She always played an open hand,
wide eyed, innocent
while all around held close
their trump cards
waiting for a kill.
That’s why when he returned,
all sins fully exposed
he didn’t see the steely glint of eyes.
The sword of wrath struck
for the sisterhood…….
and as he fell, bleeding, reeling,
he muttered something about
forgiveness, pleading
and couldn’t understand
her laughter at his weeping.
Ruth Walters
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-open-hand-2/
