They appear

...overnight, the mushrooms do.
Yesterday, my neighbors lawn was all green,
and now there are colonies of mushrooms
parking to and fro.  It feels like I just turn away,
and sneeringly, more pop up. 
Like the pounds of fat on my belly.
Ten in two weeks. I have no idea
where they came from. (Well,
actually, you know that's a lie).
They come from chocolate-covered
pretzels, and kung bo chicken with
double fried rice.  They come from
chips served with chips at 11pm.

When I had a sudden outbreak of mushrooms
on my lawn several years ago, I called
Bremec's Garden Center.  The expert
said that they were feeding off decaying wood
in the new humus soil I had layered on the lawn
for fall reseeding.  That's what is happening to me
now.  I am feeding off decaying matter in me.
The grief of something that should have been
long ago grieved.  An empty email box.
The long, silent weekends.  The many gray hairs
I now have to cover.  The fear of being alone
and remaining alone.  The deeply believed,but untended,
feeling that maybe I am not worthy of the love I seek.

In time, those mushrooms will
not longer thrive in the Theliians's yard.
The dampness will dry.  The wood will freeze over.
The condition that causes a ripeness for growing
will no longer exist.  Can I say the same for me?
For my belly?  For the hams I have wobbling
under my arms?  How do I stop the decaying?
The feast of death in me?  The feast of eating
that will cause me to die?  If you are reading this now,
pray for me.  Ask whoever you believe in the most
to believe in me.  I need it.  I really do.