I remember in one of my high school (or was it middle school?) English courses, we were assigned to read the poem “Mushrooms” by Sylvia Plath. It instantly became one of my favorite poems; I found it amusing as I imagined these tiny, adorable mushrooms  prancing around mischievously in Fantasia-esque fashion.  Formally, the poem’s even, tiptoed cadence and hushed quality is fitting for its topic. I think I somehow identified with these little fungi as I grew up as a rather meek, timid child with a large imagination, always dreaming up otherworldly dimensions with my childhood friends.

However, revisiting this poem now, I see how it fits within the scheme of my life. I actually do not know exactly what Plath was referring to, but various sources have suggested the poem is a metaphor to the women’s movement, the Cold War, the atom bomb, pregnancy, etc.  I interpret these mushrooms to represent any type of oppressed group whether its women, minorities, immigrants… I especially like the interpretation as immigrants.  Anyway, without further ado:

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.