This Chestnut

Will Redman is in the final year of his combined honours degree in Creative Writing with Journalism.

It grew in my youth,

on a branch on my sleeve

covered in spines,

that prickly ribcage.

Not the conker kind,

not poisonous.

It was in need

of that soft, sharp embrace.

 

In summer it matured,

the cupule had split,

and by autumn

as it fell to the ground

you stooped,

plucked it up,

squeezed it open

and took the fruit.