Confiscated Dreams

by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019

Portfolio

The stars lighting up the bright blue and purple night sky — Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

by Jessica Polanco ’20

Laying down and looking at the stars. This was all they dreamt about. The feeling of the prickly grass on the back of their heads and chatting about their dreams. They created plans that night about how to bring all of their ideas into fruition. They traced the sky with the blueprint of their dreams, how it will begin, and how they dreamt it’ll end. And they smiled and giggled through it all. At one moment they traced each other’s faces, while staring into each other’s eyes. They didn’t want the moment to absorb all of their love so it didn’t last that long. No one could match the frequency felt between their hearts that night, not even the stars above them. They missed each other, terribly. Two and a half years of talking through a glass, begging to be touched by one another. They couldn’t hold on to each other and so they held on to the hope that drew the line in front of them. After two and a half years, they ended up here. In the biggest park in their city, they begged whoever was above them to not confiscate the night because the morning promised pain. The morning hadn’t come yet but it was already dressed like a thief, ready to take him away like he didn’t belong to what God had promised him, which was life.

The next morning, they found each other, at the steps of a dark prison. The building was probably built by innocent souls who had no intentions of swallowing the innocence of a soul. But here they were, kissing each other goodbye. Promising each other it’ll end soon. Ignoring the fact that it was only true in the next life time.

Layered White Bricks

by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019

Portfolio

by Jessica Polanco ’20

I haven’t spoken to him in years but he called me over the other day. I had the time so I flew in. As I arrive at his house, I realize a piece of his land has been swallowed by a big square that resembles a foundation. “Can you guess what I’m building, chiquita?” I turn around and look at him with my eyes wide open, waiting for him to answer. “A home, I’m building a home.” The foundation that sits on his field of land reflects a strong base, something that could have taken some time to perfect. “How long have you been working on it?” He says three years, just on the foundation. I ask him, “Is it possible to build a home all by yourself?” Jokingly, he says, “Only if his name is Sebastian Manuel De Leon,” pointing to himself and smiling as if it is far from a joke and the person he is pointing to has something to prove.

Ahead of us stands nothing but his dream. Growing up it was all that he talked about. His vision of returning to his homeland, La Republica Dominicana, and building una casa para su familia. I remember seeing his lips curl and his eyes twinkle every time he expressed his desire. I see that same smile today as Papi and I face everything he has worked for. He explains that it will take him only a couple more years to build the rest. El baño, la cocina, la sala, a couple cuartos for all of us. “Like five more years mi niña and it’ll be all built,” he touches my nose, smiles, and says, “And your room is going to be the first room we furnish.” I laugh with hope and ask him, “How about all of las tormentas, los huracánes y los vientos fuertes de la noche. Would it stand to protect us from all of that?” Without turning his body towards me and standing with his arms crossed, he gives me a stare and confesses, “Only time will tell.”

Fresh Out of the Bronx

by The Cowl Editor on April 11, 2019

Portfolio

A rack of fashionable shoes — Photo courtesy of pexels.com

by Jessica Polanco ’20

Fashion is life, even when you are stuck in an elevator with a stranger. The fit must be trendy and outrageous even if the person next to you is wearing something basic. From head to toe it needs to be fire, nothing influenced by the President of the United States because, let’s be honest, his style is wack. “Style is a combination of your personality and who you are. If your outfit isn’t complimenting you, then what are you doing?”

Marienny says her ideal outfit is driven by her mood. She definitely knows that if someone comes to save her and that stranger from the elevator someday, she has to be wearing something comfortable. Maybe something from Kim Kardashian’s comfy wardrobe or straight out of Kanye West’s fashion line.

