Cusp - Poem by Diane Hine
Hunters kill on the veldt,
butcher the carcass, strip red meat and leave.
Scavengers find by sight or smell,
encircling the carrion with teeth or hooked beaks
and claim rights or sneak bites,
but one species tenuously prevails.
They move in, cleave bones, lick marrow and scrape
scraps of fat from hide
with hammerstone sculpted river pebble blades
held in strong-thumbed precision clasps,
two and a half million years past.
Comments about Cusp by Diane Hine
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.