A Snapping Turtle Feast

Matthew Sisson

I am invited to a snapping turtle

feast. An estranged uncle. Asked 

to participate in the butchering. 

Out back the turtle waits. Mouth 

hooked like a bird of prey, but

larger, open, waiting for a mistake. 

Be careful, they can take a finger- 

eyes closed.  I have no intention 

of getting any closer. 

He hits the animal on the head. My 

cousin cuts it off. Flipped on its shell, 

still squirming, a screwdriver is driven 

through belly and shell, impaling 

carcass to bench. Claws are removed 

first, they can still get you. Bushcraft. 

You are either in or out. 

Some force a hose down the neck hole 

to expand the belly. Making it easier 

to cut open the underside- This can 

rupture the innards, ruining the meat. 

He slowly scrapes a knife between 

belly skin and shell. Keep a sharpening 

stone nearby. You are scraping against 

two million years of evolution. Body 

removed from shell- the work quickly 

finished. The meat, grey and green. 

I am committed to family reconciliation.

Have not seen my cousins in decades, but 

cannot eat turtle stew- filling my plate with 

cornbread and vegetables. Conversation 

continues. My uncle says nothing.