Corinne Lafont

Dear Readers, When Alissa Lopes ’29 offered to write my Artist of the Week, I couldn’t refuse. I met Alissa at my first writers’ meeting. It was an unplanned get-together with my new reporters to acclimate them to The Phoenix. Between her infectious smile and impeccable style, it was hard for Alissa not to stand out. But beyond her beauty, her genuine enthusiasm and her courage to speak up struck me. I would go on to tell her that I immediately knew she’d become my successor.

When I was in the third grade, my teacher made us write poems about our moms for Mother’s Day. I thought the assignment was silly. It was for a “computer skills” class centered around typing in hideous fonts like “Broadway” and “Comic Sans.” This is a digression, but search “Broadway” up. You’ll immediately return to memories of Webkinz and Lisa Frank journals. As you’ve probably guessed, I didn’t want to write it. I put up a fight, and my teacher was confused.

In response to T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” Let me go then, only I. In a moment, there is time for decisions and revisions, which a minute will reverse. I’ll confess: I don’t say I love you enough. There will be time, there will be time. April, 2025 I’m sorry for that. Sometimes it hits me when my hands graze the pebbled rocks that scatter the hallways, skipping each wooden slab, while peering into the carrels.