Webs of Woven Words, Threads, Stitches and Enchantments

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

I Don't Call It Toadstool Condo For Nothing

Last night, close to midnight, Mike called me outside. This is what he found.

Hundreds of those tiny white mushrooms we've seen before along with another type. Both are still unidentified.
I don't call it Toadstool Condo for nothing!


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 - 

Blessings nine!

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