Justin Isaacson | Copy Editor

There is a road
That leads forward or backward –
Forward or backward only.
The arrows on the asphalt suggests
That I can also turn right, or left
But since murky waters lie to one side of the road
And a dirt pit to the other,
I think I won’t take their advice.
Forward or backward only.
The first seems like the obvious choice –
How else can I go on without going forward?
After all, the road looks clear enough –
I can see that it is clear.
I peer far ahead and see that
To either side of the road lies destruction.
A freeway overpass is split in half.
A skyscraper is toppling over right now.
There is a road that goes through the devastation
And I can see that it is clear.
The clouds ahead are ominous enough to deter me.
So I assume that backward is better.
It’s at least safer, right?
If I’m looking forward at the brokenness,
Then that means my vantage point,
Everything behind me, is safe.
Right?
Yet there is a road that goes forward
And forward will get me farther than backward
And I don’t know why
The buildings to either side haven’t fallen on it or why
The sea hasn’t drowned it or why
Some of the arrows on the asphalt still point forward.
The clouds are still ominous.
The overpass has indeed cracked in half.
The road leads backward –
But also forward.
And I can see that it is clear.