When she welcomed me into her room, I noticed the all-white FILA Disruptor Two’s that carried her. Complimented by an over-sized navy hoodie, gray striped leggings, and, of course, the hoop earrings. Hoop earrings and over-sized hoodies are part of the starter pack if you’re trying to fit in in the Bronx. The Bronx city influences her personal style, and she also believes that it has impacted the wardrobe of many teenagers of color across the world. Although she is a Bronx native, she currently resides in Fairfield, Connecticut where fashion isn’t taken too seriously. She confesses she’s been bullied into thinking her style was ugly because one day she showed up to her high school rocking the same FILA sneakers she is wearing right now, and her friends did not approve. Given that none of her friends, or the preppy white students from her school know anything about wardrobe styling, she saw this as an opportunity to set a trend. About three weeks after she made her mark with her sneakers, she was walking down the school’s hallway and couldn’t help but notice FILAs everywhere she turned. She grew bored of them because looking like everyone around her was a big NO in her fashion world; however, her next trend was still complimented by some sneakers because if she had to live with just one style of shoe for the rest of her life, it would be sneakers. “A girl gotta be comfortable,” she jokes while her tiny, innocent eyes squint.

Representing the shade of most lilac flowers, her walls painted light purple made her vision board pop above her twin bed. I couldn’t help but notice cut outs of the top fashion school in New York and a couple from California. In the mix are pictures of heels, fur coats, shades, brand logos, and a couple of quotes from famous designers, especially the infamous “la vie est belle.” The color compliments who she is, she claims her mother chose the purple but she then confesses that she loves it.

Besides the Bronx, Erica, her mom, has had a huge impact on her wardrobe. They grew up in the Bronx, but obviously Erica has been around longer which gives her permission to pass down some ancient fashion tips. Including the head-high-and-legs-crossed classiness that they both carry. At the dinner table, I couldn’t help but notice that they both held their pinkies up and wiped their mouth after every bite. Meanwhile, Marienny shares that after her, Erica is the only one who knows how to dress at the house. She cringed when I asked what she thinks of her roommate’s styles.

“Today I woke up feeling shitty,” Marienny says. “That’s why I threw on this big hoodie and sneakers. My outfit doesn’t just reflect who I am but it also shows the world how I’m feeling that day. Don’t get me wrong though, you always gotta spice it up. That’s when you throw on the hoops.” She wraps up her statement with a wink, a huge smile and a shrug. Expression is key, and it allows Marienny into people’s worlds.

She is always interested in your personality; good humor goes a long, long way. But if your shoes throw off your fit, she is going to question you. Like, who is this person and why am I associating myself with them? If your outfit is off, then chances are so are you. These are things she’ll think to herself, but her big heart will never allow her to say them out loud. “You are buggin’. I would never hurt anyone’s feelings. I believe everyone has their own style. Some more than others and definitely different from mine.” And it’s true. I have been waiting for her to comment on my wack outfit. I had on some light jeans, a big white tee, and orange slip-ons. But to her, a person always has the opportunity to make a great outfit for any occasion. That is when she complimented my shoes, saying she loved how they made a statement which complimented my outfit. Statements are a big deal and that is what it’s like dressing up for Marienny. Although her moods direct how she will dress that day, looking good will determine how she will carry out her day. “Look good, feel good.” And if she doesn’t, it will break her day, and she will be in a crabby mood.

Listening to J. Cole and eating vanilla wafers with her pinky up, she mentions that the world wouldn’t have color without fashion. “It is a type of art, and in this world, everyone seems to be an artist because we all have to dress ourselves every morning to face the world. If we all walked in our birthday suits, we would have no influence on who we are and, most importantly, it’d be impossible to carry on other people’s styles that have inspired us. Fashion is everything. Each walking person is a statement and a walking piece of art. I am glad I have the opportunity to carry out who I am in a way the whole world can see.” Her eyes begin to water. “Fashion is life.”

Honey Waves

by The Cowl Editor on April 4, 2019

Poetry

by Jessica Polanco ’20

A woman and a man kissing with the ocean filling up their outlines — Photos courtesy of pexels.com

Our lips are the coastline
Where she is the water
And I am the sand
And naturally,
With every wave we meet

Together we feel so perfect
Marinating in each other’s touch
Nurturing each other
In a nutrient-exchanging dance
Where with every step
I fall more and more into a trance

Until the tide pulls her back
And I feel dry and alone
Ten seconds – a wait too long
But five are just enough
For me to stare at her beauty
And watch her wave to me

When the moonlight rises
And only her and I remain
She sings to me
Sings so I can feel her pain

