I Call My Hound Rage and He Moves

“Graziella” (1878), Jules-Joseph Lefebvre. Courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
He walks backward on
command, thick fur teeming
with grays reversing
back to flat.
After he’s fed I see him
swimming the Pacific in
jagged loops and
gulp-frantic swirls.
He holds my salt
in his mouth
a red rubber ball.
He gnaws at the tides.
He moves when I move. When
I raise my hand he bends closer
and sways lower. I ring a bell and his lips
lock and shutter.
My hound feeds
on table legs and kneecaps,
on strings of shabby meat and thread,
on mouthfuls of feathers and heat wave.
He lets me hold his teeth like
a bouquet of carnations. I toss them into the sky
bride-like and smiling and we count aloud
together.
My hound sings upside
down, his whistle bores
holes into concrete.
He knows all the classics.
When I heave my chest he
climbs through the window and sleeps
each evening at my feet.
He stays with me longer than a dog lives.
How long does a dog live?
I ask but he never answers.

Tanya Young
Publab Fellow 2025
Tanya L. Young is a BIPOC writer, visual artist, and PhD student. Her work is featured in publications such as New Delta Review, Salt Hill Journal, The Amistad, New York Quarterly, and others. She is a VONA alum. She was the 2022-2023 Poetry Editor for Bellingham Review. Currently, she serves on the Editorial Committee for The Ocean State Review. She is also a reader for TriQuarterly.
Find more of her work at www.tanyasroom.com and follow her on instagram @wheelofashes.