Doubt

I have no doubt I'm full of doubt.

Doubt is in me. Of me. Doubt is me.

What more is there to say

once I have acknowledged (admitted to all)

the extent to which I doubt?

Doubt love.

Doubt goodness—and even goodwill,

the weak little cousin of goodness.

Doubt the future

not because it is unclear

but because the trajectory toward it

is only too predictable.

Doubt the past, muddled as it is by memory.

Doubt this insistent present

in vain urging me onward.

 

The remedy for doubt?

If there is one,

it probably involves hoisting and bootstraps,

grit and happy faces—

and all of these are in short supply,

having been squeezed out of the picture

by doubt.

 

 

Copyright © 2020 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

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