By: Lydia Trethewey
alive
those lost moments smell like an airport carpark kerosene patina, painted-over arrows not quite underground concrete pillars when we were travelling before the ruptured bitumen teeth of our separation came between us splintered out the small parts of our past and ate our bones alive
i occupy a spine and a place outside concrete curbs and verge sides queerness as a verb wandering in this not-ok this incipient insipid wrong tastes of lettuce left at the bottom of the fridge could not make the words right scrape them off my tongue solvent truths consume the future husband, love of my life i'm a lesbian
...
kerosene fires burning the light in your eyes alive
Prey
everything in my house
has a stale-dog smell
flea dirt and unwashed hair
dry and flaky restlessness
I pace back and forth
howl inwardly
breathless
and scratch off my own skin
let the blood get under my fingernails
red cells senseless
I am my own prey
trapped inside this settled place
prowling end to end, the walls
defenceless, rabid, bored
making wasted moments
dust and monologues
and discordant
sighs
Lydia Trethewey is an artist and writer from Perth, Western Australia. Her work explores experiences of quiescence, daydream and non-belonging. She received a PhD in fine art from Curtin University in 2018, and currently works there as a sessional academic.