Where My Head Lays
I’ve had many houses
but never a home
[one where my toes can curl
into polyester rugs
and the hallways smell
like Fabuloso and
fabric softener].
I forget
which house I’m
in sometimes-–
the wallpaper getting air bubbles
from the barbwire fence underneath,
the bed springs tearing away
flesh, like tattered fabric,
after getting up at sunrise.
so when I think
I hear ceilings crack
from rusting pipes
and smell gas from the open oven
I thought I closed, I
tell myself
“you do not live there anymore.”
Lidabel A. Avila is a junior English creative writing major at SUNY Geneseo with previous publications in the college’s Mint Magazine and Iris Magazine. She mostly works on poetry connected to her Afro-Caribbean background, but indulges in speculative fiction and screenwriting as well. When not writing, Lidabel can be found sketching up future characters for her stories or practicing new drawing styles and techniques.