Roads Not Taken (Ode to Poems)
Two roads diverged in a bright wood.
I can only travel one, but covet both.
Time, mine – so I stood,
plucking wild pigweeds as long as felt good;
terrified of taking a track I grow to loath.
I idle as others commence.
I am fixed at the fork betwixt ripening brush.
Stalling makes sense;
better wait than leap at my expense –
mind uncharted like the aisles – mustn’t rush.
All have trekked well into their trails.
I envy their found treasures, their reaped peace.
Inertia has not endowed such tales;
it is only the raven who will hear my wails.
“Nevermore –’’ he flees with the sun’s decrease.
I shall be telling this without excite,
as those weeds become vines that chain me in place
upon the dying of the light.
I didn’t rage into that good Night.
I slipped away, without grace or trace.
by Sabrina Wiggins
Editor’s Note: A thread of despair runs through this poem, almost as if the speaker could not find the right words to describe the emotion, and so had to construct it piece by piece from other poems. How many do you recognize?