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 on your browser and find us on the menu options.

“New Beginnings” by Ciara Bice ’25

“New Beginnings,” by Ciara Bice ’25

Easter is the time of new beginnings
Flowers begin to spring
Chicks begin to hatch
The birds begin to chirp
But most importantly
The rise of Jesus Christ,
His dying for us,
starts a new beginning:

A beginning we must celebrate everyday.
There are constant reminders of these beginnings:
Petals on the ground,
Little ducks following their mother around,
Pretty birds flying around
Show us that every year
We get another chance to appreciate and celebrate
The new beginnings.

The Renaissance: “The Lucky Leprechaun” poem, “Green Fields” photo

“The Lucky Leprechaun”
by Caroline Filocamo ’26

Oh la, ti-dah,
Today’s the day,
I make a quick get-away!
The boys and girls have built their traps,
And planned out all the treasure maps
Made to lock me up in a box —
But they forget I am sly as a fox!
“Better luck next time” I will call
As I make my escape,
Darting in and out of traps of all shapes.
I’ll drop coins and sweets
It’s too bad we will never meet,
But I have a rainbow to ride
And gold coins to hide
You can try again next year,
But no doubt I’ll disappear!

"Green Fields" photo by Aidan Mansfield '23

The Renaissance: The Nature of It All

“The Nature of It All”

by William Hegarty ’23

I consider showers at dusk in the cool December air
and midwinter sunsets.
There’s much more than meets the eye.
The blazing lights of cities, the soaring skies of aircraft,
phenomenons of a new age, growing lifeless
and cold. A body freshly exhumed, a grave
shamelessly robbed, guiltless thieves,
ignorant of doom. Greed and avarice,
gluttony with no end, yet still monotony
at every street corner. No regard for survival, none.
A self-destructing generation with no one to lean on.
Yet that’s not true, and even with this setting sun,
even if it’s all a ruse, we all still won.
Having the time of our lives,
meeting all whom we love,
mingling like doves in springtime.
So hold out hope,
for there is light at the end of the tunnel, a life free from woe.
A well-deserved seat for all who deserve,
and contented feelings from how we serve others.

Artwork by Casey Myers is '27

The Renaissance: “Deux Millimetres” & “Unity”

“Deux Millimetres” by Lynn Frederic ’23

Any mirror within my gaze would only reflect the distance by which I am defined: a two-millimeter-gapped smile. Why did I have to be different? I would faintly laugh as I was told to get my gap “fixed”. I learned to hate the space in my smile because I viewed it as the root of every problem I had, leaving me longing to fix myself.

On my hopeless quest for cosmetic improvement, my parents failed to console me, saying, “You do not need to change anything about yourself.”

Their response was expected because this tooth gap was common in Haiti. I grew up
in New York, not Haiti, so they explained that Haitian culture viewed a gap as a sign of luck and prosperity. Their response did not ease my feelings as the two millimeter gap in my smile was now magnified by a cultural separation of 1505 miles. I resented my smile and my culture’s understanding of it so I attempted to ignore both. I refused to converse in Creole or French, responding with a simple shoulder shrug, the overpowering smell of apes sizzling in pots every Sunday morning repulsed me, and the pulsating tanbou beat of my favorite Kompa music no longer drew me to the dance floor. I began staying home from family gatherings where I knew all three of these would be in one place .

It was not long before I had an unavoidable conversation with my grandma. After the tragic
Haitian earthquake in 2021, my family gathered to mourn the destruction of my family’s town of origin. While recalling he first major earthquake in 2010 that nearly killed her, my grandma, who shared a similar smile, said, “Ayiti fè fas ak anpil sikonstans difisil men nou toujou prezève”–“Haiti has faced many difficult circumstances but we always persevere.”

Through 1505 miles. Through 2 millimeters. We always persevere.

Those few words coupled with sadness from nearly losing my loved ones led to extensive self reflection. Haiti managed to find strength to recover. That strength runs through my culture and should not cease to exist because of a mere gap in my teeth. I realized that my identity should not be hidden but instead paraded everywhere I go. The distance I felt between myself and my culture started to feel less vast.

It no longer mattered to me what you think when you look at me but rather what you see. I am more than the distance between my smile. I am more than the distance between my two homes. Despite my previous struggle with the distance between myself and my culture, I am a proud Haitian-American unafraid to shine like a mirrorball. Most of all, I am deux millimetres.

"Unity" by Aidan Mansfield ’23

The Renaissance: “Summer Child” & “Save the Earth”

“Summer Child”

By Erin O’Connor ’25

I fell in love with the earth at a young age.
I fell in love with the spray of the sun,
And I fell in love with the voice of the wind.
Even though I was born in the midst of winter,
I soon became a summer child.
I dreaded the dead of the cold,
I yearned for the sweetness of the light.
I fell in love with the soft blades of grass,
And I fell in love with the harsh throws of the ocean.
I fell in love with the palate of the sky,
And I fell in love with the symphony of the moon.
I fell in love with the spirit of the people,
And I fell in love with the theatrics of it all.
I am in love with the nature of art,
And I am in love with the art of nature.

