Morel-Floored Forest
by Carolyn Hoople Creed
Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks so longeth my soul after thee . . .
–Psalm 42, Coverdale Bible
O
mushrooms
so epicurean,
as knights their grail,
shepherdesses their lambs,
thus I
search
for you
morels,
grown up O
below oak— the paroxysms
fungi that jut from leaf-mulch of my disbelief greet
ground that fosters musty birth fist-fat conical hats (on
of such saintly/earthy fleshpots cream-bottomed stems) which
strive to achieve tower height
such that
my basket
black masses—
gargantuan drowsers to be plucked
from their beds: the mushroom sheep
take up plump and bulbous positions
Morels along the paths of forest floor, when one kneels to them, always
bestow an annunciation (sometimes seconded by sunbeam, dappled through
tree-crown) upon the seeker of their lift-of-sorrow essence/their lichen-
sprung luscious pungency/their undeniably desirable spongy glory.
Carolyn Hoople Creed teaches Creative Writing at Canada’s Brandon University. Her writing has been published coast-to-coast in Canada, from Prism on the west coast to Undertow in the east.