Pot-au-Feu (How to Eat the Rich)

1. In this case, death

    is a protective measure

    and not enough

    for justice. Therefore take

    what is left of his prime

    meats and find

    a place that will be

    inhabited

    for a hundred years.

    You cannot move

    the stew once started.

2. Pile the rich

    man into the pot

    cover with water, soft

    as you find, a nod

    to the leaching earth

    what is taken with us

    as we descend like rain.

    Bring to a boil, then simmer,

    not the reverse. In the morning

    skim the fat. Distribute

    this to the masses

    with salt and razor-

    shaved radish, layered

    thick over black bread.

3. Add a clean stone—

    size of a fist, size of a heart

    —to the darkening

    broth. Do not reduce

    the heat further.

4. Add roots, scrubbed clean.

    Add allium, chopped

    cabbage and corn, two

    tins of tomato paste.

    Splash with dry red wine.

    Season with herbs heavy

    on the tarragon, crushed

    black pepper, a pinch

    of nutmeg. When thick

    and fragrant, serve

    garnished

    with lemon to cut

    the richness.

    No more than half

    the pot each day.

5. Replenish

    with willing offerings

    all the people

    bring forth to be shared.

    Maintain the heat.

    Keep feeding everyone.

6. Allow the seasons

    to echo: in the pot, in the people

    as we will come to say.

    Chrysanthemum

    greens, for times of joy.

    Dandelion bitters at the end

    of spring. Rosehips and

    sage when young people

    find love. Rutabaga

    over the long winter.

    Squash seeds roasted

    and ground to bind,

    sweeten the obligation

    of consumption, a sinless

    reclamation, shared.

7. When the bones have gone

    the way of cartilage,

    their pleasant thickness

    passing through

    your mouth, no resistance

    as you and your children

    solemnly chew, it is time

    to begin asking:

    has the debt been paid?

    On the unanimous day

    and no sooner

    you may serve

    the entire pot, drain

    its reserves. Finish the dregs

    over egg noodles,

    sprinkling chopped

    chives, a spot of cream

    in bowls wide enough

    to be licked clean.

8. Rinse the stone

    and leave it behind

    in a place of no honor

    the mark of a debt paid.

    Cents on the dollar.

    Hunger

    infinite as stew

    will return

    in the morning

    we all discover

    if have we learned

    to feed each other—