Stingrays - Sarah St. Preuve

these hallways hum

like empty tanks under fluorescent light

my body remembers the ocean

even if i pretend i don’t

the hum of cars down coastal roads

the slow sway of docks

on the island the stingrays sleep in shallow water,

and soft sand holding them

like a promise

here,

everything moves too fast

the current pulls, but not toward anything i know

i am tired

of pretending this river is enough

of telling myself this distance is growth

i want to go back to where the water is kind,

and the sky leans closer.

until then,

i float quietly beneath the surface

counting the days until the tide brings me home

— because stingrays don’t belong in rivers

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Sara St. Preuve is a senior at the university, majoring in English and minoring in Korean Studies. She plans to pursue her master’s degree in Publishing at Pace University, with a concentration in Digital Publishing, in the coming fall. A curious and multifaceted writer, her work reflects an ongoing journey of growing up in a world that is loud, fast, and endlessly complex. Drawn to many passions, her curiosity often spills beyond boundaries, shaping both her voice and perspective. Living with OCD, she understands that growth is rarely linear, and her writing embraces both the challenges and the resilience that come with that reality. With a balance of tenderness and tenacity, she continues to learn, adapt, and move forward—one imperfect step at a time.