Faces that Fled the Wind by Alycia Pirmohamed

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Faces that Fled the Wind by Alycia Pirmohamed

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Faces that Fled the Wind by Alycia Pirmohamed was selected by Camille Rankine as the winner of the 2018 BOAAT Chapbook Prize

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Alycia Pirmohamed is a Canadian-born poet living in Scotland. She is a Ph.D. student at the University of Edinburgh, where she is studying poetry written by second-generation immigrant writers. Her work has recently appeared, or is forthcoming, in  Prairie Schooner, The Adroit Journal, Poetry Book Society, Room Magazine, Best New British and Irish Poets 2018  and others. Alycia is the author of the chapbook  Faces that Fled the Wind  (forthcoming, BOAAT Press) and the winner of the 2018  Ploughshares  Emerging Writers' Contest in poetry. She received an MFA from the University of Oregon. Find her at  alycia-pirmohamed.com  and on Twitter  @a_pirmohamed .

Alycia Pirmohamed is a Canadian-born poet living in Scotland. She is a Ph.D. student at the University of Edinburgh, where she is studying poetry written by second-generation immigrant writers. Her work has recently appeared, or is forthcoming, in Prairie Schooner, The Adroit Journal, Poetry Book Society, Room Magazine, Best New British and Irish Poets 2018 and others. Alycia is the author of the chapbook Faces that Fled the Wind (forthcoming, BOAAT Press) and the winner of the 2018 Ploughshares Emerging Writers' Contest in poetry. She received an MFA from the University of Oregon. Find her at alycia-pirmohamed.com and on Twitter @a_pirmohamed.

Faces that Fled the Wind by Alycia Pirmohamed

Winner of the 2018 BOAAT Chapbook Prize

selected by Camille Rankine

Ships late October / early November.

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Self-Portrait with Fish Eyes

 

I am a woman who is longdark

language

 

a woman who eats fish eyes

to feel close to mother

 

a woman who loves whole milk

whole figs and single dimensions—

 

I am a woman with this many faces

this being not a number

 

but a rhizome of turmeric

eyelashes sweeping

 

against the smoke

a lily’s open mouth

 

my voice         such tall spruce

 

I am a woman that carried

my first heartache

 

before I was born—

A woman whose irises are

 

split open seams

spilling a longdark bloodline—

 

a woman disguised as a healed

wound

 

a daughter splintered by every

memory crossed