Don't Eat Angry Chickens

Chicken behind chicken wire in a hen house

First Draft:
Our oral traditions—our food, stories, 

and smokes—anything that enters or leaves

our mouths—expands or contracts spirit, mind,
body and art.  When I consulted Thich 

Nhat Hanh for how to heal my recurring 

anger,  I learned that when you constantly

eat anger it becomes you.  Look at hens

under factory conditions.  Anger.  What do 

cows raised in little boxes feel?  What love

goes into new calves and cow's milk?  What else

besides anger do we eat and transmit?

Is it even possible to feed mass

populations on kindness and love instead

of anger and unhappiness?  I tried

and failed at home gardening.  I angered

native weeds and saplings by replacing

them in one fell swoop to plant tomatoes, 
so sought out farm-to-table growers and 
free-range animals to buy in the form 
of food.  I stopped watching horror and war
movies, watched non-commercial TV, and

took in two rescue kittens to share my love.

I’ve been wooing them for three years, but they

still rush off spooked, or snarl and snap at me

when I reach for them.  Now I read labels

on their food as well as my own, seeking

out what might be poisoning them, pushing

them toward anger.  I scan lyrics, too, 

of songs, news broadcasts and  bedtime stories.

I am slower to anger, and I have 

softer dreams. In truth, there is little time

left to judge others now that I’m busy

feeding kindness into souls right at home.



For earthweal's weekly challenge: CONNECTING HUMANS, WILDLIFE AND THE CORONA VIRUS

I found this audio book quite helpful!

Revised 4/17/2020  (but I'm not happy yet)

Stop eating anger, Thich Nhat Hanh told me.

You cannot stop being angry if you

constantly eat it.  Look at hens living

in factory conditions.  Anger.  What do

cows raised in little boxes feel?  What love

goes into new calves and cow's milk?  What else

besides anger do we eat and transmit?

I failed at home gardening.   I angered

local gods by replacing native plants
with tomatoes, lettuce, and carrots—

none of which thrived. So I sought out farm-to-

table veggies and free-range animals

to eat happier food.  I spurned horror

and war films and rescued two cats.

I’ve wooed those cats for three years, but they still

spook, snarl or snap at me when I touch them.

Now I read labels on cat food, to learn

what anger they are eating.  I censor

lyrics, news broadcasts and bedtime stories.

I’m slower to anger; I have softer

dreams; and my cats show affection to me.

In truth, I have little time left to judge

others, when serving kindness right at home.

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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     © 2020 Susan L. Chast