one legged,


crutched herself
through passageway


and hall,
passed kitchen,


leg stump swaying,
green dress flowing,


out through
the French windows,


moving by me
in the doorway,


pushing by
the boss-eyed nun,


out into the garden,
shouting loudly:




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Anne put her crutches
by the table
on the lawn
and sat next to me


how's it going Kid?
I said
what's for breakfast?


porridge or cereal
or toast
I said
no egg and bacon


and sausages?
she said
I said


fuck me
she said
who eats toast
or porridge


or  cereals?
pass me a glass
and pour me
some of that


orange muck
I poured her
a glass of orange juice
and put it


by her hand
she sipped it
I've tasted better
she said


I want you
to push me
down to the beach
later Kid


can't stick
being stuck
with these other kids
they drive me


up the wall
with their
nonsense with the nuns


especially Sister Paul
the stuck up bitch
I looked back
towards the nursing home


other kids
were sitting about
other tables
and here and there


a nun was attending
to them
got any more wine gums
from your mother?


she asked me
no they've gone
Sister Bridget took them
to share


amongst the others
bloody communist
she said
I looked at her


sitting in the chair
her one leg visible
the stump
of the other leg


hidden beneath
her blue dress
the dress had little
anchors and boats


on it
had your look Kid?
she said
you're always trying


to look at my stump
aren't you?
I can't help it
my eyes are drawn


to the missing leg
I said
she lifted her dress
and showed


the stump of leg
have a good look Kid
I looked at the stump
then looked away


towards the windows
of the nursing home
when do you want
to go to the beach?


I asked
as soon as I’ve had breakfast
she said
she pulled down


her dress to cover her stump
and sipped the juice
the red ribbon
in her dark


straight hair
had come loose.

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Skinny Kid sat
by the white metal table
on the lawn
Anne sat opposite him


her crutches
by her chair
I heard
you puked last night?


Anne said
I did
Skinny kid said
all over the blankets


and pillowcase
said Anne
it was the liver


they made me eat
he said
I told them
it made me ill


but they said
it was good for me
and said
I had to eat it


serves them right
she said
Sister Bridget moaned at me
he said


O her
she's got  a face
on her
like a sufferer


of haemorrhoids
what's haemorrhoids?
he asked


bulging blood vessels
hanging from the arse
she said
he tried not


to picture it
or see it
in the nun's face
feel better now though


he said
she replied
my mum's visiting today


he said
good for you
she said
has your mum


visited you yet?
he asked
no I think she's
making the most


of me
not being around
Anne said
it's a kind of holiday


for her
me stuck here
after my fecking leg
was chopped off


he stared
at the area
of her skirt
where no leg appeared


she saw me in the hospital
and brought me grapes
and flowers and stuff
and a bag


of odd socks
he stared
at her one leg
hanging from out


of the skirt
does it hurt?
he asked
it does at times


and I go to rub it
and it isn't there
someone's stolen
me fecking leg


Anne bellowed
to the kids
playing on the swings
and slide


on the lawn
of the nursing home
they looked over
at her


then quickly
looked away
a nun nearby
shook her head


and wagged
a finger
Skinny Kid looked
at the vacant area


of skirt again
what's the matter Kid
want to see my stump?
and she hitched up


her skirt
to reveal the stump
of her leg
and a glimpse


of blue underwear
he blushed
and looked
at his hands in his lap


never mind Kid
she said
good manners
is a load of crap.


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Anne crutches herself into Sister Paul's office. The nun is sitting in a chair behind a desk, hands folded on the table, eyes stern, lips a straight line. Anne stands before the desk, taking in the huge crucifix on the wall above the nun's head.

- You can sit down, Anne, the nun says, eyeing her firmly, watching the 12 year old girl, as she manoeuvres herself with one crutch onto the chair.

Anne sits down and puts the crutch beside the chair and pulls her red skirt over her knees, covering the stump where her leg had been.

- Do you know why you're here? Sister Paul asks, unfolding her hands, and laying them flat on the desk top.
- No, Anne says, looking at the nun's black and white headdress, the thin features of the face, hawk-like nose.

-There has been complaints made about you, the nun says. She watches as the girl fidgets in the chair, lifts herself with her hands, back further, on the chair. - Are you not comfortable? She asks.

- No, Anne says, My knickers are too tight.

The nun sighs, looks at the wooden ruler on her desk, wishes she could, but knows she can't.
-  Complaints made by other children here and staff members, the nun says, toying with the ruler with her fingers.

-What sort of complaints? Anne asks.

-The worse sort: bad language, insolence, rudeness. It has to stop, Anne, do you understand? The voice sounded like grit poured into a bucket.

Anne fingered at her backside. -Ah, that's better, sorted it out now, she says, putting her hands together in her lap. - I can't recall any rudeness, she says, acting miss innocence, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, kind of expression and pose.

The nun looks at the girl and inwardly is glad she never married and had children, especially if one had been like this.

- Sister Bridget says you called her a dried up prune, the nun says, looking at the dark hair and eyes of the child, the insolent way she sits and looks.

