I read the last of these now revised poems at the presentation of the Dr. Jean Rumney Award posthumously to Regan Russell on September 14, 2020 at the Hamilton/Burlington SPCA
REGAN BRINGS WATER TO THE PIGS
Regan brings water to the pigs.
For this deed of mercy, she is
killed – some say murdered – where
they, so gentle and tortured, die.
Her body is dragged in pieces to
the slaughterhouse she condemns.
This house of legal cruelty kills
ten thousand innocent pigs each day.
But behold, our government bows
down low to their butcher masters.
Our government makes laws to
protect their backers of blood-red
hands that drip needless suffering
and pain. Our government decrees
that we close our eyes, that we
become inhuman to such pain. They
believe a pig does not matter, no more
than women battered, children abused.
Look here, outside, a woman ate
flesh, she shook a fist at Regan’s
face, she spit on Regan’s skin. Is it
she who murdered my friend of
humane purpose, my friend who
knew all life sacred and the same?
Regan’s gentle hand said “No” to
this woman’s curse. Regan brought
easing water to these pigs in agony,
these pigs concealed from the world.
But if the death of pigs must
prevail, by a cowardly government’s
decree, let darkness now consume
these men who safeguard butchers
with their insane passion to slaughter.
They give murder a legal name
and would make us killers too.
But Regan would raise the bar of
your humanity, and speak kindness
for all, a new beginning. Regan
would see in pigs not dollars and
coins of commerce, but the soul
of life that you, without a soul,
would claim for yourself.
Yet, if destiny does not agree that
in time we see eye to eye, for once
have the guts to answer this question:
If you kill animals, and refuse to
hear their pain, why should you,
so inhuman, not also die like pigs?
THOSE BUTCHERS
Their mantra is free enterprise,
they have conquered a world once
ruined by all of us. We now sit in
carnage made for profit by only a few.
What need we to prove? Why shout
once again the evil that evil men do?
You would have us hear the wounded
pig’s cry and do nothing. But if such
heartless society kills to eat meat, it no
longer matters what they have to say.
Their scheme is this, that we ignore
these innocent pigs in days and nights
of pain you cannot, dare not, imagine
for yourself. But are you even worthy
of the pigs who have died, still die
and die, for your butchered dinner?
Tell the world we need no science to
prove a pig can feel. The pig squeals
in pain, the pig’s eye pleads for mercy
of you, so listen, dammit, and see.
Nothing else, no reason, needs be said.
And tell the world beware these men
like you: a willful blindness guides
their cruel hearts. Take care, these men
will make your silence your own
brutality – they will make your passive
silence your fate of meaningless doom.
A NEW MORNING
Outside a window, the sunlight
sounds of morning light. Dawn
caresses the awakening of a
piglet’s eyes. No need of a killing
religion here, for lives already holy.
Man is now not much of lasting
consequence, man destroys at will
and too long has been. When we
think, you and I, of humankind, only
devils and cowards come to mind.
But it sometimes comes to be,
when love is shared for animals,
that one human being is able to
trust, and even feel hope, in such
love from the heart of another.
Regan’s passion was her humility,
she knew a pig – or any animal –
her equal. The killer, by a bloodied
pig’s death defined, adds up to
nothing more than base brutality.
No, Regan did not commit suicide.
And you are diseased in spirit to say
it was so, a liar who invents a story
like this to fill the hollow of your
heart. Regan was killed because the
law, made by men, prefers murder
done so they can walk away, so none
can have their say. Let rage be my
echo when I speak of such a man.
ESSENCES
Regan held high a sign outside the
slaughterhouse, all life to defend: “If
you were in this truck, we would be
here for you too.” Yet, she knew too
well this paradox: the carnivore she
would save can hear loud cries of
suffering, and stand unmoved and
distant like a stone. Some even grin
wide to cause more pain. They
prove themselves masters of nothing.
How many dismissed as lunacy this
woman who dared to stand up for
the wondrous senses in all of life?
Some answered her drunk in loathing
that lives to idly kill. Some held their
knives, too eagerly, that hacked
sacred, sentient lives into dead
chunks of flesh.? Their greed called
the shots and made greedy dollars
from murder. Or was it for killing
alone they lived and drank their
victims’ blood? Who knows the mind
of one who drove a transport truck
that day? The law merely said he was
careless, the death unintended, inquiry
closed. This killer was so many men
like him, a curse to the beauty of life.
Why do they need conceal his name?
TO REGAN
We fused our watches to noon one day
and had a long due vegan lunch. I held no
hope for overrated man. Uh huh, you agreed.
You spoke, I nodded yes, I spoke,
you finished my sentences. We were
often, each one, amen to the other.
You said I had been so kind when you
were lost and down. I felt protected by
you when the fire burned us out of home.
Mention animals, we were both one
spirit and fueled alive. Our silences
trusted each other. Now I reach for the
phone to call you, now I put it down.
The system finally killed you, a monster
truck of thirsty, frantic pigs ran over your
compassion. But, Regan, you are stronger,
dead, than any killer’s willful knife.
Your death leaves a wounded emptiness
behind, your death is too cold, too soon
before we are hopeless and old. But
look how many rush to stand with you.
The carnivore still licks his lips, inhales
perfumes of killing and pain. A goon
government would bid you eat more meat.
We already have meat, and the world is
polluted. We already have meat, and we
are dying from it. But your deeds, your
ideals, now flow through us like life’s
blood itself. We are open to the giving
wisdom of your potent, loving heart.
You gave your body and your will to
the wounded and abused. You caressed
their breathing, in and out, and they
replied with gentle sounds of trust.
A wounded bird or pig or cat – or any
animal – was a dearest friend in need,
and you walked your own path to save
the helpless from the murdering species
we always will be. But these mere words
cannot embody your ineffable love.
Who willed this cruel, unspeakable
irony? You are killed, yet you have won
this round, where murdering men with
their killing toys will always be boys,
and courts cover up the kill. You are
martyred, yes, but your cause of mercy
is now spoken around the world – loud
with gentleness and turbulent with love,
a paradigm of human for all humans to
Your firm devotion to the living
must now be ours, deep as your spirit
and just as feisty, humble and strong.