‘kite mushrooms’ for my late grandfather Stomping on branches and sifting through moss we’re picking up mushrooms. See the slats on the back of its hat? This is how it breaths its death into you, in and out. See the weave of our wooden basket, knot by knot? This is how we carry them home. Hey grandma, look what we’ve got. These mushrooms are called kite for flying away. You told me that the best way to prepare them is to soak the hats in a whipped egg, cover them in bread crumbs, fry on both sides with pepper and salt. They resemble a dead animal, tissue and chew. We bite in and taste of juicy infinity. I think I can see you spreading your wings.