While life is often measured by large achievements, significant milestones, or noteworthy events, sometimes the most poignant and meaningful experiences, realizations, or connections in life occur in much more subtle circumstances. This year, the Creative Writing Club focused on this idea and explored the ways in which the quiet moments, the easily overlooked interactions, or the unassuming spaces can actually be quite revolutionary in their own right. We took notice of the extraordinary meaning within the ordinary parts of our lives. 

As we publish our last edition of Words of a Feather, the Creative Writing Club would like to thank the Saint Joseph Prep community for being such a loving and formative presence in our day to day lives. All of the ordinary moments in class, with our teammates, on retreats, or in the hallways are individual gifts, and have accumulated to the beautiful experience and home that SJP has been for us. Saint Joseph Prep has truly been, and always will be, something extraordinary.

​When i dream, i see my father
In his home country tending to the
Cattle with family whom i’ve
Never seen before. and in his 
Eyes shines a light which i can
Only dream of, and can only hope
To witness one day
​-In my dreams

By Samantha Miguel  '26

like those ones
i want to be like the ones who recite crystals and stars;
like the ones who find themselves lying on the grass just because;
and like the ones who have scars.

i want to be like those ones who have a simple definition for a life well-lived;
like the ones who love everything that anything has to give;
and yes, like the ones who believe simply being is a gift.

and i want to be like the ones who play jazz in the mornings;
like the ones who can dance without performing;
like the ones who can sing to nobody in particular,
and like the ones who are okay with being alone.

i want to be like the ones who don’t take life too serious and can still be serious.
i want to be like the ones who talk to trees as if they too could breathe and think
(and i want to be like the ones who do believe they breathe and think).

i want to be like the ones who can rock themselves to sleep,
and brush their teeth just for the taste;
like the ones who live for gentle dusks and chocolate cakes,
and like the ones who smile hard and radiant-- dazzling.

i want to be like those ones who can dream of a place
where everything is possible and magnificent.
i want to dream like those ones
who are already there.

By Tory Pepi  '22 (alumni entry)

​I look to my mother and she looks back at me.
I look to her and think to myself she is all I will become, 
She looks to me and whispers, you are all I could have been 
     - Mother

By Samantha Miguel  '26

I fear the day where i will no longer be
My mothers little girl, and i will become the 
Young woman who she once was.
   -Womanhood

​By Samantha Miguel '26

Untitled

If I asked someone, they would tell me that I'm like a butterfly, a beautiful creature. In many ways they're right, I like being pretty, I like when people look at me and say nice things. In other ways, being a butterfly feels terrible. I'm the insect that most people use as decoration, the one that is pinned on a board for display. I'm the insect that lives for a week and then dies, that’s only there for a moment, only to leave as quick as I come. I'm the insect that brings joy to people, that is one of the wonders of the world, one of the things that people pay money to see. Artists try and fail to capture my color, the insect that some call a natural beauty. 

I want someone to call me a firefly, a beetle, a bee, an insect that’s so interesting that scientists try and fail to understand me. I want people to wonder at and adore me, I want people to see me and think “now you are beautifully scary.” I want to become a moth. A luna moth, so when people see me they gasp at my beauty. The one that makes artists want to recreate nature itself. I want to be a lighting bug, a firefly that people think of as a wonder of childhood. And once you catch me I send out my lights of love, the same lights that make signals that mean things.  Call me a bee, a clumsy little thing that most are terrified of, but once you get to know me, I'm a helper, I'm no queen only there to lay eggs. I'm a worker who will find the most beautiful flowers to pollinate, I will bring tears to so many, fear to others, and wonder so many more.  Call me a ladybug, an insect that is associated with luck, help me fly and I grant you your deepest wishes. I'll eat the insects that destroy your plants, I'll make everyone stop and stare, I'll make my presence known.  So don’t call me a butterfly, such a delicate little thing; call me a dung beetle, a rosy maple moth, a honey ant, a yellow jacket, a silkworm moth, a cricket, a grasshopper, a dragonfly. Call me something that people will shout out in fear or glee, but never a butterfly. 

​By Stellaluna Rodriguez  '24

Click the button below to read "The Yellow Door" by Ellie Mullen '25.
This piece is in the style of The Magnus Archives, a horror fiction podcast written by Jonathan Sims.

