Doubt

After “Fear” by Raymond Carver

yellow rose vine

Doubt the button I sewed on Tom’s sweater will hold

or that my cooking is good enough for company.

Doubt that I can see, when I prune them,

how the roses really want to grow.

Doubt when I speak to the new widow

that I will know what to say

or avoid useless cliché.

Doubt I’ll ever be cool, but now

I’m old enough I doubt it matters.

Doubt that I’ll ever stop

being stupefied by spring

or startled in a silent house

by the muted plink of a petal

dropping from its bouquet.

Doubt there will ever be a better way

than in Tom’s arms to start the day.

Doubt I have the wisdom,

as an unchecked autocrat 

drops bombs on a whim,

to be a patriot and a peacemaker.

Doubt that the vulnerability

of this fragile world can be borne.

Doubt that I will ever stop bearing it.

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Mary Camille Thomas

Mary Camille Thomas is a native of Santa Cruz, California who considers herself lucky to have returned after living internationally and on the road. She is a librarian by profession, and her poetry has appeared in The Moving Force Journal, Porter Gulch Review, and Sisters Singing. She is currently working on a novel called What Lies Buried and a collection of poems of the spirit.

7 thoughts on “Doubt”

  1. Oh, Mary! Thank you for this beautiful poem. I have so many doubts right now and I can see that they’re not all negative. I doubt that I will not be touched again by your poetry. ❤️

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