horse meat 

my brother earnestly suggests
that we could eat animals piecemeal,
keeping them alive. he knows little
about blood. he thinks, one leg, an ear. 
i don't know why he is fixated on
meat. he should be considering
how we're going to survive without a gun
in the world of fire. my mother is washing
dishes & she starts crying. she asks,
"where will the water come from?" i tell her
we will dig a well. we will wash our hands.
it will still rain (will it still rain?). the differences
between what we eat & what we don't
are a matter of proximity more than 
anything else. our bodies touch horses 
& so we don't eat horse meat. we keep the cows
walking far away. they lay down when it is
about to rain (will it rain?). the last wild
ancestor of the cow, the aurochs, died off hundreds
of years ago. now we only have his fence held
brethren. i do not think i could kill an animal
even if we were all starving. i do not think
i am prepared for what is coming. i do not know
if i want to be. my aunt is dying. she told 
the emts to came to take her, "let me please
just die in this chair. i love this chair."
i feel the same. i love this window. i love
to watch song birds with the cats. we pretend
we will one day catch them. they will be angels 
& we will be guilty of something glorious.
in the freezer my partner has bison meat
that he is saving. on the coldest nights 
i hear them wake up. hooves trampling over
the winter fields. in the morning i follow the tracks.
they lead to a smokehouse. meat on hooks. 
i join them. bathe in campfire. sweet sweet wood.