Thursday, February 05, 2009: On the Street…The Green Hornet, Paris

She sliced the eggplant
On the wooden cutting board
That belonged to her parents
Or mine

The water bubbled
Over the stove’s small flame
And the oven trapped the heat
Inside

I chose a glass,
A champagne flute, a gift from someone
I’d met twice, and filled it with
Pepsi

The fat circles
Of aubergine lay smooth, wet,
And pale. The cross-sections bore no rings,
Like trees

Which indicates
The method of growth: not in layers,
But as a whole, the purple skin
Stretching