The Extraordinary in the OrdinaryWhile 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)
0 Comments
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.
routines every morning was a repeating cycle, like the alarm that continued to be snoozed. you wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning, never earlier but always later. your faint brown eyes open in despair, dreading leaving your safe haven of feathers and dreams. you get up in a rush, putting on the uniform that you hate. you thought it hugged your body too loose, almost like the loose hug she used to give you when she was upset. you stared in the mirror questioning who the young lady was looking back at you. you brush your fluffy hair, which falls out so much because of your anxiety. you take another sigh, another thing that makes your void bigger. you look at the time, quarter to 6. rushing to your room, putting on mascara and lashes so you’re not mistaken for a young man. a young woman or young man, who are you? you slide into your white vans that are covered in memories, white is the hardest to keep clean. maybe because of the rush you’re always in, be patient but speedy. you run out the door, not leaving any earlier but always later. -Anonymous Untitled May this be the day We realize how far we have come. Tired, we continue to keep fighting, Weak, we remain standing tall. Tethered by the fear of growing up, We are learning That it is inevitable. We steadily vow to be true to ourselves, We must always move forward on our own path. This new stage is our door, our portal. Even if it may seem light years away, Someday we will reach it with open arms, To leave the past in the past and take in what is meant for us. So let us not dwell on what broke us once, But reach for what will one day put us back together. -Angela Moreno '23 (Inspired by Amanda Gorman's "New Day's Lyric")
Night Running on grassy land, giggles hovering over The shiny blue sky, I was never fixating on the road before me, Nor the path behind. The World was nothing but colors on a giant canvas: Greenish reddish bluish patches, stitched together seamlessly. When young, shining daytimes Would be the only memory remembered; Night was made for sleep, Until I grew old. Worries about tomorrows and nightmares about yesterdays occupied the nights. Weary body and swollen eyes. Tossing and turning on the edge of the bed. Like a bird having a sweet home, but is never soothed by the sweetness. -YueEn Ma '22 (Inspired by Night by Elie Wiesel.) Child-Like Dreams Epitaphs of limestone meet honey suckled eyes A world full of gumdrops without hint of sudden surprise Lemon glazed sun dances playfully overhead While night brings a milk-like slumber to each child’s bed. Jackets of gold begin to melt in the sun Spilling all of the children's good fun in one jarring stun. Alas, just as joy began to quickly appear, It was all swept away with the incoming years. -Samuel Reisfeld '22 The Facts of Life You will be born, Yet sometimes you die before your actual death. You will learn all about your emotions, Yet still feel numbness most strongly You will learn to put a smile on your face, Yet you might not mean it sometimes. You will be held to standards by everyone, Yet you will learn to go with being held up to a standard. You will be told to live your life to the fullest, Yet trying to survive everyday never feeling emptier. You will be told to be your true, authentic self, Yet be criticized by everyone for your actions. You will try to fall in love with the right people, Yet when you’re successful, realize it wasn’t the right person after all. You will be get your hopes up multiple times, Yet end up being disappointed in almost every situation. You will learn to work hard for everything you want, Yet sometimes not get what you deserve. You will be taught that being quiet is respectful, Yet get scolded for not speaking out. You will be surprised by sudden illness, Yet not surprised that your time has come. Your body will finally shut down, When your mind already had a long time ago. -Angela Moreno '23
Response In Our TimeThis 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.
