Save your Soul

by The Cowl Editor on November 12, 2020


close view of a Cathedral
Photo by Elizabeth McGinn ’21

by Marelle Hipolito ’22

i’m no Jesus, i’m no Son of Man
i’m no Heaven, i’m no Sacrificial Lamb
i wish
i could take away all of your pains
i could wipe away all your mistakes
but no
i’m no Jesus
i can’t save your soul 

you tell me you are afraid of Hell
but your sins only hurt yourself
you tell me you wanna be good
but you don’t do what you know you should
you tell me that ‘baby, i love you’
but you hide from the Truth that
you really need Jesus
to save your soul

i know you crave purpose and you want to change
i know you are lost, please let Him give you grace
oh my love, rejoice for He is King
oh my love, please open your heart and let Him in

i’m no Jesus, i’m no Son of Man
i don’t know Heaven, i’m not the Sacrificial Lamb
and i wish i could be Anointed to be the one to save you
but i need Jesus too


Urban Legends

by The Cowl Editor on October 29, 2020


A Real Deal

By Ellie Forster ’24

“It’ll save you a fortune,” the man with different colored eyes said as he snapped his gum. She looked skeptically at the small green capsule in her palm.

“Why haven’t I heard of it before?” she asked.

“I’m glad you asked darlin’! The big oil companies don’t want you to know about these bad boys on account of how they’re gonna steal all of their business. Who would wanna pay for gas when this little pill’ll make it with nothin’ but water?”

She gave a forced smile, handed him the fifty cents, pocketed the pill, and left quickly.

When she ate dinner with her husband that night she told him about the man and his magic pill. Her husband was enthused.

“We gotta try it! You shoulda found out if we coulda invested.”

“I dunno,” she said pushing her food around her plate. “I just wanted to shut him up, it’s definitely a scam.”

“Well, let’s find out,” he said, holding out his palm.

She placed the little thing reluctantly in his hand and he dropped it in his glass. The pill fizzled and the water turned green. A sort of vapor started to come off of it and the pair slumped forward into their potatoes and chicken.

Their house was robbed that night. Every room stripped bare, their cold bodies on the floor of the dining room. Nothing concrete was caught on the cameras, just a pair of mismatched eyes under a ski-mask, winking before the footage cut out.


The Voice of the Eaton Street Bike Lane from the Great Beyond

By Sarah Heavren ’21

Traces remain
Of my short life.
Streaks of yellow
To the right. 

Few remember
And fewer care
About the bike lane
No longer there. 

Like a sad ghost
I haunt the street
Of things gone by
Not to repeat. 


The Black Angel

By Sarah Kirchner ’21

“Are we really going in?” Claire squeaked. The three of us stared at the cemetery entrance.

“It’s Halloween! We have to!” Ryan declared. Before any of us could object, he walked through the gate. I grabbed Claire’s hand and took a deep breath. There was no turning back. 

As we stepped over the threshold, chills ran down my spine. Ryan wandered ahead while Claire and I lingered at the front. Up ahead, the Black Angel loomed. The wings stretched out, threatening to consume us. Had something moved in its shadow? No. It had to be Ryan.

“Stop messing around, Ryan. You’re going to accidentally hit the angel, and it’s almost midnight.” 

“You actually believe those rumors?”

Claire and I exchanged a look. Of course we did. 

“You also believe that if I kiss her, I’ll die instantly?” I chewed on my lip. I didn’t know what to believe, but I wasn’t going to test my luck. We all knew the stories. Ryan laughed and jumped onto the base of the statue. Claire and I screamed in unison. Ryan continued to laugh and grabbed onto the angel’s waist. Before Claire and I could interject, he pressed his lips to hers. A blood-curdling scream sounded, seemingly from nowhere and everywhere at once. Ryan jumped at the cry. His balance faltered and before I could reach out, he hit the ground with a loud thump. Above him, the Black Angel darkened. There was no question what had just happened. The Black Angel had claimed another victim.

Small and Simple

By Marelle Hipolito ’22

A boy, a small, simple province boy, sold bread for his family. Up and down the highway traffic, the small, simple province boy tapped on car windows and sold bread for his family. Most times the boy received coins in exchange, other times he received remarks of dismissal. One time this boy, the small and simple province boy, received a horse. A small, simple wooden horse, stuck in gallop, bought with old bread. The boy, small and simple, hid the simple horse in his small pocket and galloped from the highway to home. In his excitement, the boy did not see the large and complex car, flying towards him, making the small and simple boy weak and weary. In his last breaths, the boy gripped the horse, wishing that he had a chance to not be so small and simple. There was a whinny and a whine. At this time, people talk about the big and polished wooden boy, who galloped out of the small and simple province. 




