Translated into German and published in 'Die Kleine Europa' edited by Dorothea Iser and Heinz Kruschel
I am born. My father is working with the navy. He is strong. He is powerful. He works with men. They drink a lot. It is the man's world. Some women want to be like men. They want power too. It is a game.
If you are a pawn in the game there is always a slight possibility that you may become a queen, but if you do not know how to play the game, if you are not protected by knights and bishops, you will be eaten, devoured, sacrificed.
I am a white pawn in a man's world, pure, unblemished. They have the power, the strategy, the tactics. How to avoid nuclear war but get as close as you can to it! They enjoy the game! They are taught to enjoy the game! Two bulls with their heads down; its nature they say. I am undefended and unimportant. The weaker sex! The sillier sex! The inferior sex! The sex that cries! I have my vulnerability, my defencelessness, my dependence, just like a baby boy! Baby boys cry too! I am put to the breast, soft and warm and bigger than my face. I suck, driven through need, and then for comfort. I miss the warm waters of my own space. I begin to feel a little insecure.
My mother's nipples are sore. She casts me aside. I cannot see her. I cannot feel her. I suck my blanket. My hands wrestle in the air as I reach out for love. I cry. I am angry. I am frightened. She hurts me. I want to be tucked in against her. I cry harder. I have a pain. It gets worse. I sob. I am rejected. I am alone!
I am a child. I lie deep at the bottom of my bed where they cannot find me. I tuck my knees up to my chin. Sometimes a black dog sits beside my bed and watches me. I am afraid of him. He might destroy me. He might eat me.
I steal food. It comforts me. Mother bakes brown soda bread - like her mother would have baked in Ireland. It is crumbly. It is nice with salty butter on. I cut a piece. Mother isn't looking. Daddy is home from the navy. He is English. I am English because I was born in England but I don't seem to belong anywhere. I want to belong somewhere. Daddy has been all over the world. He has brought fish and chips home for dinner. He gets mad sometimes but I think he loves me. I ask him if he loves me. He gives me a big wet kiss, all watery. He breaks some of Mother's bread in his hands and gives me some. Mother doesn't like him doing that. Mother has a big hurt. I can tell.
We go to Mass. Mother believes in going to Mass. Her family have always gone to Mass. 'We are living in a heathen country!' she says. I love Jesus and I love Holy Mary, but I think I am a sinner. I like apples. I like sharing them. Eve mad Adam get into trouble. It was all her fault. Maybe its my fault mother doesn't love me. I have a treasure-box inside. I want to share my treasure-box but I am scared. I lock it up, deep inside.
Daddy cuddles me in bed. He has red whiskers. they tickle. I love Daddy. I think Daddy loves me. Maybe he will find my treasure-box. We have a big secret.
I have a dream: a man is chasing me. I am frightened. Really frightened. I run from house to house, dodging him. I hide in fields, behind hedges, down rabbit-holes. He is like a fox. He finds me. I am frightened. I am shivering. I am sweating. I wake and feel safer. It is not so bad.
Daddy is home on leave again. He comes to me every night. He hurts me and does not know. My body shakes all over. I cannot control it. My teeth chatter. I cannot cry. It will not come out. The black dog sits and watches me. I talk to him. He is my friend. I am not dead.
If Mother catches me crying she hits me and tells me to pull myself together. What a luckly girl I am and what a sinner I am to cry. I do not know why I cry. I cry every day. I find somewhere quiet, out of the way, to cry; down at the bottom of the field, near the stream. I cry until I am like water, and I listen to the sound of the stream rippling over stones. I like living in the countryside. I feel better. We have to drink the blood. I love Jesus. I will drink his blood. I think he loves me even though I am a sinner. He stopped them stoning Mary Magdalene. He loved Mary Magdalene. I'm only a girl. They put nails in him. I tried to put nails in me by the stream, but I was too scared. Jesus might have loved me if I hadn't been scared.
