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The Missing

A child carries missing in her hands.

She picked it up way back at the crossroads.

It has blood in its feathers

and dust on its head

and she shields it from the sun

as she walks.

After travelling for many days

she meets an old woman on the road.

‘Your missing needs to eat’, the woman says,

peering into the child’s cupped hands.

‘You’ll have to dig for worms.

Not here; further down the road

where the sun is not so harsh

and the soil is richer.’

The woman brushes blood from her wings

and flies away, leaving the child

with missing in her hands.

The child walks on for many weeks

then meets an old man on the road.

The old man grabs the child’s hands

and uncurls them

‘Your missing needs a nest,’ he says.

‘You’ll have to build one.

Not here; further down the road

where the drought has broken

and the trees are stronger.’

The man brushes the dust from his sleek head

and flies away, leaving the child

with missing in her hands.

The child walks on for months, and then years

until she meets a young boy on the road.

The boy holds his hands out to hers.

‘You need somewhere to rest,’ he says.

Your hands are sore and your feet are numb.

You need food, and water,

and a place to lay the missing down.’

The child opens her hands

and the boy hops in, light as a bird.

‘You are my missing’, says the child.

The missing leaps to her face

and pecks out her eyes. 

I dreamed that I am some kind of monster, jailed in perpetuity in a small eighth-storey apartment that has been converted into empty darkness to hold me. I am being tortured by the jailer shoving its forearm up into my solar plexus. This is in the dark, in eternal time. In a small cell in what would be the apartment's kitchen/service area. Eventually, in another phase, I am released into what would the living areas, larger rooms. I am to fight for my life here, moving up and down in the dark, doing my best to slash and kill whatever is out there at my periphery. Maybe a staged attempt at escape? The jailer is going to get me for this and is coming closer. Knives and dismemberment. For a long period I am moving up and down with one of my arms spinning a chair around and around to ward off the jailer, while I scream a horrible continuous scream. This is a prelude to the real torture.

so many dreams last night.

in one I was going to run a marathon in high-heeled shoes. I was at a house with lots of out-buildings and a couple of them were sheds or workshops full of shoes. I was looking for the right ones - very vibrant, to represent a cause I wanted to stand for. Vivid green and mauve, maybe Comme Il Faut, but I couldn't find them. I was going through this huge collection of shoes, none right - most pretty worn, drab, black, some with mildew, many turned out to not be mine - a child's pair of sneaker's, my sister's shoes, my step-sister's shoes. 

I transcribed my dream this morning, then got up and we went to see M. Halfway through the session she said to us - 'it's like no one is driving your car'. She did this once before, too, when I had been obsessively taking photos of trees for a couple of weeks - although I didn't mention it,  every image she used that day was to do with trees.

I have come to think of this kind of thing as a certain kind of normal, but important. I pay attention.

Someone else writes about this here: strange dreams.

dreamed we were living at the top of P rd/ end of Htoun St. We decided to have a wedding dinner, at Christmas. I rang up this guy I met once (in the dream) - I'd hung out with him and Charlie one night before Charlie died. He's a ceramic artist and I think he is really attractive. I want him to do 20 centrepiece plates for the tables, and maybe a kind of ornament to sit in the plates with other things, wedding favours. I'm explaining what I want on the phone but I don't have the words exactly. He asks how I got his number and I say actually we met once, at Htoun St, years ago. As soon as he knows who I am he starts saying 'Oh you're the one I've been getting all these calls from. Why are you ringing me all the time?'

I say 'What? I only rang you once the other day, but you weren't there.'

He says 'But I've seen this number come up over and over again for years, I never knew who it was, you call me repeatedly and it's really very weird.'

I am starting to feel hugely embarrassed, it's true that I have tried to get in touch once in a while since met him. I say, 'I just really like your work, I thought we could use it, I only called once the other day. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.'

N has walked in and I'm trying not to say too much because he's listening. But he can hear the nature of the conversation and he's sniggering at me, pointing.

The guy on the phone says 'Oh bullshit, I met you once years ago and you've turned into some weird thing, it's not normal, you don't call up T and K, or H.'

That's also true I realise, I know I met those people too but I don't remember them.

He goes on telling me off, me feeling more and more humiliated. He's angry that I've intruded, but more scornful, mocking. I'm like a stalker. I'm trying to think of normal comparisons to explain myself but it's futile and with N listening I just say See ya and hang up.

