Foraging

They rose up overnight
like a hallucination—
misshapen, pock-marked, deformed
littering the lawn in the dozens.
I might have mowed them

down in their bed
scattered their fleshy fragments
throughout the yard
but some faith in me
kept them instead,
an inkling of their worth. Still

unaware of what I had
I went around the gill-less heads
and later found
in a Field Guide to Foraging,
Morchella deliciosa—morels.

Didn’t you and I also conjure
the very thing out of nothing?
Delicious delusions blanketing our days
hidden from ourselves
until unearthing, as if overnight,
everywhere to be seen. For once

unafraid of imposters,
I slice each where its stalk
meets the earth with certitude.
The bare bowl full
when I finish.

Balfour McBride lives in Vermont and enjoys cycling the backroads.