Silenced The body swells; double the shirt size Lips sewn; shotgun silenced Father gone; figure lost A daughter cries in a lonely house A kitten frightened; blasts like the Fourth of July A hat left behind, a bed for the kitten Distant smell of hair, distant from him Blood-stained carpet, blood-stained paws Fighting spirit; lost cause Open casket; eyes are closed Soaked tissues; dry throat Feeling lost, but seeking hope Someone’s out there; not here unknown reason; well-known fear Stolen, taken; forgive and forget? A fading memory; a beating chest -Tory Pepi 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.) Reflections on 2020The 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
Inspired by Richard Levine's poem "Believe This"
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 This Edition's Theme: PerspectiveThe 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! Table of Contents
A Partner Who Commits the Crimes People who care, help, and love A time filled with laughter To hold you above Always forgive you after To listen in bad times To support you always A partner for all crimes In all of your days Cheer you up when you’re down To always make you smile Best and favorite clown Awake whenever I dial “The power of friendship” Everyone always said But their mood can quickly flip Love turns into dread This faithful fondness Can turn to toxicity A heartbreaking bond Loss of simplicity Was it worth it I always ask myself A feeling in my stomach's pit To reflect on themself If anyone asks They'll blame it on me They wear so many masks Don't come running back to me - Anonymous
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
Click below to read Nikolas King's original screenplay titled, The Story of We
The single story of … Silence, all I hear is silence No, all I hear is the voice in my ear telling me to stay silent. “Don’t make a move,” “Don’t say a word,” “Don’t help because you could be next.” A bystander, I am As I stand and see something I’ve only seen on a screen: A cop. A boy. No, not just any boy, A black boy. A gun. A camera. A phone. A group of people, Who seem to be screaming A mother? No, not just any mother, A crying mother. A father, Who seems like he’s trying to hold himself together. A scene Where another black boy is gunned down By the same society that always tried to keep him down I never thought it would come upon me Where I see such a tragedy Of the reality, of the place That holds high their liberty But not for everybody. Just a minute ago Childish Gambino, was talking about staying woke Which translates for black people to not stay comfortable In a place where our ancestors were dragged by their collars And forced to stay smaller, when they could’ve been bigger than what they were perceived to be It’s crazy how I see this scene before me. It’s hard for me to breathe. It’s hard for me to stay silent. - Angelique Lazard
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
Cityscapes
"In The Clouds" This photo was taken from an outlook at Mount Rainier National Park this past August. The weather was constantly changing due to the unique climate. We were warned that a thunderstorm was approaching, and in the rush to cover our belongings, I quickly snapped a picture of this peak before it was lost in the clouds. I distinctly remember seeing a pink "smudge" at the bottom of the screen that I decided I would later just crop out. Upon realizing that this was a flower, I began to understand just how amazing nature really is. Mt. Rainier is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, yet it is often overlooked in all of the grandeur, that the same biological processes that are happening with the dandelions in our front yard are also occurring on the side of one of America's largest mountains. - Brian Hobin
Nature"Man On The Moon" I took this image two days before Christmas. My friend, Jack, and I pulled an all-nighter to try to catch an amazing sunrise. After a 3 hour drive, almost getting the car stuck in a drainage ditch, and hiking up what we hoped was the trail, we found ourselves running along the ridge of the mountain, and honestly felt like little kids on Christmas morning. I saw the moon right above Jack as he was walking, and I knew it was a special moment. The scene was so surreal, it felt as if we were on another planet. About thirty minutes later, two other hikers who had thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail summited. They were super friendly and fun to watch as they hurdled down the mountain on plastic sleds they had brought up. - Brian Hobin
Nature "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
Architecture"The Burn" While this picture may be lacking grand vistas, golden hour, and the rule of thirds, the story behind this is perhaps the most meaningful to me. This past summer I worked for a Non-Profit Organization with other youth. Our assignment was to camp in backcountry forest fire burn zones, where the trails had been completely destroyed. We would spend weeks rebuilding trails so the public could once again enjoy these areas. As a result, we would get covered head to toe with ash and charcoal everyday, alongside other scrapes and bruises. I took this picture near the end of the program. The distinct line on my arm doesn't just represent where my work gloves protected me, but the person I was before and after my time out West. I returned home with a newfound appreciation for everything I used to take for granted, and a passion to protect our world. - Brian Hobin |
AuthorsOur authors and artists include a combination of CWC members, as well as other contributing students in the SJP community. Archives
June 2023
Categories |