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EVENING MILKINGS Even now when I stand at the gate and call their names, they come, trusting as the animals that went on the ark. To make my penance I give them back their neck chains, their swarming hides of flies. I spray their bitten flanks, then lock them down for my father to milk. And to one bold cow, the one who will kick him tonight, I give my name, my hands, my face and legs, my whole body. I watch her thumbs work the cold lock from her neck. Then I stand frightened in her stall and kick that man when he raises the pitchfork. Like a good beast I jerk hard on the chain.  ...

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