Published in Overland Issue 235 Winter 2019 · Uncategorized The hymen diaries Eileen Chong I Stone in fist. Rock in hand. Sand a canvas, moon not yet— Circle of circles. There an angle, here a curve—at the centre, only your own hewn face. Spiral of nothing. The tide comes. Takes it all— II You turn the corner into an entire room of uteri—watercoloured wombs on wallpaper, stitched and stuffed fabric fallopian tubes casting solid shadows. A sumi ink landscape of breasts, rising and falling, peaks and troughs, valleys and mountains. Here, a jagged skull: memento mori, the jaw missing, eyeholes dark like the void. A great big fuck-you to fertility. Suddenly, you don’t feel so alone. III Almost transgressive to look at the woman with her legs slightly parted. Not a woman, but knowing a woman had to pose for it. Every fold of skin, every minute hair present— A toddler covers her eyes when she sees it and her mother leads her around to the front and waits for her to look again. They talk, quietly, so I can only imagine the wise, open conversation I never had. Pubis, vulva, labia, clitoris. The stomach flat, the hips concave. Pert breasts, blush of nipples. I have never looked like this, not even in my dreams. IV She has clamped a hand over her mouth. She has two children standing next to her. She has stopped painting figures. Black, rust, white—concatenation of snow and rain. To exist is to resist. The poem is a response, in parts, to the following artworks: I: Katie Giresar’s Everything changes, nothing is lost (2014), site-specific installation at Long Cove Point, Maine, USA. II: Annette Messager’s Papier peint Utérus (Wallpaper Uterus) (2017) and Utérus doigt d’honneur (Uterus Giving the Finger) (2017), seen at Pudique-publique, Institut Valencia d’Art Modern, Valencia, Spain. III: Paul McCarthy’s That Girl (TG Awake) (2012–2013), seen at Hyper Real, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra. IV: Juana Frances’ Silenci (1953) and Dona am dos xiquets (1952), seen at A Contratemps: Mig segle d’artistes valencianes (1929–1980), Institut Valencia d’Art Modern, Valencia, Spain, and Cometos (1989), seen at Museo de Arte Contemporaneo de Alicante, Alicante, Spain. Image: Sergei Akulich on Unsplash Read the rest of Overland 235 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four brilliant issues for a year Eileen Chong Eileen Chong is an Australian poet. She is the author of nine books. We Speak of Flowers is forthcoming from UQP in 2025. Website: www.eileenchong.com.au More by Eileen Chong › 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.