Tree of Jesse
for Durgesh
Born here that street with the hole
in the middle was it I or you
digging finds on a bombsite
on my knees hands buried in roots
Surrounded by grave goods
suppress in yourself the idea of
merit head of the great warrior
in the wall hand axe neolithic
Bronze age round house on top
of the hill flint in the midden
And out of his haunches a tree
grows into the ghost of song
hands buried in roots on my knees
I looked up saw I’d left home
buried still I didn’t see
the light coming through my head
and that stand of trees translucent
green beyond barbed wire felt
hemmed in under the shade
of that cross on the hill Don’t
try to find God here or there
but everywhere way ahead of
As out of my haunches a tree
grows out of the ghost of a song
Steven Waling‘s latest collection is Lockdown Lattitudes (Leafe Press). He has published several books, and in many magazines and online. He lives in Manchester, and works part-time as a personal care assistant.