After Benji Hart
- How many hands have touched this food?
- What were their intentions?
- How vast is the range?
- What makes them hands at all?
- How many seeds survived their birth for this?
- Did you count yourself?
- From sprout to pluck, how many breaths old was the oldest?
- What’s become of its homeland?
- How many breaths will it add to yours?
- Or is this a thing that takes?
- Which things were born dead for this?
- Did you count yourself?
- Which born free?
- Which born food?
- Is there a state in-between?
- How old was the well of that answer?
- If governments and their signed scrolls are Plato’s cave wall shadows, where is the real sun?
- What’s become of its homeland?
- How many generations removed from the land are you?
- What floor takes its place?
- What is it built on top of?
- Are the people who tended that place still alive?
- Are there any living descendants?
- Is their language still spoken on earth?
- If you heard it, would your feet twitch?
- Or does dead mean gone?
- How many gone things in your place?
- Did you count yourself?
- What does your body and the day it makes cost?
- What is its price, in gone things?
- Is this sustainable? Better—regenerative?
- Or will this make you the most gone thing alive?
- Is god or the human the cave wall shadow?
- Who says the shadow is nothing at all?
- Are you still eating?
- Who?
- What for?
- What have you grown in its place?
- How much is enough?
- Is enough a place or a count?
- Is there a state in-between?
- Or does enough mean gone?
- Did you enough yourself?
- In the language of the oldest gone thing, how do you say devour?
Copyright © 2021 by Kemi Alabi. This poem originally appeared in American Poets, vol. 60. Reprinted with the permission of the poet.