Published in Overland Issue 243 Winter 2021 · Poetry until it was memory Jennifer Nguyen i am grieving for this wolf hole where her heart should be my cloak dyed red from her blood regret washes off my hand who holds her now that the hole has become a stone so heavy it sinks her ; eternal dream ; fever dream, where every single thing to eat is one step a head where every turn is a gun-toting grandma firing warning shots leaving passive-aggressive voicemails wondering whether i’ve found a good job a good man yet the wolf hunts because she is hungry cuts wood because she is cold pretended to be someone she is not because she is human this winter has been hard on every body i cannot forgive grandma but cannot fault her for killing friend (apparent foe) i, too, value my own life first i, too, strike before i am struck i, too, would prefer to eat before i am eaten this winter has been hard so we will boil her head and make soup grandma says we are wolves too we must be if we want to survive Read the rest of Overland 243 If you enjoyed this piece, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four brilliant issues for a year Jennifer Nguyen Jennifer Nguyen is the author of poetry collection When I die slingshot my ashes onto the surface of the moon (Subbed In, 2019). Jennifer’s work has been published in City of Literature Summer Series, Liminal ‘Interiors’, Scum Mag, Meanjin blog and more. Jennifer was previously a recipient of the Wheeler Centre Hot Desk Fellowship for poetry. In 2020 she was a Poet Laureate for the City of Literature Poet Laureates of Melbourne project. More by Jennifer Nguyen 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 15 May 202326 May 2023 · Poetry Poetry | Two poems by Ouyang Yu Ouyang Yu You have to do it badly. If it is poetry, even more so, because there is no because. If you write like you were the best in the world, you are the worst because you pretend too hard. Too harsh, too. Why do you want to be the best? Is that because you are a lack or there is a lack in you that you feel like filling up all the time? Even when you are named the best, does that mean anything? 1 First published in Overland Issue 228 21 April 20232 May 2023 · Poetry Poetry can already be free Ender Başkan There’s a regime of logic that we can call Australia, that we can say on many fronts is also a fiction. Any poem that meets Australia within its logic, taking it at face value, will be boring and it might be competent. If you use an AI app, it will definitely be competent AND boring materially, but conceptually it’ll be amazing, in that it met evil (management speak/the invisible hand/terra nullius) with cunning, with another kind evil—amoral, not immoral.