She longs for our next embrace
Anxious for another taste

Buried inside me is her one true place
And a feeling like this
I could never replace

The Tailored Criteria

by The Cowl Editor on March 7, 2019

Portfolio

by Jessica Polanco ’20

Woman who fits all the criteria as ascribed by the checklist in her head — Photos courtesy of pixabay.com

When I walked into the building, I noticed how easy it was to just push through the doors and walk into any classroom. I wondered if the police car outside of the school was just for decoration. I do not know if it was intentional to place the Main Office on the second floor, but I guess that saves intruders from getting to the administrators quicker. That is what I felt like, an intruder. Although I blended in with the students that walked the hallway, I felt like an outsider. None of the students wondered who I was and no one approached me to ask me if I need guidance looking for the office. I guess I did not wear my heart on my sleeve that day, and my eyes were not crying for help.

As I entered into the room, the first thing I realized were the dull colored walls. The cubicle was covered in neutral colors that held less life than those at a funeral. I was the only one moving in the room; being the only unfamiliar face, and they still could not acknowledge me. There were five elderly ladies sitting behind their computers and once I greeted them, their eyes wandered to find me. “Hello, I am here to see Mr. Creel,” I let them know. Moments after signing in, they sent me away, never once looking into my eyes.

I found myself in the hallways again with the students who probably thought I was one of them. There were several students lined up outside of the principal’s office waiting to meet. It was not clear about what, but once the principal arrived, he shot them down, letting them know he was not available to meet with them at the moment. They pouted and sighed angrily. It must have been something that they were really passionate about if they reacted that way, I thought to myself. And that is when the flashbacks began. I remembered roaming the hallways during my classes senior year of high school, searching for my guidance counselor to let her know about the acceptance letters that I had received. I also remembered getting dismissed by the same person I was looking for, feeling like no one cared about my success, about everything that I had worked hard for. The betrayal that I felt that day, I found it again in these kids’ eyes. They looked at me like they were waiting for their lottery ticket out of there.

Moments after realizing Mr. Creel’s class was still in session, I was invited to wait in the guidance counselor’s office while time passed. The woman who extended the invitation resembled the ladies from the front desk. They must have certain appearance criteria that is checked off during the hiring process, I thought. I was soon distracted by the motivational quotes on the wall. The quotes were printed on copy paper, as if they were chosen specifically for those who walked through the door. I say this because one of them read, “Don’t waste your time trying to explain yourself to anyone because those who care believe you and those who don’t care already don’t believe you,” and I was soon reeled in. I could relate to this I thought, this could be some sort of motto for myself. But it also made me wonder if this is how they planned to program these kids, teaching them to not to use their voice.

As I was waiting, I overheard chatter coming from a room that was lit by a dim yellow light. Not that there was a lamp with a yellow lightbulb, but all the light protectors seemed to not have been cleaned in years. The voice was coming from a woman who fit the criteria. In a low, friendly voice, she said, “Get out of my office.” At first I thought this lady was rude for speaking to children that way until she began her conversation with the next student who stepped in. A tall, dark-skinned, teenage female was showered in motivational words. The words sounded like they were set on a tape recorder that was set to play every morning. In a very monotone expression the woman encouraged the young lady to believe in herself and to check out a summer internship that she wanted her to try out. I never heard anything come out of the young girl’s mouth which left me to wonder, the criteria used for the employment of this school was not tailored for the students. It reminded me of me when I was a senior in high school trying to find someone who actually cared about my future as much as I did.

El Refresco De Un Cariño

by The Cowl Editor on February 14, 2019

Poetry

by Jessica Polanco ’20

A pot pouring out amor — Graphic design by Connor Zimmerman ’20

To survive a little longer,
Gather all of the ingredients
That bring you life.

Set the stove at a low temperature,
Place the smallest pot above it with
A small amount of precipitation.
Once it all hydrates
Sprinkle the last bit of hope in your soul.

Next,
Invite the love of your life over and
Sprinkle the fear that whispers through his eyes
Allow the hope to burn,
Let the fear steam
Until you feel the heat
Against your skin.

