sentiments from the garden
by Yitzel Serna
dear mr. weed,
i’m writing to send my apologies on your rather hasty removal from my garden this past saturday.
Read MoreAll I Feel is Joy
By Li Yin
In this moment, all I feel is joy.
Music that Lin curated for me in my ears, the sun casting nothing but a golden glow and gentle warmth, enveloping my silhouette like my mother’s hands. The waves underneath this aircraft resemble silk, slowly but surely ebbing and flowing, reaching every part of the Earth.
Read MoreGoldilocks’ Internet on Valentine’s Eve
By Anonymous
Thoughts on Valentine’s Eve, sparked by The New York Times “Modern Love” section.
Read MoreA List of the Most Bitter, Sweet, and Bittersweet Things About My Time at Wellesley as Summarized by Headlines of Counterpoint Articles I Didn’t End Up Writing
(in chronological order)
By Parker Piscitello-Fay ‘22
No Really, Where Am I? (a case for more signage on Wellesley College’s campus and admitting you don’t have everything figured out)
An Ode to the Compassion and Honesty with which Esteemed Poetry Professor Dan Chiasson Approaches Discussions of Odes
It’s Tuesday, November, 2018 at 3:29 pm and the Idea of Shadow Grading is the Only Thing Holding Me Together (why we need to talk about first years when we talk about Wellesley’s stress culture)
Read MoreWhat I Wish I Could Tell My Younger Self
By Zaria George ‘22
As I’m writing this, you are two days short of turning 22.
You will develop a love for art that you never knew had been there.
You will lose a lot of people who you loved. Don’t let that harden you.
Read MoreWhat's In A Name?
By Zaria George ‘22
Although I’ve become more comfortable with being called Zaria, there is still the internal dilemma that I have about its origins. In a community where I’m surrounded by friends and family with culturally significant names that reflect their heritage, I grapple with being “Zaria.”
Read MoreBereft
By Lizette Mier ‘22
This past spring break, I sat in the recording room of Washington D.C.’s newest language museum, Planet Word. I glossed over the themes of what to talk about. Planet Word had a recording studio where anyone could share a story for their archives, and I knew I had been waiting so long to come to this museum that I couldn’t leave without leaving a mark behind. Breadcrumbs of my existence.
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