Taxonomy Can’t Classify My Fruiting Body

Taxonomy Can’t Classify My Fruiting Body

Self-Portrait as Resurrection Fern

we wonder / what saved us? what for?
	—H.D.

When I came to myself again,
I thought yes, this time, yes,
and stretched on the moss

in the forest I’d known for seven 
adolescences. Lichens, leaves,
and limbs glistened beneath me, 

and I no longer resembled 
a cluster of dust, something swept
from a far desert. In the thick of it,

there was no difference between 
dormancy and death, no way out 
til I found what I needed. Call it

nourishment, or care—the feeling
of being looked after. It is here, 
despite, or because of, so much loss.

Lifeblood 
is a drop of atmosphere,
small as a spore, colossal

as the ancient oak I clutch—
reaching for immortality,
finding it in the rain.

Slime Mold Exceptionalism

After Lucy Jones’s essay “Creatures that Don’t Conform”