top of page

The Animals of Göbekli Tepe

Rosaleen Lynch

The animals of Göbekli Tepe line your bedroom wall, a kind of zodiac, below the moving mobile of the planetary system you share with them in time, with the same sun that shone thousands of years ago and now, but I know stars can die, though I didn’t think like those animals, a part of you could become extinct, die off, never to be seen again but we’ve made great scientific discoveries, we’ve taken cells and resuscitated them, maybe the DNA of your long-lost joy could be reanimated, rise from the dead, like the infamous phoenix, but all the better for it being you.

The animals of Göbekli Tepe dance around your eyes, and you tell me this when your meds, are balanced right, like the standing stones, quarried, rolled, and tipped and tilted, just so, into holes to stand up like you do now, wavering until the gaps are filled to damp the sway, this way or that, now frozen, no place else to go, and the creatures appear in relief, you say, pressing out the walls of your subconscious, like the cardboard dolls, you made shadow puppets of, amongst the hanging crystals of the corner house, the spikes of light, cutting into the figures, like you’ve slipped with the scissors again.

The animals of Göbekli Tepe surround you now, every temple megalith that’s been on TV, cooped up in some book, hidden in religious guidance or rock formation geography, honed in on by a drone, highlighted by a satellite of the mind, pales, fails to reach the plains of your imagination, where everything is because your thinking makes it so, where the light that shines tells a sundial time, that is because your thinking makes it so, and you come home, because thinking makes it so.

Rosaleen Lynch, an Irish youth and community worker and writer in the East End of London with words in lots of lovely places and can be found on Twitter @quotes_52 and

bottom of page