Mushroom Hunting

Early morning, early Spring,
in the wet woods, crunching
sticks. Searching for a mushroom ring

to fill our buckets. Hunching
under a cobweb lanyard,
the first line of a spider

doily, dripping, unmarred.
Steaming earth and wild onion,
mud and prickle-thistle scents

and our difference of opinion-
last evening’s rents-
mending as we make

our way past old quarrels.
In the woods, just awake,
searching for morels.

The hard part of rhyme, for me, is making it subtle enough that it isn’t terribly obvious until, perhaps, the end of the poem. I tried to do that here by putting what could be quatrains into sets of three and by trying to make the rhyming words fall in the middle of a thought wherever possible.

The inspiration for this one came to me yesterday while I was trying to convince the horse in the field next to my mother’s house to come visit. He didn’t, but I inadvertantly stepped on a patch of wild onion which brought back a bunch of memories of my childhood tramping through the woods.

I asked Lauren to workshop this for me and I made a few edits based on her suggestions. I’m still not quite satisfied with the doily stanza. it sounds nice and fits niec, but it doesn’t say anything.