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It’s only eggplant.
Who would have thought
its harvest
could arouse
a sense of profound
appreciation
for beauty?
And diversity—
in coloring,
shape
and dishes:
Mediterranean,
Asian,
Oklahoman?
It was the dark purple,
almost black,
bulbous ones
our mother peeled and sliced,
dredged through beaten egg,
then flour
and laid gently
in a skillet
filled
with hot oil,
to sizzle,
then drain on paper towels.
Now we prefer
babaganoush
and eggplant parmesan
or grilled,
roasted—
that beautiful skin
on.