Butterflies and Premonitions

Samuel Wagan Watson

I don’t sleep . . . I just dream.
—Rust Cohle, True Detective

I was born with a bad headache and before I could write I predicted the wording of incident reports before accidents occurred. On my way home just now a cyclist posing as a peacock abused a driver who really had the right-of-way. Mr. Lycra is going to meet an astral plane of asphalt before any of us. This visceral road of fatal travellers at 6 a.m. is simply a gaping wound that is having the nicotine patches of night sharply ripped from its skin.

Blood orange dawning
citrus acid in the air
cross-roads stirring . . .

Pulling into the driveway, an empty house sleeps. My little boy’s empty bed sleeps. His mother’s empty bed waits made for her, and someone who will never resemble me; that special someone without a sleep disorder. And before my key hits the front door I know what lies beyond. I pictured this scene while switching off the ignition in the car, blinded by a rising sun, realising I am awake for the first time today, answering my stomach’s want, for butterflies and premonitions . . . .

Note: “Butterflies and Premonitions” was previously published in Monster’s Ink (Canberra: IPSI, 2016).

Samuel Watson is a full-time writer who lives on the Southside of Brisbane. His poetry and prose has won numerous accolades and has been translated into several languages. He is published by University of Queensland Press. Samuel is currently finishing a collection of short stories entitled Temporary Ghosts.