Published in Overland Issue 233 Summer 2018 Uncategorized Blessed be this sadness Omar Sakr after Les Murray I carry within the unmimicable dark. Weeping open on the train one day I learn no-one speaks to the sorrowful except to say I’m sorry or I’ve been there or to caw like some useless bird. No-one has been to this place, my sweet black sea. You may have your own, a waterless rock or else some other reflection of world, a bedroom, a garden of knowledge, a mouth. No-one has been to my deep black sea or knows the names of the unique fish, crustaceans and algae that flourish there. I visit its beach of glass every morning afraid it will vanish without my care, my soft light. When I’m there, I hold the necklace of wounds my mother gifted me, tiny tragedies, accidental histories, each one a jewel, amethyst of fist, topaz abortion, and oh the blood diamonds of neglect. Every wound here is a window back to life, little lungs pumping air into this beautiful void. And it is beauty. A dozen moons of pale pink and blue hang in the sky, each one a halo on haunted water. The truth is: I love this grief-wrought hole. All that I have lost lives in it. Together as never in life, we swim, we school, we sink in moon and diamante sand. Bone dry, I leave wet footprints wherever I go. Back in the carriage, the necklace is heavy as a solar system and absolutely ordinary. Image: Vincent Chien / flickr Read the rest of Overland 233 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Omar Sakr Omar Sakr is the author of two acclaimed poetry collections, These Wild Houses (Cordite, 2017) and The Lost Arabs (UQP, 2019) which won the 2020 Prime Minister’s Literary Award for Poetry. His debut novel, Son of Sin (2022) is out now. More by Omar Sakr 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 31 March 2023 Poetry Poetry | Dog walking in the desert Leni Shilton Mparntwe | Alice Springs claypans Each time you walk take a bag for the rubbish, for the weeds. Stride out then confuse the dog as you stop over and over, like you are picking at treasure. You dig with the heel of your boot at the sea of three-corner-jack prickles and remind yourself next time to bring gloves. First published in Overland Issue 228 30 March 202331 March 2023 Culture RollerCoaster Tycoon and the art of niche hobbies Zac Picker As a writer, I spend too much time awake at night worrying about building an audience for my work. And yet, I spend even more time awake at night, planning my next RollerCoaster Tycoon park in my head, for an audience of the hundred-or-so RCT parkmakers I care about the most.