Prayers will help, the pastor said.
Hands joined, rest on her stomach,
the blue dress, neat and clean, her
hair set just so. Eyes closed, lips

mouthed prayers. Behind closed eyes
memories stirred, waking giants,
deep feelings woke from dark sleep.
Light from open window warmed

eyelids, skin, hands. She saw behind
lids, shadowy figures, deeds done.
Some other place, other time, all
remembered, recalled. She bit her

lip between teeth. Sensed the smell,
familiar scent, odour more. His not
hers. Side by side, smells, memories,
deeds and music, sensations and

feelings of uncleanness. Just this
once he had said. Just the once.
More after. Each time deeper, more
hurtful. None had known. So said.

Some must have. Time and tide.
She felt sunlight on cheek. Eyes
behind lids moved.  Shadows lingered,
dark room brought sweat and damp

beneath armpits. Clothes removed,
by whom? She or another? Where
was Mother? Father lost at sea. No
return, body lost, sea swallowed.

The bed warm, shutters closed, lie
still, said he. There was that candle.
Yes, remembered that. Light moved
in draft’s touch, slight, not overmuch.

She sensed even the now the then’s
feel, the touches, the pains, thrusts.  
Bathing brought no cleanness, no
undoing, no removing from mind’s

surface the worms of dark deeds.
Prayers will aid, pastor claimed,
what he didn’t know of, just general
stuff, depression, sadness on skin’s

surface, bags under eyes, weeping
over meals.  Dressed such as she did,
plain, no frills or glamour or over
the top colours and patterns. Not

wanting to attract, she clothed dull.
She had been undone, ill used, nightly
mucked, and unknown to Mother, ******.