“Theseus” by Lexi Herbert

Theseus

I don’t want to be anyone’s dog
which is an unfashionable thing to say

I don’t want a leash, I want to want
to sit at your feet
one eye on the door that won’t close
one hand on your thigh

I thought of your fingers at my throat
so I rested my head against the cupboard over the sink
I rested it hard, all at once
and even then only twice

we don’t mind bruises so I suppose I’ll do it
again

you ask if someone is at the door
I say yes
I’ll get it

on the short walk
I finish the thought
about that ship
that is and is not, that does and does not exist

and the lacquered floorboards sponge under my feet

there is nothing of the child left in me
because the child was born full

it is not a sum of its parts
there is no sum
nobody is watching
the parts seep out the wrist

the attention is what confirms itself
and the child does not believe it is real

Lexi Herbert

Lexi Herbert is a Melbourne-born writer, living in New York. Her previous work has appeared in Beat, Brain Freeze, and Farrago, and is upcoming in CWYR. She is a Brooklyn Poets Fall 2024 Fellowship finalist.

Headshot: R. Smith

Photo Credit: Staff