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Ode
to the Eggplant
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| PERSIS
M. KARIM
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Published in di-verse-city, 2005 Austin International Poetry Festival
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| Amuch
misunderstood creature, the eggplant is like an exile. The tongue of its deep purple mouth, trapped in the bitterness of those who cannot speak.
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| Poor eggplant—even your
name compromises your beauty. Like a wayward traveler arriving at Ellis Island, someone took one look at you and declared: “Eggplant!”
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| If only they’d spoken
French, and wrote down “aubergine” instead. Your American name belies your mystery-- you are an egg, yes, but also the curve of a human calf, a shiny black phallus in the starkness of day. You are the waxy underbelly of a bird, the slope of a mountain, smooth stones from the bottom of a river.
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| How could anyone have missed
your taste in the appellation? You are neither animal nor vegetable, but your flavor is requited love— The thing that makes all others complete: garlic, tomato, lentil, lamb, rice. Olive oil would simply be lost without you.
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| And the heat from which you
are born is the heat you unleash in the slow simmer of sauce and stew that gathers people to an intimate table.
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