by Don Thompson Oblivion carries out its briefagainst color, relentlesslyturning the past pewter or dunso that once vivid eventscome back to us insipid,wrapped in spider silkand sucked empty. Yokuts memories are shards, basketstattered like abandoned bird nests—grave robbers’ leavings. But some murals must endure,sequestered in caverns no one ever found,unfading chalk and graphite pigments,cinnabar and volcanic ochre yellowimported from the Read More
Tag: yokuts
Rock Paintings (1)
by Don Thompson Wind and rain have blurred the pictographswith spit and a calloused thumb,trying to rub them out. And yet remnants persist, ghostlyhematomas that must’ve been lurid once,and minimalist fauna,a few daubs so dead-on a child could name them:turtle, condor, antelope. Coyote eating the moon. Those and that weeping, hairy maneveryone calls Sasquatchwith shoulders hunched and claws pendant,an image Read More