by Caitlin Bartley '24 on October 20, 2022
Portfolio Staff

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Halloween

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Dark sweaters, messy hair,

Something odd is in the air.

Flushed cheeks, wide grins,

Goosebumps traveling up skin.

Boiling potions, brews of caffeine,

The steam leaves little to be seen.

Frantic pacing, long nights,

Someone has turned out the lights.

Wild winds, scratchy threads,

Nails painted in the deepest red,

Sweet lips, pumpkin pie,

They have fun making boys cry.

Stunning creatures, the women of fall,

Their power has nature in thrall,

Lively eyes, laughs in high pitch,

October is the season of the witch.

by Anna Pomeroy '23 on October 20, 2022
Portfolio Staff

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Halloween

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He lurks in the streets, 

Avoiding the illuminating glare of street lamps. 

Passing each house, you can feel his presence in your heartbeat. 

You fight the urge to sleep, 

Dozing in and out. You’ve tried everything to stay awake

But as your eyelids close, darkness creeps upon your pupils. 

Not summoned by the lack of light from your closed eyes, 

But a figure of darkness that lurks in your state of slumber. 

Preying on humans in their most vulnerable sleep, 

He inhabits dreams and Nightmares.

by Mariela Flores '23 on October 7, 2022
Portfolio Staff

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Poetry

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Quien soy yo, si no una flor rompida de la tierra de mi madre, de mi padre.

Who am I, if not a flower ripped from the soil of my mother, of my father.

Tierra que una vez era mía––o así dicen. Tierra de gente con piel de oro.

Land that was once mine––or so they say. The land of people with skin like gold.

Quien soy yo, si no alguien robada de algo mejor.

Who am I, if not someone robbed of something better.

Una ceremonia para el sol, una canción para la tierra, un sacrificio para un dios.

A ceremony for the sun, a song for the earth, a sacrifice for a god.

Yo no se quien soy. Yo no sé a quién fui.

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I’ve been.

Celebrando herencia con otra vida en mente.

Celebrating heritage with another life in mind.

Quiero saber––quiero conocer a mis ancestros, entender su lenguaje.

I want to know––I want to meet my ancestors; I want to understand their language.

Pero los quemaron. Ahora son polvo, hundiéndose en el fondo de nuestra historia.

But they burned them. They are now dust sinking to the bottom of our history.

Que descansen en paz. Que descansen en paz. Que descansen en paz.

May they rest in peace. May they rest in peace. May they rest in peace.

by Sara Junkins '23 on October 6, 2022
Portfolio Staff

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Poetry

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Step right up.

Which hat will you put on today?

All are made in the old-fashioned way,

An eternal quality each does hold,

Passed down from times of old.

Those who wore them

Were no different from

You or I,

So what do you say,

Do you dare try—

To don or not,

That is the question.

Ribbons of mercury dance

As imperceptible perfume

Seeping into the bonnets,

Snaking between the vibrant rows

Of peacock plumes and glitzy gauze,

Lavish lace et cher chiffon…

Shimmering.

Beguiling.

Glorious to behold

Through the hypnotic haze.

Nothing new under the moon,

Hats that will make you swoon,

Yet you should think twice,

Beware the real price…

Sold in the style of slander,

Accessorized with accusation,

Gossip guised

Behind jaw-dropping gems.

Spinning silk stories

Of artifice

Yet speaker nor subject

Receive any glory.

Destructive diadems

Demolishing identities,

Intoxicating us

With words of death.

Mad as hatters,

We pour poison

Into the porcelain

Placed around the table.

