My crossroads were a metaphor,
because where was I when I realized the road before me forked?
In the reclining chair,
painting the epistemic situation in the distinctive shades
of sand, sun, and tumbleweeds- nothing but dust and wind on either
side as far as eye could see. And how was I to choose between,
and win or lose or even move?
But that’s the thing about crossroads. You never paint their metaphor
if you find sitting still an option.
It would be a third path, and you would plow on. So,
pressure. Tick, tock.
But my crossroads were a metaphor! I finally realized,
in the recliner, staring out the window at the suburban sky-
I’d never seen a desert!
And I was resting from one of my walks,
where I find crossroads every day! Do you know what they are like?
There are houses,
and dogs barking and further turns to make,
as far as the eye can see, and eventually
a highway. Who I’ll meet, I can’t control, know, or change on either path.
They hold food, construction, and never my walk’s end-
I’ll lie down some day.
turn to dust, get swept on the wind,
before I get to find or do or know all this world’s finest gems,
but when it comes to crossroads, I’ve got a lot of options-
I’ll leap, wait, alternate what I weigh,
but I will never hesitate
to cross them.