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Thursday, August 01, 2013


by Cally Conan-Davies

I don't have one, or rather the one I have
hides discreetly in its little hood. As they should.
A piquant pea, appropriately kept to weather
all kinds of climates hot to chill, with folds
and layers to peel back. And a hook. When laid bare
it won't grow to a tree for all the world to see,
unless of course I'm really a spotted hyena
in which case it would serve a multitude
of purposeful functions: pee, nooky, parturition
(apparently, mine warms to big words though);
and it could be that because it doesn't grow
to industrial proportions, it's easier to ignore it,
easier to relieve it whether anyone is looking or not
and much easier to tell it no, no, no.

Cally Conan-Davies is an Australian writer and teacher who moved to the United States in 2012. Her poems have appeared, and are forthcoming, in Poetry, The New Criterion, The Hudson Review, The Virginia Quarterly Review, The Raintown Review, The Sewanee Review and The Southwest Review, among others. She lives mostly in Oregon.