Mycena interrupta —after Sylvia Plath’s ‘Mushrooms’

Undergrowth, vivid

Cyan, a frost-kissed,

Silent saprophyte. 

Our thin spines, our throats

Cling firm to the log,

Consume the moist rot.

In sacred quiet, 

We bloom best untouched;

Old whisper, warning

Admire then return.

We are not your prize!

We are not your prize!

We are night lanterns,

Umbrellaed refuge, 

From the wet shadows.

Moonlit death eaters:

Our story is shared,

By more than millions.