Object, by Lydia Trethewey

Object, by Meret Oppenheim (Switzerland) 1936

Object

after Meret Oppenheim
​
opening; the soft fur
hidden incisors catch
at her lips her thighs
my errant desire is 
an itch in the pupils
is hoping
so look, as I

drag my teeth along 
the rim of her jaw 
her quivering form
on my fingers
divulging 
and panting those 
damp crescent moons 
against and into my 
werewolf heart

sharp
punctuated breaths
of our hides 
in a wild 
unrefined wetness
I press up against her
all fangs and fur
all raw
uncertain

we make tea in
the old tin kitchen
I’m itching to get out
of my skin
and back into hers
she sips aromatic
infusions
watches my claws
as they grip
the translucent
porcelain pelt 

I follow her scent
through an empty house 
on the bedside table 
a pair of silver scissors 
she tries to excise me
with all the slivers of 
culture I don’t
understand

untamed, I scratch
for meaning
you tore me she tells me
and from the split
she bleeds our kinship
penetrates the cotton 
drop
by drop
but I bruise
without breaking
appearance

my late transformation,
the gift of her hands
lifting to drink

Lydia Trethewey

Lydia Trethewey is an artist and writer from Perth, Western Australia. She is currently undertaking a PhD in poetry at Curtin University, exploring experiences of nascent queerness through expanded forms of ekphrasis. She works as a sessional academic teaching art history and theory at Curtin University, where she also received her PhD in fine art. She has exhibited her art in Australia, China and Spain. Her poetry has been published in Australia and the United States.