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Medicine Again I've seen a genuine lemon. Ania brought it back for me from France. She thought: return, or else stay on? And what good reason holds her here— a few faces, and words, and this anxiety? The lemon was yellow and looked genuine. No need to display it in the window so it could come to itself, like our pale tomatoes, or as we come to ourselves, ripening and yellowing for years. No, it was fully itself already when she brought it, not so much yellow as gold, and slightly gnarled. So I accepted it gratefully. I'd like to put on the thick skin of the world, I'd like to be tart but on the whole tasty— a child swallows me unwillingly, and I'm good for his cold. 32 ...

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