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 First published in Overland Issue 228 30 January 202331 January 2023 History On class as a product of struggle Jared Davidson An understanding of class as a relationship and a process, and the expanded terrain of class struggle that comes with it, has the potential to unearth or reappraise key events and narratives in our colonial pasts. First published in Overland Issue 228 27 January 202331 January 2023 Unions In attacking us, they bring us together Sam Wallman 'What these bosses don't understand is that in attacking us, they bring us together.' (Paddy Crumlin, Maritime Union of Australia, Svitzer Rally November 2022)