Published in Overland Issue 220 Spring 2015 · Uncategorized Autumn poem Fiona Wright I am ankle-deep in leaves and though the days burn bright the fast-falling evening has a bite now: I watch a small child pointing with blunt fingers (yours are moon-like, soft, nails longer and lovelier than mine) at the desiccating leaves along the footpath, more rubbish! she cries, more rubbish! more rubbish! and I walk home past three damp-cornered houses in which I used to live: autumn is soft and slow and spacious. I think of how I curled away from my cold feet hooked behind your knees, each finger in between yours. I still fear that there’s a hollowness within me. For a moment on the freeway the next morning, a huge crow hovers in the middle of my windscreen. They too are smarter then they need to be, and I wonder if they feel it like I feel it, wing-dark and sinking. There’s a crack in the skin of things, the dry air. Fiona Wright Fiona Wright’s new essay collection is The World Was Whole (Giramondo, 2018). Her first book of essays Small Acts of Disappearance won the 2016 Kibble Award and the Queensland Literary Award for nonfiction, and her poetry collections are Knuckled and Domestic Interior. More by Fiona Wright › 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.