Published in Overland Issue 239 Winter 2020 · Poetry Tempest prognosticator Penelope Leyland The storm glass agrees it has been a winter of oddities— big soft flakes at the surface, a tangle of collapsing fractals below. Three Melbourne women in their eighties have been discovered dead in unheated rooms, one in an original origami of insulating newspaper, the others in overcoats, in their beds. A dozen leeches occupying Merryweather’s glass chambers sense the next Channel tempest and undulate for the exit. Their action triggers the hammer that strikes a small bell. In record Paris heat, bottled Perrier is distributed to the homeless and Brevet exams are postponed. Concerns are held for the phoneless and for those who have not phoned. The storm glass is a curio, a simple crystal garden. The leech tubes lie empty in the Whitby town museum. But within any margin of error and as far as we can tell— the more times any bell is struck the nearer we inch to hell. Read the rest of Overland 239 If you enjoyed this piece, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four brilliant issues for a year Penelope Leyland Penelope Layland is a Canberra poet. Her most recent book, Things I’ve thought to tell you since I saw you last, was short-listed for the Kenneth Slessor Prize in the 2019 NSW Premier’s Literary Awards. More by Penelope Leyland › 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 3 November 20233 November 2023 · Poetry our neighbours poem Ender Başkan our neighbours face appears above the fence – hello. our neighbours have a chat with us. our neighbours learn our names. our neighbours become our friends. our neighbours landlord thinks the market is ripe. our neighbours are told to leave. our neighbours try to buy their house at an exorbitant price to keep their kids in the school zone. our neighbours are denied. First published in Overland Issue 228 25 October 202325 October 2023 · Poetry The inhabitants Elif Sezen I died today, among many others, my grandpa died too, and our neighbours, / my best friend, the one with braided hair yes, and our sweet sweet doctors, / our motherly nurses... We heard a blast, then a whoosh of some kind, / and all gone.
