| OCR Text |
Show BUYING FRUIT for my grandmother It was getting so all the fruit you bought just before you died was bruised. They would sit there in the bowl on the windowsill against the snow, a still life that had already turned towards the earth before you'd have to wrap them in newspaper for the trash. Your daughter •was annoyed, but you'd bring them home anyway, poor sunken things you had picked up at the Italian market up the street. Everything out there was yours you see, in your gray hat and. coat buttoned all the way to the collar. 33 |
