Shantell Powell


Constellation and Aurora

If I were a fast runner I’d leap from my languish,
Chase down the seven sky tuktuit,
Follow until they lie down and offer themselves,
For they know death is the life-bringer.

The sky holds exsanguinated spirits:
Mothers and hunters, warriors and walruses.
And I slip past them without whistling,
Before they awaken and play kickball with skulls.
If I’m not cautious, they’ll cut off
My head
And make me join them.

But if I’m stealthy and quick,
We’ll have meat soon,
And together we'll suck the stars’ fatty marrow
While Brother Moon peeks over the tundra’s edge.


The Fern Yard

Dappled sun filters through fronds.
Ostrich fern canopy
dotted with spores.
The ground is wet with springwater
and my clothes are filthy with clean black earth.

Shantell Powell is an author, multidisciplinary artist, poet, and swamp hag who grew up in an apocalyptic cult while living off the land. She is a graduate of the Writers’ Studio at Simon Fraser University, the LET(s) Lead Academy at Yale University, and holds a BA from the University of New Brunswick. Her writing is in Augur, Cloud Lake Literary Journal, Feminist Studies Journal, Prairie Fire, Yellow Medicine Journal, and more. When she’s not writing, she’s getting filthy in the woods.

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