a story in a para

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      a nurse speaks…

she tried to get a hard look at me in the lift. I remember her in the dirty green blood-stained gown. I saw her screaming. I saw her trying to say a prayer. And failing. I saw her faint. I remember her bindi sliding onto the side of her nose. I did a’push, push, push’ countdown on her… I stayed an hour late on night duty to deliver her daughter. And missed the bus, back home. And woke too late to pack my son’s breakfast. And she can’t recognise who I am in the lift.

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2 responses »

  1. good lord. just what I’ve been thinking she’ll tell me if we do meet, three years after I left my finger marks on her soft hands. she who heard me curse my gender, my god, my husband; who heard me cry and whimper and beg; who heard me pray softly, loudly, desperately; who held hands with a woman she only knew as a number; who caressed my hair like mum would.

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