Sharanya Manivannan dabbles her fingers in a variety of trades. A promising writer, poet, dancer, actress and photographer, she hails from India and lives in Kuala Lumpur. As she hops over for the reading How to Cook a Wolf, we got her to show us a poem—before you read or hear of it anywhere else.
How to Eat a Wolf
Does all lust start and
end like this? Don’t get me
wrong. I loved my wolf.
I held him tethered like
a pussycat. I nursed
the rumble in his belly
with hands gentle as a burglar’s.
He lived on milk
and blood and ocean. He
had violets for his furs.
It’s just that he was
beginning to devour me.
He nuzzled me with claws.
fondled me with fangs
sharp as yearning
He snaked a tongue so
hungry in its kiss it
turned my body to salt.
How do you douse a
dervish swirl? I asked.
Devour it, you said.
So I fantasised
about eating his balls,
rolling them in semolina
seeds and roasting them
golden. I got blooddrunk
on the thought of the
crisp tender cartilage of his ear,
left to simmer in tequila
and cilantro. The dry teats turned
sweet when baked with cinnamon
applesauce, or drizzled with chocolate.
The tangy musk of austerely steamed eyelid.
I set traps.
Mine is the deepest void,
the deepest void you’ll ever know.
And so I lured him to a well.
A wolf can drown in its own
wetness. But mine swam
and lapped and doggypaddled
until I waded back in to get him.
Mine is the darkest smoulder,
the darkest smoulder you’ll ever know.
And so I conspired to let him burn.
A wolf can poach in its own juices.
But mine danced on coals and leapt
ablaze, until I pussyfooted back in to get him.
I became desperate.
I preached to my wolf
about suicide, proselytized
about reincarnation. Come back
as a sleepy kitten, I said.
Come back as a hibernating bear.
Come back as a snail with a flag trail of surrender.
But my love was indefatiguable. It was
volcano and oceanic tremor. It was a black lace bra and
too much jazz at 3am.
My love was as big as betrayal.
I pleaded and pleaded until
you finally looked up and said,
You can only kill a wolf
you don’t want to have,
and only then did I see that
your love
was exactly
the size of two fists.
