Clearing the Air Poem by Sridala Swami

After the untimely death
there were priests
five of them sitting on chairs
and not one purifying fire
between them.

Their chants were hard stones
spit out into the air
their feet churned keeping
the words up and moving
like threats

or curses: once pronounced
their import
set in stone.
'This place is cleansed
of death.

'Here are the mustard seeds
you asked for
in proof.
Be content now.
And live as if nothing had happened.'