by The Cowl Editor on March 3, 2019

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Portfolio

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by Kiley McMahon ’20

The smell of alcohol lingers on his breath,
and the cup that he has just poured is caffeinated.
The two will wire him up to the greatest extent,
not that he needs to be any more excited.

My eye quivers,
it is still black and blue,
and the back of his fist,
remains of purple descent.

I have a disposable phone,
and my children,
ready to go.

He leaves for work,
drunk and caffeinated,
one final sloppy kiss,
and a grinning remark,
that I can no longer understand.

My final goodbyes,
are a blessing in disguise.
I move on my merry way,
away from black eyes,
and away from bloody,
purple fists.

 

by The Cowl Editor on March 3, 2019

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Portfolio - Poetry

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by Sarah Heavren ’21

Mashed potatoes taste better with some lumps.
Granola tastes better with a few clumps.
French fries taste better when they are crinkled.
Raisins taste better when they are wrinkled.
Potato chips taste better when they have grooves.
Sometimes chunky can taste better than smooth.
Milkshakes taste better when they are quite thick.
S’mores taste better when the marshmallow sticks.
Pizza tastes better when the cheese bubbles.
Most pies taste better when the crust crumbles.
Brownies taste better when they are gooey.
Bread tastes better when it’s warm and chewy.
Ice cream tastes better when it melts and drips.
Cream tastes better when it’s over-whipped.
Overall, the parts of life that are best
Can be imperfect or can make a mess.

by The Cowl Editor on March 3, 2019

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Portfolio

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by Erin Lucey ’20

“I will not let you down again,” I say as I hang up the phone.
But how can I know that I am the one,
Viciously destroying each and every ounce of progress,
When all I am trying to do is heal?
I hope that one day you will realize,
That nothing I’ve done was ever meant to harm you.
And when you finally see it,
Can you show me?
Guilt is a funny thing.
Just when you finally free yourself,
From its excruciating grasp,
You wind up running back,
Reaching, stretching with eager arms.

by The Cowl Editor on February 14, 2019

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Portfolio

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Love Advice Haikus

 

Flowers, lovers, greed.
Never had it but a dream.
Smoked, woked, make believe.

by Jay Willett ’20

 

If you are unsure
with what to do. Trust yourself,
And follow your heart.

by Sarah Kirchner ’21

 

Someday near or far,
I know that I will find you,
somewhere close or not.

by Kiley McMahon ’20

 

Did eyes connect? Blink.
Time, skip validation, think.
Love wields the senses.

by Sam Ward ’21

by The Cowl Editor on February 14, 2019

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Portfolio

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by Jessica Polanco ’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.

by The Cowl Editor on February 14, 2019

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Portfolio

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by Sarah Kirchner ’21

It was supposed to be a better day
A day of love and a feeling of happiness
But then he disappeared.
He left me alone for another girl.
Days were spent being each other’s.
Together we were strong, or at least I thought.
It felt like we could do anything,
Our love filled a room and made me believe.
I believed in a love that he created
With late night talks that ended with him
Holding me tight and a feeling of home.
For two years, he was my person.
He was my Valentine.
He was the world that I was living for,
And I know that wasn’t right.
I needed to live for myself
And be the better person I was before him.
This year, I’ll be my own Valentine,
And he can have her and be happy again.
He’ll be happier than he was with me,
But I’ll be happier too. I’ll be strong.
I’ll be my own, without him.

by The Cowl Editor on February 8, 2019

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Portfolio

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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

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Portfolio

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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

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Creative Non-Fiction

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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

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Portfolio

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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.