Worlds End
by Barbara Crooker
We were sitting on the rocks, my husband
and son, down by the Loyalsock Creek,
in a stone cabin built by the CCC. Back
home, my mother cannot sleep—her recliner’s
too small, the hospital bed’s too hard—
like Goldilocks in the bears’ cottage,
nothing is just right. Nothing will ever be
just right, as her body fails and fails
some more. Up on a ridge above the Loyalsock,
the trees are at their peak. Even the creek water
burns red, orange, yellow. The cell phone
in my pocket in case hospice calls thumps
against my thigh. It’s one of those brilliant
blue days you think should last forever,
the trees glowing redder, starry asters
lining the rocky path. Back in the cabin,
pork and cranberries have been slowly cooking all day.
I boil wild rice, add toasted pine nuts, yellow raisins.
At home, my mother lifts a bowl, fills her nebulizer,
inhales the hot steam, breathes more easily for a little
while. I throw more wood in the black iron stove,
whose hunger is insatiable, whose belly can never be filled.
Previously published in the author’s collection Gold.
PAINTING: Autumn Leaves Fluttering in the Breeze by Alma Woodsey Thomas (1973).
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This poem was written during the years I took care of my mother, who had emphysema, which takes you inch by inch. It also appears in my book Gold, which is, in part, about her final illness, her passing into the light, and the path through grief and mourning.
AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: Celebrating my mother’s 90th birthday with her on June 29, 2008, at Fellowship Manor, the nursing home where she resided at the end.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Barbara Crooker is author of 12 chapbooks and 10 full-length books of poetry, including Some Glad Morning (Pitt Poetry Series, University of Pittsburgh Poetry Press, longlisted for the Julie Suk award from Jacar Press), The Book of Kells (winner of the Best Poetry Book of 2019 Award from Poetry by the Sea), and Slow Wreckage (Grayson Books, 2024). Her other awards include: Grammy Spoken Word Finalist, the WB Yeats Society of New York Award, the Thomas Merton Poetry of the Sacred Award, and three Pennsylvania Council fellowships in literature. Her work appears in literary journals and anthologies, including The Bedford Introduction to Literature. Visit her at barbaracrooker.com.
Silver Birch Press 
A cabin. My favorite time of year, with all the color and cool air. I’m sorry your mom had emphysema. Horrible condition. In spite of nearing her end, your poem holds beauty and hope. God bless you.
Another poem that goes right to the heart, lungs, love, fear and suffering. May your mother’s memory be for a blessing, as you were a blessing to her.