“In the deepest chamber of Chauvet Cave, the oldest drawing
was discovered—a female form, sketched from ankle to navel.”
–Lucy DeRoque (Ice Age Art and Feminist Aesthetics)
Drawn on an outcrop
of rock—on a cone
of limestone—the thick
of its stalactite drip-
drop: some woman’s crotch.
No eyes, or nose, or neck. No
torso. Only charcoal,
triangled recognizable
in shadow. Her hips
bow wide, her thighs
are full. She was here
first. Before the tips of fire-
charred sticks depicted
animals beside
her: a bison, a bull,
two lions. Eons ago,
glacier flow hollowed out
this grotto, where her fresco
chiaroscuros above
bear bones. Crystal deposits
glister her pubis
with glint. In dim, bright
flecks scint like wet, as though
echoes from talus
flutes still resound and arouse
her. But how phallic the jut
on which she poses, half-
exposed. Was her artist
drawing ironic?
Or is this sketch little
more than a Paleolithic
bathroom graphic, stall-
wall porn for horny
Cro-Magnons? Carbon
from their torches stains
her cavern. Smoke from ghost
burn which blazed bison, lit deer
on the run. She reeled and danced
in that glow once, headless
overhead. Faceless, lips sealed.
