CONTENT WARNING: Dog Attack and Sexual Assault
Any expressions the dogs make, their lips are upturned.
It is a language of faked, crammed yard greetings.
Hitched to the walls: The chewed hose, the bottles.
A mass storage of potential energy. Strong enough to pop their neglected cherry eyes.
Twenty-five haphazard grenades. Over a thousand teeth.
Whether play or intentional punctures, it’s always sharp.
and then he bit me.
again. again.
my breasts, my legs, my stomach.
gravity rips my flesh downward as he clings to me. the more i move toward the gate,
his grin widens.
It is a silent walk to the closet. The dogs rub their nails against the fences
Till red paw prints speckle the concrete, flicking their bodies’ thick paint.
I too, am red. In the mirror, spit crusts over the rim of the wounds. I skip
The alcohol pads. My openings are allowed to breathe. Stain.
A match to the other scratches they’ve given me. And will give me.