Published in Overland Issue 232 Spring 2018 · Uncategorized Wolkenformen Holly Friedlander Liddicoat think about large fonts and small fonts next to them think about what this means and the space in between think about two clouds in bed two new friends two people with their hands out looking with fingertips think about this, think about the distance that has to be created between people to let others in think about how eggs look fried on toast an avo in bed you told me you cried for the first time since you were a kid that she cheated on you in Colombia and he told me he can’t trust me, hasn’t spoken to me in weeks you always cock your head to the side when you consider a point and now you laugh that I’m in your bed that we’re ‘negotiating boundaries’ after one small, soft kiss you make up new words for sensations, mates, above us a poster: Stratus Kumulus Zirrus repeat this image of a tally ho being pulled from its packet in my head I get tangential telling you a story you ask: what was the point of that? there’s an ice porpoise melting in a bowl in the living room downstairs Image: Jelirhil / flickr Read the rest of Overland 232 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Holly Friedlander Liddicoat Holly Friedlander Liddicoat has previously been published in Cordite, Otoliths, Rabbit, Seizure, Southerly and Voiceworks. In 2017 she edited poetry for Voiceworks and the UTS Writers’ Anthology and has twice been shortlisted for the UTS Writers’ Anthology Prize. Her first collection, Crave, is out with Rabbit in 2018. More by Holly Friedlander Liddicoat › 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 18 December 202418 December 2024 · Nakata Brophy Prize Dawning in the rivulet of my father’s mourning Yasmin Smith My father floats words down Toonooba each morning. They arrive to me by noon. / Nothing diminishes in his unfolding, not even the currents in midwinter June. / He narrates the sky prehistorically like a cadence cutting him into deluge. 16 December 202416 December 2024 · Palestine Learning to see in the dark Alison Martin Images can represent a splice of reality from the other side of the world, mirror truths about ourselves and our collective humanity we can hardly bear to face. But we can also use them to recognise the patterns of dehumanisation that have manifested throughout history, and prevent their awful conclusions in the present. To rewrite in real time our most shameful histories before they are re-made on the world stage and in our social media feeds.