People say pick one path and stick with it
and that since mistakes are bound to happen,
just make do. The grasses talk among
themselves: you’ll never get anywhere
following that line of thought. They know
it’s all the same whether you live or die,
that the right path will find you,
your shining life, and speak like a hand
gathering gravel: choose yourself first,
give up owning the future, there isn’t
anyplace far enough you can stray.
© Ann Emerson estate, poem and photograph
Ann was one of the founding members of this site.
The BeZine 