The priest is nice. I like him. He is like my black dog. I talk to him. I'm just a girl. I would like to grow up to be a queen, like Cinderella or Snow-white. Maybe I will go to America and be a film-star. I would love to be a queen, a really beautiful queen, then I would be able to share something from my treasure-box with everyone. My prince would be very very dark and romantic. He would be my king and I would become his queen.
The black dog doesn't come every night now. He is fading. He is still my friend though. Mother cannot see him. She says I'm mad. I wish Daddy wouldn't come. He hurts me. He doesn't know how I feel. The black dog knows how I feel. I wish someone would make me better. I am bad. I am dirty. I steal things at school, things I can't have. Things I'm afraid to ask for. Other people's treaures. I wish someone would love me. I rock in my chair at school. They imitate me. They call me names. Boys chase me. I am frightened but I want to be chased.
Perhaps a boy will fall in love with me. Perhaps he will see my treasure-box. He will not hurt me. He will not bully me. He will love me. He will make me better.
Daddy is not allowed in the house. They've stopped him coming. Perhaps its difficult for him being in the navy. Mother hates me. Was it my fault that Daddy doesn't come home? I try to make Mother like me. She says I am a sinner. I am glad and sad that Dad has gone. I hate him and I love him. It might be all my fault. I can cry in my bed now. I go to Catholic school. Daddy wasn't Catholic. I cannot concentrate at school, but I write poems and sing songs. I am good at art. Jesus loves me even though I am a sinner. I wish I had a boy-friend like Jesus. There is blood between my legs. The priest is Irish. He sounds like my mother. He tells me about the body and blood of Jesus at the Holy Mass. I drink and eat the body and blood of Jesus at the Holy Mass. Perhaps it will make me clean.
I have a friend - a man friend. He is older than me. He has black hair like the shiny fur of my dog. I stroke his hair. I talk to him. He listens. I trust him. He does not hurt me. He is a social worker.
Mother likes him. She says he is respectable. He is nearly Mother's age. Mother looks old. Her hair is grey. I tell my friend everything. He is like a knight. He is a gentleman. I would like him to sit by my bed and hold my hand while I talk to him.
My friend is going away, to America. He is going to write a book. He is very clever. I wish I were clever. I cry. I feel my friend fading like my black dog. I would like to sail across the waters.
I have left school. I cannot get a job. I go to stay with my aunt and uncle on their farm in Ireland. I can work for them. I sail across waters. My aunt doesn't like me. My uncle likes me. I work on the farm. I go to Dublin. I work in a shop The manager touches me. He says I am a sinner, then he touches me. I think I must be a sinner. I leave the shop.
My boy-friend hits me. I love him. Perhaps he will not hit me again. He drinks, so I drink too. We are happy sometimes. He says he loves me but sometimes he gets mad and hits me.
Maybe I will go back to England. I go to Cork. My hair sticks out like my daddy's beard. I share a room with a girl with red hair like me. She smokes. She takes drugs. She says it makes her feel better. I want to feel better.
I have no money left. My friend has no money left. We are both sinners. Men make us sinners and then blame us. Jesus loves me though. I stand on the docks with my friend. I don't hurt any more.
They are powerful these men. They have money. They manipulate the game. They call the moves.
I have met a sailor-prince. He is dark - very dark. He is gentle. I talk to him. He listens. His words are shaped differently by his mouth. His words sound different. I like his words. They touch me gently, though they are big and foreign like his hands. He gives me money. He looks after me. I share my treaure-box. He loves me, but he has to go away - sail away on his ship. Water divides us.
There is a baby inside me, The baby of my sailor-prince and me. I will protect her. I beg for money outside city banks. My hair is red like blood. I have a blanket round me. I suck it sometimes for comfort.
There is no blood between my legs. I draw a big ship on the pavement. I sing songs. I receive coins. I buy bread and sardines. Inside my treaure-box is more love locked up than will be found in any bank.
As I drown a poem floats into my head:
'I will drown my baby and me
In the waters of the Lee
And in the waters of my womb
My baby drowns, her tomb
Will be a treasure-box, a queen's,
Our guard, the black dog of my dreams.
One day a king will find the key
In the waters of the Lee' ***Back to home
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