Anne frowns.- Me? To Sister Bridget?

-Yes, to Sister Bridget, and Sister Mary says, you exposed your bottom to her when she asked you to take your afternoon sleep. The nun looks at the girl's expression, her frown of brow.

- No, not me, Sister Paul, must have been some other kid's backside she'd seen.

-Are you calling these two nuns, liars?

The girl looks at her hands in her lap, raises two fingers upwards, out of the nun's sight.- No, not liars, just mistaken. We all make mistakes, Anne says, we're all human, after all.

Sister Paul's eyes darken, she grips the ruler tighter, pushes her toes to the end of her sandals.

- And some of the children have made complaints, too, the nun says, the words hard as nails from her lips.

-Ah, you know what liars kids can be, Sister. They couldn't tell the truth if it came wrapped in yellow paper saying, TRUTH. She smiles at her wit.

Sister Paul doesn't smile; her lips tighten, her eyes scan the child, if the girl at been at one of the schools, rather than the nursing home, she'd be well on her way to a sound caning.

- I know children, Anne, and liars, the nun says, eyeing the girl firmly, tapping the ruler on her palm. - You are a liar, and I know you. I have read the reports on you before you came. I was reluctant to take you in, but had little choice. You will behave yourself or be expelled from the nursing home. Is that understood?

Anne senses a fart coming on, but holds it in. - Yes, Sister, sorry Sister. It's my leg you see, it gives me pain, and keeps me awake at nights, and I get tired and I get irritable. She puts on a hurt expression.

The nun sits upright and stiff, an expression of dislike etched on her features.

-We are given pain, by God, for a purpose, Sister Paul says, it is a gift we ought to shoulder and bear with gratitude.

-Like haemorrhoids, you mean? Anne says, fiddling with her fingers, a blank look on her face.

- You know what I mean, young lady, pain in general, not in particular. At that moment the nun feels a great urge to inflict pain on the girl sitting in front of her. She can picture it, the whole scene, the satisfaction.

Anne shifts in the chair, steadying herself. - Can I go now?

The nun sits back in the chair, eyes focusing on the girl, her face straight and stiff as a board.- Your  leg has been amputated, so how can it give you pain? the nun says, her words pushed from her mouth as if they were sour.

- Nerve endings, they don't realise the fucking legs gone, oops sorry, about that it kind of slipped out while I was engaged in thoughts, Anne says, looking at the nun's reddening face. - Didn't mean to, it's my leg you see, it gets me all uptight, and wound up like a clock, and then ping!  Out it comes.

The nun sighs deeply. The word hammers inside her ears and brain. - I won't have such language, do you hear me, not another rude word or expression.

Anne clenches, the cheeks of her buttocks tightly, to hold in the the coming wind. She nods, gives an expression of remorse, allows her eyes to water, takes out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wipes her nose. - Sorry about that, don't mean to be such a bad girl, my apologises to all. She wipes her eyes, lets herself go, does her acting bit, slumps her shoulders, weeps softly.

The nun is confused, sits up, feels an urge to go around to the girl and embrace her, say, there, there, dear child, but she doesn't, instead she stares at the girl, at the slumped shoulders, at the dark hair, the sight of neck, and wonders what kind of mother she would have made had she married, would she have coped with the nappies and sickness and foul smells and dressing and undressing a baby and the disturbed nights, and a man touching her, and doing things to her. No, she couldn't have married, nor had a child. She sighs and softens, -OK, Anne, lets say no more about it, and she gets out of the chair and walks around to the child weeping, in the chair, and puts an arm about her, feeling the shallow shakes, the sobs, the sight of the one leg, knowing a stump was beneath the skirt. - There, there, calm down, it is all too much for you after losing your leg, I'll have a word with the children and staff and explain about your pain. She holds the girl close to her breast, feeling her there, the catching of breath, the sobs, the shaking shoulders, and plants a kiss on the girl's black hair and head.

- Sorry, Sister Paul, Anne says, between her acted sobs, sniffing, wiping her nose, feeling the fart go away silently, like sneaky hound, all without sound.

The nun feels her heart open and close. - All right, Anne, you may go and rest your leg or stump, she says, going back to her chair and sitting there, watery eyed.

Anne lifts her head, pushes her hair from her eyes, sniffs and wipes her nose. -Thank you, Sister, you're like a mother to me. She pulls herself up from the chair with the crutch, feels the pain shoot through the stump, rubs it, pulls a face.  - I'll go and rest it, she says, soft voiced, sobs held in check, head lowered. She crutches herself from the room slowly, sensing the nun's eyes on her, feeling a sense of fulfilment, like passing an audition, and lets the door click gently behind her.

Sister Paul sits and fingers the ruler. Sniffs and coughs softly. Feeling the girl's shoulders in her hands, the gentlest of touches, the sense, momentarily, of being a mother, compassion, concern, yes, it is there, she says inwardly, maybe I might have made a good mother after all had it been God's wishes, even if I had to put up with a man's touch for the duration. Thank God,  she says softly inwardly, for my vocation .

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