Rock Art of the Lower Pecos A yucca hides the quick retreat of a red racer beneath spines. Agave’s rough leaves used for sandals and twine, the botanist says. A crow spreads its feathers, complains at our descent to the cliff shelter. A trinity of rectangular figures sways on the rock wall. “First red, then yellow, then black,” a paleobiologist says, foaming over his discovery of paint layers. Tangle of shapes and lines—antlered shamans and creatures pierced with arrows—I can’t make the connections. An ochre ripple, the river drying out in the bottom of the canyon, weaves though the composition. For a moment the cave breathes in the morning wind. Welcome to the altar, our guide says. I have a button of peyote in my hand, jimson seeds in my pouch. Horned roaches and hairy animalcules swarm the walls. I squeeze through a hole in the sky, impale the beasties that afflict the woman, lying on a grid of sticks, a bushy-tailed panther at my side. No saint, no martyr… I am the bird that glances at the moon and harkens the call of waving plumes. Mark McKain Mark McKain’s work has appeared in Agni, The Journal, Subtropics, Hamilton Arts & Letters, Superstition Review, Western Humanities Review, ISLE, Gulf Stream Magazine, and elsewhere. His second poetry chapbook Blue Sun was published by Aldrich Press. He experiences global warming in St Petersburg, Florida. Two years ago on a drive from Florida to Santa Fe, New Mexico, he made a determined stop to see the inspiring rock art images which are little known and should receive more attention.
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October 2024
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