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.