As host,

We implore

“Drink and see,”

When one inquires

“What’s the tea?”

by Connor Rohan '24 on October 6, 2022
Portfolio Staff

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Halloween

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My favorite time of the year is coming up. Finally, a chance for me to express myself and be who I want to be! The world is so beautiful around this time as well! The leaves change from green to red and orange, like the trees captured sunset in their leaves. People bundle up and decorate the world with scary things. I’m especially excited this year, since I was chosen by the great ones. I’ve always dreamed of being picked. Jealous, I’ve watched friends and family be chosen. Able to serve their purpose. Taken from our home and given a new one full of love and joy. They must love their homes so much because none that have been picked have ever come back. And why would you want to? It’s an honor to even exist around them. I can’t believe they finally chose me. I’m on my way to my new home now. When I get there, they show me around a giant room, which I soon learn is something called a kitchen. I love how gentle they are with me. It makes me feel incredibly special. I know things are going to be perfect. After a while, they leave me by myself. Probably didn’t want to overwhelm me since this is all new to me. I am tired though, so I find myself nodding off, in my new house. It is warm, full of light, and much nicer than my previous home. I wish things would stay this way.

I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I eventually woke up to the feeling of a sharp pain near the top of my head. Startled and groggy, I have no idea what is going on. I can’t see anything; it is much darker than before. I have been moved from my spot in the kitchen and now reside on some paper on the floor. I am confused and the pain won’t go away. I start to panic. I want to call for help but I don’t know if anyone can hear. That’s when I feel them…hands on my body, holding me down as the pain spreads in a circle around the top of my head. I scream in agony, but my screams fall on deaf ears. I can feel hands removing the top of my head…reaching inside me and removing my insides. Ripping out my guts and casting them aside…I am helpless as they hollow me out, each scoop causing searing agony that I can do nothing to lessen or prevent. Then the pain returns. This time on my body…They carve triangles onto me. Each movement erupts in ceaseless agony across my entire body.

Why are you doing this? What did I do wrong? Is this a punishment? I thought I was good! Please stop! PLEASE!

This is what I try to scream. I want to beg for them to stop, beg for this nightmare to be over, but my pleas are only met with the sounds of joy and laughter. The carving stops and I can feel empty spaces where my body used to be. I’m not whole anymore…Perhaps the punishment is done…but then comes the worst part: the fire. They put it inside me, resting the fire on where my insides used to be. My body burns. The pain is unbearable, it takes all I have to not pass out from it. But I am terrified that if I fall asleep again I will wake up to something even worse. I can’t take it. The pain from the fire spreads throughout my body, entering the empty spaces that are carved away, causing searing agony. It is too much, and I find myself going unconscious once again. I don’t know how long I am out this time, I want to wake up. I am having a nightmare.

That’s it! This isn’t real! I’ll open my eyes and everything will be okay!

And that’s when I feel it. Cold. Biting at the holes and the flame inside my body. Freezing the exterior of my body. I shiver and open my eyes. They cast me out of my new home. I am forced to sit at the doorway of warmth without being able to feel it. I desperately want to be back inside. I am even willing to forgive them for what they have done to me.

I’ll apologize for being bad. Please just let me back in. I forgive you for punishing me!

But they ignore me, my pleas not even reaching them. They keep me there, outside in the cold, for days…weeks…I lose track of time. As time passes, I can feel myself getting weaker. My once-hard exterior is now soft and weak. I have lost my natural color, becoming a sickly greenish brown. The searing pain I felt the first day I was chosen is long gone and replaced by emptiness. I long for the days I had the fire inside me. As much as it hurt it kept me warm.

And that’s when it happens: one of the great ones picks me up. Finally! My punishment is over! I am being allowed back inside the warmth and safety of my new home! Yet we aren’t going towards the doors to the home, but to the woods. Suddenly I feel myself being lifted into the air…then I am flying. As I fall towards the ground, I see the broken and rotten bodies of those I was jealous of previously scattered across the forest floor…I’m not jealous anymore.

