The Stanford Arts Review presents “Stacks”, a new miniseries where we follow fresh Stanford writers into the dusty stacks of Green Library. We sit down, crossing our legs and using a pile of books as a tripod, and listen to an intimate reading of one of their poems or short stories. Listen with us.
One day homeless
A Poem by Surabhi Balachander
Apple core missing,
gone brown long ago.
Vomit crystallized
in the grooved floor
of the school bus. Where
our arms stick to the seats.
Been sleeping on a slab of
concrete slabs for alone time.
Alone time longer than mine,
left you with scratches
on your neck.
I have a scar across my stomach
and a few busted veins.
Like anyone else will tell you.
Sometimes the front page
of the newspaper was weather.
Morning conversation a potential
storm. They told us it was deer season,
which everyone already knows.
What we’re paying for now has become time in the incubator.
Under pressure of light, wondering what we’re looking for.
('17, English/CSRE) is a small person from a small town in Indiana who gives surprisingly strong hugs.
(‘17, Anthropology/Creative Writing, Multimedia Editor) is a hopeless wanderer hailing from Moscow, Windhoek, Maryland, Mexico City, Asunción, Tokyo, Cairo, and now Palo Alto, California. She loves good movies and music. Writing and film is her thing, but dammit she can’t sing.