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
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim