why, why, why

where was i when she died?
i know in bed
but was on i my side, which side?
or had i moved to my back yet?  
that’s how i woke up, on my back
if i just hadn’t rolled over
maybe it wouldn’t have happened
at least that minute or that night

it would have ended the way it ended, eventually
that knot was the kind of knot
that they teach sailors to save ships

ive been mad at her about it actually
when there’s this much grief
irrational anger has to be nearby
but of course it is not her fault
that fate moved the way it did
and tangles could not be undone

but my brain gets caught up in the
when and where and why and how

how long had her heart been beating
before that bomb started ticking,
8 weeks?  12 weeks? probably not past 20
she could have just been the size of my fist
swimming in supposedly the friendliest waters

it’s not productive to think about
but sometimes it’s important to go over it all again,
like a perverted reassurance
that she died and it’s not my fault or her fault or their fault
God’s fault perhaps
if we’re allowed to blame God, i don’t know

i do wonder who she would have been
i am always wondering who she would have been
and who that would have made me
instead of the person i am right now

it’s a dance i’ll probably do forever
even as i look out on the most beautiful spring day,
the clouds will always paint the question in the sky
why, why, why?