New Eggplant Poem (draft)

This is a new poem that I wrote for my poetry class with Dawn McDuffie.  The formatting came out sucky, sorry about that!  :-(  It is a DRAFT:

Aubergine, Solanum melongena, a Recipe

Open your loppers and wield them like the mandibles

of a huge insect. Steer them step-by-step toward the tall rangy plants

that bow with the weight of their fruit.  Swoop and center the jaws

around the fruit-stalk, yank closed the teeth to sever the tough stem. 

Watch the purple, pear-shaped fruit plop onto soil

damp and fragrant from days of rain. Carry it reverently

to the coiled hose, allowing each of your ten fingers

to stroke the rich, smooth skin. Wash the few dirt clusters

from the plump base of the fruit with a soft spray

and dry the fruit on your clean cotton apron. Enjoy the way

the water droplets sink into the fabric and disappear,

leaving only faint and fading dark spots on the paisley pattern.

Brush your lips against skin the color of stormy sunset. 

Inside, place a skillet on the fire, add fat, and turn up the flame.

Slide the cutting board from its home along the window wall

and pull the thick-handled butcher knife from its block. 

Lay your sacrifice on the wooden altar and slice from the shoulders

to the hips.  Pause to admire the creamy flesh and small designs

of seed. In a low, flat dish pour stone-ground cornmeal, flour,

salt, pepper, garlic, and a pinch of Old Bay.  Blend with a fork.

From the egg basket on the sideboard, raise your piles

of fresh-picked spinach, cilantro and parsley, pausing to sniff

the aromatic cilantro, and lift out two brown eggs.  Thump them

quickly against the edge of the sink, pull the shells apart

and let the wet suns in their small seas fall into a flat dish. 

Mix with the fork. One by one, lay the slices in the beaten eggs,

flip them, lay them in the cornmeal, flip them and drop them

into hot fat. Listen for a quick sizzle and a hiss of bubbles.

When the edges brown, turn them over and watch them dance.

When the slices resemble the sunset gold of the elm leaves

that gather in the tall grass outside your window, lay them

on towels to drain and cool. Arrange like petals of a flower

on Grandma’s heirloom Botanica platter, with sprigs of parsley

and cilantro. Danger!  Don't make these more than once a year

and don’t burn your tongue as you groan and savor

the crunchy crust that clings to the hot, soft fruit.

Mary Stebbins Taitt

for Margaret and Keith

111018-1516-2a(3), 111017-1432-1b(2), 111017-0836-1^st complete,111016 partial draft a

Further instructions, not part of poem:

layer the leftovers with tomatoes and parmesan

and bake. Cut into rectangular chunks and serve warm.

-OR- Place the fresh fruit in the microwave ten minutes.  Cool.  Carefully scrape the soft pulp

from the now delicate skin, add lemon, olive oil, tahini and garlic

and spread on pita, toast or chips.  Wallow then, in the gorgeous glory of baba ghanouj.