The Cave of Altamira
As you smeared your hands with ochre
Sealing millennia on the limestone walls,
As you traced with the charcoal
The contours of mighty bison,
Filling in their plentiful flesh
With the reddish pigment,
As they sprang to life
Under your flickering torches,
Could you imagine
There would be a time without bison
Cruising through endless pastures,
Without hunters thrusting their spears
Into the bison bulks?
The age of corrida de torros
When enraged bulls
Are skillfully tortured to death
In a colorful show
To the roaring delight
Of the blood-thirsty crowds.
Irena Pasvinter divides her time between software engineering, endless family duties and writing poetry and fiction. Her stories and poems have appeared in numerous literary magazines. Her poem “Psalm 3.14159…” has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Visit Irena at https://sites.google.com/site/ipscribblings.