blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2009  Vol. 9. No. 2






Fifty-four Engravings of Pubic Triangles
Lascaux, c. 18,000 BP

World door, crimson your geometry.
Our flesh descends the birth-river.

We spatter the pubic thistle field copiously—
The shared blood.
                              The quickened pupil of the door

Creaks open to the shrill of light. The doeskin
On the cave floor viscid, matted in the torches’

Orb & spill. Our hands grope, stunned
By this confounding plentitude.
                                                  They reach

For the nipple’s new moon. A hand ax
Severs our path to the firmaments of water,

The birth cord flung onto the snow. The new moon waxes
With a droplet of alabaster.

We are thrust before it. The mouth has learned to wail,
To fasten, to conjoin. We swallow & we still.

return to top