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Instructions:
A
Prose
Poem
By
Jane
Gilgun
A
nun:
Your
body
is
the
temple
of
the
Holy
Spirit.
She
was
huge
and
round,
dressed
in
black,
with
a
white
thing
squeezing
her
face
into
a
fleshy
ball.
Me:
You
mean
my
body
isnt
mine?
Someone
else
lives
there?
I
didnt
say
that
out
loud.
I
was
too
afraid
of
the
nun.
I
was
ten
years
old
or
maybe
even
younger.
A
nun:
Your
body
is
the
temple
of
the
Holy
Spirit.
Me:
You
mean
I
have
to
be
pure?
Im
not.
I
bleed
every
month.
The
smell
can
be
unpleasant.
I
lust
after
boys.
This
is
what
I
thought
four
years
later.
You
can
count
on
itI
didnt
say
that
to
a
nun.
Telling
me
my
body
is
a
temple
of
the
Holy
Spirit
didnt
help
me.
These
words
had
meaning
to
me
in
the
context
of
my
church
of
origin
where
I
had
the
status
of
a
sinner
and
of
being
impure
as
compared
to
the
perfect
purity
of
the
Blessed
Virgin
Mary.
It
has
taken
me
a
long
time
to
absorb
the
deeper,
more
accurate
truth.
We
are
made
in
the
image
and
likeness
of
God,
and
God
saw
that
we
are
good.