Mushrooms

Overnight, very 

Whitely, discreetly, 

Very quietly ...

Our toes, our noses 

Take hold on the loam, 

Acquire the air. 

Nobody sees us, 

Stops us, betrays us; 

The small grains make room. 

Soft fists insist on 

Heaving the needles, 

The leafy bedding, 

Even the paving. 

Our hammers, our rams, 

Earless and eyeless, 

Perfectly voiceless, 

Widen the crannies, 

Shoulder through holes. We 

Diet on water, 

On crumbs of shadow, 

Bland-mannered, asking 

Little or nothing. 

So many of us! 

So many of us! 

We are shelves, we are 

Tables, we are meek, 

We are edible, 

Nudgers and shovers 

In spite of ourselves. 

Our kind multiplies: 

We shall by morning 

Inherit the earth. 

Our foot's in the door.

                                                              Sylvia Plath




photo: alexander papasavvas at bouddi national park