STAIRCASE Climbing twelve steps of the wooden staircase, my tiny feet moved from one step to the next as I held jutting timber, protecting me from tumbling back to the cement floor of our home. When I was older, scrubbing the stairs loosening pieces of grain that stuck into my finger nails, hurting my skin. A smell of rawness filled my nostrils while I worked my way down each step. >From flowing water, the cold floor wet I'd mop it up with an old rag and cover the ground with well read newspapers until it dried, the bucket of dirty water flung weekly into a hole at the end of the street. -- Mary Guckian