The literary and arts magazine of Hopkins School

Latest Entries

List of 20 news stories.

  • Apologies

    Kainda Nzinga '25
    We sat there. Clenched knuckles and gritted teeth. Knocked out baby ones in bags under our respective pillows...
    . . .
  • art museum

    James Jeffery '22
    Shipyard silhouetted against the sunset 
    calm yellows and muted oranges hold hands and whisper friendship to each other
    impassioned reds dance with the blues and blacks of a bruised autumn evening
    above the ocean so serene it sings the ships to sleep...
    . . .
  • black and blue

    I ooze with 
    almost there! and close enough. 
    Mediocracy infiltrates my life and seeps through the cracks of my deficiencies. It hardens and solidifies
    . . .
  • Brick Tiled

    Eesha Rao '22
  • Courte improvisation

    Charles Wang '22
    Masses noires tremblant dans la rue 
    Capuches humides couvrant la chevelure
    Une chaîne lourde toujours tendante...
    . . .
  • Driftwood

    Julia Murphy '23
    There are some people
    who emanate warmth
    from their smiles...
    . . .
  • Futility

    Maya Junkins '21
  • Homework Help

    Ramey Harper-Mangels '21
    (As the lights rise, we see a split stage. On one side is Charlie’s room, as well as Charlie. This side of the stage is a bedroom. There is a desk upstage and a bed downstage, perhaps a chest of drawers or a bookshelf. Everything is neat and efficient. There are a modest number of scholastic awards, as well as a keyboard, music stands, and a couple of instruments. Charlie is working at the desk, and finishes with a flourish. Charlie sighs, stands, files the homework, then crashes on the bed exhausted...
    . . .
  • horizon; Thom; viewpoint

    Michael Latshaw '24
  • I Was Asked to Write Freely

    Ranease Brown '21
    Free write, 
    With liberty put thoughts to paper 
    Exercise the few rights you have in response to the rights that you don’t...
    . . .
  • I wish you had brought me flowers

    Abigail Murphy '23
    It was weird flying again.
    I had to sit on the aisle seat
    The man next to me wanted to sit in the window.
    Said it would help his arthritis...
    . . .
  • Mars

    Prairie Resch '21
    Tell me the stories
    Of those far-off shores,
    Of distant planets...
    . . .
  • no longer suspended in water

    The steam surrounding me escapes through the open shower door. Stepping out, I am hit by a wall of cold air. My reflection catches me off guard and I shudder. There is a grown up staring back at me. As I reach for my towel, jarring nostalgia takes over. 
    I am six again. It’s bath time, and I watch my mother unplug the drain. The residue of the day, which was once on my skin, swirls into the abyss. I watch as my bath toys reach the bottom of the tub, along with my whole body. I am no longer suspended in water...
    . . .
  • Retribution

    James Jeffery '22
    I once dreamt of you and I in India.
    Your smooth face and my beaten one
    Slipping in and out of crowds...
    . . .
  • Self-Portrait

    Maisie Bilston '22
    I am the yellow light that pools in the corners of hollow houses
    Slips and slides, sweet honey on polished empty floors.
    I am your reflection in the mirror in the hallway...
    . . .
  • The Guardian

    Evan Migdole '22
    I’ve walked this route at least a hundred times, but this Friday afternoon was different. It started at lunch. My stomach felt strange as if a tornado had moved in and I could barely swallow my waffles and chicken nuggets. My friends were laughing about something, but I was so distracted by my own thoughts, that I wasn’t following the conversation. I usually try not to laugh or smile anyway because of my dimples. I’ve never liked them...
    . . .
  • The Monster in the Woods

    I’d waited a year to see the June sun reflect on the lake—the feeling it brought each summer was indescribable. I stared out the back seat window, letting my phone drop to my lap as the unparalleled sense of belonging overshadowed the blue light’s magnetism.
    “Honey,” my dad said in his irritating, sing-songy voice, “remember to write to us when you get the chance. Your sister cried every day last year because she missed you so much.”
    I stared over at Caroline, her innocent little pigtails protruding from her skull. I wanted to pull them...
    . . .
  • The Young Monarch

    The Young Monarch

    Abigail Murphy '23
  • Untitled

    Rachael Huang '23
  • Untitled


    Ava Maccaro '24
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Call for Submissions

Abby Fossati
Prairie Resch

Photography/Art Editors
Jessica Chapman
Joanna Wei

Prose Editors
Alexander Yuen
Amanda Wang

Poetry Editors
Abigail Kruger
Caroline Asnes
Pearl Miller

Event Coordinators
Ella Ip
Fiona Li

Web Editor
Julia Kosinski

Faculty Advisor 
Ms. Renee Harlow