Baba Ghanoush #poetry #foodpoetry

Photo Credit: Pixabay

Baba Ghanoush 


I barely slept, although sleep gave me dreams as proof

before I crept downstairs and slipped

into the haze of slow time. Sometimes the body’s rush is ceased

by the unseen hand. Acceptance the only release. Late

yesterday, the deer returned in a pair to eat fallen apples

but the dog ran through my distraction of the cat

who watched without movement. Stilled in time

Before breakfast, I opened the door to pull weeds

thinking of how fast they grow and take over

space. When I ate late, the waffle was cold

and I left the table feeling undefined

noting the softened eggplants on the counter

One the color of the hidden eye

the other mottled by the crown. I brought the pair outside

turned the grill’s surface into a flame, and roasted

their skins black, peeling after the insides liquified

thinking of caterpillars and butterflies, I pulsed

their remains with tahini, smashed cloves of garlic,

the juice of half a lemon, and pink salt from a faraway sea

until the house smelled of baba ghanoush and my thoughts

turned once again to night and shade and whether you can have

too much darkness, and how the sun in excess

blinds the eyes to sight

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