The Renaissance

Kellenberg Memorial's Literary Magazine

An important extracurricular part of the student life at Kellenberg Memorial is our literary magazine, Renaissance. Renaissance members meet weekly to write, read, and discuss literature and the arts. Our magazine, published in print annually each Spring and digitally throughout the year, contains the creative writings and artistic talents of students from grades six through twelve. The creativity in these poems, short stories, essays, and art is often learned about in the day-to-day work within our classrooms, but here they are expressed by our contributing student writers and artists. If you would like to see our webpage, please search kellenberg.org/phoenix on your browser and find us on the menu options.

“Hollow Tears”

January 16, 2026

by Anthony Custodio-Pena ’26

One drop, one single torrent of water that lasts for a second, 

That’s all it takes, so simple, so small, yet why this feeling, 

My body feels like its on fire yet my cheeks feel moist, 

My mind is at ease and thoughts are clear, no physical pain nor mental stress. 

So why do these tears fall out of sight, 

No vision, only water, no voice of comfort, only the comfort of silence and air, Are thou not at peace, peaceful silence for

the hectic lifestyle, a moment of rest, Yet these tears don’t make sense, 

Was thou not happy, was I not happy, I was at a time, however not sad now. 

Are these tears that of guilt or just my delusion, 

No crime was committed, while my brain was realistic, 

Do these tears mean nothing, are they as hollow in sentiment as they are with air, I love this world and my life, yet these tears do fall. 

They must have meaning but for some strange reason it’s too complex to understand, To main possibilities proven

wrong, too main roads take and not enough paths open, Restart, reset, begin anew, where the road takes does not

provide a valid answer, It’s mind numbing, they only answer is that of water, flowing, moving, growing.

Shrinking into a drop and splattered on a pillow,

As sentimental as it may seem, as empty of a void that tear may feel, it’s mine, 

It’s thin too, it’s as important as the blood in human veins. 

No water is worth that of eternal slumber.

“Munchkins”

January 9, 2026

by Danielle Kercy ’26

“Bring back sprinkle munchkins!” I say to anyone who will listen. 

Dunkin’ Donuts used to sell plain munchkins covered in rainbow sprinkles that my elementary classmates would gladly brawl over. To be fair, they didn’t taste particularly better than the other flavors. The sprinkles added a crunch and a hint of sweetness, but that was all. Those munchkins were a lot messier than the others. Sprinkles would get everywhere, and they were too small to properly clean up, but they brought color. Every time I opened a 50 count box of munchkins, a rainbow greeted me. 

As I grew older, the boxes grew less colorful. Most times, I opened the box to see brown, tan, and white. It felt like the world was telling me, “Grow up.” Life isn’t meant to be covered in sprinkles, and it’s unrealistic to open boxes and expect rainbow sweetness every time. Growing up is accepting that. Growing up is learning to appreciate natural coloring instead of red 40, blue 2, and yellow 6. Society isn’t topped with sprinkles, but I don’t mind it anymore. 

I find myself liking powdered munchkins more and more.

The Renaissance: “heal the hurt” by Elizabeth Califano, ’28

December 8, 2025

heal the hurt by Elizabeth Califano, ’28

 

sometimes it’s hard for me 

to understand myself

to understand my own thoughts

to speak them out ever so mindlessly and 

try to feel for a meaning, 

fumbling for a light switch in the dark

scanning the wall and reaching out

searching for some direction 

some way to see clearly

trying to decode my own riddles

i can’t grasp my own concepts sometimes

but i can when other people 

struggle with the same 

things 

i do

i find a way to understand

i find a way to give the advice that i can’t take

i find a way to feel

i find a way to think as clear as the caribbean

i find a way to help

and find the answers to puzzles all my own 

id rather heal other people’s wounds than stitch mine

i’d rather help than be helped

play the role of the wounded healer

removing the burdens from everyone else and taking on more as i go 

id rather solve other people’s problems than acknowledge the ones that i’m forced to face

id rather live knowing that i made a difference 

i’d rather wake up the next morning knowing i helped someone find a reason to stay

even though i have my own battles to fight

it never hurts to help someone struggling 

because maybe the advice that i can’t take for myself

is the advice that they need to hear.

The Renaissance: “What woman is this?” Viktoria Vakser, ‘26

November 18, 2025

“What woman is this?” Viktoria Vakser, ‘26

What woman is this? If I look in the glass

I spy no one deserving of such name.

I know my fiery eyes are yet aflame

With some unbridled passion. If— alas!—

If woman be meek, my obstinance outweighs

Any vain fancies that I might be so;

If she be graceful— I’ve yet to outgrow

The carelessness of my impatient ways.

What woman? Nay, I see naught but a child

Who equally gives way to joy and tears;

Whose wisdom gathered o’er her sixteen years

Makes her, at best, half gentle and half wild…

But ne’er there was a girl so fain to learn,

And mend her ways, and thereby Woman earn. 

