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Allodynia
Allodynia
Allodynia
Ebook65 pages23 minutes

Allodynia

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Rooted in the indescribability and disembodiment of pain, Nisa Malli’s Allodynia looks outward to space and the future of humankind, as well as inward to the body. In “Pain Log”, a suite of body-horror poems, she explores illness as a haunting or possession: “At home, my stitches / undid themselves, fevers pet me // like a dog, my eyes opened / backwards. Sleep ghosted me // more than usual.” In “Ship’s Log,” a near-future speculative suite of poems, Malli turns to themes of alienness, artificial intelligence, and the impossibility of translation; danger, intimacy, and war; as well as the worlds we choose to build together. Allodynia is a highly anticipated poetic debut that more than fulfills the promise of its author’s bpNichol award winning chapbook Remitting.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 15, 2022
ISBN9781990293078
Allodynia
Author

Nisa Malli

Nisa Malli is a writer and a researcher, born in Winnipeg and currently living in Toronto. She holds a BFA in Creative Writing from the University of Victoria and has completed residencies at the Banff Centre and Artscape Gibraltar Point. Her first chapbook, Remitting (Baseline Press), won the bpNichol Prize and her work has been nominated for a Rhysling Award and the Best of the Net Anthology.

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    Book preview

    Allodynia - Nisa Malli

    Pain Log

    Pain Log

    A wasp caught between screen doors // soaped eyes // permanently pulled hair // skinned everything but knees // what if a sunburn but inside // limbs the opposite of ambidextrous // pills forgotten then taken // taken then doubled // then forgotten // the bed // aflame the morning after // overextending // why must I be such a stubborn cannonball // barrelling despite myself?

    What You Have Heard Is True

    It will be easier if you sit

    outside yourself feet

    dangling off the diving board

    in the next room. In the instruction

    manual for what

    to do in case

    of fire you are the stick figure

    firmly closing doors

    to keep the flames

    from razing

    the whole house. Let yourself be

    the aura at a seance the half-gauzed

    after-image of light. The brain

    knows how to fight

    diplopia by suppressing

    one eye even

    divided it will find you

    and you are well

    versed in the sleight

    of hand needed to contain

    your own sundering.

    L’Hôpital Notre-Dame

    The angels of the triage station know you

    are waiting patiently to be admitted

    into their sanctum. They won’t judge you for slumping

    in the plastic waiting room chairs meant to hold one body at a time

    that doesn’t need holding up, for wearing nail polish that dulls

    the pulse oximeter suckling your finger, for mispronouncing

    the names of your possible causes. Sweet Miracle, they know

    you are a medical mystery, permitted to plead

    your case here many times over. Ahead of you: an axe-split

    kneecap, arrhythmias, the worst half of a bar fight,

    food poisoning, a suicide risk, second degree burns.

    The waiting room is eternal and atemporal. You have always

    been here. They have always been here. Here, everyone is always

    in the middle of an emergency, neither

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