Altamira

He tore at the mammoth meat
his reward, the best fleshy parts
for he was still the bravest, the lead hunter

He poked at the remains in the fire pit
stabbed, cut, and doled generous portions
to the elders, the women, children

The fire was dying
it was cold in the cave
the others closed in, looking to him for answers

If the weather was bad
there would be no hunting tomorrow
he motioned to the woman to wrap the carcass in skins

He must kill, get more meat
But his limbs and back ached
he would soon be an elder

Useful for nothing but painting
the saber-toothed one on cave walls
with twig, berry juice…and blood

He must soon train the boy
The girl would go with her mother
gathering grains, leaves, seeds

Herbs to ease his aches
the malignant pains of the old, that often would not heal
he would need to cull, kill and bury

If it stormed tomorrow
he would do cave-time, crafting new weapons
he must find that boar, its meat, its skins

The clan shivered in cold and fright
at the torrential rain, the angry thunder
the lone baying wolf

He waited until the wolf stopped
then answered with his own percussive moon song
striking rock with stones and sticks

The distant wolf heard and answered
A prehistoric fugue
a cacophony of beginnings

No past
the future – only the next dawn
the next meat capture

Their comforts, their joys
wrapped in a few skins, cave paintings
lust, meat cravings, no pain

Their hopes, their survival resting in
the strength of muscled youth
standing a little straighter, a little taller

Flinty-eyed, sinewed sapling boy
perfect, waiting to use
the elder’s axe, the spear

Impatient
to conquer
bear, boar, bronze and stone

The brave hunter stared at the youth
with hope and growing
fear.

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