The literary and arts magazine of Hopkins School



  • 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
    . . .
  • Untitled

    Caroline Asnes '21
    . . .
  • We Turn

    Caroline McCarthy '22
    The GPS says
    It’s a ten minute walk
    We take the trek...
    . . .
  • Daystar Winter Chapbook 2020-2021

    . . .
  • among the gravestones

    Sophia Schaffer '23
    A bent old man in the cemetery,
    the flowers he did tend,
    White lilies unfurled at his feet 
    to watch his life transcend...
    . . .
  • Everest vs. the Willpower to Survive

    Arin Bhandari '23
    The clock strikes 1 PM on the upper slopes of Mount Everest as my teammates on the Adventure Consultants expedition and I are methodically climbing the Hillary Step by carefully placing our crampons, which are spikes attached to our shoes to improve traction, on the ice while secured to the rope. When I ascend the final few meters, I see that the summit ridge is covered by an unstable snow formation, which is when denser snow is on lighter snow.
    . . .
  • House Haunters

    Lauren Sklarz '22
    The entire world was out of order. 
    This had happened before, but it never failed to catch Isabel off guard. For ten months, she had dealt with the mysterious destruction of expensive art and appliances and the god awful stench of smoke that lingered in the back of her throat. The agency had sent in top-level servicemen to watch for squatters, vandals, anything. But they had come up empty. 
    . . .
  • How to Teach History

    Eesha Rao '22
    Harvard historian Donald Yacovone said, “white supremacy is a toxin. The older history textbooks were like syringes that injected the toxin of white supremacy into the mind of many generations of Americans.” Regardless of whether it is because of our history textbooks, our history curriculums, or even our history teachers, it is overwhelmingly obvious that we, the American youth, do not receive an adequate education in our history classrooms.
    . . .
  • Late August

    Evan Migdole '22
    8:00 am: How does the day begin?
    The Sun Star has a two hour head start.
    People are chirping like gulls as they walk by...
    . . .
  • Seeds

    Caroline McCarthy '22
    The seeds sit
    Shallow in the dirt, in a pot
    That belonged to my uncle. From...
    . . .
  • Sounds of Summer

    Caroline McCarthy '22
    The sounds of summer for some
    Are sounds of mischief and fun.
    The grains of sand sliding between their toes
    Swimming amongst friends and supposéd foes...
    . . .
  • The Silence of Drowning

    Eesha Rao '22
    A personal flotation device is equipment designed to assist us to keep afloat in  water. Despite their primary use being only to help us, many times, we cast them aside saying that they are too restrictive and uncomfortable. We think that we couldn’t possibly need them because we already know how to swim. We believe that there isn’t any way we could drown because we know everything there is to know about staying afloat.
    . . .
  • To Sing

    Prairie Resch '21
    Molly from the apartment above us is playing piano again, even though it’s long past dinnertime. I don’t recognize the song, but it’s a lovely, full sound, with a swelling of low chords that echoes into our apartment and a higher aria of notes that are harder to hear, but are still there if I listen closely.
    . . .
  • Untitled

    Eli Calderone '22
    He’d had a bad day and just needed something to make him feel better. He never intended to be stuck on a bridge in a city he didn’t recognize, hoping that someone would notice he was there. James barely knew how he got here. All he remembered was storming out of his house holding a duffel bag of clothes with his father shouting after him, getting on the train to god-knows-where, and then being woken up by the conductor, telling him that they had gotten to the last stop.
    . . .


< 2021

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