The day i find my true love will be the same
Day that I leave him. I will be rude to strangers
In public and litter in forests and I can only hope
He will as well. I hope that with all the immoral crime
We commit, it will be enough to reincarnate us as 
Birds, doves specifically. We will eat the bread 
Together and travel the world day by day and settle
Down in a nest for just the two of us without any
desires holding us back. That is true love.
       <3 

By Samantha Miguel  '26

i am writing this poem at a cafe
and deep down i am hoping
it will make me loveable.
i find that the smallest moments
are the most profound
and yet are celebrated in aftermaths
and in retrospect; rarely
are they loved
in their time.
i am trying to be weightless
and small like this cafe,
that to be honest,
i’ve forgotten the name of,
but a part of me wishes to document
rather than experience:
to make up something worthy of an ode.
i want someone to read my words,
a long time from now,
and think they are pretty
and effortless. i am focused
on what they say about me as a person.
i want to believe i am writing
for a smaller purpose,
to cherish,
but most of all, deep,
deep down,
i am hoping to be loved,
and if anything,
i am hoping that makes me honest.

By Tory Pepi  '22 (alumni entry)

Jokingly, I'm told that I cannot be pictured
In a relationship, am I unlovable?
In front of others, I act as if love is a vulgar feeling that feels like 
Poison inside myself, because I am scared of the words
That I will be told when admitting the dreams I have about the men
Who I'm told I have no future with. 
    - Untitled

​By Samantha Miguel  '26

Dancing

Dancing for me is something very special. To most people, going to a simple school dance or to a party of some kind, is like going to another socializing place or just a place to meet others. I am an introvert at the best and worst of times, so I love dancing. To me it is like a place where one can't win or lose, a place of emotion, a place where you should have at least a little bit of fun. 

I can still remember when I danced at my quince. We had practiced and practiced for months, and my feet would hurt after every single one. On that day though, I felt as if I was on a cloud when I was dancing. Especially when I was dancing with my dad. My dad who only knew how to dance Latino dances. My dad who is  a man of work and love. When we would practice, he would try his best to learn it all, from waltz, to salsa, to reggaeton. You would hear him practice his steps and sometimes I would practice alongside him. 

That night when he took me out to dance, I could already see the tears in his eyes. I could see the love he had for me. I could feel his urge to hug me and tell me that I will still be his princesa linda. Even when we messed up at the finale, I looked at him with love and he hugged me; he gave me one of his strongest hugs, the one that could crush your bones until he held your soul. 

Even if I just dance with my cousins and we crash around the place, I will still dance until my feet hurt and I have to take off my heels. 

​By Stellaluna Rodriguez  '24

In front of my friends I cannot admit to being hungry, it 
Feels like a sin to leave my mouth, as if I'm saying a 
Curse that cannot be forgiven. 
How can I be hungry with this body of mine? I cannot
Be hungry until the gap between my thighs has opened up
And something has completely flattened the stomach pudge down
To where my bare ribs can be shown and my skin tone
Has lightened to an unflattering color because of my sudden
Weight loss. Being hungry is out of the question until I get told
by someone ‘wow you look different’ and the clothes I wore in
Fifth grade are too baggy on my fifteen-year-old body. I wait for
The day where after 200 photos are taken of me, I can 
Fall in love with at least one. When my arms are small and
It is possible to put two fingers around my wrist. I want
To fit into tight dresses that shape my body without having my
Stomach poke through the tight fabric and my hip dips are
Unnoticeable. So until then, I will stay unhungry.  I’ll continue
To say I'm not a breakfast person, I will say I ate lunch, and I 
Will continue going to the bathroom after a meal out with my
Friends, and come back wiping my mouth with a new flavor of
Gum scenting my breath
   -Untitled

By Samantha Miguel  '26

how it’s supposed to be
friends, friends, my friends
whom i’ve spent my whole life loving
without knowing
and without abandon.
i had once whispered my dreams into an envelope,
sealing it with kisses and everything i had...
how surprised i was to find it here, in your palm;
the letter to no one
had been to you all along.
and here we are,
sprawled out on the floor,
laughing hysterically, sleepily...
i cannot believe the love i’m receiving,
the joy, where i stand amid it all,
and amid it all, somewhere quiet in my mind,
though loud and beating,
echos the words:

it was worth it
just to laugh like this.

