END OF THE WORLD
My mother did tell me,
her other, older sister too:
End of the world is coming,
Not everyone’s coming through.
My grandmother took her shot,
my big, bolder sister too:
End of the world it’s not—
What do you think is true?
I may be mad at the world, at furl
in flames, come bust of Odysseus;
I can crawl away from it all, it stalls
on looms, shroud weave of Penelope.
Yet I don’t know if there is ever end,
if there is show of ongoing origin;
evolution unfurling after revolution,
and creation unfalling out of destruction.