Caroline Shea
Ode to the Lady Detective
You make me ache for a world
where disaster is averted
in heels lips painted in a bright red bow
All hard edges & sweat through silks I bet your mascara never runs
You’ll hold a man’s heart
in his chest while his breath stutters then stops
You never slip
until you curl your knees to your chest let the blood slowly soap off
in the belly of the tub I claim you
for every girl
who wanted to fix the world & was too damn small
for every woman waiting for answers that never come
Patron saint of what went wrong?
devotee of tell me.
Sure, you go dancing into the small gray hours
of dawn drape yourself in crimson velvet & French perfume
You spar with the best of them
ready with a quip a lockpick a pistol
but the camera never pans to your face
until your lover’s left
you tangled in sheets high heel dangling
from the chandelier O, Modern Woman
O, constant aubade
They always forget you went to war too
the blood on your hands of all you couldn’t save
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Caroline Shea is the author of Lambflesh (Kelsay Books, 2019) and an assistant editor for Washington Square Review. Her work has appeared in Crab Fat Magazine, The Pinch and Tinderbox Poetry Journal, among other publications. Recently, she received The Pinch Literary Award and was a finalist for the Brett Elizabeth Jenkins Poetry Prize. She's currently an MFA candidate in poetry at NYU.