MARGARITA DELCHEVA
HOUSE, VILLAGE
We see a truck set free another dogpack on our village every week. To rid the city of strays. Children are not the first thing they eat. We find dog teeth in our hoods. Uncle locks us out inside our village. Marisa picks our huge doorlock with her pinkie. We dry our hair on the gas heater. We cyst in this house like off-fruit. The dogs' stomachs become the graveyard for our chains and keys. The sure provision in our village is the truck. The packs howl it in. He locks us out. The way we fight the dogs is to twirl until they wobble. The mail came to our village, once. Our village licked the envelopes with its flames. He locks out Marisa. I toss the dogs braids. We pinkie-touch through the lock.
HOUSE, VILLAGE I 43