Published in Overland Issue 232 Spring 2018 · Uncategorized Wolkenformen Holly Friedlander Liddicoat think about large fonts and small fonts next to them think about what this means and the space in between think about two clouds in bed two new friends two people with their hands out looking with fingertips think about this, think about the distance that has to be created between people to let others in think about how eggs look fried on toast an avo in bed you told me you cried for the first time since you were a kid that she cheated on you in Colombia and he told me he can’t trust me, hasn’t spoken to me in weeks you always cock your head to the side when you consider a point and now you laugh that I’m in your bed that we’re ‘negotiating boundaries’ after one small, soft kiss you make up new words for sensations, mates, above us a poster: Stratus Kumulus Zirrus repeat this image of a tally ho being pulled from its packet in my head I get tangential telling you a story you ask: what was the point of that? there’s an ice porpoise melting in a bowl in the living room downstairs Image: Jelirhil / flickr Read the rest of Overland 232 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Holly Friedlander Liddicoat Holly Friedlander Liddicoat has previously been published in Cordite, Otoliths, Rabbit, Seizure, Southerly and Voiceworks. In 2017 she edited poetry for Voiceworks and the UTS Writers’ Anthology and has twice been shortlisted for the UTS Writers’ Anthology Prize. Her first collection, Crave, is out with Rabbit in 2018. More by Holly Friedlander Liddicoat › 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 6 November 2026 · Friday Fiction Headland Harry Goddard He must have still been sore. I could tell from the winces he made as he scooted down the trail. Some unspoken agreement of not hitting other people’s children — and the circumstances of me not being that type of kid — spared me from the same punishment. I was taken to my parents who agreed I would have to work off the damages, and I must have mowed the lawn once, or cleaned the family car. 4 November 2026 · Film MIFF, Minotaur and the politics of maternal reception Alicia Byrnes Maternal labour is, in the terms I’ve set out here, not labour at all. Noisy, unfocused, mobile, perhaps even sleepy — it is an affront to arthouse film viewing and therefore unserious.