By Tory Pepi  '22 (alumni entry)

Untitled 

It’s fun to be the one kid.
It’s fun being the kid that wore dresses ONLY
It’s fun being the kid that though they liked looking like a princess, they were a dirty child
It’s fun being the kid who was curious about everything
It’s fun, until that kid has to grow up

It’s that kid that wants to have Papa’s hugs because they were crushing and made you feel like you were a part of him
It’s fun playing with your best friend by watching movies and pretending that you were the characters
It’s fun until Mama tells the kid that they need to become a woman
That they aren’t a kid anymore
To grow up

It’s fun to be the one kid, that loves being a dirty child, in a beautiful dress
It’s fun to be the one kid that stands out by doing nothing at all
A sign saying “THIS IS ME” to the world
It’s fun to be the indigo kid

By Stellaluna Rodriguez  '24

irish soda bread
until plump, i soaked the raisins,
just like you always showed me.
i sifted the flour and poured
the buttermilk, silk and golden,
and i even let the fairies out.
all i want is for you to try it.

i know i love more than the taste of it:
each loaf swelled with love, like the raisins;
flour imbedded into my skin, into me,
into everything i am. i poured
and poured until the sun was golden,
because i know, i feel, time running out.

you said to me, “don’t leave me out.”
and i told you, “i wouldn’t.” i promised it.
i’m here, and will be, waiting with raisins,
telling you it’s okay to leave without me.
every moment, all your love you poured
and showered me in so i could be golden,

you made me me and you made me golden,
and i need you to know before time runs out.
it seems impossible near the end of it,
and even the greatest things reduce to raisins,
but never in spirit. i know you’re not leaving me.
it isn’t goodbye. it’s the unsaid poured.

By Tory Pepi  '22 (alumni entry)

We as a school community have all faced the challenges of returning to school full-time after the pandemic. In celebration of the reunion of our community, this publication invited students to share their creativity and thoughtful perspectives that act as a reminder of the love and acceptance that have been waiting for us at SJP. 

This publication's theme is about growing up, and simultaneously growing outwards into the world around us. Maybe the idea of growing up manifests as hope for the future and the possibilities of what could be achieved. Perhaps it’s a reflection on what has led us to this moment in our lives. Maybe it’s a specific childhood memory, or perhaps a larger commentary on what it means to grow up in today’s America.

While this theme was interpreted in multiple different ways, our students were passionate and unique in their responses, sharing insights gained from the past that then guide their steps into the future. Please enjoy our publication; it is our hope that our writing serves as a tribute to all we have endured; an honor to all who have walked with us; and a celebration of what we have yet to experience.

This theme of this edition of Words of a Feather is meant to address the various challenges, concerns, opportunities, pain, and hope that the past year has presented to our world. While the theme was inspired by the name of a Brown University multimedia project responding to the political climate this year, the SJP community expanded upon this focus area. In addition to political division, our students also considered the devastating effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, the ongoing struggle for racial justice, the alarming results of climate change, the sudden switch to a virtual world, as well as other societal and personal challenges and triumphs that we faced in 2020. The Creative Writing Club and the wider student body have demonstrated the power of giving artistic and creative voice to the individual or shared experiences and emotions of the past year and have shown, amidst the brokenness, a source of strength.

Please enjoy this publication, and our hope is that it will continue the community and nationwide conversation and consideration of our current moment in history, how we arrived here, and how we can continue to make forward progress.

The Root of Our Downfall: Ourselves 

So much destruction is going on, 
we can thank ourselves for all of it, 
the racism, pollution, climate change, and deforestation,
all traces back to us. 
Because whether we use our voice or not, 
our actions are what matter and cause violence. 

We are told to use our voices, 
whether it’s a loud, determined speech, 
or a glance of comfort to someone in distress, 
or a careless action with a great impact, 
or even a touch trying to repair something that’s broken, 
because they all matter. 
But the second we have a different opinion, 
we are told that we are vile.   

Respect would go a long way, 
from left to right,
from differences to seeing eye to eye, 
in order to really be one country 
united. 

-Angela Moreno

Frida

she looks toward yesterday,
gazing at static; windless leaves,
and what could have been.
she inhales a city life,
clouds tainted gray,
and becomes one with smoke--
free-flowing like her spirit.  

-Tory Pepi
(Based on a photo of Frida Kahlo titled ‘Frida in a White Dress’ where she is outside of her home holding a cigarette.)

The Fear of 2020

This year has been filled with the fear of the unknown.
A worldwide pandemic.
The election that separated families.
The unjust deaths of African Americans.
The uncertainty of it all has changed human lives.
This drastic change in lifestyle makes me think it will be like this forever:
the state of the country,
the separation,
the ignorance,
the death.
Will we really let fear overcome us?

-Saidah DaSilva

2020 Poem
 
In the year 2032, they’ll say 
12 years ago seemed like a real life doomsday.
I'm hoping that the future is bright and peaceful, 
Contrary to a time filled with so much evil. 
Covid-19, political unrest, wildfires, and numerous humanitarian crises, 
Everyone wishing they could go back to the nineties. 
 