Save the Earth

By Elena Brutus '24

Renaissance Hosts Read-around

Article by Phoenix writer Keira Quigley ’26:

The Renaissance, Kellenberg’s literary magazine, held its first poetry read-around of the year on Friday, January 20th. The Renaissance hosted a few of these last year.

The poetry read-around gave us an opportunity to “expand the club and not just post the creative work of students at Kellenberg but also foster the arts at Kellenberg,” explains Mr. Landers.

Mr. Landers and Mr. Flood, who hosted this event, are the moderators of the digital publication.

At the read-around, students read poems that they wrote, as well as some of their favorite famous poems.

This event was greatly enjoyed by high school students here at Kellenberg who have a passion for poetry.

In addition to read-arounds, the Renaissance sponsors monthly “Challenges”, in which themes are presented for artists and writers to address. Works submitted for the Challenges are viewed by Renaissance student staff, and the winning submission is posted to the site.

On a weekly basis, the poetry, pros, art, and photography are posted to

Any students interested in submitting should email their work to and feel free to see Mr. Flood with any questions.

The Renaissance: “Breathe” and “Divinity Within the Strings”

“Breathe” by Katelin Lopez ’25

If I cannot create then I cannot breathe. Creating art is my air. It keeps me going. Creating with my hands makes the sun brighter, puts a bounce in my step, and makes my smile like the sun. When I’m deep in creating, the art starts to flow from my heart, and into the veins in my finger tips. My body and mind are at peace once I finish. For once, everything is silent in my mind. But once the ability to create is stripped from me, everything is dimmer, and my smile that was so big and strong is now weak, my mind louder than it should be, and the sky darker. I’m trying to hold onto the little air I have left so that I can make it till tomorrow because, when I create, all of this will disappear and I will be able to breathe again.

Divinity Within the Strings by Alejandro Aviles '23

The Renaissance: “I am Korean. I am Italian. I am Attilio”/ “Self-Portrait”

"I am Korean. I am Italian. I am Attilio"
by Attilio Saulo '23

Feeling the hot blood rush to my face, I sat in my new sixth-grade homeroom dreading for my name to be called next when I heard the teacher call out, “A-At-Attilio?” Embarrassed, I timidly raised my uneasy hand and held my head down as I tried to block out the piercing gaze of my intimidating classmates.

When I was just a young boy in first grade, my mom and dad explained to me that I was born in a far, far away place called Korea and that I was “adopted.” I hadn’t truly grasped what that word meant and what it meant to my identity, but I recognized that it made me unique and different.

By the time I was getting ready for sixth grade, I had thoroughly known what it meant. “Why don’t you look like your mom?” “Why is your name Attilio?” The questions and observations of my peers made it clear to me that I was a visible outlier. It wasn’t until I entered middle school that I felt truly alienated.

My looming anxiety followed me like a shadow in an unfamiliar school with unfamiliar faces. I was frightened by the fact that my differences would be picked out and I might be judged for them. I was the Asian kid with a strange Italian name. I felt like a black sheep, an oddball, a red plate in a cupboard of blue plates, an imposter. I shouldn’t have memories of crushing and jarring fresh tomatoes or rolling and flattening soft pasta dough with my Italian mother and father. I shouldn’t be named after my Italian grandfather because I’m not even Italian myself. My family’s traditions had become the subject in which my embarrassment circled around.

Caked in flour and egg, my mom’s hands moved swiftly through her cooking stations like a pianist moving side to side on their keyboard. While brushing the powdery flour off her dusty hands, my mom unexpectedly asked, “Do you want to go try some Korean food? I heard they opened a new restaurant nearby.” I nervously and excitedly responded in agreement. From that moment on, my seemingly lost culture had begun to intrigue me.

I tried the chewy tteokbokki, which reminded me of gnocchi and the ribbon-like noodles, which reminded me of spaghetti. A new and fascinating world unveiled itself to me. I had found that missing piece in my puzzle in the buzzing, lively streets of Koreatown. I was determined to share everything I loved about the culture with my friends and family.

My identity seemed to have become complete as both of my cultures had met in unification. I was now the one who was proud to have a sense of duality in his culture. My Korean roots became just as meaningful as my Italian traditions and upbringing. I was now at peace with myself and felt that my Korean birth name, Kim Han-Byeol, now had meaning instead of just being a past identity.

My confidence bloomed and my true self flourished. I transformed from the kid who just barely had the confidence to raise his hand and ask a question to the kid who breached every barrier of his comfort zone. I stopped shying away from having my voice be heard. I was now joining clubs and activities that I never considered before, understanding people better, taking on a job as a cashier, and sharing my two cultures openly and excitedly.

No longer do I wade in shame as my name is called. I keenly grasp ownership of the name Attilio and proudly reply, “Here!”

by Sloane Sackett '23