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I want a house on a hill like the ones with the gardens where papa works. we go on Sundays papa’s day off. I used to go. I don’t anymore. you don’t. I’m also A shame all of us staring out the window like the hungry. I am tired of looking what we can’t have.
She likes going to trip but they stop since what ever people have they can’t have.
No, this isn’t my house I say and shake my head as if shaking could undo the year I’ve lived here. I don't belong.
She says to Alicia that she don’t belong to mango street and would never be home.
A house all my own. With my porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody to shake a stick at. nobody’s garbage to pickup after.
She has a dream house and describing what will it have.
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