Then,
Add a gallon of the treasure that finds itself locked up in your touch,
And ask your partner to pour out the last cup of passion
That he still stores in his ribs
Until it comes to a boil.

Add a pinch of the cariño that hides in the hugs,
And share a kiss before adding it into the pot.
Gather two cups,
And when you feel the steam against your heart,
Then you will know it’s time to pour it all out,
Equally amongst the uneven mugs,
And you can enjoy the warmth of the refreshment.

Maribela

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2019

Portfolio

Sophia sailing in a choppy sea at night searching for her sister Mia — Graphic design by Connor Zimmerman ’20

by Jessica Polanco ’20

This morning, the sun was selfless, too selfless and better yet, shining its rays all over our backs without our permission. Mia and I have to walk 25 miles up to the sea to get water and bring it back to our families. These are the duties that the townspeople have to do as citizens and, unfortunately, today is our turn. It is not like I would have preferred any other day to do our duties, but today is special for me. After five years, I finally raised enough money to buy myself a candle.

I am in the middle of a book called El Viaje de las Estrellas, and I am so anxious to find out what happens next and what happens after that. During the day, I work, helping Mami with the chores all around the house and by the time the day is over, the light of the sun is gone. It becomes impossible to read what the pages are saying. Now, with the candle, I can finally read at night. Maribela, from the book, just got lost in the middle of the woods near her town, and I need to know what happens to her next.

“Mia? Do you think we can run to the sea and get back as quickly as possible?” I ask.

Mia looks at me worriedly. “Of course, we can lift our feet and run with the wind that the trees provide. We can close our eyes and—snap!—we pick up the water from the sea and be right on back.” Mia chuckles. “What’s wrong, Sophi?”

“I am in the middle of a book, and I just bought a candle so I can read at night.”

“You need to get your head out of those books, Soph. You get so lost in them and you forget of the world around you. Your head should be here, helping everyone out. This is your book, Soph. Your life. Those books hold nothing for you.”

“Ugh Mia, you’ll never understand. Are you ready? Let’s go.”

One more mile and the sea awaits. I can hear the tiny waves crashing against the shore. It feels cooler near the water and much more peaceful. The language of the sea has always been one of my favorites, after Spanish, of course. I once read that there are moments when it rants loudly enough to envelope the wind, leaving nothing but curiosity in the air. I warn Mia to be careful when we greet it. It sounds like it is in a good mood today, but you never know. The sea does not respect us. Nature expects us to obey whatever it throws at us. If we complain, it will only get worse with the intention of testing our obedience.

Mia sighs—we are both exhausted once we arrive. We sit on a rock by the shore and admire the view. Who knew that the sea could serve as a bed for the mountains? They look so peaceful as they lay under the sky.

Mia breaks me out of my gaze and declares that we must get to work if we want to get back to town by sun down. The barrels we carried here are about to weigh five times more than they did before, only making our journey back home harder. This is what the captain trained us for though, we can handle it. With no more barrels left to fill, Mia and I take another glance at the beautiful view. We wave goodbye with our glares. And, of course, the sea sends its warm regards. It remembers us from our last visit.

Halfway home, the crickets sing their warnings to us, letting us know that the moon is approaching. I also hear another warning and that’s when it happens. Mia’s scream takes over the whole evening. When I look back, all I can see are the barrels rolling down the hill we had just finished climbing, skipping over the branches buried under the ground. Mia is out of my sight and I run towards nowhere trying to find her. I scream her name and all I hear are the birds singing. My heart begins to beat in my throat. “Mia, please don’t lose me,” I whisper into the abyss.

I am running and searching. After what feels like a run across the globe, I find myself back with the sea. There is Mia, screaming for help, in every language she knows. Her voice begins to vanish with the waves of the sea. This is what I cautioned her about. Panic takes over my flesh; I am torn between two friends I know well. Suddenly, Maribela enters my thoughts, and I am reminded of her bravery. She has a father who showed her how to build boats when she was a little girl. Just like me. And that’s when I trust in the skills my father showed me. After years of practice, I build a boat. I sail off into the reflection of the moon on the sea, with the fret of detachment from Mia and the comfort of the waves.

