The End of the World

Ellen Carter
The End of the World

Mom can't swallow, the eggs grow cold.

We watch her thumb the napkin's fold

'til the crease is permanent, tight,

Worn. Is it new that she is old?

Maybe not. I know the strained air,

Forced shallow breathing, uncombed hair.

The dim kitchen is much too bright.

The toast burned. What can she bear?

If we wonder, worry, she could

Bear more. We worry, as we should.

Mom, eat, try, of course you're right

Not to eat, for we knew you would

Not eat when your son just killed you.

Your life means nothing. Yes, he knew

Not to do it. Permanent night

Is here. The worst thing he could do.

You can't eat. He ruined your life.

He forgot your love and your strife.

No one can understand your plight:

The ungrateful son, his new wife.

Published by Ellen Carter

Half a century old, more orhjvsvb vv. Love my students, mostly. Love to teach. Love writing and the process, which includes learning... maybe that's what I love most about writing. Love my hot-tub and my pets.  View profile

To comment, please sign in to your Yahoo! account, or sign up for a new account.