Then I'm out on P Road and I see our car stopped at the lights. It's old- like a 1950s Ford Anglia, matte black with silver trim, not fancy. The lights change and the rest of the traffic moves off. I realise no one is in our car, it's just been left there, parked in the wrong place, so I should get in and get it off the road. I have a pair of pointe shoes in a bag in my hand; I open the passenger door thinking I'll put the pointe shoes in then get in to drive. But it turns out there are people in the car after all - a middle-aged Italian man is driving, there's a couple in the back. The driver says 'No, no, no, No frozen goods in here.' I can't put the shoes in; it's not our car.

I turn to go home and I see my dad step out of some shrubs. His hair is damp and he's lost weight. He's really happy to see me. He's been having dinner with my stepmum and my niece and nephew in the garden of the restaurant next door. They've come to visit and they are all having a really nice time. 

dreamed N and I were moving in to my stepdad's family home in Ham. My parents were there, friendly and supportive as we get stuff  sorted out. B is there too, in the middle of a psychotic episode but also quite chilled out.

I have a short argument with my stepdad. Somewhere in it he makes a joke about me being raped. It's more disrespectful and kind of aggressive than threatening. Later in the dream I come back to this, realising I need to just tell him (so I do) how unpleasant and upsetting it is, and that I don't want it to happen again. Saying this ends this problem and episode, to my surprise, so that for a moment the dream is just dark for a scene change.

Earlier in the dream I start to fight with N. He gets wild almost immediately, we're screaming at each other, right in front of my parents and B. I decide not to try to hide it. Eventually he goes into the bedroom and comes out with a pack and a bunch of stuff - he's leaving me and going back to the old place. I'm relieved, I say good, go! and I shove him off. I think, though, that once he's calmed down we'll end up sorting it out.

But soon he comes back, I see a rifle barrel pointing at me. I'm terrified, I grab my stepdad and pull him down to hide. I try to get everyone else down too. I feel sick, I know this is the end, that we  can't come back from this because he will end up in a psych ward.

Out the front is a verandah and/or car full of women and girls from my stepdad's family (his sisters, their daughters, babies), happy and chatting despite the circumstances. I don't know where N is but I am saying it's best if they get away from here. We're in the car driving away. I'm going to be dropped off somewhere, not sure if I'm trying to find N, go back to the old house to get something or I'm just accidentally in the car. But I need to get out or I'll lose my sense of direction. There are heaps of us in the back crammed in. I need to get out. One of the little girls hands one of the babies back to her mother because we need to move around so I can get out of the car. but she doesn't support the baby's head as she passes it on and it flops backward. Maybe the baby's damaged. The mother tuts, so dangerous.

If we go any further I'll be lost. We stop towards the bottom of a steep tunnel and I get out. I think I know the way back from here . I turn and start walking back up the tunnel. There is a pedestrian path painted in on the left hand side, I go there. There's also a sign up saying NO PEDESTRIANS. I'm going to walk it but I realise that if  a car comes around the tunnel's corner at a clip I'll be wiped out. I feel like someone's watching to see if I follow the rules.

I turn and walk back down the tunnel, thinking I'll have to find another way up the hill, hopefully without getting too lost. The tunnel opens into a street at the bottom of a very narrow valley, with very steep, high reinforced embankments on the facing side. I glance up. there are military guys in cammo posted up there, watching. In the centre, way up, there's an old kuia with a full face moko, regal and full of judgement, gazing down. I look away quickly. I turn to my right, think I'll find a way up over here. It's so steep and none of the streets lead in a direction parallel to the tunnel. I am going to get hepelessly lost. there are soldiers up above, everywhere, and threatening looking civilian guys. I decide on a street to take but soon realise that it leads up through the grounds of a psych hospital. 

I often get email for someone who shares my name, whose account name is very similar. Here's one from today:


We get an average of 3 quarts a day from a doe. Our kids will be 
arriving anytime within March. All goats from the original herd were 
Mini Blessings. After the years, most of our current herd have been 
birthed, raised, and kidded on our premises. We will have milking does 
avaliable once they deliver the kids. We do not have a waiting list. If 
you are interested in any goats, please feel free to call. Marilyn will 
be able to discuss which goats may suit your needs. Thank 
you.

