Druggy night-purple, bulbous

as the dong of some young incubus,

what’s sheathed by that silken skin

may disappoint: spongy, grey, freckled

with old seed and to an unskilled handler

unforgiving.  But once it’s been dissevered

like a sacrifice, drenched in oil and given

to the flames, then melted coral oozes

the slick of yolk, full subtle sweetness

of its inner nature:  Aubergine,

goddess of succulence.

© Jill Sharp

Picture 10094911, illustration in Thompson’s Gardener’s Assistant, circa 1900

Jill Sharp grew up in the New Forest and now lives in Swindon, where she teaches with the Open University and runs regular writing workshops.  Her poems have appeared in magazines, anthologies, newspapers and online.  Her poetry pamphlet, Ye Gods, was published by Indigo Dreams in 2015.