Looking back at what we can’t change,
It is helpful to know we have turned to a new page.
I’m positive for a future that will be bright,
That is sure to excite.
Take this past year as a lesson not a curse, 
The only way is up, it can’t get any worse!

​-Ciara O'Connor

Fear
 
Fear is like a box 
a box we can only lock ourselves in  
where you can watch the waves approach you, but do nothing to escape them 
some nights the water will creep in making it hard to breathe
but the fear of being seen will keep you begging desperate pleas 
no one can see you in this box 
for you can’t unlock the door 
you may tell yourself you can never leave the box
but as the water gets higher and higher you’ll realize you need to escape 
the box isn’t very big, or very strong 
yet you still cannot escape it 
the box is guarded by a monster named pride 
you know to escape the box you need to let go of of what’s inside  
but the fear of having nothing left keeps you a hostage to your own mind 
the waves are getting bigger now and fear is on the front line
the water trickles into your mouth and your throat is starting to feel dry 
you can’t give your life to the box inside your mind 
as the water pools around your knees and your heart starts to speed
you finally remind yourself you’re the one with the key. 

-Charlotte Healy

Believe
​
All morning, making sense out of paper,
Turning whispers of cold uttered from the creaks of our house
To fuzzy cotton and coffee beans, I heard the silence of the snowfall
from the frosted view of my window;
A gentle dance of flutters sounding
like, Can you believe…

-Tory Pepi

Herself
​
Her body flickers like fire,
lucid like water,
free-flowing like a river
and never-ending like a dream,
a passion unmatched by valentine hearts
for She is the essence of it.
She dances for the people, 
but most importantly,
for Herself.

​-Tory Pepi

2020

I woke up and saw 
Friends marching on the street, but
What if it was me? 

Over squeaky doors
I felt mist covered the streets; 
The sky is crying.

When rainbows show up, 
Colors are different, yet 
They shine together.

-Hank Yang

The Senior British Literature classes recently finished their study of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness, with a special focus on the danger of a single story, a concept that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie explains in her famous TED Talk. In their analysis of the novel, students studied the main character's complex perspective on his experiences of imperialism in the Congo, and they discussed the limitations of offering only one viewpoint of a place, event, or group of people.

To consider this topic more deeply and exercise perspective taking, seniors were asked to choose a topic that has more than one side, or a voice that is not always heard in the dominant narrative, and explore it in a creative way. Students had the creative space to determine whether they wanted this topic to be their own story, a societal story, a story of a place, an event, or an object in their own world, or in another. This is just a small selection of the lovely work that was submitted for this assignment. Enjoy!

i
i was born in a house made of zinc behind nothing but closed doors
i was born to conquer the shores
 As i set for a life-changing voyage across the ocean with nothing but oars
i set out with fear of never returning
My head was twisting and turning
My hope for a better tomorrow is slowly burning...
i cried as my journey became more and more concerning
--
From a young age living a life of poverty, i was taught to improvise
And let the heavens above me control the night skies
i was born to nothing but hope
i asked, "would this ever end," as my past ancestors said, 
“no worries, it only looks more and more like a negative slope”
--
You were born to the Statue of Liberty 
A beacon of hope
You were born to land of the free and home of the brave
--
As my ancestors came across the shores, You said, 
“Welcome! you fit right in as a slave.”
--
i
 
-​Rafael Mejia

The Problem
There is a problem with being born in the U.S but not being white,
You’re smack in the middle, Hispanic ethnicity and all, but just not quite.
Seen as ‘una gringa’ in the family, but that Hispanic girl in your class,
Not knowing where you stand in either setting, they always contrast.  
Being first generation comes with high expectations,
Something that many might not think requires much dedication.
You’re told you can do anything you put your mind to, 
Yet something holds you back from being able to achieve your dreams through.
Constantly being told you have everything you need in life,
They don’t understand why you have trouble seeing it, it’s in plain sight.

I am aware of the opportunities I have. I am not blind,
But there are different struggles I do deal with, whether it is shown or on my mind.
Belittling my problems makes me feel worse, not expressing myself like I desire, 
Feeling like I cannot vent without being judged, I am too tired.
Two entirely different cultures being mixed together, 
And not knowing where I belong does not make it better. 
I know perfect English, but not perfect Spanish. I am seen as a whitewashed girl,
But it is clear to see that I am not a part of the ‘American’ world.

-Anonymous

​
     "Climb"
​
     Quietly I climb
     Among the lonely stairs
     Wishing I could melt and join the darkness
     Coalescing, infinity and light
     Through it all, new life sprouts
      - Cecelia Morello