Published in Overland Issue 213 Summer 2013 · Uncategorized Toast Larry Buttrose The smell of toast reminds me of my father, Not only because he was cremated. He made it every morning, In strips three to a slice of bread, Golden soaked with butter as a happy death. My mother was the smell of wet wool, flooring wax Down a gruel-dim hall, nail polish remover and hairspray, The Roman triumph of a Sunday roast on a tray, And over them both, the maudlin miasma of tobacco. It is said that oxygen is odourless But surely only to our human noses As we sniff our way from post to post, Ashes to ashes, toast to toast. Larry Buttrose Larry Buttrose is the author of seventeen books, including two novels and four volumes of poetry. He is also artistic director of the Katoomba Theatre Company in the Blue Mountains. More by Larry Buttrose › 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 2 October 20233 October 2023 · Aboriginal Australia The use and abuse of History in the Voice referendum debate: an interview with Professor Gary Foley Gary Foley and Padraic Gibson I can see the failure of the referendum making a whole lot of Blackfellas sit up and think and realise again, what we realised back in ’67, that our best efforts to achieve our aims are always at our own behest, under our own control. A whole new generation of Black activists deciding hang on, to hell with the rest of them, let’s just focus on our own communities and start building up the strength of our own communities. 1 First published in Overland Issue 228 28 September 20233 October 2023 · Cartoons Ban cars from the city Sam Wallman Sam Wallman makes the case for closing the streets off one by one.
