Minister for Women

dedicated to the hon. Tony Abbott, Minister for Women

minister for menstrual blood on the hem of her school dress

minister for being the last of your friends to get your period

or the first

minister for sluts, dogs, whores, cunts,

lesbos, fat chicks,

minister for the ones who failed the frigid test

and the ones who passed

minister for the childcare worker who sings the babies to sleep

and on the way home spends two hours wages

on a take home test

minister for the second line, the call from a phone box,

‘if you keep it, we’re through’

minister for knowing it’s over anyway

whatever you do

minister for the women who lie together, bellies touching

minister for stretch marks and cracked nipples and anal fissures,

for the surprising dark clot, the size and colour of a kidney,

that slips from her a few hours after childbirth

and shivers gelatinous on the bathroom floor

just one of those things no one tells you about

minister for the lump that’s found

sometime after midnight

during lovemaking

minister for menopause

minister for the ones who didn't have children

and never felt the need

to explain the reasons why 

but had to anyway to relatives at Christmas 

and the young fathers in the workplace

who will look after you when you are old?

you'll never truly understand love.

minister for putting your knickers into soak

for washing your bra in a laundry bag

for the stains that never come out

for hanging those sheets out to dry anyway

because fuck you

minister for fluid that flows inwards and outwards

minister for solid waste

for matter and destiny

minister for wounds

You may as well write

The world is not waiting

for you to write a poem

so write, don’t write.

The world makes itself

every day

relentless with its energy

for renewal

it asks nothing of you

but you give it anyway

the labour of daily life

walking the world away from

and towards the sun.

What are you grateful for?

you ask your daughters

as you lay them down to sleep.

They are grateful 

that you took the time to ask.

The world is not waiting 

for you to write a poem.

Write. Don't write. 
You may as well write.

Costumes 2

Avery had an afternoon sleep and now he can't drop off. I have read three stories. Martin played harmonica. I sang him a song. Una reminded me that the note said we had to have a family dance after dinner. We got Avery up and danced to All I Want for Christmas is You and a remix of Last Christmas. Then I took Avery back to bed.

I did a self-compassion body scan with him, where we thanked all the parts of his body for what they've done today (thank you mouth for talking and blowing and singing, thank you fingers for picking up and poking) and he gave himself a hug goodnight. (Why don't we teach our children to self-soothe?) I sang five more songs, including Time After Time and Famous Blue Raincoat.

'In true life, monsters can talk,' Avery says, because he doesn't want me to leave.

I say, 'There are no monsters in true life. They are just pretend.'

'Last day,' he says, 'Last day I saw a rabbit on the road in true life.'

'Yes,' I say. 'Rabbits are real.'

'And kangaroos. Kangaroos are in true life.'

'Yes, kangaroos and rabbits are real, but monsters are just in stories.'

'Mm,' Avery nods. 'Monsters are costumes. If there was a monster on the road and a car came and drove over him, it would squash him flat.'

Costume

1.
'I'm not Avery. I'm Thomas,' Avery pipes up from the backseat of the car.
'You're Thomas?' I say.
'This is a costume,' he says, patting his torso.
'You're Thomas, inside an Avery costume?'
'Yep.'
After a while he says, 'Actually, I'm Avery.'

2.
Chay next door has come to visit. Avery is sitting up in his high chair eating yoghurt and blueberries. He says, 'these are sticker eyes.'
Chay watches his eyes very closely. 'Are you sure?' she says. 'It looks like they're moving.'
Avery blinks slowly and deliberately. 'They're sticker eyes,' he says.

Time travel according to Una

Una says, 'I wonder what happened to Amelia Earhart. Freddy said there was crackling sounds on her radio, like she was asking for help, but I don’t believe that, do you?'

Una says, 'I’d like to meet Amelia Earhart and ask her.'

This leads to a conversation about time travel. Una says, 'If you go back in time would you meet yourself?' 

I talk about continuity. I say, 'Maybe its impossible to time travel and see yourself.'

'And see your butt,' Avery says.

'I think it’s possible,' says Fred.

'Just ill advised?' I ask.

'But it’s impossible to time travel,' says Una. 'Because absolutely everybody would have to do it.'

'Why?'

'There couldn’t be a life without you. If you weren’t in that world everything else would have to change. So everybody would have to come with you.'

And then, just little by little, there wasn't any big epiphany or anything, I came to see that things were never really right between us and that they never would have been. It took about two years, maybe longer, to understand that. And now she's married and I'm not, but I'm really happy we're not together.

And it makes me realize that I have been time traveling. It's just that I've been traveling into the future at 60 minutes per hour. And maybe that's how we fix the past.

Sean Cole, 'The Leap' This American Life

This conversation has been sitting in my drafts for months. The other day, after we'd time travelled into the future at a rate of 60 minutes per hour, Una tells me she'd like to work in a museum, because 'she's very interested in Amelia Earhart'.

Two dreams

1.
I dreamt that South Africa introduced a 90c dollar. Everything would still cost the same, it's just that 1 dollar equalled 90c instead of 100c. They solved inflation. I woke up electrified, sure I'd come up with a truly ingenious idea. It took a few days for that feeling to go away.

2.
I dreamt I was at a party. You were there.

In the morning after the party, there was a woman in a car. She'd tried to kill herself.

Robin Williams was there. He looked in the car. Someone said, in a really insincere way, 'RUOK?'

He smiled, he said, 'I'm fine. I'm fine.'

I whispered in Una's ear. I said, 'Go and tell him that if he feels sad, he should tell someone.'
She put his arms around him and said into his ear, 'If you feel sad, tell somebody here.' His arms tightened around her.

But then someone came up to us and said, 'We're just doing some light readings, and then we'll get you to say it again on camera.'

I said to Una, you don't have to. And she didn't want to. She told the woman she wanted to be real. On the way out, Robin Williams said, 'You helped me, maybe you could help others too.' Then Una wasn't sure. And I thought, who am I to stand in her way? This could be her big break. But it was really sad, you know?

Morning stories

7.30am
Avery comes in wearing Una's school hat and a white singlet and nothing else. 'I'm pretending to be a wife,' he says. He takes the hat off and holds it like a bucket. 'Would you like some of my compost?' he offers, speaking in a high voice, his lips puckered.
'Hello wife,' I say.
'No I'm pretending to be a wife,' he says. 'I'm Avery.'
'What's a wife?' I ask.
'I don't know.'
'Are they good?'
'No,' he flops backwards on the bed. 'They're bad guys.'

11am
After protracted negotiations, I buy Avery a home made lemon curd ice-cream in a waffle cone (I know!).
But when it comes, he is upset, because he doesn't want a cone.
I say, 'Do you want me to put it in a cup?'
He says 'In a cup with a straw and a stick and a spoon.'
Frustrated, hot, I say, 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
Sad, he tells me, 'It's the only language I've got.'