With love, I score the insides of the eggplants
into diamond-shaped slashes and slather
the cut side with oil. With love, I crumble
tiny, fresh thyme leaves onto the sweating flesh,
then roast the halves till the dark, tight skin
pulls easily away. It’s heaven in the mouth,
the creamy, tender scoops of eggplant served
with garlicky buttermilk sauce and pomegranate seeds.
I want to believe even the smallest acts—
like sprinkling the tiniest bit of za’atar onto a dish
or sprinkling a real smile into any interaction
or making the call, or writing the letter—
yes, even the smallest acts can be part of
the greater change that infuses everything.