Poetry

Jamón Ibérico de Bellota

‘A peasant becomes fond of his pig and is glad to salt away its pork . ’ John Berger, Why look at animals?

Clamped to a bespoke stand, a slender leg
gold-skinned, fat-marbled, Velázquez red.

Black-hooved hogs flickered
on fire-lit walls of ancient caves,
still forage fragrant herbs
among holm oaks on the dehesa.

Through the montanera
snuffle-grunt among grasses for acorns
which give the flesh its nut-sweet flavour.

Winter is the time of sacrifice:
pack meat in salt, stir hot blood for morcillo,
wash guts in vinegar and lemon.

A pig is chosen, hefted onto a table-altar.
Men soothe and stroke the prone creature,
fear taints ungiven gifts.

Jenny Donnison