Summer 1993 • Vol. XV No. 3 Poetry |

Mushrooms

1 After rain, after weather, They emerge: flesh-colored And naked as throats, Milky as the caps they're Named for. They loll, Slouch-brimmed and sprawling Upon their stalks, Pale slips swelling upwards Almost visibly Through the grainy loam. 2 Walking beneath the high Leafed portico of the oaks, We found them rounded Upon their nipples, fume- Holes smoky with spores When we tapped that fruit. Gemmed puffballs, the book Said, but these looked like Leather, clustered there Together above the roots. 3 Picking them, we scrounged A fugitive, musty crop--- Pavilions of the body, Horn and gill, the flesh Sown broadcast in parts. Theirs is the resurrection I can believe in, tonguing The faint tang of decay In the body of another, damp And tasting of the earth.

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After

By Robert Gibb

1 After rain, after weather, They emerge: flesh-colored And naked as throats, Milky as the caps they're Named for. They loll, Slouch-brimmed and sprawling Upon their stalks, Pale slips swelling […]

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