We are making dinner. It is growing dark outside.
Autumn makes herself known on our countertops:
persimmons, quince, pomegranates.
There are 613 seeds in every pomegranate, you say,
which for the Jews represents righteousness.
All I can see are paper skins rouged with vermilion
and, beneath that, the red fruits heavy with juice.
If it is true that each
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