we walk in the ice age. our hairy bodies
alive among rock foreheads, subliminal
animals of snow. colors of caves leak thru
buildings, the skin’s murals unfaded, with elk
leaping over the wrist, bison in the corner of
the eye. down this street, the mastodon and
tiger, their eyes glint as blue windows, a
luxury in their glacial paws descending slopes
and eons of winter. sexual caves, with moss and
oil, and a soft nakedness of dancing. women of
lightning discover fire, heat. those who bleed
etch the moon on bone. wind howls in a bear’s
mouth, the snow falls everywhere. someone
crouches alone and dreams of earth as a white
body, wounded with vulvas, that are not sad
but miraculous. everywhere one looks, the deer,
the bison, the wolf, the tiger, the dreamer also,
are walking, shining, out of red wounds in
the snow.
“Ice Ages” casts a spell on me …
thank you Barbara, your poetry an storying of our Great Cosmic Mother are great sources of inspiration to me. You link the spiritual and secular stories between my ears better than most.
malpataffy.com
Guardianship and preserver of female humanities that continue to live on Barbara Mor! Thank you