Sylvia Plath





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.