Late Birth
Two thousand years’
wait in the cold soil,
stones and worms my friends.
Some kind of tremor
hurts me into movement –
I fight the heavy clay.
One hand grasps fibres,
roots of grass, dead leaves,
as I pull my body
up into staring light
glimpsed through scratching grit,
my ancient tears.
Through muddy lips
I scream at the sun
and the bright water.
Shapes are coming,
long-necked and swaying,
closer to me.
Dennis Tomlinson’s poems have been published in little anthologies and magazines, also on the websites Ink, Sweat and Tears and Shot Glass Journal. His first poetry pamphlet, Sleepless Nights, has just come out with Maverick Mustang Manuscripts. He lives in London.