Entering the House of Awe, by Barbara Crooker

Prehistoric Cave Painting (France) c. 25 000 BC

Entering the House of Awe
La Grotte Ornée de Pech Merle

where 25,000 years ago, someone used moss, coloured ochre,
sticks of charcoal, and a herd of spotted horses appeared,
galloping across the plains of a cave wall.  Working in the flicker 
of rush light, the artist outlined in black, filled in with brown or red.  
Always in motion, these ponies thunder across the rock face, fresh 
as if they were drawn yesterday. Was the painter surprised 
by what emerged?  Would she be amazed to know that they’re 
still here, cantering in the dark?  She ground red ochre 
to a fine powder with mortar and pestle, then placed her hand 
on the cold stone, picked up a hollow bone, and blew.  What
remains is a negative, the opposite of the plaster casts our children
brought home from nursery school. The horses are dappled 
by stenciled dots and finger prints dipped in colour.
I think I can hear them snort, feel their grassy breath, 
and then I realize it’s the touch of your hand brushing mine,
or someone blowing pigment in the dark.

Barbara Crooker

This poem has previously appeared in Some Glad Morning (Pitt Poetry Series, University of Pittsburgh Poetry Press, 2019).