The Pig Roast (Prose Poem) by Jeremi B. Handrinos
The pig had been a pet to the youngest
brother of twelve Hawaiian boys. Ali, and
he loved that pig. I was five, and Ali at the
time 20, was dating my mother. We had
been invited to his family's home for a
Luau (Big pig roast) on the Island of Kauai.
A giant tin basin stood poised by the spit.
There was an unease in the way the pig
moved, it knew. I knew it knew, and it
knew I knew... It took four men to pick
it up squealing and kicking. Plopping
it onto its back upon a huge wooden table.
My mother tried to cover my eyes, but I
wouldn't let her. I darted to the other
side to get a better view.
The older brothers made Ali kill the pig,
because it was in honor of my mother and
I. I don't know who looked more frightened,
him or the pig? I was frozen by the horror
of it all. Yet completely in the moment.
Wearing my heart in my throat. The sun was
just setting into the Pacific in bright golden
red blasts. The blade went up, the blade
Moment to moment I recall the shrill even now,
to this date, a cry so high and loud as if to god
himself... Of that young man with pig. Ali, reaching
around in our dinner, in his childhood friend. Looking -
- to find, and pull out its heart... It took 30 minutes.
Finally, the mother came out with a hammer, and
did it right. I got a fried ear later -- out of the deal;
that left a bad taste in my mouth like early rain,
and nobody to warm up to.
Back to poem details