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 First published in Overland Issue 228 25 November 202225 November 2022 Poetry Poetry | Summer animal Jini Maxwell This summer I can feel myself turning back into an animal. I wake up early and seek out trees, walking through the expansive quiet of the park until the heat starts feeling sharp on my skin. I leave the blinds closed, so when I return home the building is dark and familiar, and as I shut the door behind me I feel a satisfaction I can only describe as territorial. First published in Overland Issue 228 24 November 202225 November 2022 Politics ‘Sir, please get me the Manager’: Brazil before and after Bolsonaro Guido Melo By then, although young in age, I already knew about those rituals of humiliation and how they were part of my Black family's lives. I also knew that surviving those daily interactions required putting my head down and following the instructions received with no hesitation. I must have had ‘the talk ‘with my parents when I was eight or nine. Life was just like that. Being Black in Brazil means living in a war. No one should ever go to war underprepared.