My friend doesn’t eat animal
meat that still looks like the animal.
The animal, dead, cannot come back
to life. At least not without
a miracle in which you can turn
your fingers into god and jigsaw
the pieces back together. With crabs
or lobsters, though, you can skip
the puzzle. I am not going to pull
a façade over anyone. I don’t contain
much empathy for such things,
but I am moved by my friend who does.
She could fit a turtle into her human
shell. And not just a turtle, but a giant beach
of turtle eggs, who could then hatch
and all make it to the ocean. That world
seems a lot kinder and a lot more
beautiful. Everything eats not to live
but for joy. At some point in history,
a single organism existed—call it God
or call it a microorganism—and then
at some point it split, and some point
beyond that one of the splits looked
at the other and wanted to eat them.
These days it’s called love. Or war.
These days I look at something
and it might look back.