I've been having the same dream every night for weeks. I'm walking down the street wearing white sunglasses and I love them. I own white sunglasses. This is my dream.
The other dream that visits on still nights is more vivid. I am small, the second shortest in the group. Its dark in the closed verandah of the queenslander and the air feels hot like living velvet. I am tired but unable to sleep zipped sweating into a sleeping bag on the wooden floor. All day I'd traipsed around holding the hand of my aunt or uncle or older cousin. We'd walked and walked along strange wide streets. I was dragging my heels and peering over gates into fantastical tropical gardens. Nobody wore hats though the sun bit with white intensity and sunscreen slid down and pooled with the sweat behind everybody's knees.
They walked me to church and sat me on the hard seat where I sweated and fidgeted and confusion swirled. I kept asking "Are we in Queensland?". I was pulled to my feet by eager cousins who walked me down the aisle then I sat like a dog while the priest fed me a biscuit and placed his hot hand on the top of my head. All day I pulled at my hair because I could feel his hand there large and wet as an egg. They laughed as I walked back down the aisle alone with my hands on top of my head feeling to see if something was there, my printed dress pulled higher by my lifted arms. "Are we in Queensland" I aksed?. "Just" they said, "just".
The other dream that visits on still nights is more vivid. I am small, the second shortest in the group. Its dark in the closed verandah of the queenslander and the air feels hot like living velvet. I am tired but unable to sleep zipped sweating into a sleeping bag on the wooden floor. All day I'd traipsed around holding the hand of my aunt or uncle or older cousin. We'd walked and walked along strange wide streets. I was dragging my heels and peering over gates into fantastical tropical gardens. Nobody wore hats though the sun bit with white intensity and sunscreen slid down and pooled with the sweat behind everybody's knees.
They walked me to church and sat me on the hard seat where I sweated and fidgeted and confusion swirled. I kept asking "Are we in Queensland?". I was pulled to my feet by eager cousins who walked me down the aisle then I sat like a dog while the priest fed me a biscuit and placed his hot hand on the top of my head. All day I pulled at my hair because I could feel his hand there large and wet as an egg. They laughed as I walked back down the aisle alone with my hands on top of my head feeling to see if something was there, my printed dress pulled higher by my lifted arms. "Are we in Queensland" I aksed?. "Just" they said, "just".
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