I can imagine not everyone would look
at this plate of grilled pattypan squash
and start to salivate. I was one of them once,
those who think they dislike zucchini, crook necks,
patty pans. I, too, shunned the spongy flesh,
the seeded core. I was a scorner of squash.
I don’t exactly remember when it changed,
when I stopped wishing it off my plate,
began to grow it myself. Began to crave it—
and not just grated into sweet bread.
Not just sliced and forgotten in a rich tomato sauce.
No, I came to delight in the very squash-ness of it—
the way it embodies the abundance of summer.
The way it takes on other flavors but never
abandons its own. And here, tonight,
stacked on my plate like small green suns,
blistered and sweating from the grill,
the pattypan squash are luscious, delightful,
so utterly themselves. How hard it used to be
to appreciate them. I remember. How easily
it comes now, this thrill in what summer provides,
