Indiana Daily Student

Mushroom, a poem by Alicia Harmon

It keeps growing out the wall

of a bathroom too wet

with moisture in the air.

A small thing

with a thin stem

and a wide cap that ombres,

darkness at the top and white at the bottom.

A mushroom or two

that the landlord keeps ignoring

along with the black spots

forming under the cabinets,

along with my complaints

that something is wrong.

The ventilation is bad.

The faucet keeps leaking.

You can smell the decay in the air!

You won’t listen to me.

I know you only painted over the black again.

I keep cutting the mushrooms down.

Snip.

Pulling them out.

Pop.

Trying to create the illusion

that they are not there

even though I know

they are growing.

Even though I know

I am breathing differently.

Even though I know

they will become something worse if they keep here inside my walls.

I can’t tell anyone else

because I know how this makes me look.

I cannot stop them.

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