by The Cowl Editor on February 8, 2019

---

Poetry

---

by Sarah Heavren ’21

My soul is twisted and tangled like a knot.
There are parts that hang while other parts are taut.
My emotions and feelings are a jumble.
When trying to untangle, my fingers fumble.
There is no beginning and there is no end.
It’s one giant mess that I can’t understand.
I can’t see the knot as a collective whole.
I only see each distinct fault in my soul.
I need someone’s fingers nimbler than mine
To undo my twists and straighten out my line.
Who can I trust to look beyond my tangles
And see my soul is not completely mangled?
Who will be patient enough to take the time
To work with me through this mess of mine?
Who will be willing to be gentle, not rough
When trying to work through the parts that are tough?
Who is able to see me as more than this mess,
As more than just my emotional distress?
Who will use the purest love and truth and light
To untangle the depths of my soul just right?

by The Cowl Editor on February 8, 2019

---

Poetry

---

by Grace O’Connor ’22

I woke up wishing I was still asleep
It was a cold November morning
A shiver went through my body
My Yankee blanket not even keeping me warm
I don’t have the motivation to wake up
I stare at the blue walls around me

I won’t be waiting for the last bell
I won’t be hearing the ball bouncing
I won’t feel my sweat-stained shirt stick to my skin
I won’t get to feel the excitement of scoring

Oh how much I miss this
The crowd cheering is non-existent
The buzzing of the scoreboard is not pure happiness

How could something I love seem impossible to do again
The blue and white pride seems pointless
I’m not on top anymore

I don’t want to think about basketball
My life was supposed to be a score but instead was a miss
Now I am here unable to move from my bed

by The Cowl Editor on February 8, 2019

---

Creative Non-Fiction

---

by Kiley McMahon ’20

As we continued upwards of ten thousand feet,
the vehicle’s engine roared loudly in my ears.
The GoPro stuck to his head recorded my every motion, reaction, and feeling.
My fingers turned to ice through the tips of my gloves.
Thoughts of loved ones raced through my mind.
What would happen if something went wrong?
Would my soul care for my loved ones if the worst occurred?

My future was in his hands.
Why was he being so nonchalant about the possibility of death?

As we climbed to the edge,
butterflies danced in my stomach.

As we jumped,
my thoughts escaped my mind upwards of ten thousands beats per second.
My heart raced and my palms sweated through my gloves.

I flew through the air,
just as an eagle,
searching for its prey.

As I stared in utter disbelief
at the Swiss Alps,
which I had learned about in class,
but never dreamt about flying over,
my palms sweated through my institute given gloves,
upwards of ten thousand feet.

My life is a fantasy,
and I am just living it.

Upwards of ten thousand feet.

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2019

---

Features

---

TWO WRITERS, ONE LINE: “I swore to myself that this would be the last time…

The Last One
By Erin Lucey ’20

Dan

I swore to myself that this would be the last time. But as I sift through the pile of potential suspects, I can’t help but torture myself with the thought that I must have missed something again. Okay, I thought, THIS will be the last time, and then I have to go home. Carly is probably one re-run episode away from falling asleep on the couch, trying desperately to wait up for me. I feel so guilty about how often I have been leaving her all alone with the baby. I’ve lost count of how many nights it’s been since I’ve made it home while little Troy is still awake. I had always promised myself that I wouldn’t be that type of dad, but at this point, I can only hope that my son won’t remember these days without me, and that soon I will learn to balance and separate my personal and professional lives. After we crack this case, I thought, I am never getting this involved in my work again. I am missing out on so much of my life, obsessing over the twisted acts of this anonymous criminal. By subjecting myself to this endless cycle of leads followed by deadlock, I am letting this monster steal life from me, too, though not with the same direct brutality as that used on these poor girls.

