The kitchen floor is a memory. Shucking corn on the back porch with my grandmother. Cabbage boiling on the stove.
Food is a necessity, but from where does it come? Cookie cutter depictions of chickens on Easter weekend appear in the thousands. Their neon pink hue reminds us of the ridiculousness of mass production. A conveyer belt full of chickens.
Back in the kitchen, I wonder, “Did the chicken in the fryer shuck corn with its’ grandmother?”
