by Benedict Bergeron ’29 on March 19, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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There he lay upon the field
With shivered spear and broken shield
And armor punctured o’er his heart,
Punctured by a well placed dart.
Glamorous life, he lived it well
With wine-dark drink and revel unquelled,
And fame he won with war-worn hands,
Leading his troops across the lands.
Yes, it would approach one day:
That doom what steals his breath away.
He lay there then with that in mind:
Fate had dealt him death in kind.
But not with grudges did he die,
No tint of vengeance bleared his eye,
Nor lack of wealth to draw forth tears,
Neither sloth to shame him ‘mongst his peers.
For one lone virtue he did want
Which neither saints nor sinners vaunt.
From the blood-soaked ground to the blue above,
He said, “I wish that I had loved.”
There he lay upon the field
With shivered spear and broken shield.
From the blood-soaked ground to the azure sky,
He spoke a prayer and then did die.

by Ian Gualtiere ’27 on March 19, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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There’s a growing cloud on the other side.
It rumbles across the fence posts and barns.
Bursts of light will come down on animal hide
running away from drops, away from alarm.
For now, let’s sit and wait for daylight dark,
whistle with the winds as they blow the sheets
across the yard, where chasing dogs bark
in an oncoming storm molded by summer heat.
Chimes pick up, green trees breeze to white.
Our porch starts to creak with the new traffic
of footsteps, lamenting lost yellow kites.
Pattering rain reaps the dirt, tilling horrific
streaks of mud across the driveway.
Table lights flick on with giddy cheers,
awaiting the bleak end in a wooden hideaway.
Waiting for thunder to roll with joyful tears.

by Ian Gualtiere ’27 on February 27, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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The silence that seeps into my mind
keeps me staring, looking up into the night.
Snow lands evenly, knowing it will be kind
to the passers. Treading their steps so light.
Out here, only lampposts break the walk
across the land. Disturb the sleeping world
when harsh beams break. No animal stalks 
small their prey, icy pack, with feet unfurled.
Colder the air, warmer the thoughts that 
treat me. Dreaming of mountains draped 
across my view, God’s ordained matte;
dripping colors, dotting lines in landscape.
To where I am going, I know not where 
I journey. Into the dark, I am off the path 
which lights my way. Eyes out there 
protect me, saving me from their wrath.
Deeper into the frost, no voice can carry
what I see. Winds thrash, tug my bones
from their warm hidings. The longer I tarry,
the farther I get. Time has come to roam.

by Andrew Auclair ’29 on February 27, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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Within the white and wintry snow,
I tread along the shrouded path.
My destination is unknown,
but I hope it leads to you.
Each step I take a quarried mark
as I wage through the towered banks,
my leather boots leave a fine art—
just to be filled anew.
When it’s your turn to trek the storm,
with luck you’ll find my engraved gift.
look for the grounded snow I formed—
I pray you step there too.

by Grace Batsie ’28 on February 27, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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All Toyota Camrys are driven by teenage girls.
Girls, who can give you the definition of love by citing their best friend.
The friendship that makes them consider that soulmates are not necessarily always romantic.

These girls worship pop music played on the car’s crackly stereo system, and corner store snacks,
The same way that devout religious figures worship God.

They carry lip gloss and felt tip pens,
But forget to bring their wallets places.

These drivers feel their feelings so deeply.
Their tears melt into the fabric of the seats the same way salt off their fries does.

They can see heaven in their side mirrors.
And the meaning of it all in their glove compartment.

by Benedict Bergeron ’29 on February 12, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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My love for thee is all the stars at night,
Reflected, shining in your eyes’ pure glass.
In the dark, swirling cup I sip with delight,
There you are, but you do so much surpass,
You, like a princess over every knight.
But am I worthy to love thee so much?
No. But I love you as pauper loves might
And knows that might’s beyond his reaching touch.
My love begins with grief for your sadness
When your beauty and grace live on in such
Sorrow when they ought to live in gladness,
To be beyond this weary world’s cold clutch.
When a book is found that once was lost in th’ madness
Of busy days, I swell with glee and press
To me that tome and let the day’s badness
Be washed away in every paper tress.
My love beholds an Artist in your face
And if you weep I would hope to caress
Below your eyes and clear away that place
That your laughing beauty might be no less.
But if weeping comes and the good times erase,
I’d weep with you til the day’s most bitter end.
As the red sun sets and the light wanes apace,
I will stay with you, my heart’s dearest friend.

by Clara Johnson ’26 on February 12, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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In twisted, creaking wood I found our names
Were scrawled by mother’s hand on the door frame.

My brother’s name is scratched below my own
Though he’s become much taller as he’s grown.

And so I see her there. She’s only haze,
A momentary blip into my gaze.

She’s like the dust within striated rays,
Like flecks that dance in beams of sunny days.

The fleeting woman scrawls my name anew
At 4-foot-5, though now I’m 5-foot-2.

She gently smooths my hair and on my brow
Presses a kiss I’ve learned to live without.

The apparition moves across the room
With warmth I knew, forgotten warmth of womb.

Forever 4-foot-5 in mama’s eyes,
And never will she see us grow more wise.

And never will she see us grow more tall
And never will she see us grow at all.

by Grace Pappadellis ’29 on February 12, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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I used to walk for a long time,
before I knew of swiftness.
I was not familiar with the plan I could possess,
where these new, lithe strides could lead. 

A developed cognizance for the satisfaction,
discomfort, strenuity, contemplative hours.
I ache for the slow grind, but I move quicker than expected.
All the strain, the choice to fly instead of merely flutter,

It does me well.
I can appreciate the flap of thoughtful wings,
walking will stay in the ambit of my movement.
Nothing will exert me, like the twist of my torso, the reliant trace of my eager
bounds.

I run now because walking could never suffice,
I’ll always control this, 
the distance, my legs slicing across the pavement, scooping out my insides,
I tumble along, I trust myself wholly.

To run is to have the privilege of feeling complete,
even when you are overcome by the thrumming,
riotous uphills,
you’ll always meet the downhill, you’ll be relieved,

But you’ll trust, she’s forever there.
To run is to know the harmonious end,
singing and surging through your red-hot ears.

by Ian Gualtiere ’27 on February 5, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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May the angels light our way tonight
on such a desolate island. Where seals
swim up the harbor mouth, birds take flight,
and sheep roam in octaves on green fields.
Boats offshore watch not us, but waves
that slap their sterns in a prolonged rock.
We’re left to the hills and stones, and caves
that fall darker and deeper than the loch.
No film nor image can capture the land;
a fertile moonscape that can subtly bloom
single houses, which have sunk into sand.
Names remain only on the slabs of doom
that remind us of these nights, where cruel 
wind and water take no prayers in the rain.
Souls of our fathers hold an everlasting duel,
and our mothers hold their breaths from pain.
Sleeping a century later, this island holds
the remains of a generation that is lost.
Broken chimneys and windows have told
any passer that the sea around has a cost.

by Grace Batsie ’28 on February 5, 2026

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Portfolio - Poetry

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“I’ll text you,” you say as you leave.
But we both know you might not.

The text thread is on borrowed time,
And it may be a miracle that you showed up
in the first place.

The expiration date has passed,
But then you show up again,
And it’s like everything is new again.

So, you may or may not text me after,
But you leaving,
Means I had you in the first place.