The Renaissance: “Mourning Dove” by Danielle Kercy ’26

October 21, 2025

Mourning Dove by Danielle Kercy ’26

 

Its cheeks are round with youth, and

its eyes are wide with innocence,

Bringing me to recall my own.

Its melancholic voice,

gently calling for what’s lost,

begging for the return of a morning that has passed,

a morning we cannot get back,

merely a memory.

The Renaissance, “Miles” by Elizabeth Califano, ‘28

October 10, 2025

Miles by Elizabeth Califano, ‘28

 

You’re close to me

because my heart holds you there

holds a house for you

with a freshly made bed and polished countertops

neatly folded clothes in organized closets

perfectly fluffed pillows and a vacuumed carpet

all for you

even though you’re miles away 

but when you want to open the door

to the house

the keys are under the mat

slightly tarnished

from the rain and the storms

the dry heat that quickly turned humid

the cold temperatures that rose to ninety degrees in a day

all for you

yet you’re still miles away

so when you want to hold my hand

and come home

if you even realize there’s a home for you with me

drive the miles to come home

because the keys will still be under the doormat when you get here.

 

The Renaissance, “Eden” by Aren Saraydarian ’26

September 22, 2025

“Eden” by Aren Saraydarian ’26

Beyond the depths and pits of earthly grief,

A pasture lies with treasures yet unseen,

With trees and bushes each adorned in leaf,

And banks of rivers filled with waves so clean.

A peace it holds that no man understands,

A song it sings that no ear comprehends.

The waves so calmly wash upon the sands

Along the river’s path which smoothly bends.

Each chirping bird and every breathing thing

That wanders in this haven up above,

Gives praise and glory to the endless King,

Who fancied such a paradise for love.

Alas, this garden man did sometime know,

But fell beyond its waters deep below.

The Renaissance, “The Road of Friendship” by Theresa Stender ‘29

June 2, 2025

The Road of Friendship by Theresa Stender ’29


The road of friendship is difficult 

to know because sometimes it lasts

a lifetime while sometimes it crashes and

falls and sometimes makes promises

knowing how hard they are to keep or 

says “it’ll be forever” but it never knows

how long “forever” will be . 

Then one day things could change for 

better or for worse, the promises may be 

kept and other times they won’t

It’s ok to hurt .

You’ll find another friend

in a day a week or year who

will help light the way along

the road on which friendship goes 

 

The Renaissance, Poetry: “Lilies” by Aren Saraydarian ’26

April 6, 2025

Lilies
by Aren Saraydarian ’26

I see the sun arising high,

A cloud not known in all the sky.

Awaiting me a journey lies,

A journey through this land of light.

Afar I walk all through the land,

The grass and flow’rs beneath my hand.

A song of joy runs through my veins,

Again it plays throughout the day.

A stream there is which ever flows,

With peace it cleanses all my woes.

Its waves make glad my somber soul,

And on its shores my heart will dance.

So on I race through endless field,

By all its room my soul is healed.

The hills bow down, the seas will rage,

Each passing dove replies my song.

At last I’m free like birds to soar,

I toil not a single chore.

The sun so brightly shines its rays,

I feel at home, at last I’m free.

But here I wait in deepened grief,

My life usurped by Death the thief.

Oh here I lie to dream of love,

While here I lie cold, dark, and dead.

The Renaissance (Poem) “In response to ‘Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain'” by Victoria Vakser ’26

March 14, 2025

 

Good sir! When I behold thee proud and tall,

        Full of thyself, commanding, seeking praise,

        Withholding all advance, all kindly phrase,

Thy sullen mouth turn’d downward, and withal

An unforgiving man! Still then I fall

        And yearn, and seek, and melt at thy caresses,

        Still then I lift my face at thine addresses,

Believe thy flatt’ring words, await thy call…

But Heav’n! when I see thee as one transformed

        Rememb’ring not thyself in straits of love—

Angels fall short of thee, nor yet conformed

        Is Heaven to our souls, lifted above…

Then hasten not, good sir, to speak a word:

        Thy gentle gaze belies thy sullen storms.

The Renaissance: Poetry: “A Glimpse of 2013” by Danielle Kercy

March 10, 2025

“A Glimpse of 2013” by Danielle Kercy
Winner of The Renaissance Challenge: “Memory”

The specific scent of sanitizer stings
my nose, and I am only five years old. 
My hair’s adorned with a number
of baby blue barrettes and boul gogo. 
Hidden from the unforgiving cold, 
is a sheltered seedling. 
High pitched chirping, 
plastic crinkling, 
and a gentle coo. 
The sounds of snack time fill the air 
of room one hundred and two.

Untitled

Artwork by Kimoi Lamy ’26

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