Violet Smith

by Amy Thomas

I know the hand of judgment quick

To condemn with incisive, sharp

Strokes woman alone, dissecting

Her every point, analyzing

All she saw, all she is. Reduced

To a single moment of fear.

I ring the bell, subsume my fear.

My heart beats a tattoo too quick,

Afraid to be again reduced

By eyes, by voice, by pen so sharp

It denounces by analyzing,

Each word, expression, dissecting.

Open door, commence dissecting,

Extracting every ounce of fear.

My hand shakes for his analyzing;

I speak too low, too soft, too quick,

Feeling his gaze upon me sharp.

I refuse to be reduced.

Become my specimen reduced.

Commence, my own dissecting.

He finds my gaze to be as sharp

As any man’s, I fancy. Fear

Has no place in his movements, quick,

clean. He endures analyzing.

I speak sweetly, analyzing.

Each item in his room reduced

By my magnified wit, placed quick

Under my glass for dissecting.

I pull focus from my fear.

Tables turn; examination sharp.

I miss nothing; I am too sharp.

I see him cease his analyzing,

Devoid of judgment as of fear.

I am augmented and reduced

By his suspended dissecting.

Client. Classification quick.

Extinguished fear; my mind is sharp.

We’re both too quick with analyzing.

Sherlock Holmes is not a man reduced by shared dissecting.