Magic Mushroom caps in the forest.
Have a nibble, have a mystical trip. Fly poison
makes you fly. Into the woods,
what do you see?
Make room for a cluster of mushrooms.
Mop-capped Mom. She’s tired, slumped,
surrounded by six little round ones.
One is fussing, two look like they might
join the sniveling soon. The other three
are faced away. Only caps for clothes.
All look overwhelmed, overtaken
by those caps. Grey green grass
underfoot, Japanese etched silver birch
glow of tree. A stand for hidden figures.
Wonder what they stand for. Shake your head,
then circle back to look again.
Mother’s expression is complex,
the baby shrooms make you think.
Fantastically painted, you could fear
a hoodwink. It’s not as innocent
as first glance.
Published in The Ekphrastic Review, January 2023