In my dream last night you came home, and
we sat on an old EH Holden bench seat in the yard. It
stank of cat piss and geranium. You made
small tears in the weather-worn
vinyl. We built a fire out of old fence palings. You
roasted potatoes and kumera and
sweet black garlic and we ate together.
Last night I dreamed you came home, with
sand in the conches of your ears, and
island-wedding petals drooping
in your hands.
When you came home, in my dream, your
body wasn’t bloated with
your face was brown, not
your hands were warm and dry. When
you opened your mouth to speak,
unpolished jade chips spilled out into your lap.
I woke up alone at Sandgate station. My
hands curled around a three-kilo net
of oranges. I woke up alone but in my dream
you’d come home.