An ode to volatile organic compounds inspired by Sylvia Plath’s Mushrooms

We are
the smoke
on the knobs
of the Daniel Boone National Forest

Always
Stealing over
Weaving around
Wraithlike

Contradictory
Both born yesterday
And settling here long before
the first long hunters crossed the Cumberland Gap

Masquerading
as the smoke of man’s fire
We are in fact an optical illusion
performed by Mother Nature

Welcome sign for the diaspora
coming home to the coalfields
A comforting blanket
those rooted in the hollers can wrap around their shoulders

Perfectly voiceless we have inspired
artists to sing and sign our stories
and my sisters and I will shroud these hills and hollers
until the end of time.