December

by Anna Pomeroy '23
Portfolio Staff


Poetry


a snowflake
photo creds: pixabay

This time of year is always a bit funny to me. 

Just when the professors think they can slip us one more assignment, 

We cram for finals. 

The days of this month that used to be spent putting up lights, listening to music on the record, and picking out the perfect tree—

Are now just mere memories and moments of nostalgia,

As we waste away in the study corner of the library. 

“The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” has become the most stressful. 

We go from writing five essays in one week to sitting in our childhood homes.

Those 12 days of Christmas are numbered by outlines and due dates. 

December slips out from beneath us and before we know it, 

We’re counting down to the New Year.

Sweetly Sour

by Sara Junkins '23
Portfolio Staff


Christmas


gingerbread men!
photo creds: pexels

Joyful carols carried by wind, crazed shoppers hunting for bargains, and cookies cut into cute snowmen, sprinkled with crushed candy cane. Christmas time again. But it wasn’t always so merry. Not for my village.

They still talk about the mysteries of Mistletoe Wood today, which looms outside our village.

The legend starts with gingerbread.

It was a crisp December afternoon, and two girls were skipping home from school. All bundled up with rosy cheeks, they looked like little dolls. They carried baskets of goodies from the bakery that bounced with each step and were about to take the shortcut, which happened to lead directly through the Mistletoe Wood.

All of a sudden, a gaunt girl, Bertha, stepped out in front of them, dressed in rags and tatters. She wore a crown made of mistletoe. She begged for food.

“All we have is gingerbread cookies,” Gertrude offered, and the girl received them with gratitude.

Millicent, being proud as ever, declared, “We paid good shillings for those. Now we need something in return.”

“I don’t have anything,” Bertha frowned.

“I see you do,” Millicent’s eyes glimmered cruelly. “That crown is beautiful. Give it to me.”

Bertha took a step back in defiance.

“Milicent, stop being so wicked. Let’s go,” Gertrude interjected and took her friend by the arm.

With fiery eyes, Milicent snatched the crown off Bertha’s head.

Bertha tried to retrieve it, but Milicent was a good foot taller and held it way above her head.

Gertrude, being small herself, couldn’t recover it either as she pleaded with her friend to give it back.

“Okay, I’ll give it back,” Milicent finally acquiesced, and added slyly, “but only if you win. I challenge you to a bake-off. Whoever makes the best gingerbread wins. Tomorrow.”

Bertha agreed and stormed away.

Gertrude once more reprimanded Milicent, who shushed her.

A roaring sound rang through the forest, as if a grumpy bear had been awakened from a deep slumber, and the girls scurried off.

Gertrude and Milicent awoke the next day to a commotion outside. Shouts of amazement. Right outside of town, stood a huge gingerbread house with candied windows, icing and gumdrops. Beside it was Bertha, eyes twinkling.

The townsfolk stared in awe.

“It’s mistletoe magic,” Bertha said coolly. “The forest heard how rude Milicent was and for the first time ever, it uprooted itself. It helped me build this just to make a point. These trees labored over this thing all night. They assembled the roof, carefully passing pieces from fellow branch to branch. And voilà. I won.”

“Not so fast.” Milicent said, refusing to lose. “It could be a trick.”

“By all means, come inside and see,” Bertha beckoned. “It’s real and fully furnished.”

Milicent trooped forward, but Gertrude whispered at her not to go.

As soon as she stepped inside, the door slammed behind her.

Milicent whirled around and tried the door, but it was sealed shut by magic.

“Hello, Milicent,” a chorus sang. The oven popped open and a band of gingerbread people hopped out. “We’d like our crown.”

At that, Milicent screamed and the door swung open. The crazed cookies chased her outside.

“Run, run, as fast as you can, you can’t outrun us, we’re the gingerbread men,” they chanted in unison.

Milicent stumbled, falling into the cool forest dirt, sullied dress. She scowled as she threw the crown down.

The cookies, who were decorated as little knights, picked it up gingerly and handed it back to Bertha, their rightful queen.

The girls eventually apologized to each other, and all was well again. Milicent learned her lesson and the gingerbread knights became small but mighty protectors. They even accompanied the girls to school.

However, the forest never quite calmed. Its anger and unrest lasted despite the amends that were made. The forest held a grudge against the humans and odd things had been happening ever since it was awakened, always around the time Bertha called it to help. Always around Christmas. We thought it was also because the forest didn’t like how its brethren evergreens were kidnapped and decorated during Christmas time. But a lot of things went missing as the forest played its tricks.