Miscellaneous Drawer

by The Cowl Editor on October 15, 2020


messy but cozy bedroom
Photo courtesy of

by Marelle Hipolito ’22

Wet sand on my pillow from falling asleep at the beach
Crumbs on the table from when we were too hungry to sleep
Bent bottle caps strewn to every corner of the room
Only thing missing is any trace of you   

I always thought that after London, Paris, and Rome
You would somehow find your way back home
But the only thing that has come back is the cool swift of the breeze
Rolling in waves through the curtains, singing the chimes of keys  

Months went by with no word, no call
I could no longer afford risking it all
So I stuff you in the dark of my miscellaneous drawer
Hidden between broken hearts and abandoned daughters 

And there you stayed for one thousand days
As the cabinet rotted and gave with age
In the night sorrows I dragged it to the side of the road
But with the morning light I found myself running, because I couldn’t let go 

I rummaged through my miscellaneous drawer
Passed the broken hearts and three abandoned daughters
Found you still alive with your heart softly beating
Just like that October when we fell asleep on the beach 


Forever and Everyday

by The Cowl Editor on September 17, 2020


Calendar with date of September 11th
Photo courtesy of

by Marelle Hipolito ’22

I have heard the story, almost two decades old
Where were you when it happened, who did you call?
Moment of silence every year on this day
Eight forty-six, bow your head and pray 

Gray clouds rose in the summer sky
Fire and ash took away air and sight
Darkness overwhelmed the light
Three thousand were taken, with no kiss goodbye 

I have heard the story, almost two decades old
Where were you when it happened, I ask her, Who did you call?
A moment of silence, before I hear her say:
I was there that morning. I lost everyone that day 

Gray clouds ruled the sunny sky
Fire and ash stole my lungs and sight
Darkness cast out all our light
I was not able to kiss them goodbye.  

This is my story, I’ve lived it almost two decades long
I miss them all! My loves, my lives — I will never let go
My heart breaks every moment, every year, every day
It is eight forty-six, please bow your head and pray: 

For the innocent souls, both young and old
We will never forget, we will never let go
Moments of silence, we honor and pray
Never forget September 11, forever and every day.  


Peripheral Vision

by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2020


Silhouettes of a man and a woman in front of a Window frame
Graphic design by Elizabeth McGinn ’21

by Marelle Hipolito ’22

I knock on the door, tap tap tap,
And it is opened to a glitter aura embrace.
OHMYGODHI, and I am passed into a swarm of bodies.
Excuse me, sorry there, as I navigate to the cool drift unfolding in from the window.
My head is low as my knees pull my feet up, down, up down up,
From and to the dry stick of drinks spilled on the floorboards.
The night breeze meets me, and at once
I look up and, there you are, in my peripheral vision. 

My chest freezes while surrounded by the night’s breezes,
Thump thump, thump thump thump
I can feel my heart rise to my throat, reaching to be free
An attempt at escape, much like the night’s cool breeze
To greet you a hello or meet you a stranger –
A decision as you come closer in my peripheral vision. 

“How have the months gone by, you know, without me?”
or “Hey, how you’ve been?”
I run the scenarios in my head, in my mind where you live.
I trace the domino effects, the trails of burning fire of what could be.
But either way, it always ends with you that I see. 

You see me, see you, see me.
You draw close enough,
and we both forget how to speak.
There is a pause, as we take breaths to start to speak,
and another pause as we let them out.
Has it been that long, or is our connection just that strong?  

Someone’s knee does not pull up enough from the floorboard stick,
and his cup spills onto us, ah, sorry guys.
Oh no, you’re fine.
It’s alright, you’re good.
With his lesson learned, he walks away,
now pulling his feet up, down, up down up. 

We look at each other again,
eyes overwhelmed with mutual understanding.
We feel the remnant shadows of the spill
left on our skin slowly rise,
greeting the new wave of nighttime breeze.
We both turn towards the window,
waiting to be immersed by the gentle cool air,
as we look at each other in our peripheral vision. 

wet sand is stuck in my hair

by Connor Zimmerman on January 16, 2020


by Marelle Hipolito ’22

wet sand is stuck in my hair
but I’m too busy waiting for a shooting star to get it out
“look, one just passed by!”
I turn to you and say
“love bug, did you see it?”
but your eyes are closed, you are sound asleep
it was a long day so I let you be
I keep listening to the swift ocean waves
softly crash against the land of the cape
the gentle breeze rustles through the leaves of the trees above us
and carries grains of sand onto my face
I squint so they don’t get caught in my eyes
but they make their way to tickle my ears
so I turn back into you
bury my face in your arm
and with wet sand in my hair
underneath unseen shooting stars
I fall sound asleep

Man and woman lying on the beach under the night sky
Photos courtesy of & & graphic design by Connor Zimmerman ’20

here’s to the boys

by The Cowl Editor on September 19, 2019


by Marelle Hipolito ’22

here’s to the boys
who held me up when I was falling apart
here’s to the boys
who gave me their entire heart 

here’s to the boys
who wiped away every tear
here’s to the boys
who taught me to face my fears

The ribbon for he sexual assault and prevention response
Photo courtesy of

here’s to the boys
who listened to every word
here’s to the boys
who loved me even when it hurt

here’s to the boys
who lived through my every nightmare
here’s to the boys
who to the Father offered for me ten thousand prayers

here’s to the boys
who are the quietest yet my strongest advocates
here’s to the boys
who stayed close even when 8,000 miles away 

here’s to the boys
whose hearts are treasure, rare and true
here’s to the boys
forever I will sing this ode to you

here’s to you boys
thank you for always being at my side
here’s to you boys
in the darkness, you are my light 

here’s to you boys
who exemplify what it means to be a friend
here’s to you boys
thank you for being men