Anne Askew & Amber Heard

Plain speaking
a woman of few words, is a gift of God (Sirach 26:14)

Rack and stretch her, loosen flesh
from bone. A jointed bird will not squawk.

Each turn and pull will tighten
the denial in her lips.

Pop the sockets of her shoulders and her hips.
She’ll howl in a tongue you do not know.

Twist her limbs from their hinges.
She will not let a single name breed

from her screams. She has known worse
than this, a woman’s body’s made for pain.

When she is broken, when you have wrenched
the last of her, but still you are no wiser,

carry her. Chain her upright to a chair, bring a crowd
to see her suffer. Light the taper

She will burn       her body slumped      and beat
snapped upright   by the noose       of

paparazzi flash

listen to the crackle    of a virtual match
the Tik-Tok    of the minutes

counting down

her face on every paper      the rustling chatter

look at him      fleshed out
a monster of a pirate    swagger and joust

his face swollen and puffed    yet hard and proud

and the crowd
their stones and sticks
ready for the fix                of an internet high

hands him the light

Gill Connors is from North Yorkshire where she lives and works. She is working on a third collection which will be the result of her PhD, on the subject of the links and parallels between sixteenth century and twenty-first century women. She is a managing editor of Yaffle and Yaffle’s Nest.