Some years I miss the days of its fruiting
or else it doesn’t show: a sign
of what’s going on underground
how hylae and mycelia are faring.
Beneath pines at the woodland edge
where a little light comes in
its soft egg protrudes
meaty and scented like petrichor
then overnight noses it way up
between the tangle of root and stone
with a determined charge
to open up in the air and this force
is what makes us all tick
in whatever grit we need to exist.
Rebecca Gethin has written 5 poetry publications. She was a Hawthornden Fellow and a Poetry School tutor and a winner in Coast to Coast to Coast’s pamphlet competition with Messages. Palewell Press published Vanishings in 2020. She blogs sporadically at http://www.rebeccagethin.