Starlight

by The Cowl Editor on December 8, 2018

Christmas

by Jessica Polanco ’20

It was 4:30 in the evening and Lorrinda was relieved to go home. It was her first day at work, and she was exhausted. Despite the traffic, she got home just in time to make dinner for her family. Once she entered her home, she headed straight to the kitchen and connected her phone to the aux to play her favorite Christmas song, “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey. She pulled out the pots from under the stove and began prepping some salmon and peeling potatoes. She sang and sang while she cooked so that she forgot about how long and exhausting her first day at work was.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and Lorrinda made her way to the front door. Eli and Sophia were pulled into their home by the aroma of the food cooking. They threw their book-packs and jackets to the side and ran into the kitchen. “MOM!!! You’re cooking our favorite dish! YAY!” Their smiles spread from cheek to cheek, and the innocence in their eyes illuminated a warmth in Lorrinda’s heart. “Yes babies,” and gave them both kisses on their foreheads, “how was school?”

“Good mom, today we wrote our letters to Santa. I told him that I want the new Lego collection, and the Heelys in all black. I even promised him that I will make him cookies and milk if he comes mom!” yelled Eli.

“Yeah Mom, it was so fun. I told Santa I wanted a mermaid tale blanket in purple and the Bratz doll collection. I even prayed in my head before I signed it. I’ve been good all year so I think Santa will come Mami!” screamed Sophia.

Lorrinda laughed while she began plating the mashed potatoes. “Oh, I don’t know babies, we’ll see if Santa comes and pays us a visit this Christmas. We can definitely make him some cookies for his visit.”

“I hope so Mami, you say he will come every year but he never does!” pouted Eli.

“I think this Christmas will be a good one, don’t worry.” She said smiling, knowing that this year would be the first year she would be able to make it special for her twins.

During dinner, Joey came in. He was dressed in his construction clothes. Eli and Sophia screamed, “DAD!!!!” He tried to smile back at his family but the exhaustion was married to his facial expression. Lorrinda kissed him and mentioned that his food was in the microwave. “Thank you, my love. I’ma go shower and then come back down to join you guys.”

The Polar Express was playing on the TV once Joey came back downstairs. He grabbed his dinner and joined his family on the blanket laid on the floor. The children began to drowse off and minutes later the snores began to take control of the room. Joey finished his plate and returned to the living room floor. He tucked himself in after checking if Eli and Sophia were good, and smiled proudly. Lorrinda made sure all the Christmas lights were on. As she clicked the Christmas tree lights on, she grinned at the fact that she was finally living the holiday the same way her friends would boast about during this time of the year. She strolled to where the her family laid sound asleep. Lorrinda cuddled behind Sophia and closed her eyes and prayed to her Savior before she fell asleep.

Suddenly, a warm breeze ran through the living room and Sophia woke up crying. Her cries were accompanied by the fire alarm screaming. Joey’s eyes burst open like a dropped eggshell. He jumped up, carried Eli from the floor and yelled “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WE HAVE TO GET OUT NOW!” The fire trucks sirens were getting more and more intimate. Lorrinda finally woke up from her deep sleep, she began crying and whispered,“Why is this happening to us?” She knew she would not get an answer and picked up Sophia from the floor and ran outside. Taking a glance at everything they worked so hard to finally have, her looks kissed them warm goodbyes. Every item she glanced at formed a deeper pond of tears in her vision. It made it harder for her to see and the smoke in the house did not make it any better.

The Calderon’s finally made it outside. They stood shivering above the snow, witnessing their house get watered down, noticing everything had gone with the fire. Eli and Sophia sobbed, the innocence of their eyes left without any warning or remorse. A firefighter approached the family with a long face. “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Calderon, everything in the house is gone. You and your family are welcome to go to the Crossroads Family Shelter nearby. If you need any transportation, we will be glad to drive you.”

“Thank you,” Joey said, barely. The firefighter continued, “The only thing that survived was the starlight topper from the Christmas tree.”

A star Christmas tree topper that is melted and burnt — Graphic design courtesy of Connor Zimmerman ’20