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20 psaLm (1) Watch as the girls press Father’s shirts, snapping each sleeve taut, creasing it the way he likes. Forgive the fabric.The girls do what they can to smooth and straighten, hissing the iron’s steam. Forgive the house for its mirrors, its dark wood that begs another dusting. Forgive the mat that welcomes. It knows not what it does. Forgive the greedy house for wanting to keep those who do its work. At the end of the day, lying in bed, they find faces in the mottled ceiling: an old man winking, one shriveled ear cocked toward them. Forgive the man who watches. Forgive Father for wanting to keep the girls.And bless the girls for doing his work, pulling clean shirt after clean 21 shirt from the rack. Lying still in bed, chore after chore. Bless them as they plug the iron into the socket, those two eyes. May they forget what they’ve seen. ...

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