it’s humanely raised
meat,
they say.
the cows are on
full-pasture.
the pigs are
slaughtered on-farm.
there are no
antibiotics, no
hormones,
in the feed.
the chickens
are allowed full
access to roam
and wander.
when it is time to order
the meat,
i think
i do not
want it.
i sit and think
about a delicious meal,
inclusive
of meats
and vegetables.
inclusive
of grains
and spices.
i think
about the body
that is made
from body.
the mind
that is made
from mind.
the separateness
that is not
separate.
we feel ourselves
free to move
and so we move.
we forget
or ignore
our rootedness.
like the magnificence
of forest
we are sometimes
still, sometimes
thrashed
by a bountiful gale.
in stillness,
still nothing
but motion.
and in motion,
still rooted
in place.
i think
i want
the meat
but when it comes time
to buy it,
i put it back.
from where i sit
i can see
only a sliver
of window,
on the dim side
of the house.
in that sliver,
i see small birds
find quick cover
under an awning
made of once-clear plastic.
now the plastic
is a smudge
against the sky.
now it wears
a harvest
of mouldering leaves.
water drips
from its lowest edges.
birds flit under it
and then fly away.
zakschafer.com 