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67 Grace What do we say when we say grace? The harrow breakstheearth,brittlebitsofwhatoncewasbone and flesh. Old life cut down and turned under. Fire would claim all but leaves char and ash. Something remains to take to hand. The rock too stubborn to be broken, the hardened knot. In holding them, we know two hard things at once. One is, we were, it is. Harrowed, charred, reduced to the smallest pieces, who are the ones we love now? Still, we must be hopeful, thinking on what has been left, something hard, solid as the earth, nearing perfection. What do we say when we say grace? Say, grace. ...

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