Published in Overland Issue 213 Summer 2013 · Uncategorized Northgate Adam Formosa A cigarette bud sits at my windscreen creased left napping I can write your name in Arabic, I know its heavy smoke curls, its language if I carve the space you left with a cigarette I’d find baklava and garlic or eggplant on rye peeping fig-trees, weighted Davidoff Adventure lurking pastirma or bastirma sipping arak, pistachio rinds cooked in wooden mould, I’d find a gold cross hung around the sun anchored on its centre burning into its skin drop me to the bottom of your thoughts to where sandstone sings evaporates heat to its point bleached like bones from the sun, to our first language Adam Formosa Adam Formosa is a NSW South Coast-based poet, whose best work comes out while listening to Deadmau5. More by Adam Formosa › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 21 June 202426 June 2024 · Poetry Night thoughts Ken Bolton A painting I used to like a lot once & thought about / I haven’t thought about / for some time. It showed / Walter Benjamin at a table in Paris. / The artist’s name I can’t recall. Not Patrick. Not Paul? 19 June 202420 June 2024 · Disability What it means to be Deaf and Palestinian in Gaza Ryan Al-Natour Since October 2023, I have gotten to know members of the Palestinian Deaf community across the Gaza Strip. In sharing their accounts, it is my hope that readers will begin to understand their uniquely horrific experiences of the genocide, and how their Deaf and Palestinian identities are inextricably embedded within them.