Published in Overland Issue 226 Autumn 2017 · Uncategorized Equal first place: MANY GIRLS WHITE LINEN Alison Whittaker no mist no mystery no hanging rock only many girls white linen men with guns and harsher things white women amongst gums white linen starch’er things later plaques will mark this war nails peeling back floor scrubbing back blak chores white luxe hangnails hanging more than nails while no palm glowing paler later plaques will mark this sick linen’s rotten cotton genes later plaques will track the try to bleed lineage dry its banks now flood a new ancestor, Ordeal, plaits this our blood if evil is banal how more boring is suffering evil two bloodlines from it how more raw rousing horrifying is the plaque that marks something else rolling on from this place a roll of white linen dropped on slight incline amongst gums collecting grit where blak girls hang nails hang out picking them hangnails Read the rest of Overland 226 If you enjoyed this prizewinning poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Alison Whittaker Alison Whittaker is a Gomeroi multitasker from the floodplains of Gunnedah in NSW. Between 2017–2018, she was a Fulbright scholar at Harvard Law School. Both her debut poetry collection, Lemons in the Chicken Wire, and her recent collection, Blakwork, were published by Magabala Books. More by Alison Whittaker › 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 22 November 202422 November 2024 · Fiction A map of underneath Madeleine Rebbechi They had been tangled together like kelp from the age of fourteen: sunburned, electric Meg and her sidekick Ruth the dreamer, up to all manner of sinister things. So said their parents; so their teachers reported when the two girls were found down at the estuary during a school excursion, whispering to something scaly wriggling in the reeds. 21 November 202421 November 2024 · Fiction Whack-a-mole Sheila Ngọc Phạm We sit in silence a few more moments as there is no need to talk further; it is the right place to end. There is more I want to know but we had revisited enough of the horror for one day. As I stood up to thank Bác Dzũng for sharing his story, I wished I could tell him how I finally understood that Father’s prophecy would never be fulfilled.
