Doubt

R.G. Ziemer

It gnaws at me,

Those times I don’t expect it and

Your image floats up on a flood of memory,

Enveloped in the thing we’ll never know,

The mystery of Motive or Mistake.

Could you really have deliberately

Drifted off to sleep?

Left the engine running hot?

Slipped so easily from life

To silent death?

Why would you leave us broken-hearted,

Helpless, guilty and unsure?

Oh, yes and when, we sang the blues,

Could I not have heard an echo

From a black and empty room?

Could I not have shined a light

Into the pit to plumb its depth?

I’d like to say it was an accident,

A drunken stupor turned to tragedy.

Let me clear the tainted air,

Turn out the light and

Slam the door to that garage,

Let me go back to my business.

But still that nasty little rodent of snuffling doubt

I know is lurking in a corner

Under something.