Goatsville Acres

I nearly forgot a dream I had last night. I was in a clinic - part abortion clinic, part classroom, and there was a kind of activism/training class going on. Being lead by L and another woman, both bright and brisk, cheerful without sentimentality, happy to be working/teaching for this right/freedom. Everything bright and white. We were to give money to support this cause. I was in the class, and rooting through my wallet to try to find the right money to give. I had all these different currencies in there - I didn't know what was the right currency or how much was appropriate, although, apparently, anything was fine. I pulled out a note - $121 USD? Seemed too much, could embarrass me. And then as I went through the rest they all seemed too little or too much and actually most of these currencies couldn't be accepted after all....

dr 1

I shimmer above and just below the waterline. Around me the water shines. Slow-wandering trees glide across the surface, their branches meeting in symmetry and being swallowed up. My canoe is almost still. It’s time to move. I break the branches into water with my oars.

Behind me is the island of my parents’ house. Its doors are open and pieces of their conversation fall out around my back, spacious and sociable, vanishing into the jetty’s soft wood or water’s rocking. Maybe they’re opening another bottle, making bread, calling up my sister.

I have the letters stuffed into my pack. Most are newly printed from my clinic account but a few I’ve already read, weeks or even months ago, back when I thought I might find a way to reply.

Water dribbles up the oars and up my arms. The base of the backpack is getting wet.

Dear Doctor,

I have a problem which happens when my girlfriend and I kiss, which is that I get an erection. It is really embarrassing, especially because sometimes I think she might be able to feel it. I have tried to think of other things but it doesn't seem to help. Are there medications I can take for this problem, or exercises I can do?

Dear Doctor,

I have a recurring dream that I have forgotten where I parked my car. I drive a late 1990s Japanese sedan in a dark red with grey interior and, at present, four months left on the warranty. I wake up with a feeling of frustration and doubt, as though I'm losing my mind. I can’t stop wondering what this means. Do you think it would be best to get some kind of evaluation?

Funnel Island is directly ahead of me, its handle sheared off to the west. Its single tree is tall on the hill against the silver-pink sky. Breda, my wife, is under there. And her parents and her sister. We shifted them all to be with her, and together they feed the tree’s roots. You can see the tree from every room in my parents’ house. And from the ferry as you cross to the mainland. It’s only out of sight once you dock at the other side. That’s where I turn away to work, weekday mornings, putting it behind me until evening returns.

I move out in the channel. The canoe’s nose quivers with the current. The wind has picked up and I feel the strain in my arms. The current wants to take me out to empty fields but I won’t, I’m going to the island, going to take the letters up the hill. I’m bringing a sapling with me too, going to plant it at the peak. It’s tucked between my feet up front. One day Breda’s tree will come down and I want there to be something else. So I’ll plant the sapling and I’ll use the letters for mulch.

There’s no way to answer the letters. They come from places that have nothing much to do with us now. It’s hard to remember the hours I spent composing answers, and worse, the answers I did compose, how they seemed so fine and right and how the replies would bounce back so quickly– one part grateful relief, and three or four of worried persistence. As though tending to the trouble only loosened the catch.

Dear Doctor,

My miniature schnauzer has a liver shunt, and my veterinarian does not recommend surgery. And yet many of my schnauzer owning friends and relations tell me that surgery is the optimal treatment. My veterinarian went to a highly regarded school, but she often seems terse and unhappy. I understand she has had marital difficulties over a dishonesty issue. Also, since moving to our area she has not settled well or made healthy bonds with the dog breeding community. My schnauzer has always distrusted her, and the veterinarian reacts badly. Do you think the vet is refusing surgery out of spite? How can I be sure that she is telling me the truth?

Dear Doctor,

I was wondering if you could see from this photo of my face that I am a violent offender? There are lots of things or a few things anyway that I would like to do with my time now but not sure what. And not sure whether this will cause problems, if you can see it. Your professional opinion would be a kindness. Please don't publish it.

The water’s darker, like molten metal, once I come into the lee of the island. It’s heavy against the oars, too, but soon the canoe bottom’s scraping against the shoal, and I hop out, pull it up the narrow beach.

Dear Doctor,

When I was a kid I used to sometimes hear voices in the night, and I was sure they were real but they couldn’t have been. Sometimes I would hear my name, and it was loud and sudden, and I would get a fright, but actually they were inside my head not outside my head. Is this normal? My mother has schizophrenia. Do you think I have schizophrenia too? 

gah. I will spend one more hour on this story. it is slow and trudgy, and the voices don't integrate - the one ponderous and image-saturated, the other sharp and silly and bitter. will a third voice make things better? I want to keep going, I want to just keep going regardless, and give myself an ending.

