks over at his nightstand and sees that his alarm clock says 6:00 a.m. He slowly begins to hear the smooth jazz playing from it, as the door swings open. A sprightly man hurries in and turns the lights on. The elderly man shields his eyes, but the other one continues on with his routine. He places breakfast on the man’s nightstand, turns the alarm clock off, pulls the curtains open from the windows, and helps the elderly man sit up.

“James, today is the day.”

The sprightly man turns toward him and asks, “Master, what are you talking about? It is too soon.”

“When you have lived a life of over two hundred years, there is no such thing as ‘too soon.’ The universe sent me a message this morning as a favor for all that I have done. One day to enjoy all that I cherish.”

James nods his head and leaves the room. The elderly man eats his breakfast and slowly starts his routine. He gets out of bed, brushes his teeth, showers, and eventually gets dressed. Once he is finished, he walks into his library containing hundreds of shelves of books spiraling all around the room. They have been alive as long as or even longer than he has. He drags his finger across the spine of every book on a shelf near him. Eyes closed, he knows what he is looking for just by connecting with its inner energy. He finds the one he is looking for and picks it up off the shelf. He walks over to his chair and reads the pages and illustrations once again. Smiling, he tucks the book underneath his arm and begins to walk out of the house.

He walks down the street with no destination in mind. His senses pick up on the environment around him. The smell of the fresh-cut grass created after a long morning’s work. The screams of children playing with water guns to cool off on this hot day. The view of a young couple touring houses in the neighborhood hoping to find the one that they can call home. He senses it all and continues to walk down the street, albeit with a smile.

The elderly man continues to walk until he reaches the city. The smells, sounds, and sights all hit him at once. The smell of fresh fruit from the farmer’s market. The rhythmic sounds of an acoustic guitar street performer. The view of the skyscrapers standing proud over the people walking beneath. He notices all these wonders, yet he continues to walk. He finally reaches a park and finds a bench near a fountain under the shade of a tree whose leaves are losing their color. As he sits down, he hears the water cascading down from the top of the fountain. Drop by drop going into the pool beneath. Causing ripples to glide across the water, obscuring the coins beneath. He smiles and he waits.


A young girl walks through the park sensing all the wonders around her, and she cannot help but smile. The chirps of squirrels climbing the trees around her. The slow change of leaves from their once vibrant green to rustic orange. The laughter of friends having a picnic on the grass. Walking, she hears the distinct trickle of water that can only come from a fountain. She turns her head and begins to walk towards it. As she walks, she notices something shiny on the ground. She looks down and sees that it is a penny. Smiling, she picks it up and goes up to the fountain. She closes her eyes and whispers a wish. Tossing the coin into the water, she sheds a tear hoping that her wish will come true.

“You know if you say the wish it does not come true.” 

Startled, the girl turns around and sees an old man.

“Where did you come from?”

“I have been here for quite a while, waiting for someone to notice me.”

“What do you mean, notice you? This park is always packed on the weekends.”

“It takes a very special person to notice me.” He then extends his hand holding a book towards her. She looks at him, and he nods his head. She takes the book from him and instantly she can sense everything. She can see the water evaporating from the fountain on the hot day. She can feel the sweat forming underneath her own skin. She can hear the beat of the man’s heart in front of her. She drops the book and her senses go numb.

She fumbles for her words, but manages to rapidly ask, “What was that? What happened? What did you do to me?”

“I did nothing, child. You have a great power inside of you. You are connected to the universe like I am. It sent me here to tell you this and start you on your path. That book is only the beginning of a great journey…if you have the courage to take the first step.”

“What do you mean power? I am just a kid. My parents won’t even let me stay up past 10:00 p.m.”

“What did you wish for child?”

“I thought you said…”

“What did you wish for?”

“I wished that I could save my mom from dying…she has cancer.” 

“The power that you have is meant to be used to preserve life. To fight for it against that which will harm it.” The elderly man stands up and mutters something under his breath. Suddenly the rustic orange leaves of the tree above him slowly change into their once vibrant green color. The young girl steps back in astonishment, but she feels something wet dripping above her. She turns around and falls backwards as she looks at the water suspended above in the shape of a hand waving at her. “You see child, when you are connected to the universe, it allows you a power that few can challenge. It is your destiny to fight for it like I have.”

She looks towards the old man and stutters, “But how will I know what is right?”

“With time and error. But listen to the universe and you will never stray far from the path.”

The elderly man begins to walk away from the girl. She shouts, “Wait! Please don’t go, I have so many more questions.” The elderly man begins to fade away and the young girl finds herself shouting at nothing but the air. She looks at her side and finds the book by her feet. She picks it up and looks through the pages and illustrations. She tucks the book underneath her arm and begins to head back home. She senses it all and continues to walk with a smile.


The elderly man returns to his small decrepit house. As he opens the door, he finds James walking in a nervous pace. James races to hug him and says, “Where have you been? There is not much time left.”

The elderly man smiles and says, “The universe gives us all the time that we need. It allowed me to find its new champion and to enjoy my last day on this planet by sensing all its wonders one last time.”

Hands holding a book
Photo courtesy of www.pexels.com

Mind is a Fog

by The Cowl Editor on March 21, 2019


by Connor Zimmerman ’20

Pills and a needle
Photo courtesy of Pexels.com

My words:
I stumble,
I fumble,
I want to crumble.

My emotions:
I am dumb,
I am glum,
I want to be numb.

My senses:
I do not feel whole,
I cannot feel my soul,
I’ve given up control.

My mind:
Is a branch drowning in a bog,
Is gears that are clogged,
Is lost in a fog.

All because of a pill…what have I done?