Clovis Poem by Matthew Coombe

Recent archaeological finds suggest Stone Age men from
Europe somehow crossed the Atlantic and discovered
America in 14000BC.


I imagine him standing on loose rocks
on a damp shore at dawn in a grey mist.
Caribou pelt shielding him from the cold,

the dark fur of his hood hiding his eyes.
An open canoe rising and falling.
Seal hides straining, stretched tight like a drum-skin

over a framework of bone and birch bark.
No doubt his friends that had gathered that day
huddled together out of the spray

and raised their arms to salute those first strokes
that took him out further beyond the surf.
Or maybe it was a small flotilla

with flint clovis spears and arrowheads stowed –
simple tools that carved them into time for evermore
with the corpses of giant bear and sloth.

But I would like to think that the ice fields
spread further south than ever that season.
And whilst hunting on the passing ‘bergs

he decided to continue onwards
striding freely from one to the other
to see just quite how far he could take things.

Then, some months later, weak and close to death
he fell ashore, sick of ice and seal flesh.
After wringing out his salt sodden boots

he sat silent, alone by a small fire
staring up at the moon’s silvery beams.
And beyond that, stars.