The Fruit
It grows. Orchard
like. Bud, flower, fruit.
Grab hold, try a branch for size.
It fits, like that dress sitting
neatly on your curves,
Makes you feel like a woman.
Infused with spices, it rests
in your stomach,
keeping you well fed.
But feel that fullness. Pinching
your waist, tightening
round your lungs. Left too long it turns
sour; withers skin and bruises
flesh. Walk
to the press , pulp
the rot beneath your feet.
Claire Walker fits writing in around raising her young family. She has recently started to be published and has had work on Ink Sweat and Tears and Be: Magazine and in the Warwick Words Festival and Party In Your Eye-Socket anthologies.