Denise Low

No rocks rubbing each other
sparking blue-bolt flashes—
so-called earth lightning—

like struck flintstone igniting
quick fire. No disaster film—
cars tossed off roads like ants

shaken from a picnic blanket. Just
flickers when matter flipflops
capsizing earth. Then it’s over

like Perseid shooting stars
like flutter path of moths
like a phone call about death.

I try to -describe the moment when
books shuffled among themselves
but the house did not collapse.

1.
When rain stops
I find mushrooms
arranged in a ring.

The dead below us
raise open hands
in an alleluia dance.

Their white-nailed
fingers pierce dank
rotted leaves.

Each winter more friends
join mushroom spirals
of slow dancers.

As a frost moon rises
their circles festoon
even the distant hills.

2.
She said a few hours before death
You will write about this, won’t you.

Not a question.

3. Native Beliefs

When a good person dies
rains come to wash away
fingerprints and footprints.

Sorrows of this life fade.
When a good person dies
mist weeps from the sky.

Sparrows watch mourners
gather to sing and pray
when a good person dies.