Ahz mah (So what)

After a wonderful Aha! moment of understanding Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken," this series of alternative endings came to me:   What He Might Have Said I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: 1. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—  I went blank. I froze. Two roads? in the woods? A friend told me once about the distinction  between a choice and a decision only in the moment I couldn’t remember  which  was which.  I couldn’t move.  Darkness fell. 2. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—  I prayed. I lifted my eyes and prayed for  guidance, for courage, for clarity of vision. And I heard a voice calling out to me as clear as day, accompanied by a sudden shaft of sunlight illuminating the path ordained for me. I had no doubt. 3.  Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—  I was pissed. Where are the f-ing trail markers,  those primary color breadcrumbs nailed to the trees by those do-goody Eagle Scou...

Wearing Black My mother always wore all black. That is, after she got fat, and after she heard on her favorite New York radio talk show that black was “slimming.” And so within her ample dresser were geologic layers of black cotton scoop neck tee shirts and matching black cotton button down cardigans— all Bloomingdale’s best, on sale— always one or two complete outfits with the tags still on, saved for Special Occasions. How she longed to be invisible, like Winnie-the-Pooh dangling mud-covered beneath a blue balloon pretending to be a black rain cloud so the honey bees would not be Suspicious. If only I— her thin and unforgiving daughter— had been more like Christopher Robin poised beneath the tree, exuding patience and fondness, laughing to himself, “Silly old Bear!”