One Is Never Sure

The decision faced me with questions
as a stone tossed in the pond
of my solitude starts ripples of concern
of what do I owe to what I am doing
and how much to what I ought to do?
A shrill ring of the telephone
breaks the silence of my struggle
as she asks me to make up my mind
before it is too late for her
to change her plans. I had no idea
it was up to me to say the last word.
I did not mean to promise anything,
just made a suggestion she interprets
as a promise. Now torn by lack of memory
of what I really said in the heat
of the occasion, I can’t seem to settle down
to my work. I tell you it is a risk
to find yourself involved when you
had no intention beyond the moment
of being taken seriously.
So here I sit, phone in hand,
dial tone in my ear— she hung up—
and clouds over the clear sky
of my morning. It seems we had
a lot of cloudy mornings lately,
though the sky clears off at night
when I get stars but need the sun.
Now with my morning shattered
by threatened storm I shall
play on the piano with one finger,
‘‘Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,’’
but I don’t really know.