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
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