Family Meal v.2

[Todd]

Hi Phaedra,

Good poem you have here. A few suggestions to think about:

Old poem, fancy giving it a new lease on life.

-------


We are what we eat,
become remains of beasts,
leaving stains on heart and cloth.

Cooked to perfection, our guilt is washed away
with washed red hands, suffering is seared,
cruelty bathed in wines, roasted with herbs.
We soon forget the nature,--consider moving these three lines to the end of the poem. I think they would be a stronger ending. Going next to "the aroma..." would continue to build on your thoughts
pretend that there was no life,--you could cut that
only the dream of a breath.--cutting a would make this pop more

The aroma of abattoirs is smothered
with sauces, cries are stifled with spices,
moans choked with crusts.

Exhausted, the torment is tender, the forsaken flavours
of flesh entice each man,
death digests, drips down
from lips, shame pushed aside for pleasure,
left only is the bone.

I hope some of that was helpful.

Best,

Todd