I first read Sylvia Plath’s poem: Mushrooms

In a Thursday morning literature class

Sometime in year 10.

It stayed with me through recess

Through lunch

Through period 3 and 4 .

And 5 and 6.

It stayed.

In that chilly Autaumn my teenage mind wondered about

Fragility and strength.

The futility of determination.

Its beauty, regardless.

Then on the walk to the after school life drawing class,

Through severe and cobbled blue stone lane to the studio a block from the school.

I saw the mushrooms.

Saw them squeeze through invisible cracks in 100 year old roads.

They had found and exploited a slither of a path.

They had risen,


I bent.

Bent to peer

Bent to touch their soft fronds.

Bent to break them with a small tap of my finger

whilst on the subject of mushrooms

check out Jasmine Jean’s Art 

mushrooms jasmines mushies

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