Lisa Mednick Powell

December 4 Poetry Blast

A few weeks ago, while cleaning the bathroom, I saw this strange-looking object peeping up through a crack in the grout by our shower. It sort of looked like a Q-tip. I thought, well, maybe it’s a Q-tip. I thought maybe Kip had put it there to stop the bugs that were climbing up through the cracks between the tiles. A strange thing to think, but that’s what I thought. So I left it there. The next morning I saw that the Q-tip thing was actually a small white mushroom. I called Kip. “HEY! THERE’S A MUSHROOM GROWING IN OUR BATHROOM!” Kip came in and picked it and tossed it away. I poured some bleach into the crack. That would stop those damn mushrooms from invading our territory. I was wrong. The border was not secure... Yesterday morning, I found another one. Growing in exactly the same spot. Gray this time, with white spots. I left it alone, and during the day it fluted out into an umbrella shape. By evening it was desiccated and I picked it and threw it away. I didn’t use any bleach this time. What’s the use? (if you want to see yesterday’s mushroom, please open the attached photo. It is the same one I posted on facebook so some of you might have seen it.) Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath 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.