by Taylor Maguire '24 on October 6, 2022
Portfolio Staff

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Creative Non-Fiction

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I woke up early to the sounds of a stranger’s snores filling the air. You could tell it was early in the morning because the birds weren’t chirping yet. Crumpled paper hearts and record covers were peppered around the walls of the room, blue LED lights lined along the ceiling and a stolen stop sign stood as a trophy by the door. I looked down to discover myself wearing a t-shirt that read “Best Ex-Boyfriend” in big chunky letters and a pair of someone’s highschool basketball sweatpants. I shimmed out of the navy blue duvet I was tucked under, climbed over overlapping limbs, and tiptoed over dreaming bodies until I reached the door. As I descended the staircase, I saw what could only be described at the Island of Misfit Toys sprawled around a fraternity living room. People slept on couches, curled up on the floor with bathroom mats acting as blankets, their arms as makeshift pillows. I noticed a coat rack full of jackets by the front door. I quickly grabbed one of those oversized shearling corduroy jackets and slung it around my shoulders, completing my treasure trove of borrowed clothing, before closing the door silently behind me. At first it’s very still and quiet, the usual weekend visitors that had once crowded the streets have now vanished into their little boxes with windows that shine inauthentic colors of yellow, pink and blue. Quietly and quickly, snow begins to wrap the streets in a blanket of white. You could believe that this specific moment in time mirrors the winter wonderland trapped inside the snow globe you had in your childhood bedroom. I watch as the wind scoops up the flickers of snow with its nurturing hands and drapes them around the sky, making them appear to be a herd of flying insects taking part in a syncranative dance above me. I walk down the six blocks alone before I manage to clamber back inside my own home. The smell of apple cinnamon welcomes me with a warm hug, as I abandon the stranger’s jacket on the little hooks stationed by our door. Ramona’s ex-boyfriend sleeps soundly on our couch, drool dripping onto our couch. I hurry up to my room, letting sleep take me again.

The laughter from my three roommates stirs me awake as they discuss the events from the night before. Ramona’s flipping pancakes when I arrive, her makeup from the night before still smudged along her eyelids.

“Joalie! You’re here. Whose clothes are those?” Eloise asks. Eloise looks like a mermaid. She has blonde wavy hair that hangs along her back like dwindling ivy that cuts off at the small of her back. She’s wearing a chunky sweater that shows a snippet of a scene from Vermont and gray sweatpants she stole from Brandy Melville when she was 15.

“They’re Doonie’s aren’t they?” Natalie asks.

“Yeah they’re Doonie’s,” I nod.

“I knew it,” Ramona calls.

“Hey Ramona, Joshua owes us a new couch. There’s a little drool splotch that still hasn’t dried,” I say.

“Wait, Joshua was here? Ramona, no!” Natalie says with dramatic disappointment.

“What happened with Doonie?” Ramona asks, avoiding the subject.

“Well, we kissed, and then I told him I had to use the bathroom, then I fell asleep in his roommate’s bed.”

“Which one?” Eloise asks. 

“Was it the dumb blonde one with the freckles? He’s cute,” Ramona says. “Oh my god did you sleep with the dumb one? I tried talking to him once but it was like the lights were on and no one was home,” Natalie says.

“God no, Doonie actually was asleep next to me.” 

“In his roommate’s room…” Natalia says with a quizzical look.

“Where’d his roommate sleep?” Ramona asks.

“Oh don’t worry, he was still in his room. He just slept on his floor, with the girl from our philosophy class cuddled up beside him actually,” I say.

“I don’t know why you are avoiding Doonie, he’s perfect for you,” Eloise says, scooting her chair closer to mine.

“He’s got the most beautiful hazel eyes, and that hair, Joalie. You could get lost in those curls,” Ramona says.

“And he loves Phoebe Bridgers. Not ironically either. I think he may even love her more than you do,” Eloise says, elbowing my ribs.

“Fuck off,” I smile.

“I am serious, Joalie. You are totally smitten with him too. Don’t even try and deny it,” Eloise says.

Ramona places a stack of pancakes in the middle of the table before she sits criss-crossed on the chair across from me. I stare past them at the snowstorm camouflaging our home in snow.

“You’re endgame. I know it,” Eloise sighs. “Now eat your pancakes,” 

by The Cowl Editor on October 6, 2022

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Features

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Dear Tiff and Earl,

This past weekend, Khalid came to PC and put on a really good show! I want to get more into his music, as I had never really listened to his stuff before the concert. Any songs you’d recommend and why?

