She can’t help herself by Mary Ford Neal

She’s smiling
the woman whose husband
will shortly have her murdered
whose thimble, whose sheets
whose husband’s flesh
will soon be warmed
by a more obliging body
with a lot more give
and quite a bit less to say.
She’s smiling
and at my leisure I can appraise
every detail of her face, but
the only gaze here is hers
and when I meet her eyes, I know
that I am on her turf
and she keeps her eyes on me
and she keeps her real name
on a rope around her neck.
I feel her steel.
They say her wit was like a blade
perhaps she smiled too much
and lacked a blind eye
perhaps she should have saved her tongue
for flattery and prayers
but this is what survives of her
this, her last laugh
And as I finally turn my back, she says
You must understand –
A sharp girl can play sweet, but not for long.
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Mary Ford Neal (she/her) is a writer and academic based near Glasgow, Scotland. She has poetry recently published and forthcoming in Ink Sweat and Tears, Dust Poetry Magazine, perhappened and Capsule Stories, and her debut collection will be published in 2021. She tweets about poetry and other things @maryfordneal.

