Dion O’Reilly
French Kiss
The study…reconstructs the first microbiomes from an extinct hominin species, and hints at intimacy—perhaps kisses—between humans and Neanderthals.
—Ewen Callaway in Nature, March 8, 2017
Of course, I learned it from him
that husky meat-eater downstream,
with his sprung chest and hairy thighs.
Beautiful brute on the other side
of the river, whom I watched in secret
on hot Pleistocene days
as he cared for the elderly,
soothed the wounded and deformed,
protected infants from our packs of wild dogs.
My heart found its raw beginning
the day I saw him toss wildflowers on a grave,
his feet solid on the young earth
as he gripped bluebonnets and dandelions,
a few bruised roses in his beefy fists.
Who cares if he never learned
the finer points of moss eating
or sometimes went cannibal.
Wasn’t he kinder? Gentler
than our gangs of village boys
who returned, riled, from the hunt,
the bloody thighs of megafauna
humped home on their slimy backs.
So I ventured out one night and found him
at the edge of a bonfire’s light, grabbed
the smooth pelt glossing his barrel back,
pulled him to my breasts and tongued him.
I kissed that man from Neander Valley
long and slow, delighted in the clout of his jaw,
the muscled capture of his lips, his fragrant
saliva, thick like some forgotten vintage.
Don’t tell me I’m fetishizing the Other.
I’m through with Homo Sapiens men.
Though my terrible uncles slaughtered
every one of his tribe,
I’ll carry him in my mouth forever.
Dion O’Reilly has spent much of her life on a farm in the Santa Cruz Mountains. She has worked as a waitress, barista, baker, theater manager, graphic designer, and public school teacher. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in Sugar House Review, Rattle, The Sun, Canary Magazine, Spillway, Bellingham Review, Atlanta Review, Catamaran, and other journals and anthologies, including an upcoming Lambda Literary Anthology.