The neighbor calls about the feral swine he killed, tells us that in the half light he first thought it was a calf, then, because of the way it was moving, a bear. Says it took five shots to drop it. It’s extra dark in the field by the time we’ve come to extract samples for the state research lab, but our headlamps reveal him, on his side, covered in wiry bristles. His feet are off the ground, so I count four toes on each stubby leg. It’s twice my size, tusked, eyes closed. I put my boot next to it to shoot a photo, for size. We’ll bring the samples home, and keep them cool until they can be delivered. The neighbor has lived here a long time but can’t remember a wild boar in this area, ever. He points out the places in the field disturbed by the animal. When the wildlife biologist cuts open the heart to retrieve the liquid sample the protocol requires, I ask him, and the neighbor, if they remember pigs’ hearts being placed in humans, and they do, and they note this heart is smaller than they might’ve guessed, the first any of us has seen, and all three of us are staring at it, in a black field near a pack of very vocal coyotes. And I’m thinking of my dad, and his damaged heart, how he wanted to save enough money to pay for a transplant himself if insurance denied it. In the end he wasn’t a candidate, and I can’t recall now why they used pigs’ hearts in people or if they still do, and I’m in this field with two men, one holding the heart— my pledge, my vow maker—the other part neighbor, part stranger, and the pig splayed open, alive and wild an hour ago, every last one of us with a heart that will eventually give way, curious and marveling, mortal.
Kelly Madigan has received a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Distinguished Artist Award from the Nebraska Arts Council. Her work has appeared in 32 Poems, Terrain.org, Prairie Schooner, Flyway, and Calyx. Her books include The Edge of Known Things (SFASU Press) and Getting Sober (McGraw-Hill.)
4/10 / Meet the Artist with visiting poet-in-residence Tyler Mills / The Library at The Betsy-South Beach, Miami Beach, FL / Live and Live-Streamed on Instagram Live/Facebook Live at @swwimmiami / 6:00 pm EST / Free
4/10 / Poetry Reading with visiting poet-in-residence Tyler Mills + local writer Jennifer Litt / The Library at The Betsy-South Beach, Miami Beach, FL / Live and Live-Streamed on Instagram Live/Facebook Live at @swwimmiami / 7:30 pm EST / Free
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Such a powerful, visceral poem. I have received a heart transplant, a human heart, but I have been avidly following the pig heart experiments. I'm sorry about your father. I wish you peace.