Ongoing notes: the ottawa small press book fair (part three, : Mahaila Smith + Janice Colman,

Further to what I picked up at the most recent edition of the ottawa small press book fair [see my first post on such here; see my second post on such here]. What might 2026 bring for all of this small press fair goodness, possibly? And, as ever, check out Bywords.ca for all of your Ottawa literary events listings, as well as an array of new poems posted monthly.

Ottawa ON: Produced as part of Smith’s 2024 John Newlove Poetry Award win (as judged by Toronto poet, editor and publisher Jim Johnstone) is Ottawa poet Mahaila Smith’s latest, the chapbook After All This Hurt (Bywords, 2025). After All This Hurt follows their recent “novelette in verse” Seed Beetle (Stelliform, 2025) [see my review of such here] and a handful of chapbooks, including one from above/ground. Across sixteen poems, only one of which sits even slightly beyond a single page, Smith’s narratives suggest a straightforward patter, but offer narrative twist and turn, hard left and right. Each poem offers a descriptive clarity, unfolding scenes, and a meditative push, seeking answers to impossible questions, perhaps, or to find that pinpoint of what otherwise might seem out of reach. “My things, undisturbed,” closes the poem “After all this wandering,” “stuck in the dirt / under my hoard of leaves and feathers.” Smith attempts to write their way through and beyond “all this hurt,” as a way to understand what it means. To understand how best to set down, move beyond.

Time to leave 

I collect the objects I think I will need,
as swiftly as I can.
Socks and matches,
thick clothing and a waterproof coat,
gloves and dried food.
I hold my breath,
passing from bedroom to pantry.
I will not breathe the spores
of recent infection, scattered
from shared ventilation
entwining the entire building.
I get out quickly.
Hoping I’ve done enough.

Grant Wilkins and James Spyker

Toronto ON/Montreal QC: I hadn’t been aware of the work of “Montreal-born, emerging Toronto poet” Janice Colman, author of the chapbook PLAYING CELLO FOR A DEAD BIRD (Montreal QC: Turret House Press, 2025), a chapbook that suggests itself, despite whatever journal publishing credits within, as Colman’s debut. While I do find the type a bit small in this title, Colman’s poems are intriguing for the slow movement of her accumulated phrase-lines, one set against another in a kind of purposeful meandering. “I need to buy more milk,” the poem “I want to write a poem about heartache” begins, “we’re running / low    I want to write a poem about / running & low // to the ground.” There’s such lovely pacing through her poems, such vibrant ease in her lines and her line-breaks. Oh, I would be interested to see where her poems might next go.

what is another word for bird?

warbler through my left hip into
groin right beside sharp 

on my feet my grandmother’s bunions
veer to the right beside
index leaning left    what 

another word for low-lying
fragments bruised fruits that fall
my daughter on the same floor
a few doors down 

there are no walls
only words spoken
through a hornet’s nest