(Inspired by a mythological sea-monster on the Map of Ortelius,1590,
Akureyri Museum, Iceland.)
An ectoplasmic blob morphs
into a white wimple and black veil
haunting the dark waters of the dormitory.
Head a beaked orca, telling
her beads, teeth clacking on bones,
as she rocks back and forth.
Behind her back, we snigger at the hairs
on her chin, her Irish accent, the way
the teaching nuns parlent Français
because she doesn’t understand.
Only fit for laundry and night-time supervision,
she glides down the rows of our beds.
Caught talking after lights-out, I’m hauled
to the corridor to stand shivering and sweating.
Her face in mine. Eyes bore into me.
She swipes my head with the back of a hairbrush
as if scouring the bristles off a hog
and it’s all my fault.
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