Thank you!

Newly Converted Khlowns (this is Khalid’s fandom btw)

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Dear NCK, 

Khalid’s music is great! If you liked the music he played at the concert, I’d definitely recommend his album American Teen! There, you’ll get his classic hits like “8TEEN,” “Location,” and “Young, Dumb, and Broke!” For some slightly less mainstream music, you can check out his recently released song “Satellite,” or peep some of his unreleased music that was leaked on YouTube!

Keep Rocking!

Earl

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Dear Khlowns,

The only “pop” song I know is “Tequila.” You’ve come to the wrong place.

Cheers!

Tiff

by The Cowl Editor on October 6, 2022

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Features

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Things to hide from my parents before they visit

• My extensive stash of alcohol 
• My Urban Outfitters corset 
• My credit card statement
• My unopened textbooks
• My shot glasses
• My “White Lies” T-shirt
• My bowl
• The 100s of opened tabs on my laptop
• My significant other’s sweatshirts (they think I’m single)
• My significant other

by Max Gilman '25 on September 29, 2022
Portfolio Co-Editor

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Poetry

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Blankets of nightly aura roll through clouds like spirits,

Trembling scarecrows, inviting the unwelcome crow,

Bits of city rubble rain descend to chapels like meteors,

Terrible tales be told like spirals,

Bellowing frogs croak oil like stomach acid,

Taunting figures lurk in your mirrors,

Burning grass leads you to a path,

To bodies strewn in sickly rain mud,

But your eyes meet the stars,

Tempting your mind to wonder how many,

How many others have made it up there before you?

How many others died, gazing up at a clear night’s sky?

Just Yet, Death’s Debt

I chauffeured death to the underworld the other night,

it didn’t bother me as I thought it would,

death was gentle and loving,

holding light, fun conversation for me

as we strode deeper under the vibrant living realm,

I told him it reminded me of an old Emily Dickinson poem,

—I told him I didn’t like some of the words she used.

and I chuckled, exclaiming I’d write my own!

Death laughed with me, an arm around my shoulder,

my two hands on the reins amidst,

—is this what she felt like, riding with death?

Death’s hands were cold and long,

they almost frightened me,

but my nose was often cold,

and was always long,

so I embraced his boney hands around my soft skin,

we bore a matching ring,

—one of gold and blue embers

we didn’t go together well, Death and I,

yet here we were laughing as old friends do,

or maybe something more.

This was supposedly the last time I would ride Death home,

he promised to pick me up the next time we strode together.

—though I always trusted myself more,

when Death would stare through my eyes,

I felt a welcoming coldness,

his eyes were voided with darkness of once brilliant light.

I almost felt myself fall for him again.

almost…

finally, we arrived to the abode of death,

he twirled my hair and whispered my favorite words,

through a once xeric tongue,

“My lovely, my darling, when you sing to me, all then once wicked, turns blessed once more.”

A tune we sang in my days of withdrawal,

stop bewitching me, Death,

you beautiful, gentle soul,

don’t tempt me as you do,

with those eyes that beg to see of my passing glance—

—I love you, death, but you won’t be seeing much of me any longer.

“I’m just not ready to be with you, just yet.”

And he smiled and whispered back,

“Then we’ll meet when the time is finally right.”

The dawning of my departure slowly arrived,

as the words I claimed rang renown in my mind cage…

“…to be with you… just yet…”

as I thrusted the ring far from my placid breast,

Death collected his debt and solemnly walked on, to his residence, awaiting my fated arrival, in due time we would again embrace each other as old friends,

or something more…

by The Cowl Editor on September 29, 2022

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Features

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Worst Darty Themes 

• Groutfit
• America (during the second week of September)
• Boston Tea Darty 
• Beach 
• Denim 
• Neon 
• Tight ’n Bright 
• Blackout 
• Whiteout 
• Decades