Because we think it's less violent to raise our own than to rely on industrial protein sources, even soy...


The Knowledge of It

Without innocence we took their lives…
after their birth to freedom and clannish love,
suckling their mother in the dark warren she had made
nestling together in piles of soft warmth.
After hiding in blackberry bramble,
and observing the boundary of the road but trespassing into our garden
after sharing lettuce, kale and onions
and loving apples and carrots,
after countless stretches and sun salutations,
after posing like contented dogs…
Upon entrapment in a wire bottomed hutch,
they saw clearly with their wide eyes
our narrow, predatorial focus;
their fine manure and gentleness had not bought them life.

After early mornings tending them,
cleaning their pen, offering greens, grain and water.
after fasting them to make the end kosher,
right after giving figs and clover,
then we took their lives. I stroked each one in my arms, cheek and forehead at once.
He folded their ears over their eyes, forced them to calmness,
their bodies slack and still, like yogis at rest.
He pinned them down under a crowbar and struggled hard so that it broke their necks.
All this tending ending in palpable violence.