Susan Margaret Scott
Long Ago Multimedia Show
Paleolithic Cave, France, 35,000 B.C.E.
This magic place keeps our people alive. Drawn
here, animals draw meat to our arrows so we survive.
Rock lamps light footprints of children who played
as we painted. They took sick and did not survive.
Too many die in our twig huts. In this cold, dark cave
we revive our faith and regain the will to survive.
When not hunting we crush colored rock, mix shapes
with black lines that implore the spirits to let us survive.
A rock wall surface like antelope buttocks and vulva
awaits a new painting that adds to our power to survive.
Pigments, animal fat wrapped in hide, more potent than spears
mark our clan’s sign. This instructs the gods who is to survive.
Grandfather’s bison of many outlines flickers in light from sizzling fat
Proof it’s our clever people, not the animals who are worthy to survive.
Rocks strike rocks, pings of water blend with music of love
making, the rapture here necessary for the will to survive.
Grandfather’s bison gallops. The cave walls echo chants
recited from earliest time, instructions on how to survive.
Holy sticks burn, women dance. Filled with smoke and priestly potions,
fathers of all to come, we sing the songs that affirm our will to survive.