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)
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AuthorsOur authors and artists include a combination of CWC members, as well as other contributing students in the SJP community. Archives
June 2023
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