Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: Mycelial

Mycelial

Now I understand how grief

is like a mushroom—

how it thrives in dark conditions.

How it springs directly

from what is dead.

Such a curious blossoming thing,

how it rises and unfurls

in spontaneous bourgeoning,

a kingdom all its own.

Like a mushroom,
most of grief is never seen.
It grows and expands beneath everything.
Sometimes it stays dormant for years.

Grief, like a mushroom,
can be almost unbearably beautiful,
even exotic, delicate, veiled,
can arrive in any shape and hue.
It pulls me closer in.

Like a mushroom, grief
asks me to travel to regions
of shadow and dim.
I’m astonished by what I find—
mystery, abundance, insight.
Like a mushroom, grief
can be wildly generative.
Not all growth takes place
in the light.

— Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer