Going Caveman Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Here, in country dark

the black so thick
one can almost

touch it
feel it

ooze out of the moment
...before time.

I am 9.

Cork is a somewhere
adrift in space

as I
this midnight child

steal from sleep
& into Granny's garden.

The dark erases
my physical body

until there is only me
thinking me

as if thought were
the only thing

keeping me alive.

I take a leaf
hidden from my sight

known only
by its touch.

smear it against
the house's wall

(Granny inside
snoring in sleep) .

Here, an invisible berry
seen only by fingertips

squashed colour
staining the moment

with its magic
my hands all goosegog & damson.

And now
the stolen match

struck against
the world itself

making the crudely
drawn

emerge into being

the flame's flicker
making it come

alive
in my mind.

9 year old me
reaching...reaching

back through
the ages

touching time
as if it were

a tangible thing.

Knowing now
how the caveman felt

as he created
a creature

made from the destruction
of leaf and berry

springing into life
in the shadow's dance

a creature made of fire
and dark.

And then
the match goes out

& I am
9 again

hopping around
with burnt fingertips.

Watching time
as it collapses

become the boy
once more

frightened out of his
20th Century self

journeying through time
in the sudden

scratch of a stolen match.