[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
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.