The Last Bite
An elegy for the voiceless — a poetic inquiry on the ethics of consumption.
Mom, I’m not hungry, not a bit;
You must eat, my child, you must be fit.
O, Mom, but eyes are floating in my stew;
No, little one, she says, just lentils, fresh and new.
Dad, I’m not hungry, I can’t feed;
You must grow strong, my girl, like a mighty seed.
O, Dad, but thorns are piercing through my tongue;
No, little one, he says, the potato skin’s still on.
I don’t want to chew!
Eat up;
Eat, my daughter, do!
(Mom, are you hungry, dear, today?
Yes, my girl, but what is on the tray?
My weary soul can’t see the light of day;
What’s for our meal, what do you say?
And why do these curtains block the way?
Mom, don’t move your legs, they’re tired;
Let me nourish your throat, as you desired.
Remember? Lentil stew, a tasty flow?
Eat, Mother, eat, the flavors grow;
Open your mouth, just let it go.
What are these little balls of red?
Why do they break apart inside my head?
Eat, Mother, eat, you heard what I said.
Dad, are you hungry, is it true?
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No, my girl, what are you saying to me?
My old ears can’t hear, as you can see;
What are we eating, what can it be?
Why don’t you light a candle for me?
Dad, don’t stretch your arms, so frail and thin;
Let me bring the food that’s put within.
Remember? The potatoes, with their skin?
Eat, Father, eat, let’s now begin;
Open your mouth, and take it in.
What are these thorns, so sharp and tight?
They’re sticking in my mouth, with all their might!
Eat, Father, eat, it’ll be all right.)
Little one, are you hungry, today or not?
No, Mom, I’ve no eyes, for all I’ve got;
And no bones to hold me up, a bleak plot.
Eat up;
Eat, my daughter, eat a lot!
Why are your orbs, my child, a hollow spot?
O, Mother, in your soup, I put what I caught.
Why is your skin, my child, upon this dish?
O, Father, the flesh is spoilt — one last wish.
Author’s note:
Hi, dear soul! I wrote this poem to express the perspective of a child who refuses to eat meat — or anything with a living heart. She sees animals as her friends and spends her days playing with the little chickens she loves.
However, she is given no choice; she is forced to consume those very friends. As a young soul, her parents impose their values upon her, leaving her confused and burdened by a sense of wrongness she can’t quite name.
As time passes and her parents grow old, the girl — now a woman — seeks a form of revenge. She cooks for them using raw meat and sharp objects, forcing them to consume her rage.
This is certainly one of my darker poems, which is unusual for me as I usually strive for beauty. Yet, as a vegan, I wanted to manifest a character who deeply desired to be kind, but whose circumstances twisted her into something else.
Thank you for reading! I truly value your honest thoughts as I work to improve.
Diana Dolea © 2026
