The diving bell spider refuses to live on land.
Instead, it spins a silk bubble to breath underwater.

The window is a time-lapse lens gutting
people in the street and there is nothing in this
room but pain curetting round the curtains and a nurse
every few hours. No news or names for things because she
is dying the slow way.

Pain is a diving bell and every night she could drown
if I wanted. But the body
in the other bed with the signoidectomy
just shat the floor and the night
sounds like a sordino violin.
There are no words here because we can’t speak
the dead speech of health and words
are only words if you use them.

Nisa Malli is a poetry and nonfiction writer who does not play the violin. She recently graduated from the University of Victoria with a B.FA in Creative Writing and is currently the Assistant Editor of La Scena Musicale, a classical music magazine based in Montreal.