Cally Conan-Davies is an itinerant writer, driving and sailing and kayaking and climbing her way around Australia. Sometimes, she picks up a poem. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Able Muse Anthology, The Flea, Lavender Review and The Raintown Review. Her poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize as well as Best on the Net.
Shot With Colour
He fired through the dog's head, had to.
And you heard it, but you didn't see.
My hands clamped your eyes. I couldn't stop
the blast from getting through.
It is the blue bowl of milk close to the snout,
how the blood stood it.
(It is true. They don't mix.)
(It is true. Blood is thicker.)
I can't recall the place I poured it out.
Distance is benign, but when you shut
your eyes, press tight, and tell me how you see
blue turn white then red,
the body twitches.