![Poem: 'Death Cap'](https://indexofnews.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2022/01/newsomatic/C46F7B32-A54A-4A05-B3E39166462E9DD6_source.jpg?w=590&h=800&A98F03B0-F731-45C1-AED4F4B9AFA44874)
Edited by Dava Sobel
I was troubled by how easy it was to mistake
one thing for another, as with snakes—
the Scarlet King resembling the Coral
with its arrangement of black
on yellow, or the harmless Hognose
which is often confused
with a Copperhead. Likewise, mushrooms—
however you might examine the warts
on the umbrella caps or the thin white gills
you could miss some telltale sign—
the partial veil around a stem, say, or
white spores, the Sprouting Amanita
pretending to be a Young Puffball
and then, days later
the lethal symptoms would begin: burning
thirst, blurred vision,
your heartbeat growing
dangerously slow.
We lived like this for more than a year—
unable to tell which
doorknobs were ordinary and which
harbored the virus, afraid to taste the
vivid winter air.
This article was originally published with the title “Death Cap” in Scientific American 326, 1, 22 (January 2022)
doi:10.1038/scientificamerican0122-22
ABOUT THE AUTHOR(S)
Faith Shearin’s seven poetry collections include Moving the Piano, Darwin’s Daughter and, most recently, Lost Language (Press 53, 2020). Her new young adult novel, Lost River, 1918, is due out this summer, to be followed next year by Horse Latitudes, a book of short stories. Credit: Nick Higgins
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