mushrooms, a poem by Sylvia Plath

mushrooms, a poem

criado em: 00:41 02-11-2022

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.

It is both a hope and a heartache to consider that, today, mushroom species from the genus Psilocybe are being used in clinical trials to effectively allay treatment-resistant depression — a breakthrough she never lived to see that might have saved her life.

É uma esperança e uma dor de coração considerar que, hoje, espécies de cogumelos do gênero Psilocybe estão sendo usadas em ensaios clínicos para aliviar efetivamente a depressão resistente ao tratamento - um avanço que ela nunca viveu para ver que poderia ter salvado sua vida.

Maria Papova em The marginalian