.

to be patient about it, to be curious and listen. that instinct is working, hence the discomfort. 

to have faith in something before it is made - that might be the hardest part. 

balustrade - baluster - flower of the wild pomegranate

the sun will rise while I'm sleeping
leaves will lift and water dribble
down the sides of the trunks of the trees
feeding the cities of pink and silver
and orange, burnt orange and green
I'll wake up so thirsty

five girls picnic on a balcony

eighth floor valley wall
in sea-apples     rosy-gold concrete

all doors are open everywhere

ceiling fans stir wind
breath
table laughter rough and close
 he is crazy she is
feeding sharks
 girls
lean out from your blanket

thin arms over balustrade, now
 you see those shining strips
 on the far side       on either side

 oh I know they're windows but
 I don't get how they go

baulking at everything, baulking and desperately wanting to jump out, anywhere, anyhow. maybe maybe maybe this is the hesitation before one jumps in to a period of great painful growth. 

I dreamed that I was in a small beach bach with a colleague. It was on a road maybe a block or two back from the beach, on a corner with a fairly large, bare summer lawn. We were sitting at the table discussing a piece of writing - something adolescent, a letter or poem, or letter with a poem in it, handwritten, from one of us as a teenager? Or his ex-girlfriend or sister or something, written when he was a teenager?

It was comfortable and we talked as the evening came on without turning on the lights. there was maybe a touch of hesitation there, circling the content in the letter, a light desire to be closer. I heard my stepdad outside, singing or calling as he came up the steps. My colleague was freaked out, wondering if it would look strange that we were together in the dark but I was happy to hear him, happy he would be here, my family, and soon my husband would be home too. I went to open the door and put the light on. The light switch was one of those small old-style switches on a narrow base of a yellowing plastic. All the paintwork in the bach was old, white, amateur and homely.

My stepdad came in with my sister and I was so overjoyed to see her. I hugged her and picked her up and held her, and carried her around by holding her at her knees/thighs, her hanging back from my body a bit, sitting on my arms while we talked. She was about 14 years old and she'd been down at the beach playing and hanging out with her cousins and friends. She had shaved her head and looked quite androgynous. This made me happy - it was easier to relate to her somehow and I was relieved that she felt comfortable doing it to please herself.

Everyone came in and the place was quite crowded now, including my sister's pets, a friendly rottweiler and a young tiger about the same size, also dark and stocky. We were all talking and the tiger kept leaping up on the benches and tables, looking for food and sending papers flying. It was shooed down several times (I was scared to touch it) and then the two of them, dog and tiger, started running circles around the island bench in the kitchen, getting more and more frenzied, creating a whirlwind of chaos. They were so fast and powerful that I was scared to step into the circle to stop them but I knew they needed to be fed - my sister hadn't taken care of this. I wasn't doing it myself (I guess I didn't know what food they should have, and I was a bit scared of them, and it was her job?) but then I was my mother, and as my mother I stepped in through the whirlwind and moved to the pantry to get the feeding started.  I was talking to my sister too, including her in the job which was still hers. 

last night I dreamed that I had done something terrible. I was with two or three other men - one  a murderer and one a child-rapist, outdoors in a sort of large park at night - we were collaborating or gloating or both. But I realised soon they were going to turn on me. The small Asian one I could get away from, despite his sharp teeth, but the large red-head was much faster and stronger than me, and when he grabbed me and threw me there was nothing I could do. Except fly, I could fly, so I decided to fly away. And when they started to fly too I accelerated, shot off far far away from them, making sure that they could not also accelerate.When it was safe I slowed down, joined N and my family and loved ones hovering around some trees. Everyone was feeding and playing with their pet monkeys. Mine was tiny, the tiniest little scrap of fluff on my hand. And then I lost him on the wrong side of my hand, or on the platform nearby. When I found him again I wasn't sure he was mine, he was quite a bit bigger. But I started to feed him with a banana so that he would stay and he would grow and we would grow a relationship. I looked at N and he nodded in approval. 

a man makes tea 

one white eye 

huge muscle and small

handbones curve together 

tea packet plastic lip the tray

the lip of a cup

he feels his way 

with wooden tweezers

with fingers and loose water