Published in Overland Issue 233 Summer 2018 · Uncategorized Narrative arc Kathryn Hummel for Ana The distance between expanding curves is vexing. Consider what is lost across lines primed for transoceanic dispatch; in our acceptance of the mainstream map of this binarised earth. We can’t extend, can’t translate or erase the borders add or subtract entity from global process or the democratising caste of fibre optics. Migration, complete and pending, has our passage marked. Some narratives defy their introductions. We pastiche the prolificacy of Balzac, adding detail to the detriment of action, forgetting what we signify. Arcs occur, counter to the cut of extant prose we recount boldly, without depleting. From time to time, preconceptions emerge to define us but how little they contribute to our final shift; to our shadow. The weak see a future developed by category, sure to employ no more sound than thunder. But we’ll have damage to spend, uselessly and well, to stop the world inscribing: to gesture to those imperfectly alive. Image: Lines / 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 Kathryn Hummel Dr Kathryn Hummel is a writer and researcher whose creative and scholarly works have been published/presented/translated/anthologised/awarded in various parts of the world. Currently, within Australia, she edits non-fiction and travel writing for Verity La. Kathryn’s fifth volume of poetry is forthcoming with Singapore’s Math Paper Press and her sixth and seventh with London’s Protex(s)t Books. More by Kathryn Hummel › 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 6 November 2026 · Friday Fiction Headland Harry Goddard He must have still been sore. I could tell from the winces he made as he scooted down the trail. Some unspoken agreement of not hitting other people’s children — and the circumstances of me not being that type of kid — spared me from the same punishment. I was taken to my parents who agreed I would have to work off the damages, and I must have mowed the lawn once, or cleaned the family car. 4 November 2026 · Film MIFF, Minotaur and the politics of maternal reception Alicia Byrnes Maternal labour is, in the terms I’ve set out here, not labour at all. Noisy, unfocused, mobile, perhaps even sleepy — it is an affront to arthouse film viewing and therefore unserious.