By Judith Fitzgerald
SATURDAY'S POET (April 11):
K. I. Press
K. I. Press, a Winnipeg writer originally from northern Alberta, became a mother for the first time last month. Her most recent work, Types of Canadian Women (Gaspereau, 2006), was shortlisted for the Pat Lowther and ReLit Awards for Poetry. She teaches creative writing and literature at Red River College in Winnipeg. Zachariah Wells: "Press is delightfully irreverent, her writing laced with irony and wit . . . Press handles tone beautifully."
Angles
September, photographing dead bird
a glassed-in porch
the fall
a steady hand, needed
to take this bird
the light is fading; the light has flown
the stillest, patientest
subject, submits
to many angles,
angles exclaiming
wings, feet, bill, the brown
streaks on a yellowish belly
but later, reemerging
in almost dark, in pale yellow
light, the first shot
was the best: straight down
in heavy shadow
September, my father
expected, sudden, the flight
almost missed, the car stopped
for speeding, and we were ten
minutes late. For what? Empty angles.
Empty eyes. Empty endings.
Little is left, just sharp angles
of nose, elbows. Cover the toes
creeping from covers,
skin unlike skin, nails unlike nails.
I am not interested in angles.
Hit glass, the fall
a long time ago.
To stop the shaking,
quit breathing.
-- Unpublished (Reprinted by permission of the poet. Exclusive to The Globe and Mail. © 2009 K. I. Press. All Rights Reserved.)