Once we got rid of the gingerbread house, which stood for years and years, Mistletoe Wood finally became still and quiet once more.

Besides, it was not good to leave an abandoned gingerbread house around. That kind of thing attracts unwanted attention. One day, a witch came across it and decided it would be a nice upgrade from the cave she’d been living in for centuries. After the witch was defeated by Hansel and Gretel, we knocked it down to prevent others from inhabiting it.

We still bake gingerbread around Christmas time years later, but we never forget the house and forest. We’re thankful now that Christmas can truly be merry and bright.

Love, Your Christmas Baby

by Meg Brodeur '24
Portfolio Co-Editor


Christmas


a christmas tree
photo creds: pexels

It is December 28, 2001.

For the past month, Grandpa’s record player has been dedicated

Almost exclusively to Nat King Cole’s Christmas album.

It has been 28 days of “The Christmas Song,” “Joy to the World,” and “O Holy Night”

But today your home rests in an unusual state of quiet.

Scraps of wrapping paper and tinsel decorate the floor.

The hardwoods feel the absence of three jovial children and one fluffy, four-legged angel.

Today, they’re down the street at Aunt Jen’s house,

Patiently waiting for the arrival of their newest family member.

Mary is ecstatic and unaware that she will be my second mother,

Katie tenderly welcomes yet another squishy-faced baby into her life,

Chris prays that I’m a boy and drops the phone dramatically

when you call to tell him that he has a third sister.

Luckily his disappointment is short-lived

And when they meet me for the first time, he becomes increasingly concerned about me,

Specifically, the “cuts” and “acne” on my face.

Newsflash, Christopher: I just exited a womb; my skin is doing its best.

Mom, despite having just given birth to your fourth child,

You let everyone pile into your hospital bed

And swaddle me in a soft purple blanket.

Dad, you’re behind the video camera,

Capturing the welcome of a very lucky Christmas baby.

Listomania

by The Cowl Editor


Christmas


Best Acts of Kindness for the Holiday Season

  • Hold the door for a fellow Friar
  • Donate old toys, books, or clothes
  • Bake cookies for your friends 
  • Pick up litter 
  • Go to your professors’ office hours
  • Buy coffee for the person behind you in line 
  • Do the dishes for your roommates 
  • Give your professor a holiday card
  • Tell your family that you love them 
  • Thank the Ray workers
  • Give your professor a good “Rate My Professor” review

Tiff and Earl

by The Cowl Editor


Christmas


Dear Tiff and Earl,

I want to give Ed Cooley a holiday present. What should I give him?

Sincerely,

Ed Cooley’s #1 Fan


Hey Ed Superfan!

I heard that a coach’s favorite present is the win he gets off the court. Show coach Cooley some holiday spirit and consider showing your Friar giving spirit by donating to a local charity or toy drive this Christmas. Use the holidays to show coach Cooley why he picked the No. 1 school, Providence College!

Show That Spirit!

Earl 

image of earl


Dear Fan,

This will be cute: roll yourself up into a little Christmas basketball and roll down right into his little office and pop out and give him a merry little Christmas scare.

Christmas cheer,

Tiff

image of tiff

A Green Sweater

by Taylor Rogers '24
Portfolio Co-Editor


Christmas


a green sweater
photo creds: pexels

I pull my knit sweater over my head, 

The soft green fabric kissing my skin,

Simultaneously tugging at my curls,

Peering over my shoulders curiously as I debate: jeans or leggings?

My sweater embraces me, 

Gently reminding me of rainy days,

Days Dad and I would sit indoors, 

Eyes eagerly scanning a puzzle as we tried to pick up the pieces,

Putting together our incomplete picture, 

One we can’t resolve no matter how hard we try.

The vivid green is equivalent to my mother’s eyes,

Eyes that always held love for me despite a tongue that failed to do the same,

Invoking matches that were burnt against cigarettes,

Igniting flames that often caused more damage when they were put out.

Tainted tear drops still stain the sweater’s inseam, 

Ensuring the memory of her is never eased,

As my first heartbreak forced me to turn to my item of comfort,

Questions and confusion being whispered into the sleeve’s arm,

As I wondered why I wasn’t good enough for love.

Perfume that fails to go away after fifty washes still makes me shiver,

As simple times with shining sunrises run through my brain, 

The beach’s natural scent a consistency,

No matter the distance I travel from her sands,

Her lands of golden seashells and mysterious pearls. 