The dim light of my desk lamp begins to flicker, probably a sign that it’s time to pack up for the night. Hopeless, I am just about ready to give up. Maybe I am just too invested, but I can’t ignore the feeling that I am so close to cracking this. There must be something obvious that I am missing! Has it been right in front of me all along? This barbaric man is getting away with some of the most savage slayings I have ever seen. How could I let these innocent little girls down? As guilty as I feel for spending so much time away from my family, the guilt I feel for these young girls who have suffered, never to see their own families again, is unbearable. I can’t let this guy get away with this. With just enough incentive to look through those arbitrary clues one last time, I finally see it. Of course. It’s been right in front of me all along! I practically jump out of my seat. The killer! I know who he is!

Julie

I swore to myself that this would be the last time, but as the thrill of the enchanting power I held when taking the life of another person engulfs me again, I already know I am going to crave this feeling some more. Okay, that statement made me sound crazy. It’s not what you think. I do know that what I am doing is wrong. It’s not like I am one of those psychopaths that doesn’t feel any guilt. The truth is, I do feel really bad about it. Every day, the thought of just ending it all and turning myself in crosses my mind. But at the same time, what do I have to lose by continuing with my actions at this point? When they do catch me, I will probably already go to jail for life for what I’ve done so far, even despite my status as a minor. So why not chase the electrifying feeling all the way to the end?

I don’t quite understand how no one has even thought to question me yet. Do I really seem that innocent? Anytime I see my famous crimes on TV I completely freak out. How has no one noticed that? I always feel like I am making it so obvious! While part of me wants to just get caught and get it over with already, I can’t escape the intense desire to keep this up. How far can I go? How blind can they be? I must be really good at what I do.

 

Late Night Visits
by Sarah Kirchner ’21

I swore to myself that this would be the last time…
The last time I went into his room and
The last time I let him manipulate me with lies,
The same lies he told too many girls before me.
Those girls who I see too often and have to hide from,
Because they know just like I do.
They memorize the lies only to tell themselves
That he really means it this time.
“It’s only you.” Classic.
I swore to myself that this would be the last time,
That I left his room at 4 a.m.
And walked home alone in the dark.
The feeling of regret washing over me
But not enough to make me not go back,
Because he has a pull that I can’t quite refuse.
The way he smiles at me makes my heart beat faster,
And I never know exactly what to do.
He texts to me “u up?” and somehow
I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
He barely does a thing,
Yet he’s become my everything.
I swore to myself that this would be the last time,
And one day it will be the last time.
It terrifies me that someday
He’ll really be gone.
I’ll believe in myself instead of his lies
So that one day I will walk out that door
And never go back.

 

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2019

---

Poetry

---

by Jay Willett ’20

Red is the rising temperature when I’m alone.
Red isn’t a goodbye; it’s an awakening. When
the dust settles and clears, and the party’s
over, there’s just him.
Red is the pain I’ve come to know all too well,
with his rough edges filled with true loss.
Red is worn, engulfing me throughout my life—
the losses, the tragedies,
blinding me with sharp ruby.
Hard truth: nothing calms me at night.
As I pant in the crimson aggression that crawls
into my life, I slowly choke and sputter on the
flames of intense vermillion,
releasing all of the horror of the night into the
cinnabar day, the blazing sun.

Colors aren’t poetry. Words are.

by The Cowl Editor on February 1, 2019

---

Poetry

---

by Sam Ward ’21

I got the heaviest skull and the emptiest stomach.
No heart, all construct,
Sans act, more dumb luck. “When it’s
Time to act, will you conquer?” More
Or less a revelation from a
Cowardly lion’s conscience.

Time can heal but can’t unshoot the messages. So
Reload with blanks and try to dilute the atmosphere,
And discuss my travelling fear, like,
“Uhm, it’s not my fault they’re out here.”

And the law of motion attracts
A fickle few, destinies detract.
Ashes to ashes, to make sense of constancy.
Unpredictable futures reject the ideology.

Minimize the gravity and maximize vida
Till, mortem rifts you on the prenup.
Scrutinize the reality and actualize your vita.
Still, mortals thrift you of your freedom.

by The Cowl Editor on January 18, 2019

---

Poetry

---

by Sarah Kirchner ’21

He was filled with questions of “What if?”
Instead of “How are you?”
And so whenever I asked, “Where?”
He answered, “Why?”

