Don't Leave Hungry: Fifty Years of Southern Poetry Review

Paleolithic

C AT H Y S M I T H B O W E R S Paleolithic We love these old caves—Lascaux, Altamira—and walk carefully the way we always enter the past, our hands bearing the artificial light of this world. We imagine those first hunters crouched, conjuring luck, carving into rock-swell their simple art—whole herds of bison, the haunches, the powerful heads, floating orderless along the walls. And some are climbing sky as if they were stars, planets orbiting something they cannot see. Centuries will pass before they right themselves, their hooves coming down onto the deep wet floor of leaf-fall. Remembering earth. Remembering where it was they were headed. The 1990s ❚ 173 ...