Saturday, 13 August 2016

Сезонни игри/Seasonal games



Strewn amongst green crowns
below the balcony, horse chestnuts
are almost ripe here in August.

Our best conkers came from trees
around the church: they fell
and split on the asphalt path,
dark hearts in pulpy flesh,
like promises of future triumph.

There were tricks, yes, and theories:
soaking or baking them into hard skulls
to crack against each other –
and rapping our own knuckles
for our autumn playground sport.

Somewhere in a different part
of the wood, I was telling you this
as you tried to fathom the rules
of another improvised game.


Image: Marina Shiderova; text: Tom Phillips

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