The Extreme History Project

The Mammoth Hunter

My brothers and I have seen the brightness of the sun
Turn to the shadow of the moon too many times.
Our women have birthed more death than life.
How long before we cannot feed ourselves?
What will become of us?

We prayed to the stars for you, my son.
When your brothers died before coming,
We prayed to the stars for you.
And when you came from your mother,
I held you up and told the stars
“He will be a great hunter,
He is the future of my people”

Look, my son, my beautiful boy,
I have made you a knife for hunting mammoth.
I carried the rock from the quarries of the South.
I sharpened the blade for you.
I asked the stars to bless it for you.

One day I will teach you to hunt mammoth.
One day you will feel the blood boil in your veins
And smell the beast on the wind.
A mammoth will feed us for many moons.
A mammoth will clothe us, protect us
And save us for many moons.

We cannot take a mammoth without you now.
You are our future, our hope.
One day, with you by my side,
I will once again feel what it means to be man
And kill a mammoth.

I will make you tools for this day.
My brothers and I will make you tools
Of every size and color.
The sacred tools of our people.
One day I will teach you to make the tools.
To sharpen, to hone, to bless them under the stars.
These tools will take life and give life.
Without them, we can’t survive.

Our lives are at the mercy of earthly chaos.
Storms and winds appear in the sky,
Heat and cold arise at will,
Beasts as big as mountains,
Birds with sharpened talons.
We must always find safety and shelter.

We find peace and order in the sky.
The rising and setting of the sun,
The moon in her ever changing dress,
The stars reveal nightly signs
That guide us to our destiny.
The sky is constant, its order blesses us.

And now the chaos of the earth
Has chosen to take you from us.
My grieving heart will not cease
And will follow me to my end.
You will never become the hunter I dreamed.
The sacred tools we have made for you,
Will never bring down a mammoth for us.

We leave you here, sheltered
From the winds and passing beasts.
Beneath a star to guide your way.
We leave you the sacred tools
To take with you on your journey.
I give them to you, blessed with earth’s blood
And with a father’s broken heart.

Forever you will lay here
At the crossing of the rivers.
Beyond this life, my soul
Will follow this star to find you here.
And then will we feel the blood boil in our veins
And smell the beast on the wind.
We will gather the sacred tools
And together we will hunt mammoth.
Together we will feel what it means to be man.

M. Fulton
February 2, 2014