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‘i shall never be clean,’ she moans. the bathroom floor is littered with shards of soap, fragranced fragments that decorate the greasy linoleum like pointed pebbles on a dirty beach. an old towel holds her damp hair – a mother’s hand, gently secure in her naked vulnerability.
‘i shall never be clean,’ she sings. another soapy slither drops to the floor, milky suds pooling beneath it; a sailboat at low tide.
‘clean…’ wrinkled fingers unwrap a fresh bar. clean, smooth – it plops beneath the bathwater, and the baby splash makes her giggle.