Things digressed quickly.
Soon good-morning kisses switched
To low gurgling grunts.
He offered me a pat, if I was lucky enough.

Our home-cooked meals became his leftovers.
The smell of roasting coffee started to burn,
Along with the fire we once shared,
And the spark in his eye couldn’t ignite it anymore.

“How come?” I once asked.
His glare said it all. I knew to quiet down.
But then that night the car started up late,
And I prayed for him to never return.

It has been years since I heard one of his questions,
And since I made meals for two.
The indent in the bed is gone,
But I still listen for his car.

by The Cowl Editor on December 8, 2018

---

Christmas

---

by Sam Ward ’21

Though, first and fifteenth left no guarantee,
Wrapped presents with bows stuck under the tree,
But the sentiment meant so much more to me.
O holy Child of Bethlehem

More than the Xbox or bikes you bought,
The treasures would be for naught,
If it had not been for your careful thought.
Descend to us, we pray

When the snow carries the day away,
I know spirits rise from eternal decay,
A holiday mood not present yesterday.
Cast out our sin and enter in

And when tomorrow comes, hold me still,
Make sure I act with goodwill,
The change does not start on Capitol Hill.
Be born to us today.

by The Cowl Editor on November 30, 2018

---

Poetry

---

by Jessica Polanco ’20

Daddy I forgive you
Although you’ll never get to see my daughters grow
I forgive you
Daddy the worst part is that you don’t know
I wonder if you weren’t sick and didn’t do it would there be more closure
Than your rotten subconscious forcing you to turn over
My kids might never get the courage to face you
Sad that they grow up hating what ain’t you but ate you
Alive
Dammit Dad I thought you had a bit more pride
Then to let it control you to a point of no rewind
Did you plan to see me in heaven
And hated the state you were in every day Execedrin
And Lithium
So you took us with you
In search of freedom
Maybe you took us early to free us from your fate
A genetic disease you wouldn’t want us to relate
But dammit Dad now I’ll never see them grow
Never put their dresses on for their first show
Never tell them what to do when they start liking boys
Can never see them off to prom or a wedding or my grandchildren cut the white noise
I don’t wanna hear it
Rather stay here on this planet just so I could be near it
My babies’ hearts
They need their mom and you pulled us apart
You who gave me life became my exit and my start
As my soul contemplates
On how to make peace with the results
One thing they can never teach us even when we’re adults
How to cope with the results of death in any way or form
But the way we died was the worst possible storm
Far from norm
And still I try and forgive
Remembering the man you were you had so much to give
And in one instance you took it all away
Closure on a paradox the bliss went to dismay
In one day
Your life will never be judged the same
Does it matter how they judged when you did your best to stay sane
It wasn’t your fault
It wasn’t your fault
Neurons and destiny
I just wonder if you wept for me
I can’t breathe
I can’t think
Something’s pulling me up
I don’t wanna leave, try
And open my eyes but they wont blink
Is this the end
As the violin sounds
I see you and mom holding me as a baby
I was only five pounds
But you said she’ll be a trooper nothings going to hold this one back
Sad to see you were the one to erase my path

by The Cowl Editor on November 20, 2018

---

Poetry

---

by Sam Ward ’21

Restless nights bear peaceful mornings,
A break from fear via alarm bell warnings.
That’s it, rest easy. I want to take in the moment.
Slip out, brush teeth, unnoticed.

Sun dips through blinds like a golden colander
And days dawdling dimly, seconds lackluster.
But mornings like this one are so right,
Gentle, A.M. breaths, hours in sight.

Dismiss waking you, peaceful is fragile.
Lucky to be, nothing important as this,
Spellbound to dreamscape’s travel,
That I will work up a nerve and break with a kiss.

Climbing clumsily, your covers like a shadow.
Slipped instead, you’re awake.
Real mad, lets out a morning “Hello.”
I will just let the pizza box atone for my mistake.

This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.