Filled With Doubt Poem by Alistair Graham

Before, I was filled with doubt; now,
the signs are my belief system,
like when a robin comes
up close to me in the garden
to feed at my side, while I
dig the weeds out of my bed, or

when the moon appears
in the sky above my head,
brightly shinning its full
beam of hand-held-torch
to light my path to the garage, or

in the toilet at work
beyond the cubicle walls
I hear a tap dripping; slowly,
each sad, separate, solemn drop
drips back into watery wholeness, or

in the wicker basket, where
the socks are piled high
there is often not a matching pair,
but when there is, it's a sign
today is going to be fine, or

in the office without the papers
for rolling cigarettes, I rifle
every drawer, empty the contents.
I stare at the screen blankly
until my head steers my eyes towards
the bottom shelf of the letter-tray;
under Louise Glück, the papers lie

It's the little things like water drops,
the robin, the moon,
the papers or matching socks;
they give me hope, help me to believe
in me and my existence

Sometimes all the lights are green
when I drive to work; this is sufficient
grounds for me to grin and bear
the depressed brickwork in Belfast
before learning to love my life,
all over again