[Issue 3 / November 2012]

The first night you stayed at my house you dreamed that dogs were giving
birth in the mud

You shuddered in your sleep

You wept a little.

I was scared

I couldn’t sleep at all

I wanted to keep you in my arms


So the silent dogs wouldn’t come

And if they came they would bark loudly

So loudly that you couldn’t get to sleep

So violently that the mud would shake off their dark bodies

Fly into your face.

I would wipe your muddy face with

The soft of my arm

Squeeze the brown droplets from your eyelashes

Gently comb your hair with all four fingers and one thumb.

Hours later, the dogs gone,

Sleep would come;

You crowned in mud

Me robed in sticky fur

Warm as mother’s love

Four eyelids

Quivering shut

Tired as newborn pups.


Laura lives in Wellington and spend her time at the moment training to be a
teacher, with her family, looking after her seedlings, and not writing nearly as
much as she’d like to.