My alarm snaps me back to reality,

So I slide on my jeans and Vans,

Which fail to offer the love of my sweater.

Yet I still wear them,

Allowing them to embrace my skin,

As I go out and make a new memory in this attire.

Rockefeller in Winter

by Caitlin Bartley '24
Portfolio Staff


Christmas


a christmas tree
photo creds: pixabay

The glow brightens the scarlet on my nose

and the burning in my chest.

It’s impossible to hide in the radiance,

Hands reaching for hands,

ungloved.

My want sticks out like a sore thumb,

Shining and blazing in the city crowds.

Even when the biting cold

of December stings my cheeks,

I can feel the warmth of New York

amongst the flickering lights.

Times Square 

by Max Gilman '25
Portfolio Co-Editor


Poetry


a blue jay
photo creds: pixabay

“Death to the sky!”

Cried ants being beaten out by human heels.

Each morning the crows wake me 

With cackling cries. I think

At least fifty flock to my room.

Spirals without direction,

Drawn in the earth,

Drawn from the ant’s mind,

Aimless spirals, because what the hell

Were we ever following?

Ants and crows don’t speak

Like humans do.

Humans and humans don’t know each other

Like crows and ants do.

I know the crows are in my head

But they still rip me 

From my bed

I wish to cry with ants tonight,

I wish I knew their burden,

I wish they knew mine.

Yellow Jacket 

by Kate Ward '23
Portfolio Co-Editor


Christmas


a bumblebee!
photo creds: pixabay

I saw you on my walk today. I was listening to some Christmas song and wishing that the drizzle was snow. You were huddled in a crescent moon on a concrete step; your antennae wilted like the flowers you flew past in favor of stinging my arm. Normally when I see you like this it is early November, not a few days after Thanksgiving. The cold seeped into your small yellow and black striped body, and you grew tired. Was the concrete a pillow in your eyes? Was it a safe resting place? Or did gravity and frigid temperatures yank you down just inches from your hive? 

You know, you stung me three times when I was in elementary school, and I hated you. I took every opportunity to step on you and the rest of your species when you were crawling around, wounded. I hated you, yet…there was a heavy sadness knowing that you wouldn’t return home. You wouldn’t continue to fly around and harass everyone on a hot summer day. I’m glad the cold is what took you away, the most natural way of doing things, rather than ripping out your insides and leaving your poison in my body. 

I hope the snowfall this season allows for more of your comrades to drift into a cold peace. I hope that people realize you take care of our environment like honey bees, you take care of pests, and you deliver karma to those who need it. I think if you hadn’t stung me, I wouldn’t be thinking about you in this way. Maybe I deserved a little karma, a little wake-up call. I think that wake-up call gave me the room to think about you now with a little more compassion, and I think that’s what I needed. I think that’s what everyone needs. Thank you.

Thank You Notes!

by The Cowl Editor


Christmas


 

hearts coming out of an envelope
photo creds: pixabay

Mom and Dad, thank you for believing in me and supporting my love for writing. I love you both so much!

Megan B.


I’m thankful for one of our lovely UG2 workers in Davis, Vita. Thank you for everything you do, your work and your kindness do not go unnoticed. 

Kate W.


To Gil Donohue, who might read this: thank you for Lessons & Carols, and for choir week in and week out. You are, as they say, a goat.

Fiona C.


” A huge thank you to my family – You support me in all my endeavors and are my greatest cheerleaders. I would not be where I am today without you! ” – Sara J.


To the ladies at the Ruane Starbucks, thank you for keeping me alive this semester!

Sarah K. 


Thank you Sonia for your wonderful omelets every day! You help make the start of every morning extra special.

Taylor R.


Thank you to my family and friends for always providing comfort and love. I appreciate it more than ever during the holiday season

Caitlin B. 


Class of 2023, thank you for being so great and making these four years the best! 

Anna P.


Thank you to the AMAZING Cowl editors and writers who’ve worked so hard this semester!

Sarah M. 


I have a lot of people in my life that I want to thank. Not just for being nice to me but for just being in my life. Being someone I can count on when I have no one else to turn too, people who I know will always be there for me even when others turn their backs on me. I’ve known these three idiots for almost half my life. And I’ve never been more thankful for their existence. They’ve gotten me through incredibly rough times and I can’t imagine my life without them. To my best friends in the entire world, thank you.

Connor R.