Between the Lines
You’ll find my story written in the carpet.
We are layers of bone and gooseflesh, piles of things
to be hidden and
membranes behind which to hide.
I wish I could frame moments,
capture the stray props from our skin-and-bone drama.
Snap. The pile of dirty sneakers by the door.
Snap. The way your calves press against your thighs when you sit.
There is an uncertain holiness to suddenly being made aware
of your own existence
like an old sweater unraveling; here, a fleck of toothpaste in the mirror,
there, a dark hair against the counter
starting to spell your name.
You breathe and a tome is born.
I only know how to inhale.
Stephanie Niu is an undergraduate student from Georgia who attends Stanford University. She loves to write about moss, cirrus clouds, and finding peace in solitude. Her poems have been published in CICADA Magazine, Black Fox Litmag, and Writer’s Block Magazine, among others. She also likes to program and wants to convince the world that literature and tech can be friends.