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 28 March 202428 March 2024 · Main Posts Why we should value not only lived experience, but also lived expertise Sukhmani Khorana In the wake of this year’s International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, I want to extend the central idea of El Gibbs’s 2022 essay on 'lived expertise' and argue that in media accounts of racism, analytical expertise and lived experience ought to be valued together and even in the same body. First published in Overland Issue 228 27 March 202427 March 2024 · Cartoons Visas for Palestinians: let them in Sam Wallman Sam Wallman makes the case for a visa scheme for Palestinians fleeing the war on Gaza.