Poetry | Autumn 2022

The House That Hoards

by Selena Perez

the front door opens like a hinged jaw’s lid

and the inside smells like vinegar 

we are drowning in it 

pickling then disintegrating 

like the skeletons we are

human sheddings pile

and pile and pile

and eyes roll around these rooms

saying we will clean up our issues later

but I am suffocating in our waste

our strands of hair sink quietly

to the living room rug 

in this jar’s engulfment

and the vacuum is broken 

and no one will buy a new one

so I watch our split ends

find each other like puzzle pieces

and weave until they knot into 

tumbleweeds

I’m scraping 

hairballs from the carpet

my fingernails break

one by one in mini-moons

like my hope is a crescent in the dark sky

lost to this house that insists on keeping

bathroom tiles serve as square platters

stacking sludge from 

dirty feet meeting faucet leaks

and I scrub

violently, on my knees

like a desperate prayer

begging the ground of this home

to let go of what it's long held onto

but my brush only uproots

the grout

sweeping mud

to clean spots,

and digging new graves

when exhaustion

hits, I halt and bear witness

to a death; my own

my shins are cemented

in this black clay

like quicksand 

on the way down I wail of 

how it swallowed

by extensions and shavings first

how no one saw the crows peering

through the sliding door

at kitchen crumbs

Selena Perez is an aspiring novelist and poet, studying English and Psychology at UCLA with a minor in Food Studies and a concentration in Creative Writing. She holds the belief that to be a writer is to be a vessel for stories begging to be told.