The Art of Remembering
by Alexander L. Karan
Sat, 22 Nov 1997 14:55:47 -0500

I.

There is no road not taken,
only a different kind of travelling.
After the accident, how many times
does the man in the wheelchair for life
take a different road, or at least
get out of the wreck and walk away
over flashing shards of broken glass?

Eye witnesses testify in court:
the car "was light blue" and "green" and "black,"
was travelling "much too fast,"
and "a bit too slow," "stopped,"
"kept going straight," "swerved out of the way."
It was "dark" and it was "still light out" 
when the breaks screeched and didn't.

These are the footsteps of a witness:
the other path is "just as fair,"
the leaves upon the ground are worn
"really about the same," but in the poet's final analysis,
it will become "the road less traveled by."
Remembering makes all the difference.

II.

Remember back to some afternoon
when you had come to where two paths diverged;
had, for example,
read a poem by Robert Frost while sipping tea
and chose to be a lawyer, not a teacher.
As you assess the better claim,
maybe a forgotten teapot whistles its shrill warning.

What do you say to that other traveler,
the one whom, but for a choice of paths you would be,
when, into your loneliest of loneliness,
he brings a claim of negligence before a jury of your fears.
Did you stop long enough to know where you weren't going?
Accept some doubt as reasonable.
Call no more witnesses.  If you must,

at least remember that memory revises,
lest some previous draft of your present self
acquire a glimpse of a future
along the chosen path of your remembering
and on some morning, some long long time ago,
should absolutely refuse to get up out of bed
and eventually become you.

Alexander L. Karan
November 2, 1997