Split the porcupine case
and shell them from their bed of white pith
unblemished - discarding those
already bored by worm. Keep dry.
A roaring fire of wood, or charcoal.
Sprinkle salt till it turns blue
and sparks like a Roman Candle.
Place the chestnuts in a cast-iron pan
with holes to let in the flames
and roast until the skin blackens and
curls back from the wrinkled cerebellum
and they smell of ice fairs, hallowe’en
the street corners of a foreign town
all our northern childhoods.
© Kathleen Jones
Happy Hallowe'en everyone! And do hop over to the Tuesday Poem hub for more contributions from the Tuesday Poets.