poetry, Volume 4 number 2, March 2002, © 1993 by Doreen Fitzgerald

Food Groups

No matter how you flesh the story out,
the bones say life eats life.
There is a ham hock living
in my right foot,
a moose haunch walking in my other shoe.
Tofu is no exception, everything feeds.
A tree climbs onto the backs of the dead
for a better view.
The beanfield kills the tree,
bread kills the wolf.
Some cows live on in service
to strong bones; the grass, to cows.
The pasture, like a picnic spread
calls out the bug, the mouse, a hawk.
Potatoes died to feed the blight;
one stalk grows tall
expending something else.
A simple caution gripped within the seed,
loose on the breath—
be careful what you eat today,
consider what you feed the earth.

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