I remember every bulb and shoot. A garland of last year’s onion; barley, spelt. And the Lord had regard for Abel and his offering, but for Cain he had no regard. Garlic in a braid; two fists of dill, the fronds like finch feathers. So Cain was very angry and his countenance fell. The Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry?” Pomegranates, quince; rocket, celery root! If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it. I was arguing for dahlias and sorrel, lemons on their squat, blunt trees. It was the first I knew of who I was.
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