Issue 52: Winter 2021

Upon losing my gold star & being confronted by Diana, I, Callisto, tell my story

nymphae sensisse feruntur * —Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book II, l. 452)

nymphae sensisse feruntur *
—Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book II, l. 452)


blazing in my marrow
laid down the quiver to
greet the god in long fa-
miliar grasses wet
before his carbon-grey
likeness where later’d hate
the trees that know my damp
secrets & later’d be
hated by you o god
-dess who once cooed over
my mother-of-pearl shine
[guarded by the fluttering
arms of yr thick forests]
prized not quite w/ need [say
the poets] but more some-
thing like yr throat stuffed up
w/ lilies banish me
my brow downcast & my
silence deep & reddening
[all the nymphs can feel it]
hemmed in by heavenly
wrath & this my spoiled body


●    “It is said that the nymphs could feel it.” (My translation.)

About the author

Annick MacAskill’s poetry has appeared in journals across Canada and abroad, and in the Best Canadian Poetry anthology series. She is the author of No Meeting Without Body (Gaspereau Press, 2018), nominated for the Gerald Lampert Memorial Award and shortlisted for the J.M. Abraham Award, and Murmurations (Gaspereau Press, 2020). Her third book will be published by Gaspereau Press in the spring of 2022. Currently serving as Poet-in-Residence with Ottawa’s Arc Poetry Magazine, she is also a member of Room’s editorial collective. A settler of French and Scottish ancestry, she lives in Kjipuktuk (Halifax) on the traditional and unceded territory of the Mi’kmaq.